#It’s now two or even three times longer than I thought it would be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elysiumae · 24 hours ago

Text

like gravity.

pairing: phainon x f!reader

word count: 15k

synopsis: pacrim!au. how did it get longer. it was supposed to be one part but it got too long and now i have to split it into two. truly the hydra of fanfics...

chapters: one | two | three | four | five

III. FISSION

Phainon snores.

It’s a fact — or a memory — that you haven’t had to recall for a long time. You thought you’d buried all of them years ago, under the blackened sand of a beach razed to ash, together with the decaying remains of your childhood. But now you’re lying in a bed, too aware of the fact that Phainon is fast asleep in the bunk just above yours. Separated by nothing but metal frames and a mattress that’s not quite thick enough for your liking.

It’s been years since you’ve last shared a space with someone like this, and the proximity sets something in you on the edge. It’s almost too intimate. But it’s Phainon.

Things could be worse, you suppose.

Just like yesterday night. It’d been… a lot, to put things lightly. Your admission of fear (ugh), the tears that had escaped your eyes somehow (straight up embarrassing). But you don’t think anything had quite unraveled you as much as the gentleness in Phainon’s hands, when he’d wiped the tears from your eyes.

You don’t remember how long the two of you had simply sat there, until the exhaustion had won out. He’d climbed back into his bunk after a while, you think, though not before pulling the covers over you first as you'd desperately pretended to be asleep. Yet something else that you’re not emotionally prepared to unpack at the moment, you think.

And now, at exactly seven o’clock, the Shatterdome’s claxon blares through the ranger wing. You groan and bury your face in the pillow, as though that can somehow drown out the banshee wailing over the speakers.

Above you, you can hear Phainon rousing slowly, the bunk creaking as he stretches in his bed. It’s followed by the soft thud of his feet hitting the floor, then the rustle of fabric — digging through the closet, maybe. Then there’s a pause, long enough that you peek over the edge of your blanket.

Only to find his face hovering inches away from yours.

The two of you lock eyes, and you spot it — his white hair is hopelessly mussed from sleep, sticking up at the back like the tail of a disgruntled duckling. Looks like that hasn’t changed, at least. But when you would have teased him and attempted to help him flatten it down years ago, now you’re not sure how to react. Do you say good morning? Ask him if he slept well? Ignore him, maybe? Even after all the words that had been said yesterday night, you can still feel a strange tension lingering in the air between the two of you.

Or maybe that’s just you?

Your spiralling is interrupted, thankfully, when Phainon suddenly yawns. “Morning,” he rasps, voice an octave lower than usual and rough with sleep. And then he just turns around and heads off into the shower like nothing’s happened.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you stare at it for a few seconds before flopping onto your mattress hopelessly again. Gods. It’s too much, too fast, too ordinary after all those years of silence and distance. You suppose you should try to act normal? What even is considered normal between the two of you, now?

You’re about a third of the way through your second existential crisis of the morning when the bathroom door opens again. Phainon leans out, sweatpants riding low on his hips and a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. And he’s shirtless.

“Wh’f ��re you ‘oin?” he mumbles around the toothbrush, eyelids still drooping with sleep. Oh, and did you mention that he’s shirtless?

You sit up so fast you nearly crack your head open on the upper bunk. “What am I doing? What are you doing?”

Phainon blinks and pulls the toothbrush from his mouth with a wet pop. “Oh, right. I forgot to tell you yesterday.” He gestures vaguely at the handle of the bathroom door. “The lock on this thing is broken.” He pauses, glances at you again. “Just in case you wanted to know.”

“You couldn’t wait until after your shower to tell me that?”

He shrugs, hip balanced against the doorframe. Why is he not going back inside? “Was afraid I’d forget.”

You stare back at him — or somewhere between his ear and the bathroom wall behind him. Definitely not anywhere beneath his chin. “Well, I won’t peek.” And when he still doesn’t react, you add, slowly, “Scout’s honour…?”

Phainon simply looks at you for a few more seconds, before his lips suddenly twitch.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be anything you haven’t seen before,” he says with a shrug, before disappearing back into the bathroom. You’re left gaping at the closed door for a beat, bemused. Why’s he making you out to be some kind of pervert? Then a long forgotten memory of rubber ducks and a red-faced, sniffling Phainon surfaces from the recesses of your mind and your mouth drops open.

How does he even still remember that!?

You reach for a pillow — your only pillow, thank you very much — and hurl it at the bathroom door. “That wasn’t on purpose!” You yell back before you can help yourself, indignant. “And you were in diapers!”

His laughter echoes off the tile walls, muffled by the door separating the two of you. You shake your head, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. Insufferable bastard…

The shower turns on a moment later. Against your better judgment, you find your gaze drifting back to the door. The brief glimpse that you’d gotten of him lingers stubbornly in your mind — the sharp definition of his shoulders, the lean taper of his waist.

His teasing comment hadn’t been entirely accurate, either: neither the thin golden line circling his chest nor the sun tattoo at the side of his neck had been there the last time you’d seen him topless. Gods, that had been six years ago. Back when he was still made out of scrawny limbs, when your mother would heap another helping onto his plate and tell him to eat more before the sea breeze carried him off. But he’s not a boy anymore — hasn’t been for a long time, you suppose. But it’s not something that you’ve had to confront before.

Not like this, at least.

You press your palms to your eyelids and inhale deeply. Maybe it’s not something you actually need to confront! Objectively, he’s fit and has muscles! That doesn’t have to mean anything.

By the time Phainon steps out of the shower, you’ve successfully regained your composure somewhat and dart into the bathroom as soon as he exits, brushing your teeth with mechanical efficiency. You keep your eyes fixed on the sink. If you glance up, you might just catch his reflection in the mirror. You’ve had quite enough of him for one morning.

When you emerge, however, Phainon is still there. Leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed, dressed in camo pants and a military sweatshirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. There’s still a faint flush clinging to his skin from the heat of the shower.

You shift your weight onto one foot then the other, suddenly awkward. Phainon must feel the same, because his head dips slightly, gaze skirting away as one hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck, before he glances back at you.

“Breakfast?” he asks. You can hear the tentative hope in those words, like he’s extending a truce.

It’s a simple question, but it feels loaded. Breakfast means sitting together in the mess hall, where people will undoubtedly stare. Where they’ll whisper, question your identity, your origins, how you’re worthy to stand next to the saviour of Amphoreus. It will mean navigating whatever this is between you now — this fragile, awkward thing that’s neither friendship nor hatred nor whatever you used to be.

You hesitate. Phainon’s expression flickers, a quiet tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing himself to be rejected again.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Okay.”

His eyes light up, and for a moment it’s like seeing the sun rise over the horizon of Aedes Elysiae again. He lets out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh of relief, and you catch the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Let’s go, then,” he says, pushing off the wall, and you follow.

The news must have spread overnight. Like a wildfire in the dry season, apparently, because you can feel the eyes of every single person you pass by on you the second you step out of the ranger wing. Catch the whispers, of those who aren’t quite quiet enough, of which there are many — the legendary Deliverer finally has a co-pilot again.

They follow you through the mess hall, all the way down to the chow line. Their gazes are sticky, like sweat clinging uncomfortably to the back of your neck. Your fingers tighten on the metal of your tray. Should have known this would be a bad idea. But before you can tell Phainon that you’ve maybe, perhaps, just so happened to have lost your appetite, you feel a warm hand at the small of your back, ushering you in front of him.

“Don’t worry about them,” Phainon murmurs, leaning down so only you can hear. You don’t miss the way he subtly positions himself to shield you from the stares. “They’re just jealous that you get to share a bunk with me.”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs, but he only laughs — that bright, effortless sound that turns head — and redirects his charm towards the serving staff, flashing them a megawatt grin. Within moments, he’s got the cafeteria ladies smiling, and one even slips an extra piece of chicken pie onto your tray with the same indulgent fondness the beach vendors back in Aedes Elysiae used to show him.

And it’s not just them. It’s dizzying to watch, this confident ease with which Phainon moves. A table of junior cadets straighten in their seats when he walks by. Some older J-Techs call out a brief greeting, clasping him on the shoulder — how does he know all of them by name? Even a stern faced officer gives him a slight nod as he passes by. This is a man who’s never known what it means to be invisible — a sun around which the entire Shatterdome orbits.

You try to sidle towards one of the quieter corners, but Phainon steers you by the shoulders towards a table, where familiar faces look up in greeting. For a moment, you see surprise flicker across some of their expressions — they must have heard about your outburst, yesterday — but then Stelle just grins, and kicks out an empty chair with her boot. For you.

“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” she drawls, grinning at you.

Dan Heng offers you a silent nod across the table, where he’s using a knife to methodically dismantle his breakfast. Next to him, March practically vibrates in her seat with what must be enough energy to power a Jaeger. “Ohmygosh, congratulations!” She claps her hands, eyes wide with glee. “Official welcome to the cool kids’ table! Do we do hazing? I’ve always wanted to try hazing!”

Caelus salutes you with his fork. There’s an entire… baked potato speared on its end, wobbling precariously. “Took you guys long enough. We were about to start betting whether Phainon’s snoring had made you take off into the night.”

“He was so loud we thought an earthquake had hit Okhema,” March whisper-shouts across the table, almost conspiratorially.

A flush creeps up Phainon’s neck as he slides into the cramped space next to you. The table’s a little too small, and his thigh presses warm against yours under the steel surface. “That was one time,” he grumbles, insistent. “And I’d spent four hours sparring with Mydei after taking down a Cat 3 in Styxia. Cut me some slack.”

“Uh huh,” Caelus says, around a mouthful of potato. “Whatever you say, Eggman.”

March giggles into her hands while Dan Heng’s lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. Phainon exhales through his nose, looking like a man who’s endured this particular brand of torment for far too long, and reaches for his coffee like it’s the only thing standing between him and homicide.

“Anyways,” he turns to you with an exasperated shake of the head, “you’ve met these clowns already.” There’s warmth flickering in his eyes that betrays his amusement as he gestures vaguely at the table, before nodding to the two rangers sitting opposite you. “And this is Mydei and Castorice. They’re pilots of Nikador.”

You glance at them. Mydei sits in his chair with the casual confidence of a giant predatory cat, all broad shoulders and languid muscle. The sleeveless military tank top exposes the red tattoos crawling over his arms, strange yet oddly beautiful. There’s a jagged scar running from his collarbone to his right bicep, too — the kind of injury that would have ended any normal man’s career.

Next to him, Castorice offers you a polite smile. Her purple eyes flicker with some sort of recognition. “We’ve met before.” Her soft voice belies the firm grip she has when she shakes your hand. “I didn’t know that you were Phainon’s new co-pilot.”

Her lilac braid drapes over the shoulder of a white lab coat. The little tag above her pocket reads: Neuroscience Division.

“So, you’re the unlucky soul who tested drift compatible with this disaster, huh?” Mydei’s eyes, sharp and gold, look you up and down with a sort of… intense curiosity. It’s like making eye contact with a panther. “So what’s the secret? Blackmail? Hypnosis? Ancient blood ritual?”

“Don’t be too discouraged if your NeuroSync scores with him aren’t that great,” March chimes in, vibrating in her seat like a hummingbird on espresso. Her rapid blinking suggests whatever’s in her coffee shouldn’t be legally classified as caffeine. “Half the Shatterdome’s tried and failed, so it’s already a miracle that you managed to sync with him! Drift compatibility can grow over time, like a friendship garden. With enough neural watering and tender loving care—”

“This is breakfast, not an interrogation session,” Phainon cuts in with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, although the upward twitch of his lips gives his amusement away. He nudges your tray closer to you, a silent reminder to eat. “But for the record, I think eighty-six is a good enough number for now.”

The clatter of cutlery at the table ceases. Even Dan Heng’s knife freezes mid-incision, his egg yolk bleeding slowly across the tray.

Mydei’s fork clatters to the table with a metallic ping. “Eighty-six?” He looks between the two of you as though you’ve just announced you’ve gotten Phainon pregnant or something. “You’re joking. With this guy?”

Phainon straightens up in his seat so fast it squeaks. “Hey. Hey.” He waves a hand at Mydei’s shell-shocked face. “What does that mean, huh? What’s wrong with me?”

Stelle raises a hand, grinning. “You want the list ordered by category? Or in alphabetical order—”

“Ooh, ooh!” March claps excitedly. “Let’s do—”

“March,” Phainon groans, rubbing at his temples. “Not helping.”

“That’s higher than what Mydei and Castorice scored the last time they synced, if I remember correctly,” Caelus remarks with the tone of someone who most definitely remembers. There’s a little gleam in his eyes, like a pyromaniac dumping kerosene onto a fire.

“Which was last year,” Mydei grinds out, his jaw tightening as he folds his arms across his chest. The red tattoos on his biceps almost look like they’re pulsing with annoyance. “We haven’t needed testing since.”

Castorice sips at her early grey, completely unbothered. “Eighty-two was perfectly adequate,” she comments, mildly.

“Maybe it’s the childhood friends trope!” March gasps dramatically. She clasps her hands together, pink-blue eyes sparkling with either excitement or insanity as she looks between you and Phainon. “Like in those romance dramas, where the lead couple always ends up—”

Phainon inhales his coffee wrong and you reach over to slap his back as he chokes. Dan Heng, bless his heart, leans over and shoves a bread roll into March’s mouth before she can continue.

“W’t? Mght be st'tclly sgnfcn't!" she protests indignantly, spraying crumbs across the table. "Sh'rd h'story an’ all t’at—"

“Eat,” Dan Heng deadpans, before returning his attention to his half-dissected eggs.

The chaos and noise is almost a little too overwhelming, but there’s a sort of warmth that you don’t quite… hate. You find yourself glancing at Phainon, only to see him already looking at you, cheek propped up on his palm. He meets your gaze with a defeated shrug, the corner of his mouth curling up in a lopsided grin as though to say you see what I have to put up with?

“You should eat too,” he hums, nudging your tray closer. “Before it gets cold. Or March starts diagramming neural pathways with the ketchup.”

A question burns in the back of your throat: just how much do they know about us? And then, how much do they know about me? How many stories has Phainon told over late-night drinks or sparring sessions, and how did he speak of you in them?

You push your fork through the flaky crust of your pie, lost in your thoughts, before you become suddenly hyperaware of Mydei’s golden eyes tracking the motion like a predator assessing prey. The competitive tension radiates off him in waves, like heat from a burning brazier.

“Eighty-six,” he mutters again, shaking his head like the universe has personally offended him.

Castorice pats his arm. “It’s not a competition. Don’t be bothered by it.”

“I’m not bothered by it,” he grumbles, and stabs at his omelettes with an unnecessary amount of force. Stelle just snickers.

“Could have fooled me.”

Phainon leans back in his chair, the picture of smug confidence. “You could always retest. See if you’ve gotten less insufferably stubborn.”

“You’re one to talk,” he snipes back, but his gaze snaps to Castorice. She doesn’t even look up from her tea.

“No, Mydeimos.”

As the table erupts into laughter, you feel Phainon's shoulder press against yours — warm and solid. Around you, the conversation flows effortlessly. Stelle is arguing with March about the superior drama trope, while Caelus picks out all the cucumbers in his sandwich and slides them onto Dan Heng’s plate. Castorice explains to Mydei that no, another NeuroSync is unnecessary, we already function perfectly fine without it and—

And for the first time since arriving at the Shatterdome, you don’t feel like an outsider looking in.

Phainon takes you to the Kwoon combat room after breakfast.

You grimace the second you see the familiar set of doors, already guessing what’s lying in wait. No more idle time or Shatterdome tours with Tribbie anymore, because this is the damn military and you’ve become part of this circus whether you like it or not. Guess this is your life, now. Until Phainon tests drift compatible with someone else, at least.

“No candles or roses, unfortunately,” Phainon announces, as he holds the door open for you with an exaggerated flourish. “But I can promise bruises and existential dread.”

“Well, you definitely know how to make a girl swoon,” you mutter, but step inside regardless, the sharp tang of antiseptic and stale sweat hitting your nose. The training mats look a little damp under the fluorescent lights, presumably from some poor recruits’ training sessions before dawn. Along the far wall, a row of practice dummies stand at attention, their padded bodies bearing the scars of countless beatings. You run a hand along one’s stitching, feel where the material has worn thin.

“Hey, why does the combat room only have—” you turn around to ask, and immediately freeze.

Phainon is in the middle of peeling off his sweatshirt, the fabric dragging up over his torso before he pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. Underneath, a fitted black tank clings to the lean planes of his torso, sleeves cutting off just where the curve of his shoulders meets his arms. Your throat tightens.

Look away.

You do — too late, probably — pretending desperately to focus on whatever’s closest to you. A loose thread on your sleeve. But not before spotting the way the light catches on the golden ink curling over his collarbone.

“See something interesting?” he teases, tossing the sweatshirt onto a nearby bench. Fuck.

“Just wondering how much you paid for that tacky tattoo,” you shoot back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. What is going on with you today? Phainon presses a dramatic hand to his chest.

“You wound me,” he says, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays his amusement. “The artist who did this guaranteed it'd increase my drift effectiveness by at least… four percent.”

“Four percent? Should have cashed out for the ten percent model instead.”

He laughs as he stretches, both arms overhead. The movement pulls the fabric taut across his shoulders. Is this guy doing this on purpose? And when he turns to set his phone at the edge of the mat, you catch more of the tattoo trailing down the exposed line of his spine. It’s more elaborate that you’d first thought, fine lines shimmering like sunbeams across his tan skin.

Bad, you scold yourself like a dog that’s just been caught nibbling at chocolate. Stop looking.

“So,” you say, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to distract yourself, “what fresh torture are you ready to serve up this fine morning? Waterboarding? Bed of nails? Or are we jumping straight into medieval rack stretching?”

“I heard that does wonders for flexibility.” Phainon grins. An infuriating, lopsided smile that always meant trouble when you were kids. “But sadly, no. Ever heard of judo?” he asks, far too innocently.

“If I say no, can I leave?”

“Nice try.” He tosses you a towel from the supply shelf. “But unless you’ve suddenly developed the ability to teleport out of the Shatterdome, you’re stuck here with me. The General asked me to…”

He pauses mid-sentence, rubs at the back of his neck. “I think Aglaea might have a soft spot for you, actually.”

“What?” The admission catches you off guard enough that you nearly drop the towel. “She looks at me like I’m a stain on her favourite uniform.”

Phainon snorts out a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. “She usually doesn’t involve herself in such personal matters.” That’s because of you, idiot… “Maybe you remind her of Cifera.”

The name is unfamiliar to you. “Cifera?”

He rotates his wrist in a slow, deliberate circle as he warms up, and you mirror him without thinking. Phainon’s fingers are dotted with old callouses and new bruises, the hands of a man who hasn’t stopped fighting for a long, long time. “Another stray I heard Aglaea took in years ago, even before I became a ranger. Had a… complicated background, too.” He hesitates a little, glances over at you. “She disappeared, a while after. No one’s heard from her since.”

You’re about to press further when he claps his hands together. “Anyway! Basic hand-to-hand is non-negotiable. Let’s start with some—”

“Right,” you grip the hem of your shirt. “I wanted to ask why no one here seems to use a gun, huh? Surely you don’t beat the kaiju up with big sticks?”

Phainon shrugs. “I mean, Stelle and Caelus did almost knock a kaiju out with a cargo ship when they were stationed in Belobog.” Intergalactic Baseballer, alright. “But no, we don’t. The staff training is just a means of building up reflexes in close combat and increasing overall physical fitness.”

“Aren’t I going to be in a big metal monster?” you ask, frowning. “Why do I need to increase my overall physical fitness?”

Phainon’s lips twitch. “Someone’s not too enthusiastic,” he teases lightly, which is an… understatement, to say the least. “The reason is that we’ll be in suits.”

“Not the Hugo Boss kind, I’m assuming?”

A laugh bursts from his mouth at that. “Unfortunately. When you’re piloting, they’ll put you in a suit with neural relay gel, so that the Jaeger can pick up on your thoughts and movements in real time. It’s like being stuffed into a sausage casing, but half as appetising and three times as sweaty.” He makes a face at the thought and then sighs. “Moving in those things is exhausting. Trust me, you’ll need the endurance.”

“Yay…” you respond, staring mournfully at the mats. Don’t really have a choice now, do you…

Phainon runs you through what must be a step-by-step military mandated torture routine. Warm up starts with basic push ups, if an infinite number of push ups could be considered basic. And Phainon, unfairly, knocks them out with military precision that makes you question his humanity, form perfect even as the muscles in his arms and back strain against that goddamn tank top.

You’re no slouch yourself, but by the thirtieth rep, your arms are already trembling. Gods, what circle of hell did you sign your soul away to?

“Elbows in,” Phainon reminds you, reaching up to poke at your arm — is he planking with one arm, now? It has the opposite effect, however, because you just collapse face first onto the mat, breath escaping your lungs just like your will to live. After a few seconds, you feel the gentle nudge of his foot against your ribs.

“These were supposed to be push ups.” He sounds like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Not naptime.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

He laughs at that. “I hope it’s for the next exercise.”

The sit ups are somehow worse. You barely make it through half the set before flopping back onto the mat, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. You’re gasping like a fish out of water. You’re feeling muscles in your abdomen that you didn’t even know existed.

As you attempt to catch your breath, Phainon drops down cross-legged next to you. His hair, slightly damp from the workout, is pushed back, a few white strands sticking to his forehead. The slight sheen of sweat makes the gold of his tattoos stand out even more. Annoying, smug, attractive bastard…

He smacks your shoulder lightly. “You know sit-ups consist of actually sitting up, right? Not just lying down indefinitely.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny” you deadpan in response, too tired to even process what is leaving your mouth. “Hilarious, even. Have you ever considered stand-up comedy instead of Jaeger piloting?”

He ignores your sarcasm. “How many do you have left?”

“Six,” you lie through your teeth, blatantly.

“Good try,” Phainon raises an eyebrow at you, almost amused. “You have another sixteen to go.”

“You were counting? Gods, some people would call you obsessed.” You throw an arm over your eyes in despair. “How about you just tell me to lie down on some train tracks and sing the Funeral March instead?”

He blinks, looking surprised. “It’s a vocal piece?”

It’s not. “You’re missing the point here,” you grumble, staring up at the ceiling, the flickering overhead lights. Every part of your body aches. “The point is, if I die, you have no more partner to get into a Jaeger with. Think of all the drift testing you’ll have to do.”

“I already have to. The General’s got me scheduled with another batch of recruits in a couple of days.” He gives you that infuriatingly amused look — the one that says he's enjoying this far too much. "Alright," he relents, after a bit. “You do eight, and I’ll do the other eight.”

Eight is pushing it, but you groan and force yourself up again. The burn in your abs is vicious. "One..."

Phainon, the overachiever, finishes all eight in the time it takes you to struggle through three. When you finally collapse back into the embrace of gravity, you see Phainon grinning down at you. You don’t know whether it’s sweat or tears stinging your eyes. “Think I’ll become fitter after we drift in a Jaeger?”

A snort escapes him at that. “Drifting isn’t magic, unfortunately.”

“Damn it…” You roll onto your side, studying Phainon for a moment. “Then, do you think I’ll understand why you want to be in a Jaeger so badly?”

Phainon’s expression shifts, surprise flickering across his features like sunlight fracturing through leaves. “Didn’t you ask this before? Like I said, everyone has a responsibility—”

That word again. Everyone. You tilt your head, studying his expression, the way a few strands of his white hair falls into his eyes. "I know why Aglaea wants you in a Jaeger and why the PPDC needs their precious Deliverer. But that's not what I asked."

They say the drift isn’t just about syncing movements in the Jaeger. It’s a melding of thoughts, memories, impulses. A neural bridge where two minds blur into one.

Hyacine had told you that the NeuroSync had been a pale imitation of what actual Drifting would be like. You wonder if his dreams will bleed into yours, if you’ll wake up knowing how it feels to have sunlight course through your veins. Maybe you’ll see the war through his eyes, feel the heat of the fire that drives him headfirst towards this insanity.

Will you be less afraid, once he’s in your head? Or will the drift just make the terror twice as loud?

Phainon looks away, throat working as he swallows. The golden tattoo at the side catches the light as he turns. Will you find out why he got that, too? “I’m not that great,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, tinged with something more rueful, melancholic. “Just some guy that got lucky. And this Deliverer nonsense…” He shakes his head, a deprecating, bitter twist to his lips. “I’m not who they think I am. But people put their hopes in me. And I can’t just… walk away from that.” He exhales. “So I have no choice but to live up to it.”

You can feel the pressure on his shoulders as he speaks, almost as if it’s pressing onto yours as well. You wonder what it must feel like, to bear the weight of the world on your back.

But that’s still not the question you wanted to ask.

“Let me rephrase,” you sit up, leaning closer. “Why did you want to become a Ranger in the first place? Before the titles and expectations.” You gesture around the training room. “You could’ve been LOCCENT. J-Tech. Even a janitor. Anything else.”

Phainon blinks, thrown off by the question. His fingers flex absently at his sides. "I don't have the brains for J-Tech," he jokes, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. For a moment, he looks almost lost, as if he's never truly considered the question himself. “Guess it’s because I.. remember.”

You frown. “Remember?”

He nods, absently. His eyes are faraway now, as though looking at something that only he can see. “I remember what it feels like to be helpless in front of a kaiju.” His hand tightens on his knee, fingers curling in the fabric of his pants. “That moment, when the world goes dark under its shadow, and you realise there’s nothing — nothing — you can do to stop it.”

The air between the two of you grows heavy with his admission. Somewhere beyond the training room walls, the Shatterdome hums with its usual activity, but time here seems to slow.

“And I was angry,” he admits, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Nothing quite beats being able to look the thing you hate in the eye and punch it back.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips, but there's no joy in it. "Childish, maybe."

It’s not. “Even if it meant dying?”

“Even then.”

You study him — the tension in his jaw, the way he unconsciously rubs at the tattoo on his neck. The pieces click together suddenly, sharply. This isn't just about duty or responsibility. For him, this is something far more personal.

Before you can respond, Phainon shakes his head. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back into that familiar, easy confidence. “Besides,” he adds, forcing lightness into his tone, “have you seen the LOCCENT uniforms? The colour would look terrible on me.”

The deflection is obvious, but you let it pass. “So… vanity and spite,” you summarise for him, raising a brow.

“Yup,” Phainon pops the ‘p’ as he hauls you to your feet. His fingers linger on yours for a brief moment before releasing you, callouses catching against your skin. His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Had to slay both the kaiju and the runway. Multitalented, really.”

You make a sound of disgust in the back of your throat, like a gag. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who once wore a mustard-yellow button up shirt and purple dromas pants and genuinely thought that he was at the peak of fashion.”

Phainon reels back as though you’ve struck him. “It was avant-garde,” he hisses defensively in response, though the flush creeping up his neck betrays him. “How do you still even remember that? It was like a decade ago!”

“Trauma leaves permanent psychological scars,” you deadpan, delighting in the way his scowl deepens. He’s not the only one who can remember things from years ago, is he?

With a grumble, Phainon snatches up a practice staff and chucks another at you with just enough force to make you scramble. He sinks into a low stance, muscles coiling beneath that sweat-damp tank top. “Enough reminiscing,” he demands, spinning his staff with unnecessary flourish. “I want to beat your ass again.”

“Oooh, kinky—” The staff smacks into your calf. “Ow!”

The confrontation sneaks up on you like a bad hangover.

It’s about sometime early in the morning, and Phainon has another round of drift tests to get to. You, on the other hand, are enroute to your first neural relay suit fitting when you pass by a group of recruits who look vaguely familiar. Might be the same group that you’d seen that day speaking to Phainon at the maintenance ledge, you think absently as you continue to walk. But before you can leave the corridor, you hear a voice call out from behind you.

“Hey, newbie. Got a second?”

You turn to see four recruits leaning against the bulkhead. One of them — a wiry girl with short dark hair — pushes off the wall with deliberate slowness. You recognise her, the one who’d sworn to match up to Cyrene. And you recognise the air hanging about her, too, one that screams confrontational and looking for trouble all over it.

Which you aren’t. “I have somewhere else to be,” you say. Before you can start walking again, however, a tall, broad-shouldered guy steps into your path.

"Aw, come on," he says. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "We're just trying to welcome you properly. Show you how things work around here."

It smells like a whole crockpot of bullshit. But you don’t want to cause a scene, so you have little choice but to let them herd you toward a dim maintenance corridor, their bodies forming an unsubtle barrier. Inside, the lights flicker intermittently, casting jagged shadows across their faces.

The lead girl crosses her arms. “So. Where’d you come from, anyway? No one’s seen you before the compatibility testing.”

Straight to the point, you see. You shrug, slipping your hands into your pockets. “Around.”

The girl’s expression twists into something ugly. “‘Around,’” she mimics. It’s amusing, how she doesn’t even bother hiding the hostility on her face. The guy next to her — lanky, thin and with a permanent scar sneer — snorts.

“Real specific,” he says, taking a step closer. You can smell his breakfast on his breath. Ugh. “Why so secretive, huh? You part of the black ops program or something?”

If only they knew how wildly off mark they are, here. “Or something,” you respond, tilting your head to look at them. “Wow, guys. With all these questions, I’d almost say that you were unnecessarily interested in me or something.” You shake your head mildly and move to step past him. “Unfortunately, I’m not really looking for a foursome right now—”

The girl’s expression darkens. “Enough of this bullshit.” She snaps, slamming her hand against the supply closet behind you. The metal clangs loudly, and you have to force yourself to remain expressionless. “See, here’s the thing. We’ve been grinding like crazy for months just to get into the Jaeger program… and then you show up out of nowhere.” She leans in closer. “And suddenly, you’re compatible with the lieutenant?”

She’s talking about Phainon. The thought almost makes you laugh. You’d braced for many things, when Aglaea had first brought you to the Okhema Shatterdome, but for some reason, petty hazing from jealous recruits just hadn’t crossed your mind. But this is a good sign, you think to yourself. They still don’t know who you are — which means the world doesn’t yet know that the Deliverer’s childhood friend turned petty criminal has tested drift compatible with him. That secret still remains safely hidden, by Aglaea, no doubt.

The lanky one leans in, very deliberately invading your personal space. "What, cat got your tongue now? Or you just playing dumb?"

“Maybe,” you say slowly, “I just don't see the point in this conversation.” Your voice stays deliberately flat, devoid of the anger they're trying to provoke. They don’t seem to like that.

The broad guy's chuckle is low and unpleasant. “Oh, there's a point.” He crowds into your space, the scent of cheap aftershave sharp in your nose. “See, we think there's something funny about how you got here.”

The girl's smile turns razor-thin. "Yeah. Funny how someone with no record, no training..." Her eyes rake over you. “Just happens to be the only person who’s good enough to be compatible with the Deliverer.”

You scoff. For gods’ sakes, they’re really treating drift compatibility like some sort of dating service. It’s ridiculous, really.

“Maybe she's just too good for the likes of us.” The broad recruit’s hand lands heavy on your shoulder, fingers digging in just shy of painful. "What's your secret, huh? Special favors from command? Or..." He leans in. “... are you just real good at networking, hmm?”

The implication hangs like a live wire between the two of you. Your eyes narrow.

“Why,” you ask coolly. “Did you?”

The recruit’s face turns red, like a ripening tomato. Then his meaty hand shoves you backward with enough force to make the supply closet doors rattle behind you. One shoulder blade impacts with it and pain blooms across the area. Definitely going to have a bruise there, you think.

The beginnings of panic curl in your throat, but you force it down like a bad tasting whiskey — with gritted teeth and years of practice. Four against one. You’re sorely missing your gun, now, but you've faced worse odds before and made it out alive. Maybe not in one piece, but still...

Your fingers curl around the handle of the mop behind you when the guy steps forward, eyes burning. “Now listen here, you little fuck—”

The door at the end of the hallway swings open with no warning.

A familiar face — Mydei — strides inside, arms crossed over his chest. Each footfall rings out with the certainty of a gunshot. He glances at you, over the recruits surrounding you, to the fist one of them has raised.

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you here.

“Well, well, well,” Mydei says, voice dripping with false cheer. “Isn’t this cozy.”

The recruits all freeze like prey animals. The grip on your jacket slackens considerably. Mydei takes a single step forward, the harsh fluorescent lights catching on his tattoos, the scar at his collarbone. “Someone want to explain why my morning walk includes finding you lot playing grab-ass in a maintenance corridor?”

The broad recruit swallows hard enough that you can see his Adam's apple bob. “I was, uh-” His voice cracks. “Just helping get... something off her shirt, sir.”

It’s the worst excuse ever. A ten year old would have been more creative. You try, you really do, but the snort escapes you anyway, and the guy’s face twists uncomfortably in response.

Mydei’s golden eyes flicker up to you. “Is that so.” His voice is so dry it could turn an ocean into a desert overnight. But then his voice drops. “Look. Normally I’d let you idiots sort out your own pissing contests. But if the General finds out that you’re messing with the Deliverer’s only viable co-pilot—”

Something strange turns in your chest at the designation.

“—I assure you that you’ll be begging to be court martialed.” He bares his teeth in something that isn't quite a smile. “Am I understood?”

The chorus of "Yes sir!" would be comical if not for the genuine fear in their eyes. They scatter like leaves in a hurricane, one recruit nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape.

The moment the door shuts behind them, you barely dissolve into fits of laughter. “Did you see his face?” you wheeze, leaning against some pipes for support. “I thought he was gonna piss himself when you materialised out of nowhere. These are the people you want to put into Jaegers?”

Mydei crosses his arms over his chest with a low sigh. “Most soldiers are egomaniacal little freaks. Comes with the testosterone.” He pauses, makes a face. “Well, most of them, at least.” His golden eyes track your movement as you try to rotate your shoulder. “You’re injured.”

You wave him off. “Just a love tap from the supply closet.” But when you tug your collar aside to check, Mydei’s expression darkens — there’s the beginnings of a bruise, an exact imprint of the metal grating, now tattooed across your shoulder blade in a shade of angry, inflamed pink.

“Medical.” Mydei says flatly, in a voice that brookes no argument. “Now.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a withering look. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Wow,” you mutter, pushing off the wall. “Remind me never to vote for you in any 'Most Approachable Ranger' competitions.”

He scoffs, holds the door open for you. “I’m not the Deliverer,” he deadpans, as if that explains everything.

You pass through the doorway, throwing one last glance at the dented supply closet. “Remind me to thank it later. The imprint’s almost artistic.”

Mydei sighs and follows you down the corridor like a particularly disgruntled shadow. After a few paces, something occurs to you.

“Oh, yeah.” You glance at him as the two of you walk through the Shatterdome. “How’d you know I was in there? It’s not actually on route for your morning walk, is it?”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot. “Of course not. I just happened to be heading to the combat room and saw you getting in there with those four.” His eyes narrow. “When you didn’t come out after a while, I got suspicious.”

“Oh.” You blink. It’s… nice, to know that he was looking out for you. You’re not even his co-pilot. “Good thing you came when you did. Things were about to get messy.”

Mydei eyes you from the side. “Why didn’t you shout for help?” The question hangs between the two of you, heavier than he probably intended. You frown. You suppose that, from his point of view, that would be the most logical course of action to take. It’s simply just that from the back alley scraps to the warehouse shootouts, there’s never been a person to call for help. Shouting would have drawn more trouble. And if you didn’t make it, well… there wouldn’t be anyone to call, either.

“It… didn’t cross my mind,” you admit, somewhat lamely. Mydei raises an eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

He looks like he wants to respond, but eventually refrains from doing so. “Well, next time, make sure it does.” He shakes his head with a sign. “Phainon would go absolutely crazy if something happened to you.”

You snort, amused by how seriously he’s taking this. “That exaggeration is nuts.”

Mydei stops to look at you. His expression is flat. “You’re the one who’s nuts,” he says bluntly, pressing his palm against a biometric scanner, and doesn’t elaborate. You frown. Before you can ask what he means by that, the doors swing open and Mydei steps through, leaving you to jog after him to catch up.

The familiar smell of formaldehyde and entrails hits your nose. This… isn’t any sort of medbay. You squint at the chunk of Terravox’s secondary brain floating in its suspension, before glancing at Mydei. The K-Science biolab again? Why did he bring you here—

“(Name)!” The pink hair biologist rushes out, sea green eyes darting between the two of you curiously. “And hello to you too, Mydei.” She turns to blink at him, gloved hands stained with suspiciously blue liquid. “What brings the two of you here this fine morning? Is your shoulder acting up again?”

“I’m fine. No need to worry about me, Doctor.” You don’t miss the way his voice drops to something more polite, shoulders relaxing — his entire demeanour shifts, actually. Ho? He gestures at you. “This one got herself injured. Could you take a look at her back?”

“Oh!” Hyacine’s brows furrow as she glances over at you, gloved fingers fluttering. “Of course. Take a seat, please.” You follow the doctor’s orders, seating yourself between two bubbling tanks — one containing some cultured skin tissue and the other something distinctly less identifiable. As Hyacine bustles off in search of supplies, you turn to level Mydei with the most insufferable grin you can muster.

He looks like he’s suddenly found the stack of papers on a nearby desk very interesting.

“So…” you let your voice drip with implication. “You and her, huh? No wonder why you were so insistent on… looking after my well-being.”

Mydei shoots you a glare, but even that seems somewhat half-hearted. “There is nothing going on between the doctor and I. She’s just the one who patched up my shoulder when I injured it during a mission.” He shrugs and crosses his arm, leaning against the table. “Trust her more than any surgeon in the whole Shatterdome.”

You open your mouth to respond when Hyacine returns with fresh gloves and a first aid kid. “Now, let’s see this masterpiece of yours,” she chirps, peeling back your collar with a gentle precision. You lean forward so that she can manoeuvre more easily.

Mydei pointedly examines the ceiling vent as she works, but you notice the way his eyes dart over to her every so often. You file that information away for future blackmail purposes.

Hyacine winces when she pulls down your collar. “Oh. Oh dear. That…”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to twist your neck to see. Unsuccessfully, by the way. “That bad?”

“On a scale from ‘oof’ to ‘oh my god’? This is a solid yikes. Let me know what you feel when I touch it.” Her fingers press over your bare skin, and then harder and you suck in a breath through your teeth. “Any kind of sharp pain?”

“Nope, just kind of an ache… ow! Maybe don’t poke the center so hard.”

The doctor breathes out a sigh of relief. “Looks like it’s not a fracture, at least. We should take care of the swelling first.” She rummages through the kit, producing an instant cold pack that crackles as she activates it. “Mydei, would you help me hold it to her shoulder?” Mydei slides next to you, pressing it against the bruised area. “Thank you. How did this happen?”

You laugh, scratch at your head. “Tripped over my own feet at the gear locker. I’m just clumsy like that,” you lie, easily. Mydei glances at you, eyes narrowing, but lets it go.

“Hmm.” Hyacine studies the bruise for a few more seconds before she hums. “I’ll get you some ointment you can apply after the bruise turns dark. I’ll need to dig for it though…”

“Why did you lie?” Mydei asks, after Hyacine moves over to look through the supply shelves at the back of the lab. His tone isn’t accusatory, but there’s an unfamiliar weight to it.

You shrug and immediately regret it when pain throbs through your shoulder. Ouch… “Easier to just avoid unnecessary conversation. Explaining what happened would just be troublesome.”

“Stop fidgeting.” Mydei clicks his tongue as the ice pack slips. “Look, the only ones who’ll get into trouble are those guys, not you. And it might happen again.”

“I can handle it.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing. He seems… irritated? But not angry. “You should tell Phainon, at least.”

You blink up at him, confused. “Why? It’s just a bruise. Not the first or last or worst I’ll get.”

“Why?” Mydei repeats after you, looks like he wants to say something more. He shakes his head. “He might cry if he finds out you’re hiding something like this from him.”

You almost snort at that mental image. “I’m not deliberately hiding it. I just find it unnecessary to tell him.”

“And maybe that’s the problem.” Mydei shifts to stare you straight in the eye, golden gaze gleaming with a heavy intensity that makes you feel as though you’re pinned to your chair. “You seem to think that pain is something that you’re just supposed to swallow. And help is something that needs to be earned.” And once again, you wonder: why does Mydei care so much about this, anyway? It’s not like you’re his co-pilot. When you continue to stare up at him, not quite understanding, Mydei just… sort of sighs, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple as though you’re giving him a headache. “Just… just tell him, okay?”

If he asks, you want to reply, but Hyacine returns then, holding a small tube of ointment in her hands and looking very pleased with herself.

“Thank god for all the labelling I did when I first came to this lab… here!” She hands you the tube, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering between the two of you. “Apply this twice daily and try not to use that arm too much. Oh, and no more wrestling any more gear lockers, alright?”

You take it, the medication cool in your palm. “Of course, Doctor.” You slip it into your pocket and get to your feet, flash both Mydei and Hyacine a smile. “Then, I’ll be going first. Still got that fitting to get to.”

Hyacine smiles and gives you a wave as you walk away. But Mydei…

You can still feel his eyes on you, even after the doors to the K-Science lab have swung closed behind you.

The neural suit fitting doesn’t take your mind off things.

You leave the tech lab with your skin buzzing from phantom sensors, the feeling of latex and rubber still clinging to your skin. As you walk the corridors back to your room, Mydei’s words echo in your head again.

“He might cry if he finds out you’re hiding this from him.”

Briefly, you wonder how Phainon’s drift tests with that new batch of recruits is going, if he’s found someone better yet, and then, whether you should tell him. You probably won’t be here long, anyway, and the Deliverer has bigger things to worry about than some childish attempt at bullying from jealous recruits.

The concept of reporting pain still feels foreign. On the streets, vulnerability was a currency for predators that you’d quickly learned not to give away. Here, Mydei regards it like a language that you’ve never known but should learn to speak.

Aglaea’s gambit haunts you, uncomfortably. You wonder just how much dirt she has on you, and if so, how much she’s told Phainon. If he and the rest of the rangers knew the extent of the things you have done — the bodies you’ve left dead under Lygus’ orders, the kind of people you’ve made unthinkable deals with… would they still treat you like someone deserving of kindness?

You grasp at the ointment tube in your pocket, letting the edges dig into your skin. It’s like you’re living on borrowed time, a stay of execution before the truth comes to light sooner or later and renders you untouchable again.

You hope Phainon tests compatible with someone else soon. Because this fragile truce between the two of you feels like holding your breath underwater, and you’d rather let go first than to watch him realise that he should have never reached for you at all.

You’re still lost in your thoughts when someone bumps into you.

For a second, you’re almost worried that you might be experiencing deja vu from this morning’s incident, but when you look up, you’re relieved to see it’s just a janitor, their mop on the ground.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down to pick up the mop, hand it back to her. “Wasn’t looking at where I was going—”

The janitor’s fingers curl around yours on the mop, keeping you in place. Your head jerks up in alarm.

“And I wasn’t expecting to find you here, of all places.” A familiar voice purrs, amused. You blink, scarcely able to believe your eyes. Cipher is standing in front of you, dressed in a janitor’s uniform and that familiar alley-cat grin. You don’t have any friends in the city’s underbelly — the streets have taught you know better than that — but she would be the closest thing you have to one. “The boss sent me looking for you, after you missed that drop in Marmoreal.”

Lygus. That strange, familiar fear settles in the pit of your belly. “I practically got abducted. The General wanted me for… reasons.”

“Aww, you poor thing.” Cipher’s blue eyes flash with amusement. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Time’s a little short now, but I’ll be back to getcha out of here in a jiffy.” She flashes you a wink. “Cat-ch you later.”

One moment she’s there, and the next — nothing but an empty corridor stretching before you. You’d almost think you’d hallucinated that whole conversation if not for the faint scent of industrial cleaner and the water from the mop still on the floor.

When it comes to the art of disappearing, Cipher is the best of the best. The two of you have worked together before, and you’ve seen her slip through security grids tighter than this, vanish from maximum security vaults, disappear right under enforcers’ noses. If there’s someone who could extract you from under Aglaea’s all seeing eyes, it’s her.

The corridor stretches endlessly in both directions, and you realize, with a quiet sort of horror, that you're not sure which way you want to go.

You’ve developed a new habit of checking shadows.

It’s almost like you’ve been transported back into the alleys of Marmoreal’s undercity, back when your hands were cleaner and less calloused and guilt still gnaws at the cavity of your chest. Your nerves hum like live wires, every shadow in the corridors stretching too long. Every unfamiliar footstep could be Cipher, materialising out of nowhere with that feline grin and an outstretched hand.

I’ll getcha out of here. Her promise coils in your gut, both a lifeline and a guillotine hanging over your neck.

Part of you knows you should be relieved. The rules of the underworld are brutal, but simpler: survive, profit, run and don’t look back. You’ve already spent your whole life running: from the law, your own morals, from Phainon and Cyrene. What’s one more little escape added to it? It makes sense: you don’t want to step into a Jaeger, to walk out there to an almost certain death, don’t want to die crushed between metal and drowning beneath those cold waves. Body bloated and picked at by crabs at the bottom of the seabed. You don’t want—

(Phantom disappointment curls in your chest.)

You swallow, clench your hands so tight that your fingernails dig into your palms, stare out at the sun rising over the sea as though you’ll find your answers on the horizon. You would never have thought that the drift fallout would be so damn inconvenient — the lingering whisper of Phainon’s emotions still curling beneath your skin. It would be so easy to miss, blinded by the brightness of his smile and that easy laugh. The silent way he bites into his own cheek rather than bring up all the ways you’ve hurt him in the past. The terrible, baseless, hopeless trust he still has in you.

Gods, you can’t break that again.

The waves crash against the Shatterdome’s foundational pillars, seawater swirling up a storm beneath your feet just like the emotions in your chest. You’re sure that Phainon has noticed how more on edge you’ve been the last few days, the way his gaze lingers on how your fingers tap restlessly against the tabletops, how you startle at the sudden footsteps in the corridor.

He must notice, yet he says nothing. Waiting for you to come to him first, wanting you to give him that trust. Your trust.

You’re just not sure if you remember how.

You’re contemplating your decisions — so many decisions, so few options — when suddenly, you hear a familiar voice from above your head. “Hey.”

You jerk forward and Phainon yelps in horror, reaching out to grab you by the arm. It’s like deja vu all over again. “You know,” you mutter, as he hauls you back to safety, “if I had a nickel for every time you’ve surprised me while sitting dangerously close to a body of water, I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s strange that it’s happened twice.” You don’t even bother asking how he found you here.

The joys of drift fallout, you suppose…

“How about not sitting dangerously close to the body of water in the first place?” Phainon huffs, eyes the way one of your legs are still dangling over the ledge and then glares at the railing. “I should really talk to Aglaea about getting these rusty things fixed. And the door locked behind a keycard.”

“I’ll jump,” you threaten, pointing down at the water below.

The grip he has on your arm tightens. “If you die, I’ll kill you myself,” Phainon grumbles, shakes his head. He still looks nervous, glancing down at the water beneath you, and so you shuffle away from the edge until you’re safely behind the railing and his shoulders lose some of their tension.

“So? Why did Okhema’s hotshot ranger come searching for little old me?”

“Oh!” Phainon’s expression brightens at that, like a kid’s who’s just been promised candy. “Right. Let’s go out into the city.”

You blink at him. A hundred questions crowd your tongue — why now? How much have you noticed? Do you know just how close I am to running? Instead, you settle with the safest: “The Saviour of Humanity gets something as ordinary as leave?”

“He does, and he’s just spent one day on you. Come on.” He grasps your hand to pull you to his feet, palm warm against yours. “Already cleared it with the General.”

“She thinks it’s a good idea to have me wandering around unsupervised?”

“There’s me.” Phainon shrugs, when you open your mouth to argue. “Besides, I can be very convincing when I want to be. The more time spent together, the better we bond, the higher our neural compatibility, the better we punch kaiju in the Jaeger.” He spreads his arms out with a flourish. “Brilliant argument, no?”

You can barely hide your snort behind your hand. “So this is, what? Bonding for the sake of the world? Should we hold hands to improve drift compatibility, too?”

“Well, if you’re suggesting…” Your eyes widen when he really does grab your hand, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease as if your time apart had never happened. “Maybe we’ll even have time to get some matching friendship bracelets, too. Sound good to you?”

You should pull away. But his grip is firm and his smile is brighter than the sun and how much longer do you have with him like this?

“As long as you’re paying,” you say, and let Phainon tug you along towards the Shatterdome. “So, where do you have in mind?”

The place that Phainon has in mind turns out to be a small city, not more than an hour’s drive from base. It’s not too crowded, but still has that lively hustle and bustle, people chattering and walking around at a leisurely pace. Different from the endless, marching heartbeat of the Shatterdome. And the town unfolds around you like a postcard come to life — the sea salt on the air, the brightly coloured storefronts. You wonder if this place has ever been touched by a kaiju before.

Phainon navigates the winding cobblestone streets with an easy familiarity, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He’s dressed in his civvies, jeans and black leather jacket over a white shirt. It’s simple, but he looks good, you think to yourself sourly. So much for clothes maketh man… this man maketh the clothes.

Once again, just an objective observation. And you know it’s objective this time, because he’s getting stared at. A group of girls seated at a cafe whisper and point at him, then giggle behind their hands. Your mouth twitches.

“So, anything you want to do first?” Phainon asks, looking completely oblivious to all the appreciative looks that he’s getting. And as if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Phainon laughs.

“Got it. Food first.” Before you can protest, he takes your wrist and pulls you down the bustling street. He takes a few turns — left, left, right and then right again, until the two of you emerge in what appears to be a little square of some sort, filled with food vendors. The market sprawls outwards like a living organism, steam rising from the dumpling baskets, grills sizzling as vendors call out deals in singsong voices. People wander among them, holding skewers or little disposable cups as they peruse the stalls.

“Anything catch your fancy?” Phainon leans in to ask over the chatter, his breath warm on your cheek. You glance around, letting your eyes drift until you suddenly catch sight of a sign, swinging above a particularly busy stall.

KAJU BALLS! TRY OUR SPECIALTY TODAY!

You elbow Phainon sharply. “Please tell me that’s a typo.”

Phainon’s eyes follow the direction of your gaze before he squints, and then his face cycles through a mixture of horror, disbelief and reluctant curiosity. “How about we don’t find out?” he suggests, the hand on your shoulder tentatively steering you towards a fried rice stall. “I’m like, ninety eight percent sure it isn’t actually kaiju meat. But I still don’t like the odds.”

You snort. “And here you are betting your chances in a Jaeger on an eighty six, so it can’t be all that bad. I thought they might be selling kaiju testicles, actually.” You drag him forward by his jacket sleeve, and he stumbles after you. The crowd presses close, bodies jostling as you weave through. “They’re considered aphrodisiacs in other cuisines. Don’t smack it till you’ve tried it.”

Phainon makes a sound like a dying engine behind you. “What horrors have you seen during all those years we spent apart?”

“The dark side had questionable street meat. But I was starving and beggars can’t be choosers,” you shrug, and flag down the vendor. He’s a burly man in a disposable plastic apron, the tattoo of a Jaeger — is that Georios? — on his bicep. “One stick with extra sauce, please.”

Behind you, Phainon mutters something about hazard pay but slides a note over the counter regardless. The ‘kaju balls’ arrive a few minutes later, piping hot and golden-brown and glistening, drizzled with a radioactive green sauce. You press the skewer into Phainon’s hand with a flourish.

His nose wrinkles as he eyes it suspiciously. “Thought you believed in ‘don’t knock it till you try it’?”

“I have tried something like this before,” you tell him sweetly, before pushing the food toward his face. “And that’s exactly why I’m knocking it. Now eat up, hero, while it’s still hot.”

With the resignation of a man walking the plank, Phainon lowers his head and takes a tentative bite. You watch his expression carefully. After a few bites, it morphs from dread to surprise and then to relief. “It’s just really good takoyaki.” He holds out the skewer to your lips, the remaining balls glistening innocently. “Your turn.”

The first bite is good. Crispy outside, still warm inside, the savory sweet octopus flavour bursting across your tongue. Then the wasabi hits like a Cat V to your sinuses, and your eyes water instantly, a cough escaping you as ice cold fire rockets up your nasal passages.

Phainon’s laughter rings out across the market as you desperately try not to sneeze. “That’s for being a bully,” he grins, already flagging down a drinks vendor. You swat at his shoulder and he presses an ice cold lemonade into your hands. “Here, drink up.”

And just like in the Shatterdome, the people here seem to recognise him, too. An old lady running a fruit stall presses two peeled tangerines into his hands for free, because how could I let someone who’s saved all our lives pay for something as cheap as fruit? Phainon stops and chats with a bearded backpacking tourist about kaiju, pretends to chase after a couple of kids with his hands out in claws and teeth bared in a fake growl as their parents laugh in delight. You stand at the side and wonder what it must like to be so loved.

But then you remember what he’d said, back then in the combat room. I have no choice but to live up to it. You wonder if he ever feels weary, being under the constant scrutiny of it all. Having to bear everyone’s hopes and dreams like this.

The afternoon melts away in a haze of finger foods and greasy fingers. Phainon insists on buying you seafood pancakes from a stall that smells of chili oil and nostalgia — “almost as good as the ones we used to make,” he teases, and you remind him how he’d almost given you sodium poisoning with the amount of salt he’d put into some of them.

The arcade’s blinking lights find you next, where you spend all of your loose change and then some more attempting to win a plush of the kaiju Cerces. He laughs when you fail to free it from its plastic prison after what must be a hundred attempts, and then proceeds to fail himself. “This game is rigged,” Phainon grumbles, shaking the joystick as he leaves. “Fighting actual kaijus is easier.”

As the sun dips towards the horizon, the two of you follow its path. You end up at the beach, the city noise fading to distant static behind you, replaced by the hush of rolling waves. It’s more deserted than you’d expect, especially with how beautiful the view is, the sun painting the waves in strokes of molten gold. Phainon steps onto the sand first, kicking off his shoes so that his bare feet can sink into the sand.

“Come on,” he gestures with a hand, grinning up at where you’re standing on the boardwalk. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little sand, now.”

You roll your eyes but tug off your own shoes before joining him. The fine grains slip between your toes, sand still holding the day’s warmth. For a moment, you simply stand there, watching the sun sink towards the waves, a gigantic ball of orange fire turning the sky red.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” When you glance at Phainon, he’s staring out at the waves. The golden light slants over him, softening his edges. It makes him look younger, more like the boy you once knew.

You barely have a second to appreciate this moment, however, because Phainon suddenly snatches your shoes without warning — huh? — and proceeds to take off down the shoreline like his life depends on it.

“What the—” He turns around mid job, with an expression on his face that can only be described as gleeful, before he sticks his tongue out as he waves your hostage shoes about. You gape at this overgrown manchild, before you launch yourself after him. “Phainon, get back here, you little bastard—”

The chase is ridiculous and delightfully absurd. The PPDC’s best pilot splashing through the shallows with your shoes held aloft like trophies as you run after him, his laughter trailer behind him like the ribbons of the kites you used to fly together. It’s clear he isn’t taking this too seriously either, pausing a few times to let you catch up and holding the shoes high over his head — which with his height advantage, is a seriously unfair move.

His comeuppance, however, arrives with poetic timing. Just as he turns around to gloat, a retreating wave undermines his footing, and he goes under with a spectacular splash just as the incoming wave crashes over him. You arrive in time just to see him sit up, white hair plastered to his forehead and a disgruntled sand crab clinging to his jacket.

You try not to laugh and fail at once. “Gods, what are you doing?” You shake your head, leaning down to offer him a hand. “Looks like the ocean has some sense of justice, at least.”

Phainon blinks up at you, water droplets clinging to his pale lashes like liquid diamonds in the sunset light. His fingers close around yours, warm despite the cool water, and you’re about to pull him up when his grin suddenly turns wicked.

The world tilts on its axis, and then you’re hitting the water with a shout of surprise. The cold shock of the ocean steals your breath even as Phainon’s laughter — bright and unguarded — wraps around you, warmer than the fading sunlight. You're still sputtering salty curses when he points to the crab now making a break for freedom across your shoulder.

Dripping and exhausted, you collapse onto the dry sand as the sky bleeds orange and pink. Phainon stretches out beside you, close enough that his damp sleeve brushes your arm.

“Cyrene loved coming to this spot, when we were still trainees,” he says softly, all of a sudden. The fading light softens his eyes, as he stares up at the sky with a wistful look on his face. “Said the tide pools were the closest to those back home.” His fingers trace idle patterns in the sand. “I think she’d be glad to know that you’re here.”

There’s a… fondness, in his voice, whenever he speaks about her, worn smooth by time and grief. For a second, you’re almost envious at how much closer they must have grown without you. Three children the world had become two, and then two had become… this. Phainon keeping her memory alive in the spaces between words. Of course they would have had to rely on each other.

The silence between the two of you stretches like the fading light across the water. You pull your knees up to your chest, and silently remember all the things you’d said to Phainon in Aglaea’s office. Hesitantly, you speak up. “I’m sorry. About what I said about Cyrene.”

Phainon glances at you for a moment, as though he’s carefully weighing your words, before he turns to look at the sky once more. “Is alright,” he says at last, turning back to the darkening sky. “She wouldn’t have gotten upset at you.”

You make a quiet noise, a humourless laugh. “That doesn’t mean anything. Cyrene never got upset, not even after you lost those divination cards her parents got her for the New Year’s.” You shake your head, remember scouring the beach for those pink plastic cards. “Did that change, after the…” You let your words trail off, but Phainon seems to catch your drift.

“No,” he laughs quietly. “She was always the same. Perhaps a little… sadder, quieter. But only in the drift.” His fingers bury themselves in the sand. “Everyone at the base loved her. She would always say—”

“Pretty girls can do anything?” You finish for him, and can’t help the smile when he nods. “Heard she developed the Jaeger AIs, too. A pity, really…”

“An idealist to the very end,” Phainon agrees. He’s still looking up at the sky. “She missed you.” And somehow you hear the so did I, that goes unsaid.

“Well, I’m here now,” you murmur, glancing over at the waves. “If that makes any difference.”

Phainon smiles.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It does.”

The beach empties slowly as darkness begins to settle the shoreline, and before you know it, it’s time for the two of you to leave as well. You’re brushing sand from your now dry clothes when Phainon nudges your shoulder, lifting one boot to show you the sandy mess inside.

“Gonna go rinse these off,” he says, nodding toward the public restrooms near the boardwalk. “Be right back.” He takes a few steps back, before calling over his shoulder. “Don’t go wandering off, okay?”

You watch him go, silhouette disappearing inside the building. The evening air carries with it the last warmth of the day, sea salt mingling with the sounds of water lapping at the shore. It’s peaceful. Too peaceful.

And that’s when you feel it — the prickle of eyes on your back. Your hand stills, right above a patch of sand on your shirt. The sensation is unmistakable, you know it, an instinct honed from years in back alleys and shady warehouses. Someone is watching you, and you need to find out who.

Casually, you bend down to tie your shoe, using the movement to scan the area around you. Families packing up towels. Lovers strolling through the town, holding hands. Nothing out of place. And then—

Movement. A dark shadow detaches itself from a narrow alley between two shuttered shops. Just a flicker, one moment there and gone the other, but you’ve picked up on their body language. The too still posture, the deliberate positioning just beyond reach of the flickering streetlight right before they disappear into the alley’s mouth.

An invitation. Or a trap.

You glance back at the restrooms. Phainon is still inside. You have maybe three minutes — four, if you’re generous — before he comes looking.

You’ll have to handle this quickly.

The sand crunches under the soles of your shoes as you turn toward the alley, fingers brushing the folded steel against your spine. The cheerful sounds of the beach fade behind you, replaced by the drip of a broken pipe and the skitter of rats in the growing dark.

The moment you step into the alley’s mouth, the world narrows to two brick walls and a creeping sense of dread crawling up your spine. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the gloom, but once they do, you recognise them almost at once.

“Took you long enough,” the hulking and sour faced one — Rhys, if you remember correctly — steps forward. “We expected you to notice us sooner, to be honest.”

“But I guess you went soft playing house with the PPDC’s golden boy, huh?” The other one, Vesper, raises an eyebrow over shadowed eyes. The jewels on her teeth glint when she grins. “The boss won’t be too happy when he hears about this about his favourite pet, will he?”

You force down your frustration. It would have been easier, if they had just been pickpockets or even straight up lunatics out for your life. But these guys? They might not be the brightest bulb or be particularly good at fighting, but they know you, they hate you, and they work under Lygus, and that’s what makes them so dangerous. It’s enough to make fear crawl over your flesh, cold like the fingers of a dead man.

“You’re my best, dear,” he’d told you once, pouring you a double shot of obscenely expensive whiskey while the others had seethed in the corner.You hadn’t even been legal drinking age. “Only one with any brains in this whole damn operation.”

They called it favouritism. Well, Lygus’ favour had kept you alive, that’s for sure. But it had also painted a giant fucking target on your back.

Vesper’s grin widens when she sees the tension in your jaw. “Notice you? Please. Just didn’t you donkeys messing up my job,” you lie smoothly, rolling your shoulders back to hide the nerves. “Since that’s all you guys are ever good for, isn’t it? Do I have to remind you about that botched exchange in Styxia? Embarrassing, honestly. The circle was talking about it for weeks.”

Rhys lunges forward, his meaty face flushing an ugly red, but Vesper pulls him back. Damn. A step closer and you could have cut his throat open and left him to bleed dry on the ground. “A job, huh?” Her green eyes glitter with malice. “Mind telling us what kind of job involves cozying up to the damn fucking military? Everyone knows the boss would never touch them with a fifty foot pole.”

You sigh loudly, dramatically. “The kind that pays a shit load of money, that’s what.” You take a step forward, hand slipping beneath the back of your shirt. Your thumb rubs over the folded blade there, its unlocking mechanism. “So… why would I tell you anything? I’m a greedy bastard, after all — this whole damn cake is mine, and I’ve no intention of sharing.”

Vesper barks out a laugh, crossing her arms in a move that leaves her entire front unprotected. Stupid, really… This is why Lygus had always called them a circus of cheap fools. “You know what?” she hums, sounding far too smug for your liking. “This smells like bullshit. What, are you trying to cut ties now? Go legit? Clean up your act after all that you’ve done?” She bares her teeth in a grin. “And I have a feeling that that PPDC saviour boy doesn’t even have the slightest inkling of some of the things you’ve done.” When your eyes narrow, she just laughs, the sound high and mocking. “Why, I mean some of the things you’ve done horrify even us! That’s why the boss likes you so much, isn’t it?”

Your mouth pulls into a thin line. “He likes me because I’m competent and you lot can’t tell your left sock from your right,” you reply sharply, but your eyes are already at her neck. One clean slash through the carotid artery, and then a quick pivot to catch Rhys off guard. It shouldn’t be too difficult. The troublesome part is, as always, cleaning up the mess.

But before you can do anything, when a familiar voice suddenly echoes down the alley. “Hey,” Phainon calls from the entrance, voice deliberately casual. “You good?”

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then Rhys hisses, “this isn’t over” with a final glare before the two of them melt into the shadows. You stare after them, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Shit.

“Hey,” Phainon calls, closer now. His boots scuff against the wet asphalt as he approaches you at a light jog, looking slightly out of breath. “Thought I told you not to go wandering off.” He tries to smile, but there’s a worry in his eyes as he glances over you, hand hovering at your elbow, not quite touching. “Everything okay?”

The concern in his voice makes your stomach twist. Not yet.

You force a laugh, pulling the back of your shirt back over your concealed knife. “Just some locals getting the wrong idea,” the lie slips out smoother than it should. “They thought I was looking for company.”

Phainon’s eyes narrow slightly. And you’re not sure whether he believes your words. He scans the empty alley, then your face, his gaze lingering on the tension in your jaw. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze. “They hurt you?”

“Just assaulted my nose with bad knock-off Dior Sauvage.” You wave him off, stepping back into the street. The sudden brightness is almost dizzying. Not yet. “Not my type.”

“Hm.” Phainon doesn’t press, but his silence speaks volumes as you walk back toward the beach. And as you walk, you find yourself struggling. You should tell him. You know this. It’s the right thing to do, to come clean and face his disappointment when he finds out about the things you’ve done, like the person he seems to believe you are. But you’re a coward, and so you remain silent and let this delusion continue running its doomed course.

(Just a bit longer. Let me have just a bit longer.)

And so, the two of you return to the Shatterdome in silence. But the weight of Vesper’s words linger like a noose around your neck, a ticking time bomb pulsing in the cavity in your chest.

Because Lygus always finds out everything, eventually.

Your phone buzzes on your mattress like a live wire.

You stare at it for a moment, screen glowing ominously in the dark of your room. Slowly, you pick it up. Unknown number, it says, but the tone — polite, almost affectionate in a twisted, paternal way — is more than familiar to you. Cold terror curls its fingers around your throat. You can almost feel him standing behind you, smiling over your shoulder.

For one cowardly moment, you consider smashing the device against the wall. But Lygus will find another way. He always has.

Unknown Number: Hope you’re enjoying your little military vacation, my dear. How’s the sea view?

Unknown Number: I must say, I’m a little disappointed by your lack of communication. But I suppose the excitement of something new must have distracted you. Don’t worry, I understand.

Unknown Number: Since you might be occupied, I thought I should update you about the progress we’ve made together!

Unknown Number: You remember the kaiju secondary brain we procured from Cerces? Imagine this: a bio-weapon not just for destruction, but for chaos. The scientists down at the Maw have found a way to connect it to an intelligent weapons system. They’re thinking of calling it IRONTOMB.

Unknown Number: Think about it: an alien brain, wired to destroy humanity, equipped with some of the best weapons money can buy. Not as quite as good as having a kaiju on a leash of course, but we take what we can get. And that’s all thanks to you, dear.

Unknown Number: Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Lygus, darling, that sounds terribly illegal and diabolical.’ And you’re right! We always work so well as a team.

Unknown Number: Which is why I’d hate for you to have to be cut loose. Can’t have you getting too chummy with your military pals, now.

Unknown Number: So here’s my offer, sweetheart. Come home by the end of this week, and we’ll keep our dirty laundry between us. I'll even send someone to fetch you. Refuse, and well… let’s just say that not even that Marshal herself will be able to keep you out of an electric chair. In fact, she might be the one to flip the switch herself.

Unknown Number: With love, as always

Unknown Number: Lygus

Attached is a schematic that you tap on with shaking fingers. It glows on your screen like a living wound — pulsing veins of circuitry feeding into the grotesque, floating mass of the kaiju secondary brain you’d pulled from the wreckage. At that point, it’d been your greatest work — the largest intact preserved piece of kaiju brain ever — and sold for close to half a billion dollars. Now, it’s IRONTOMB. The name alone makes your throat constrict.

What was once gray matter is now covered in electrodes, suspended in a tank of amber fluid. Wires snake into its folds like parasitic worms. Your fingerprints are all over this nightmare.

The phone slips from your numb fingers as Lygus’ voice echoes in your skull. Bad child, he’d used to say. Your hands won’t stop shaking.

You press them between your knees, but the tremors only travel up your spine. But your mind, strangely, is brutally clear. The show is finished, the game is over. You can’t stay here any longer.

You lean over the bed, nausea suddenly building in your stomach. Distantly, you think you want to scream, but it lodges itself in the back of your throat, a hard, tight knot that just constricts tighter, and tighter, and tighter…

The door swings open.

You don’t turn. Don’t breathe. You know who it is. You can’t—

“(Name)?” Phainon calls out, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. He comes to sit beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Close but not quite touching. That’s good, because if he did, maybe he would feel the way your entire body is shaking. Is it shaking? “I just… got back from testing. They ran some numbers on me and a new recruit. Glykon, I think his name is.”

You know where this is going.

“They say it’s an acceptable number,” he continues, too carefully. “Fifty-four. We’re considered drift compatible. Aglaea wants us to start some tandem drills, keep our options open.” Phainon pauses, hesitates, licking his lips — a habit he only does when he’s nervous. His hands twist in front of him, before clenching into fists. “Look, I know the agreement you have with Aglaea. I know you don’t want to be here. But I just… I wanted to ask, if you would…”

For a second, the words don’t quite register. Then, like a slow-rolling detonation, the meaning hits.

Compatible.

That should be your salvation. It is your salvation. A clean exit, a reason to back out. Lygus’ mouth stays shut, Phainon saves the world again, and everybody is happy.

Instead, something wild and frantic cracks open in your chest. You laugh — a sharp, humourless sound — because if you don’t, you think you might scream instead.

“That’s great.” The words taste like rust in your mouth. “Finally, someone else wants you. Guess I get to wash my hands of this kaiju mess at last.”

Phainon goes very still. You can feel his stare like a physical weight, but you don’t look up. Can’t look up. If you meet his eyes, he’ll see it — the tremor in your hands, the terror stalking behind your ribs. That pale, sinister smile reflected in your mind’s eye.

“I thought…” He begins, voice quieter now, something soft and vulnerable. You cut him off before he can finish.

“What? That we were finally getting chummy?” You force a laugh, jagged at the edges. You think it might leave bloody gashes along your throat. “I mean, yeah, I guess we don’t hate each other anymore. Congrats.” You clap. “But I’m still not strapping myself into a death trap for you, seriously.”

You can’t stand it — the weight of his stare, the unspoken words clotting the air between you. So you risk a glance up, just for a second, and regret it instantly.

Phainon’s face is raw, unguarded. And his eyes—

They’re wet. Not with anger. Not even frustration. Just hurt, bright and bleeding, like you’ve shoved a knife between his ribs and twisted the blade. His lips part — just slightly — as if he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. Just a quiet, pained noise that goes straight to your heart.

Before you can speak (to take it back, to comfort him somehow, to lie better), he’s already on his feet. The mattress shifts under his weight, the springs groaning softly, like even the bed is protesting his departure. He turns on his heel, strides toward the door.

You expect a slam. A crash. Something violent, something final. But the door just shuts quietly behind him.

Somehow, that feels worse.

You don’t follow after him. Instead, you collapse forward, elbows on your knees, fingers knotting in your hair. A choked sound claws its way out of your throat — half sob, half scream — and then the tears come, hot and relentless, slipping between your fingers like traitors. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You don’t know if it’s the remnants of the Drift still humming under your skin, or if you just know him after all these years, but the certainty settles in your chest like a stone:

Somewhere, in the dark of the Shatterdome, Phainon is crying too.

#phainon x reader #phainon #hsr fanfic #hsr phainon #hsr x reader #phainon hsr #khaslana #hsr #honkai star rail #pacific rim #can i get a FUCK YOU LYGUS in the back????#yeah...#he's an actual hater in this series bro doesn't want reader to be happy

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thequeendesi · 3 days ago

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Gummy Bear

Title: Gummy Bear

Alt Title: Any Day Now

Warnings: pregnancy, reader hates being pregnant, cute baby moments 😭😭

Pairing: Baby x Reader

Fandom: KPOP Demon Hunters

Disclaimer: I don’t own KPDH! I own the writing!

A:N: Ahhhhh. It’s part Three! Yessss. There will be a part four!

Part One Part Two

If there was one thing you had definitively decided, this pregnancy was going to be your only one. There were some pros, better parking at the doctors, the ability to eat what and whenever you pleased, your cute bump when dressed.

But the cons? Oh they outweighed. By a lot. Between the insomnia, nausea, round ligament pain, emotional issues, swollen everything, and your “oh so cute” belly bumping into everything. You were ready to pop this baby out and get the whole factory shut down.

You would constantly complain how your pregnancy felt like it was the longest, and yet somehow the fastest nine months of your life.

The beginning almost rushed by. The reality not even settling in until your first real appointment where you could see your little “Gummy Bear”.

—

Baby’s knee bounced at almost an inhumane pace, his arms crossed over his shoulder as he sunk into his seat further. You almost laughed to yourself at how ridiculous his disguise looked. His oversized hoodie over his head, pulling his hair back. He wore a pair of novelty black glasses and baggy cargo pants. So baggy you could barely see his signature white and pink sneakers.

“(Name) (Last Name).” The nurse announced into the lobby room, scanning for a response.

You stood up, grabbing your purse. “C’mon.” You patted Baby’s shoulder and walked over to the nurse. He followed behind you silently.

“So, has there been any bleeding since we’ve confirmed the pregnancy?”

“No. I think I’m 8 weeks today.” You answered as you and Baby entered the room the nurse opened the door to an exam room.

“Alright, so we’re right on time for our first prenatal appointment then. I’ll get some overall information about you, about dad, estimate a due date. Just standard stuff.” She explained as you took a seat on the examining table and Baby in the seat across from you.

You answered all of her questions, Baby tried to as best as he could without giving away entirely too much.

You laid back and lifted your shirt as the nurse instructed, flinching as the cold jelly met your stomach.

“It’s cold, honey, I know. I’m sorry.” The nurse said as she put the ultrasound wand on your stomach.

WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP

“And there’s the heart beat! And it’s strong! And…” She moved the wand a little. “There is the baby.” She pointed at the screen showing you.

Your mouth opened a little. “Oh wow…” Your heart fluttered as you stared at the screen. “There’s really a baby in there…” Baby said, looking at the screen. The only thing he’d said on his own accord in almost hours. His eyes fixated on the screen.

The rest of the appointment came and went, afterwards the two of you went back to your apartment.

You put your copy of pictures on your fridge.

Baby kept his in his wallet.

-----

“So how much longer?” Rumi asked, looking at your swollen stomach.

You always enjoyed time with Rumi. She was your older sister, Zoey’s friend. For a while, you always thought you were the lame sister who just tagged along with her cool big sis. Imagine your surprise when two of the biggest idols loved you! They always asked Zoey to bring you along, enjoyed bouncing lyrical ideas off of you, and made sure to get you for tea every Friday afternoon.

“Any day now.” You sighed, fanning yourself with a piece of paper as you leaned back on the couch. “Could be tomorrow, could be next week.” You shrugged. “I hope sooner rather than later. This kid is killing my back.” You huffed in annoyance as you tried to make yourself comfortable.

“Baby excited?” Rumi asked, sitting on the chair across from you.

“Some days.” You answered. “He went from worried, then excited in the middle, and back to terrified.” You chuckled a little. “He’s practically moved in, which is kinda ideal with the baby almost around the corner.”

“Do you know what it is yet?”

“No. He wanted to wait.” You answered. “Which is fine, there’s more gender neutral stuff on the market nowadays.” You sat up. “Speaking of which, you let everyone coming to the baby shower know gender neutral stuff, right?”

“Yes. We have it all covered… Baby wanted to wait?”

“Suprised me too. He said he has a feeling of what it is though.” You pushed yourself to stand up and began walking over to your kitchen to grab a snack.

“Are you excited?” Rumi asked, following behind you.

“Eh, some days.” You smiled. “What’s Mira up to?” You asked her, popping a chip in your mouth.

“She’s off with Abby. Date night.”

You nodded, placing the chip bag down as a wave of pain washed over you.

“Oh thank God.” You said through gritted teeth.

“(Name)? You okay?” Rumi asked, moving over to you as she helped you walk over to the couch.

“I’m pretty certain, my water just broke and I’m in labor.” You answered, gently moving out of her grasp. The pain subsided and you exhaled. “Start a timer. I’m going to shower. Do you think you can give me a ride to the hospital?”

Rumi nodded. “Of course! I’ll start calling people.”

You waved a hand above your head, and walked to your bedroom slowly.

——-

“You really don’t want to know?” You asked, curled up into Baby’s side. Well, as best as you could. Your nearly seven month stomach separates you two.

“Nah.” He shook his head, leaned back into the bed. “It takes the surprise out of it…” He paused, his fingers tracing shapes on your shoulder. “I can’t remember a whole lot from when I was alive, but I do remember that women didn’t know until birth.” He added.

“Guess that’s the miracle of living in the modern day.”

“So, you can feel it moving around in there?” He asked, sitting up and moving his hand to your stomach.

“Yeah. They’re pretty active. I think the baby’s asleep right now.” You shrugged, holding yourself up with your elbows.

“Has other people been able to feel it?” He asked, moving his hand.

“The girls have, and y’know. The doctor.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Here,” you held a hand up.

“What’re you do—“

“Wake up dude.” You said to your stomach, poking around.

“Aggravating them.” You said, smiling up at Baby. “Wait, give me your hand.” You said, grabbing it and placing it to where the kicking was.

Baby narrowed his eyebrows, and then jumped a little. “Holy shit… that was it?” He asked you, moving both of his hands to your stomach.

He began poking around, then stopping and placing them down.

“He is active.” He grinned, looking down at you.

“He?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Just a feeling.

——

“Where is he?” You whined, your hand gripping the foot railing of the hospital bed.

“The boys have that award show. Bobby’s supposed to be on the way to tell them. No one has their phone.” Mira rolled her eyes. “Something about privacy and not wanting anything out before it can air or whatever.” She added, rubbing your back.

“Mira, I feel like I’m getting split in half. Get a swat team over there!” You groaned, resting your head on your hands, swaying your hips.

“Maybe you should lay down?” Zoey asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“If I lay down too long my legs start feeling tingly.”

“How far did the doctors say you were again?” Zoey asked, looking at your monitors for the millionth time and then typing quickly into her phone.

“Far enough to know I feel everything.” You sighed, standing back up. “Ladies, listen to me. Never have sex, you will get pregnant. And you will feel like you will die.” You laughed, holding your lower back. “How does something that looks like a gummy bear turn into something that feels like a watermelon?”

#des’ writing #desi’s oneshot #baby saja x reader #baby saja #baby saja x you #kpdh #kpdh x reader #saja boys x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #baby kpop demon hunters #baby kpdh #Des’ series

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 day ago

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pairing: Azriel x Reader x Eris request: PLEASEEEEE Azriel x reader! (or Eris, or both cause don't even get me started on the perfection that is azris 🥵) Forced proximity…angst enemies to lovers…feral filthy smut lmao(@sophieliz 💛) warnings: explicit content, minors DNI requests are still open, you can find the guidelines here

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, a fast rhythm due to the desire pumping in your veins, as well as the adrenaline and about imminent danger that could burst through the door any moment, as Azriel thrust into you and simultaneously your lips close around the heir to the Autumn Court’s proud length.

Eris groans, and his head falls back, hand quite naturally fisting the hair at the back of your head. "That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Making us feel so good."

You know he‘s grinning, his gaze is most definitely locked with Azriel’s, a similar expression probably showing on the Illyrian‘s face.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, grabbing them tightly when a smack lands on your rear, reverberating in the room and being followed by a low chuckle.

"You’re a fucking goddess, Y/N," Azriel groans behind you, setting a relentless pace with every thrust into you.

Taking Eris greedily into your mouth, saliva dripping down your chin, you meet Azriel’s thrusts with every rock of his hips, perfectly matching his pace.

The adrenaline about the possibility of getting caught mingles with raw, primal desire you feel for the two males and creates a hazy fog within your mind that doesn’t allow you to form more than one coherent thought. There’s nothing but need, nothing but wanton desire that has erased every small ounce of rationality you still had left in you before your bodies came together. Before the three of you came together.

Here. Within the Autumn Court‘s border, where Beron still reigns. Here, in this tiny cottage, far away from the Forest House. But you couldn’t wait a moment longer. You needed them, just as much as they needed you.

If it weren’t for you almost gagging around the heir‘s cock, you would have laughed at the thought. You still remember how much you and Eris both pretended to loathe the Shadowsinger. The spymaster from the other court. Somehow a colleague, but also the enemy. You have been working as Eris’ most loyal spy for many years now, and when you picked up the job you could have never imagined that one day you would end up like this - between them, getting fucked simultaneously by the heir to the Autumn Court and the spymaster of the Night Court. Them making you feel so good you almost see stars.

"Fuck, she’s so perfect," Eris growls, his hips jerking forward, the broad head of his dick touching the back of your mouth. "And stunning. Gods, you’re doing so well."

The praise is like balm to your soul, just like the gentle touch of Azriel’s callused hand, rubbing over your backside, over the sport he earlier slapped.

"She’s almost too good for us," Azriel chuckles. "Fucking perfect little thing."

But then…

There’s suddenly silence, a sudden moment that seems frozen in time, neither of them says a word, neither of them makes a sound and even their bodies begin to slow.

You look up at Eris while removing your lips with a plop, hoping to catch sight of his eyes. Hoping that they will tell you everything is alright.

But it isn’t. Nothing seems alright for a split second.

Azriel’s hands are on your hips, warm and steady, comforting, but when you watch Eris for a moment longer you realise he radiates everything but comfort.

"What is—?" The heir’s hand falls to your mouth, softly sealing it shut and cutting you off. His gaze jumps between Azriel and the door of the hut.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Only your heart beat kicks up, thrumming against your ribcage like a wild stallion, until—

"False alarm. I thought someone was out there, but it must have been a wild animal."

In unison, Azriel and you blow out a breath as Eris‘ hand lifts off your mouth.

The former tension vanishes, desire sparks anew in his eyes and with a smile on his lips, Eris tips your chin up, meeting your gaze. "Now, where were we, sweetheart?"

#azris x reader #azriel x reader #eris x reader #acotar #acosf #azriel #azris

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chocolatierrai · 2 days ago

Text

COMERTE ︶︶ CHAPTER THREE

after taking a gap year, y/n l/n got into the most expensive performing arts university: dream academy. thank god she got a scholarship! but even though saying goodbye to her friends in a small town in minnesota is emotional, she's hyped to continue her journey as an aspiring dancer! however, her first day at DA and she already made some friends... and a foe that certainly has an expensive musky perfume and cat eyes.

wc: 477

HUZZAH, THOU ROOMMATE

you took one last breath, before the key was inserted into the slot and you twisted it horizontally. the door creaked open, and you were immediately greeted by a harsh beam of the warm sun in your line of sight.

you took just one step onto the carpet flooring and saw her.

raven braids on her scalp. smooth chestnut skin. straight, sculpted brows. a beauty mark, that seemed oh so close to her brown eyes, but not really.

and the first sound you hear from her?

a small gasp.

not the scared kind, where you're caught off guard because you weren't prepared to see anyone at the time, no. it was the kind you would let out to show how pleasantly surprised you were.

you didn't even notice that she was sitting by her desk, but now the mystery roommate got on her feet, and started to walk towards you.

"heyyy!" she spoke, arms seperated to embrace you gently. you gladly embrace her back, but just with one arm. the other was still holding onto your luggage handle for dear life.

"hi," you replied, your voice just a bit softer, more light. for a few moments, the two of you just hugged silently, but without any tension. it was just calm.

soon enough, the woman's hands retreated, giving you your space.

"i'm manon," she introduced herself in that sweet, yet slightly humorous tone. "and you're roomies with me. congrats. you're gonna suffer while i'm around."

a low, but genuine, chuckle escaped your lips at her remark. "mhm. uh, i'm y/n. y/n l/n if you're going to leak my secrets."

"cute name and amazing humour!" manon beamed. "love that. come in! sorry for blocking your way."

you wanted to reassure her, say that 'it's cool', but you got distracted by your room. it was small, sure, but it was just the two of you. you two would surely fit. while your side of the room only had the standard furniture (wooden desk, chair, bedframe, and that blue mattress you've seen in other people's vlogs on moving into their dorms), manon's side was decorated, making it obvious that she has been here for much longer than you have. a few posters of mainstream artists here and there, a shit ton of pillows on her white mattress that fit right under her white ikea bedframe, and her entire desk setup could probably be in a pinterest board.

ikea pegboard, fake plants, a macbook laying on the desk, you name it.

"i suggest you go to any furniture store today," abruptly, manon cuts off your train of thought, "because that mattress is hard as hell. i literally did not sleep that night."

"i'll make a mental note of that," you responded, a small grin on your face. "thanks."

"no need to thank me! that's just what i do."

END

masterlist ︶︶ next

a/n: no dani you cant be jealous yet, you havent even met her... also the reason its 5 follows and not six is because dani did not follow LMAO

TAGLIST: @98oceans , @iluvyuandme , @cceanvvaves , @kianthegirlkisser , @marvelwomen-simp , @sewiouslyz , @gigi4evr, @avanzinii , @runm3over , @seobluuu , @yeetaberry127 , @hydrardz , @gablmk , @wwwlpgs , @werewolfblde

#chocolatierrai #our sweet creations #chocolate mixture #katseye fics #katseye smau #daniela x reader #daniela x female reader #daniela avanzini #daniela katseye #katseye #gxg #gxg fluff #gxg angst #kpop gxg #katseye x reader #katseye x y/n #katseye x you #katseye x female reader

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arabella0001 · 1 day ago

Note

Kakashi x reader during or after pregnancy smut 🫣

🍃 cn: breeding link. lactation kink. slightly feederism kink. smut. fluff. dirty talk.

⋆˚ inspiried by my old work with kakashi

༄

During your pregnancy, Kakashi came to understand that the novels he used to lose himself in during quiet hours, his so-called favorites paled pitifully in comparison to the life he was now living.

A life with you.

He carried a silent guilt in his chest, which is why he kept such careful distance, fearing he might make you feel any sort of discomfort. But the truth was, Kakashi found himself profoundly, helplessly drawn to you as you carried his child.

There was something sacred in how you moved, in the quiet way you cared for a life not yet born. A soul the two of you had created together. It was a reality Kakashi never imagined for himself—that someone like you would love him so deeply you’d choose a future by his side. A future that would no longer be just the two of you.

And somehow, watching you gain weight, knowing precisely what that weight carried, made it nearly impossible for him to restrain himself when near you. Yet you had no idea. If anything, you struggled with your own reflection, your own insecurities, still haunted by what remained of your once-protruding belly.

You stood alone in the garden, surrounded by the soft fragrance of flowers you had chosen yourself after moving out of his place—not long before the wedding, not long before the baby. You had just settled her down for her afternoon nap, or at least hoped she’d stay asleep long enough. Quietly, you tiptoed out, retrieved your training gear, and stepped into the open air.

A year spent at home had changed your body in ways you couldn’t ignore. You knew it was natural, of course, but the mirror had become less kind. You needed to regain control, if only for your own sense of strength.

After only one set, your limbs trembled with fatigue. You weren’t used to this anymore. What you didn’t see was Kakashi, observing you from a distance, his Hokage duties finished earlier than expected.

He worked tirelessly for the three of you. The thought alone softened something deep in your chest.

You were too focused to notice his presence—until strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his lips brushing the skin just below your ear.

“My wife’s sneaking out to train without me? I feel betrayed.”

You gasped, instinctively relaxing into him, warmth blooming across your spine.

“Kakashi! You scared me. You’re home already?”

“Mhm,” he murmured, tucking his nose into your neck. “Need a partner? I could use some training.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah, but you’d crush me. I’m nowhere near what I used to be.”

He waved the thought away, stepping smoothly into stance. “Don’t insult my wife like that.”

You let out a breath of laughter, throwing the first hit. He dodged with ease, of course. You managed to keep composure, not wanting him to see how your strength had faded. But eventually, gravity won. He swept your legs from beneath you, catching you mid-fall. Only for you to accidentally pull him down with you.

You both landed in a tangle. His eyes widened, hovering above you.

“Catching me off guard, huh?”

“Oh, please. You already won.” You pouted, half-playful, half-defeated. But his weight against you stirred something else.

He leaned in, kissing you through his mask—knowing how much that always affected you. It was supposed to be innocent.

It never was with Kakashi.

His gaze had already catalogued every inch of you—the swell of your breasts in your training clothes, the soft curve of your hips, the subtle changes your body held after childbirth. What shocked him most was how much it stirred him to think of you nursing. Even if he had buried that thought deep, trying not to let it show, his eyes betrayed him every time. He didn’t want you to feel watched, didn’t want you to think he saw anything other than beauty in your vulnerability.

But you… you had your own intrusive thoughts. You feared he no longer liked what he saw.

“If I knew you’d be wearing that to train, I would’ve left the office earlier.” He murmured into your mouth.

The kiss deepened. Your moan escaped before you could suppress it. In one swift movement, his mask was gone, lips capturing yours with a low, barely restrained groan. His grin only widened as he drank in the sight of your flushed expression, then lifted you effortlessly off the ground.

Your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, and his hands gripped your ass, grounding you.

“Tell me.”

“What?”

His gaze didn’t waver. Don’t pretend. I know there’s something you’re not saying.

You hesitated, then finally whispered, “It’s just… my body isn’t the same. I feel different. Weaker. I know it’s supposed to be normal, but it still—

“Look at me.”

You did. He was already searching for you.

“You are the strongest person I know. His voice didn’t tremble. Your body created life. That’s more extraordinary than any mission I’ve ever taken.” He drew you closer, his words pressing directly into your chest. “You were beautiful before. You’re beautiful now.”

He paused, letting the silence emphasize it.

“And if you’re worried about your body… don’t be. I think about it constantly. In the most respectful, absolutely honorable way, of course.”

His breath skimmed your ear, making yours catch. Your thighs instinctively clenched.

“You’re still you. And that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Your inhale hitched. Your chest swelled with something uncontainable.

“I love you. For being here. For never making me feel alone.”

“I know. Sometimes more than I deserve.”

“Stop.”

He cut off your protest with a kiss to your nose. You hated how much that simple gesture wrecked you.”

“So… do you still want to train?”

The smirk in his voice was unmistakable. He didn’t even try to hide what he really meant.

“Our baby’s asleep, right?”

“Yes…” You bit your lip. “I guess I could spare a little time. It’s good stress relief, right?”

“More than that.”

And just like that, he carried you inside. Both of you locked in a gaze that held nothing but reverence and hunger.

⸻

He stepped a little into the room, stumbling because of the unholy thoughts he was having, and you burst out laughing, looking at him and making him laugh a little louder too. You placed your hand over his mouth, whispering,

“Shhh, you’ll wake up the baby.”

He laid you down gently on the living room couch, considering the fact that the baby was in your shared bedroom.

“Y/N, you feel okay for doing this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I can wait how much you need to—“

“Kakashi, I wanted you to fuck me for so long, but you didn’t touch me when I had our girl and I w-was so mad.“

Kakashi froze, feeling guilty once again for the opposite extreme. So you had wanted him even then?

He leaned over you, caressing your legs and lifting one slightly, while his mouth breathed warmth above you.

“You can’t imagine what I was thinking when I saw you like that…”

You gasped, though your eyes remained vulnerable.

“W-what exactly?”

Kakashi nuzzled into your neck, leaving small kisses, making your skin burn.

“It turned me on so badly, seeing how your body was changing… knowing our child was inside you.” You moaned, and Kakashi felt himself twitch in his pants. “Feeling how much I wanted us to make another…” He kissed your lips faintly before adding in a whisper, “And another one…” He moved his head between your breasts, pulling them out. “As many times as you wanted me to…”

Kakashi was shocked as his own thoughts slipping from his head, this talkative side of him was messing with your head.

His mouth started kissing your tits, lightly squeezing the other. You felt so good when he massaged them, with his slow, sensual movements. Kakashi felt a throb of the residual milk coming from your breasts—probably you had breastfed before training.

You didn’t even have time to panic about him being weirded out, because Kakashi groaned, making you even wetter. He took turns, sucking on both of your breasts so that neither would feel neglected. It was as if the special attention he gave them made Kakashi realize he had discovered yet another thing that made him more aroused by you.

“Kakashi…”

His fingers traveled between your legs, rubbing you over your workout leggings, and his mouth opened wider as he felt your arousal. So that made two of you.

“Did my wife miss me that much?”

“Mhmm, so much.”

Your pleading eyes made Kakashi unable to stop touching you, dragging your pants down just enough to make your hips jolt when his head came between your legs, kissing your clothed pussy in such a way that your legs trembled, as if he was making out with your pussy. The vibration of his small groans sent your hands straight into his thick hair, grinding against his face.

He took his free hand, the one not supporting your ass, and slid a finger slowly inside your throbbing hole, making your head fall back.

“You’re so good to me, Kakashi. I fucking love you so much—“

Ever since you’d been carrying his child, you’d become more sensitive, expressing yourself more and becoming so needy that Kakashi sometimes couldn’t handle it. His desire was so strong, he’d become obsessed with pleasuring you, barely thinking of himself.

Still, you wanted him in any way he could give himself to you, craving his soul closer and closer, making you feel feral, urging him to be inside you faster than usual.

“Please, baby, please…I want you inside me—“

Kakashi’s mouth reached you faster than your begging, slipping his tongue in the moment you opened up for him, devouring you while your trembling hand searched for him, stroking him. You didn’t even wait to tease, your hand slipped inside his pants.

He undressed himself in one swift motion, his shinobi skills helping him exactly when needed. As his rock-hard dick entered you, both of your mouths opened at the same time, your legs locking around him, holding him in deeper and deeper.

His deep, powerful thrusts made him have to swallow your scream so the baby wouldn’t wake up, yet your gaze held so much love it made tears slip down your cheek. Kakashi wiped it with his thumb, cupping your face.

Both of your eyes said the same thing. Each wondering how you’d gotten so damn lucky.

It didn’t take much for Kakashi to unravel, his whispered words making your heart throb with so much love.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you, I love you with all my—“

He groaned, the words stopping mid-sentence as he felt your orgasm pull him in, the stretch of your walls pushing him dangerously close. Until…

“Please, I want you. I want all of you, please—“

So how could he say no to that…

His cum started leaking so much, it spilled out of your pussy and around it, while the last word was uttered, as he looked at you.

“…with all my heart.”

Your whispers against his lips “I know, I know. Me too. I love you so much—“ stopped when both of you heard a small cry, growing louder by the second.

She had woken up.

Still inside you, Kakashi chuckled against your mouth after kissing you once more, and you did the same.

The laughter faded, but both of you wore a smile frozen in time, looking at eachother.

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wing-ed-thing · 19 hours ago

Text

God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R (Trafalgar Law x Reader, Chapter III)

Synopsis: Dr. Trafalgar Law is the brilliant, cold, new electrophysiologist fresh out of residency with something to prove. He wasted no time in singling you out as you battle his unyielding demands and an overbooked schedule with non-existent back up. Your dynamic goes beyond professional tension, and in a hospital where boundaries are protocol, and protocol is gold, it’s an all out fight for power and control.

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags/Warnings: Minors DNI, CardiacElectrophysiologist!Law, EchoTech!Reader, Fem!Reader- no pronouns used, Modern Hospital AU, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Heavy Medical Jargon, Adult Content in Later Chapters, Suggestive Language, Suggestive Situations, Sir Kink

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III

Notes: We're back with our favorite insufferable surgeon~ The most unrealistic part of this story is that Law has this much power over his own schedule

“Do you ever think you like when I talk back to you?”

“Every goddamn day.”

You remembered how Law smiled, or perhaps it was more of another one of his smirks rather than a smile. He had dimples and a shining glimmer in his eyes, because below all that ice was something else. He tilted his head back the slightest bit.

“For the record, I find it adorable how you try to one-up me. You keep that up if it makes you feel powerful.” Law blinked with the slightest bob, like he was surrendering the compliment to you. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

***

Another day, another fucking change to your carefully curated schedule. Another day of Law hovering over your wing, another day of you storming into his.

Shachi didn’t even have to look up from his papers this time.

“Three… Two… One…”

“Trafalgar!”

Shachi pointed a finger gun in the air.

“There it is.”

Chopper didn’t even look up from his notes this time, posing boredly next to the wing’s handwashing station with his cheek in his palm. Jean Bart and Penguin were both with patients. Bepo was settling back in from being with one.

“Is it too much for you to sign your own orders?”

“They’re in there. Or do you need help finding the refresh button?”

The team was unfazed, tired even. Another day, another round of pointless bickering. Penguin didn’t even blink twice as he exited his exam room, surrendering something to Law’s clipboard as he passed.

“Maybe Penguin was nice enough to pend those orders for you, but that doesn’t mean signed, Doctor.”

“Please don’t bring me into this,” Penguin muttered like a prayer.

Law huffed, clicking around to the patient’s chart at his workstation. He paused for a moment before clicking around some more and slamming the lid of his laptop shut.

“They’re in there now.”

“But they weren’t before.”

“They are now,” Law gritted. “Not like you’re any good at following orders any other time—” Chopper choked on his morning juice. —“Just when you want to bother me.”

“Do you think this is some sort of boot camp?” you hissed, “This clinic would fall apart at the seams if it wasn’t for me. Imaging is the backbone of everything you do, and you know it!”

“Are we sure they’re not together?” Chopper whispered earnestly. Law’s pod let out a collective chuckle.

“Hehe, no way,” Shachi huffed, the very thought causing him to spill little giggles over his keyboard. His sniggers trailed off, the creases on his face fading as he seemed to tumble into thought. He sat up, turning toward Chopper. “No way,” he reaffirmed, seeming a little less sure.

Chopper shrugged incredulously, gesturing back toward Shachi as if to say I asked you first. Both of them glanced out into the hallway. You had disappeared back toward imaging, and Law just entered an exam room. Chopper and Shachi turned to stare at Penguin.

He tried to pretend not to notice, but the longer he held out, the more typos he fudged on his keyboard.

And after an extended moment of staring, “It’s about time you bozos noticed,” he muttered, his typing seeming to slow with thought. Penguin paused for a moment, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he appeared to choose his words carefully. “… Do you think our lives would be easier if they just… You know… fucked already?”

“Penguin!”

“What the fuck, man?”

Chopper immediately shrieked in protest. Even Bepo snapped around in his chair.

It was at this point that Penguin stopped trying to look engrossed in work. He spun around, joining the gossip circle with his hands in the air in defeat.

“Would it be better or worse?” Shachi speculated.

“Definitely better. At least they wouldn’t be fighting every available hour of the day,” Penguin answered with certainty.

“But couple-y flirting would be better?”

“You think you could imagine those two being lovey-dovey?” Penguin arched a skeptical brow.

“Maybe as nightmare fuel… Which is my point, by the way.”

“Hey guys… Isn’t this kinda invasive?” Bepo whispered, although his chair was still half turned to be a part of the circle. He and Chopper huddled together in the same corner, the two youngest members of the team making up the Coalition of Reason and Professionalism (CRP).

Penguin and Shachi let out a boisterous laugh.

“Do you have a sister, Bepo?” Shachi asked, leaning back in his chair with an ankle slung over his opposite knee. The back of the chair gave flexibly, holding Shachi at an awfully casual angle. He cocked his head, crossing his arms.

Penguin slid up next to him, his arms also crossed as he leaned onto Shachi’s armrest.

Bepo glanced at Chopper, considering that the question sounded like a trap. Chopper shrugged again.

“No?” Bepo answered carefully.

Penguin and Shachi turned their attention to Chopper as if to ask the very same question. Chopper shook his head.

“Well, when you have someone who’s like a sister to you—”

—“Basically a blood sister.”—

—“Basically a blood sister, you get certain rights as a brother.”

—“As brothers.” Penguin interjected with the plural noun, nodding along profusely. He gestured adamantly between himself and Shachi. “The right to snoop and the right to tease… about the doctor your sister’s been flirting with at work.”

“It’s like paying rent,” Shachi hummed confidently.

Chopper’s forehead scrunched in concerned thought.

“Didn’t the two of you just decide that they—”

“Nah, we’ve come to the conclusion as of three minutes ago that they are indeed flirting.” Shachi nodded rigorously. “Thank you for showing us the light, Dr. Chopper.”

“Thanks a bunch, Dr. Chopper!” Penguin agreed.

Chopper turned, mouth agape, toward Bepo for any semblance of social assistance. Bepo startled, bowed his head politely.

“Thank you, Dr. Chopper,” he conceded nervously, much to Chopper’s apparent horror.

“So, wait, circling back…” Chopper started, trying to wrap his head around the conversation as a whole. While admirable and a decent characteristic for a doctor to attempt to grasp the entirety of any given situation, Law’s team did not provide the greatest environment to exercise such a trait. “The three of you are… related?”

Penguin and Shachi turned their heads toward each other.

“Basically.”

“Practically.”

That apparently wasn’t a clear enough answer for Chopper. His head began to spin, his eyes darting around the pod in confusion.

“They’re friends from college. Not blood related.” Jean Bart sat down in his seat, tapping his badge to begin charting something about his last patient.

“Easy for you to say!”

“The three of us are family!”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” he said, unbothered and definitely busy with more pressing things. “The lot of you talking about something work appropriate?” Bepo and Chopper stiffened, but Shachi and Penguin didn’t bother to hide their lax attitudes.

“Who’s gonna win the war between doc and imaging,” Penguin hummed.

”And if it would technically be a draw if they just shut up and boned,” Shachi muttered.

“Don’t let the doctor hear you say that,” Jean Bart warned.

“Don’t let me hear you say what?” Law appeared in the entryway to the cove. A dark, icy presence loomed over him worse than usual. Even after seeing a patient, he was clearly still pressed about the whole order debacle.

“Nothing!” Shachi blurted, and the entire pod— excluding Jean Bart, who had been working from the beginning— scattered.

“That’s right,” Law gruffed. “Get back to work!”

***

You were just wrapping up a few more uploads and a bit of documentation when the little box in the bottom left of your screen blinked green, then it turned a solid red.

“No, no, no, you’re not doing this to me.” You tried to send your report through once, then twice.

“SORRY YOUR REQUEST CANNOT BE COMPLETED AT THIS TIME. FAILURE TO EXPORT TO DICOM SERVER.”

Fuck.

You moved to your desk, trying to open a random chart. The pending circle of doom stared you in the face. Might as well have been a big middle finger.

You leaned over your desk, elbows planted on the solid surface as you buried your head in your hands.

Every so often—more often than was really acceptable—the hospital server went down not just for Main, but for every single satellite location. And if the server goes down, no imaging can be uploaded to charts, and no orders can be released to perform imaging. And so, every time that occurs, the entire imaging department across Syrup Village, Water 7, Kokoyashi, Germa, Main, and any other office where images are taken came to a complete standstill.

You put an IT ticket in as quickly as you could, although you were sure that they were already dealing with the issue as you typed. You clicked through your email with a hand still held over your face. You added [NBUMC ALL USERS] to the recipients box.

“Good morning all,” you typed, “We are aware that the server is down. A ticket has been submitted, and operations will be online as soon as this issue is solved.” But just as you were about to send the message out, the face of a certain high-strung doctor flashed across your mind. You dragged your cursor back to the text box. “Thank you for your patience,” you added before clicking send.

You sat and waited.

Waited for the storm you knew was coming your way.

***

You could hear him from all the way down the hall. He stomped when he was irritated, or at least had a heavy enough gait you could have easily mistaken his stride for Law punishing the floor tile.

And by the time he actually made it to your office, he was already snipping at you.

“Are you going to take my patients this century or are you going to snark off about orders again?” he snapped, beginning the sentence before he came in the door but finishing it as he entered. The doors flapped behind him as Law glared, his laptop balanced in his arm. “Because they’ve been sitting signed for the last half hour.”

“Didn’t you get my email?” You didn’t even look up from the book you were reading.

“The one about the server?” Law frowned. You nodded, still entrenched in your book. You turned a page.

“No server, no order, no scans,” you sighed. Law stalked toward your desk, placing his laptop down before snatching the book out of your hand. “Excuse you!”

He closed the cover, placing it to the side as he leaned against your desk with his arms crossed.

“I have no one to see and a waiting area full of patients who keep staring at me every time I walk by.”

You made a grab for your book, and Law snatched it out of your grasp. You glanced from your empty hand to where Law moved your book before narrowing your eyes at the doctor himself. His elbow was folded, keeping your reading material just over his shoulder.

“Maybe they’re staring at you because you’re their physician. You know… the guy who could just do an exam instead of making them wait.”

“I need scans first.”

“Well then, you’ll have to need them a little less, or you’ll just have to wait just like everyone else. I know it’s hard for you to believe this, but I don’t have any control over the rate at which the server for the entire North gets fixed.” You stood in search of something, anything, that you could be doing that wasn’t getting glared at. You began to head down an attached hallway.

Law, to your dismay, followed.

Your shiny, gray imaging office— which was built to house more imaging staff than the North would actually hire— was directly attached to an extension of the old part of the original hospital before the entire building was added onto and modernized. The hall, an extension to a bunch of abandoned offices, had an old, beige feel. Nowadays, it was used for storage. The halls were an awful shade of puke yellow that matched questionably brown carpeting. Most of the old hospital was no longer in use, at least the parts that still stood and weren’t demolished to make room for the fancy new stuff.

“Well, do them without an order. I’ll sign them later.”

You tried to lose him by weaving past an array of carts. (He was a lot more nimble than you gave him credit for.)

“If I’m scanning, I’m doing it by the book. I thought you, of all people, would have preferred that.”

“Yeah, maybe if I didn’t have thirty people crammed into my waiting area.”

“Thirty,” you scoffed. “Try fifteen, drama queen.” You tried the handle of an adjacent door, but it wouldn't budge. You pushed down on the knob again. Locked.

Law watched as you scurried to the door across the hall, tried the handle, and found that both doors at the end of the hall were locked. He crossed his arms. He knew he had you cornered, but he watched on as you realized that. And you did so begrudgingly, finally turning toward him.

He raised a brow.

“Done running?”

“I wasn’t running, and I didn’t want you to follow.”

“We were in the middle of a conversation, and I just assumed you were taking it on the road.” Law stood straight and as smug as usual, his chin cocked slightly to the side in emphasis. “So I followed.”

“Like a serial killer.”

Law didn’t humor that one with a response. If you were being honest, you would admit that leading Law on a wild goose chase through the storage rooms while he demanded imaging on his patients was… a bit ridiculous. But you weren’t being honest, so all of this was that jerk face’s fault!

“I’ll take the fall if you’re worried about getting in trouble for just doing your job,” Law begrudgingly offered. His thick, yet perfect eyebrows creased his forehead in an expression of surrender. “Not that I think anyone will give you a problem.”

Your surroundings didn’t really sink in until that moment. The hallway was already narrow as it was, and filled with carts full of miscellaneous files and equipment; the space was confined at best. Closed wooden doors lined both sides of the hall all the way up to the dead end, where you cornered yourself in. It was deadly quiet. No whirring on machines, not even the creaking of the air conditioning. Just overly cold and quiet.

“Whose license do you think they yank if someone finds out I did a morning full of echoes just because you asked?”

“Are you scared of getting caught?” His voice was low, but sickly sweet. He took a step forward, just one. You glanced down at the patch of carpet he stood on, then back to his face. The step was a test. Not threatening, just… commanding.

You weren’t amused.

“You can’t just do this,” you frowned, meeting Law’s gaze with a pout. “You can’t just corner me and bully me into doing whatever it is you’ve decided you urgently need at any given time.”

You stepped forward to bypass him, but Law didn’t budge from where he stood. You stopped short. Sure, you could probably duck past him, but he was going to move.

“Get out of my way.”

Law glanced at the miniscule space that surrounded him.

“If you want to leave, then leave,” he said with a nonchalant bob of his head.

“Get out of my way or I’ll make you,” you simmered. If he wanted to stand in front of you intimidatingly, he could. You crossed your own arms, adjusting your straight posture to square up against him. It was a pitifully uneven match-up.

Law blinked slowly, his face unreadable… until the edge of his mouth ticked up.

“Last time you got feisty, you quieted down real quick. You didn’t learn to keep your hands to yourself?”

Out of every fight, every spat, and round of bickering in the corridor, you knew exactly what he was talking about. You knew, and it burned knowing that he knew you knew. Your eyes narrowed at him. You refused to back down an inch.

“That was different.”

“Was it?” Law stepped closer, and this time you couldn’t help but step back. “Or do you forget how fast your mouth shut the moment you were pressed against something solid?”

“You think you know a damn thing about me… ” You whispered. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Don’t I?” He tilted his head. His smirk only widened as he took another step forward, and a heavy pang hit your chest the moment you felt the wall against your back.

You gasped, your eyes immediately snapping up to Law’s unreadable irises. He just stood in front of you, just a bit too close but not close enough to touch, with his hands tucked away.

“I knew exactly when to stop…” he said just before his voice dropped dangerously low, “You just didn’t ask me to.”

Electricity exploded in your chest, spiking your pulse. And suddenly, the storage corridor felt endless and the air around you heavy. You stood paralyzed by the faint smell of Law’s cologne. You didn’t even look at him as he towered over you, because you knew if you did, your eyes would go straight to his mouth.

“I want you to remember that,” he said. He took one unceremonious step back. Law grasped his badge between his fingers, keeping eye contact as he pulled the reel taught. His badge caused the scanner next to the locked door to beep. The lock clicked open.

Law exited through the door into the stairwell, saying something about his schedule as he left. You reached up to your left breast pocket, feeling the smooth plastic of your badge under your fingertips.

***

The next morning, you were still in bed by the time you would have been halfway out the door.

“Are you sure you can handle Main by yourself? I can see if Nami can help you in the afternoon,” you texted.

“Don’t you worry about me! No need to fear because BEST TECH USSOP IS HERE!”

You smiled at the low-lit screen.

“Thanks, Ussop. You’re the best,” you typed. You placed your phone face down on your nightstand, setting into your covers to shield your eyes from the daylight that was beginning to peak through your windows.

Poor thing. Law was going to eat him alive.

***

The parking lot was packed. The halls swarmed with patients and staff alike, everyone bustling through halls and exam rooms like bees in a hive. Law hadn’t so much as sat down, preferring to glance at things from his standing desk that was posted up in the hallway in his wing. The team weaved in and out of rooms, cycling patients in and out like a revolving machine.

Law’s jaw was locked tight as he gritted his teeth. All the imaging he requested was sorely behind. Even with the number of patients, it was taking an extended amount of time to get through his queue. He isolated the schedule, watching the timestamps at which the statuses changed.

Law drew a sharp breath, already striding over to the exam room. With how busy his morning had been, he hadn’t seen you all day. He did see your scans, and to say that you were extremely off your game would have been an understatement. Law had half the nerve to send every single patient back, and he would have if there had been even time for it.

Taking longer than usual, scan quality absolutely abhorrent, and his patient schedule was a wreck. Law had patients from first thing in the morning still crowding his exam rooms. Patients had been waiting for hours.

Something was wrong.

He knocked hastily on the exam door, not even bothering to wait a second before swinging it open. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue, but rather than seeing you at the monitor of the imaging equipment, Law saw someone else.

“Who are you?” Law spat bluntly, closing the door behind him.

Ussop visibly startled, turning around nervously with wide eyes. He removed the probe from the patient, and as he did so, the wire connected to the monitor gave away just how terribly Ussop shook.

“Dr. Trafalgar!” he exclaimed, his body becoming rigid as he stood at attention. “We didn’t get the chance to meet this morning!” Ussop spoke a bit louder than was necessary, especially for the small room.

The patient picked his head up in confusion, eyeing the commotion.

“I asked a question,” Law frowned.

“My name is Ussop!” Ussop extended his hand that still held the probe, doing a double take as he switched hands, before deciding that he did want to extend his right hand after all. He switched the probe from his right hand to his left and extended his right hand once more.

Law did not take his hand to shake.

“Where’s my usual technician?” he deadpanned, his gaze only darkening the longer he stood in the room.

“OH! Out with a migraine, I think? I was called in from the Syrup Village location—”

Ussop didn’t even get a chance to finish. Law walked right out the door, closing it behind him with icy fury.

***

The migraines used to be worse, but every so often, when life got even more stressful than it usually was, you’d get flare-ups. You would usually power through (quite literally for the sake of not allowing the entire hospital to explode due to your absence), but sometimes they’d come on so badly that you had no choice but to call out. The instances where the pain got to you was rare. It took a great deal of it to make you call out, but when Ussop offered to take over Main for a day, you took the day to recover.

Actually scheduling a neurology appointment always seemed to escape you. And every time you tried to schedule an appointment, the doctors were booked so far out that you didn’t think it was worth it. Rinse. Repeat.

When you came into work the next day, Law was already leaning against the wall outside of imaging. You inhaled, already imaging the load of things he was about to dump on you. You were sure he wasn’t happy that he got a different technician the day before, and you were sure that he despised having to work with Ussop.

Ussop had already called you the evening after his shift and told you all about it. It didn’t appear that anyone had a great time yesterday, but you promised you would handle it… You always did.

“Trafalgar…” you muttered as you drew closer.

Law’s hawk-like gaze immediately scrutinized you as he slowly pushed off the gray wall. You tapped into the office, and Law silently followed. The very action made you gulp. He must’ve been seriously pissed not to want to duke it out with you in the hall.

Or…

The memory of the storage corridor flashed across your brain as he approached you. A burning in your chest ignited as he reached for you, taking your coat and bag from your grasp. But instead of anything more, he hung your belongings on the hook by the door.

“Come with me,” he said. The door to the office hadn’t even closed before he was reaching for it. You glanced over your shoulder at your desk. You hadn’t even clocked in.

“But the morning—”

“C’mon,” Law drawled, already a few steps down the hallway.

You followed him quickly, your tension still high at the very fact that he hadn’t confronted you about your absence the day before.

“Dr. Trafalgar,” you tried to call after him.

His face was neutral and unreadable. He held no trace of his usual cockiness whatsoever as he escorted you to the elevator. And then he said nothing as he pressed the button to the top floor.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from studying him, looking for the slightest flex of his jaw or twitch of his brow that might signify that he was annoyed with you. You glanced at the lit button. HR wasn’t on the top floor… What the hell was on the top floor?

When the doors opened, Law strolled straight onto the floor like he owned it, and you tentatively followed. He weaved through the corridors, and each turn he took made you more confused.

Neuro wing. Clinic hallway. All the way down. Dr. Shaka Vegapunk. Not his office, his exam wing.

Law popped the door to an exam room open to reveal it empty. He gestured inside.

“In. Sit,” he commanded in exasperation, as if he was talking to a dog that wouldn’t listen. You stared at him incredulously.

“What?”

Law glared at you, gesturing more pointedly at the empty exam chair.

“In. Sit. I’m going to talk to Shaka and then he’s going to be in to see you.”

There were so many details Law left out, you didn’t even know where to start when it came to your questions.

“Wait, what do you mean he’s going to see me?” you blurted. You grasped Law by the back of his sleeve as he began to walk off.

Law’s shoulders inflated as he drew in a deep breath, and when he pivoted to look at you, the deep sigh he heaved was already escaping his clenched teeth like hot, annoyed steam.

“You know what you did. And I know that you probably haven’t put an ounce of effort into actually fixing your issue, so sit down and let Shaka check you out.” He scowled, pulling away from you to storm down the hallway.

“Dr. Shaka doesn’t even have available appointments until next year!” you called after him.

“He’s got one for you this morning,” Law called back as he disappeared down the corridor.

***

Dr. Albert Vegapunk founded the monolith that became the present-day North Blue University Medical Center. Originally the Albert Vegapunk Medical Center (AVMC), the union between the hospital and North Blue University was a direct result of Dr. Albert Vegapunk’s role as a highly regarded doctor and professor. The EVMC was so prestigious, that it was also partnered with universities in other cities.

The original Doctor Vegapunk no longer practiced. He stayed on as a member of the hospital board and lectured from time to time at the universities, but his three children, Dr. Lilith Vegapunk, Dr. Altas Vegapunk, and Dr. Shaka Vegapunk, both continued to practice. Dr. Shaka headquartered in the North while Dr. Lilith established herself in the South, and Dr. Altas in the West. Dr. Shaka’s son, Pythagoras, had a clinic at the Kokoyashi Village location, and his younger brother, Edison, was just entering residency. You once heard that Dr. Shaka also had a daughter, but she didn’t pursue medicine.

But with six Vegapunk doctors, most people just called them by their first names.

Dr. Shaka, in particular, was very popular. A supernova in the field of neurology, his research, and his reputation as a Vegapunk kept his schedule packed. And from the moment he walked through the door, he lived up to the prestigious reputation.

You had spent the better part of the morning being worked up, whisked around to different departments for testing, and then with Dr. Shaka for a comprehensive but efficient exam. Dr. Shaka was with you personally for a decent part of your visit before you were whipped out of the Vegapunk wing like you just stumbled out of the most medically precise, well-adjusted storm. Dr. Shaka sent a whole box of sample migraine pills with you to hold you off until you could pick your supply up from the pharmacy (despite it being located right on the first floor). Your follow-up was in a month.

“When’s the bill for this gonna hit?” you asked your technician, Bonney. She shook her head with a shrug.

“It’s been taken care of,” she said before sending you on your way.

***

You made your way back to imaging, half of you dragging your feet and the other half speeding over to begin working on any imaging work that had been piled up in your absence. But to your surprise, your schedule for the morning had been completely cleared. Your first patient wasn’t even until an hour after lunch, and at the current moment, it was an hour before your usual allotted lunch break.

And so, with nothing to do, you found yourself wandering down to Law’s wing.

“Hey!”

You heard your name called from down the hall. Penguin and Shachi waved at you as you approached. The three of you busted out some cringy dance moves as you approached the pod, and when you arrived, your eyes darted over the team to find Law. He wasn’t there.

“We’re all going down the road to Takoyaki 8 for lunch in just a little bit!” Penguin exclaimed giddily.

“You’re coming, right?” Shachi beamed. “Dr. Trafalgar is paying!”

“He got us dinner ordered in last night!”

“So you’re coming?”

“I mean, you wouldn’t not come with us, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring the zap your chest felt at the mention of his name.

“I was gone for one day…”

“One day too long.” Shachi’s arms stretched out dramatically, wrapping them awkwardly around the circumference of your head. He patted your cheeks with his palms, slapping your face jarringly as he cooed into your ear. “We missed you.”

Penguin came over to your other side, trapping you in a joint hug. Try as you may to worm your way out of it, those guys were strong.

“You guys are being so weird! Get away from me!” The more you struggled, the tighter the hug and the more violent the head pats. “Go! Get!— Get out of here!”

“But you know who missed you more?” Penguin pinched your cheek. Shachi was trying to wrangle you into a headlock.

“Your favorite doctor.”

You pivoted, using your body weight to throw yourself back, slamming Shachi against the wall. The all-too-loud slam reverberated throughout the empty wing. The three of you looked at each other with absurd, round expressions on your lips as you gradually reeled the energy back in.

“I’m sure Trafalgar was thrilled,” you huffed, smoothing out the fronts of your scrubs as you recovered from your bout of roughhousing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. If I’d remembered that the schedule looked like that, I wouldn’t have—”

Penguin and Shachi exchanged glances, sly smiles coming to their lips.

“Actually, someone said Dr. Sanji swung around imaging yesterday.”

“He wanted to ask you about some dessert.”

Your words simmered in your throat in an acute moment of realization. Your mouth wavered open, then closed for a split second.

“Where is Dr. Trafalgar, by the way?” you shuddered, glancing around the hall. “I need to ask him about something.”

“Holed up in his cave, per usual.” Penguin gestured in the vague direction of Law’s office.

“Thanks, Penguin.” You offered him a slight smile as you scampered off.

“Don’t take too long!” Shachi called after you. “We’re meeting outside at noon!”

***

The door to Law’s office was ajar, and he didn’t even look up as you appeared in his doorway. You knocked on the inside of the door, and Law’s eyes slowly swept upward to meet yours. He sat back, the dim light of his computer illuminating his face.

“What? You’re hiding away because you’re afraid someone might think you have a heart?” You slid into his office to stand in front of his desk.

“Haven’t you told that joke before?” Law frowned. “You need some new material.”

“I wanted to say thank you for getting me in with Dr. Shaka.” You stood in the middle of the room, enveloped by a charged silence. But uneasy silence wasn’t something that discouraged you.

“I didn’t do anything,” Law said, returning to his computer. “He had a cancellation. And something told me that Shaka was the type to get restless without anything to do.”

You sighed, circumventing his desk. You clicked his monitor off before leaning against the inside of the desk, blocking the button with your body. Law certainly made a motion for it, but you planted your hand on the edge of his desk, further obstructing him.

“So this whole frigid jerk thing… Is it just some sort of act or what?”

Law frowned up at you.

“Did you really just interrupt my work to insult me?” he grumbled, sitting back in his chair. The back gave generously, allowing him to recline. He folded his hands in his lap, slinging an ankle over his knee.

“Did you really just call in a few favors to get me onto a Vegapunk’s schedule first thing in the morning?” You cocked your head to scrutinize him. “You’re taking the team out for lunch? And I heard you ordered dinner?”

Law rolled his eyes, turning to swivel his chair away from you, but you were quicker. You hopped up on his desk, planting a foot on the rectangular loop where the armrest met the seat of his office chair. Your other knee angled inward so that you could extend your leg to lock Law in place while maintaining a casual posture.

Law studied your extended calf with a frown.

“You called out yesterday.” He met your gaze, adjusting his posture as he sat. “They worked hard well after hours.”

“I had a competent replacement.”

Law scoffed, shaking his head.

“Oh yeah, you certainly sent someone, alright.” His brows bobbed at the notion. His golden irises studied yours intently. “You put my patients and my team through hell.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Not all of us can be machines, oh great deity of the white coat.”

“No, but you can actually try and help yourself when it comes to something so preventable interfering with your work.” Law sat up in his seat, leaning slightly forward, almost as if he was trying to scold you quietly. “I told you before that I can’t have my tech calling out and hindering my clinic just because of a migraine.”

“Not your tech.” You narrowed your eyes at him. Law’s thighs shifted as he sat laxly, his pant leg brushing against the heel of the foot you kept anchoring his chair. “Should I just go to HR and tell them you were poking around in my chart, or do you just need to retake the HIPAA module again?”

Law chuckled, leaning his head back against the back of his chair.

“Knock yourself out, but I didn’t snoop at all,” he hummed, the same cockly glint in his eye. “I just assumed that you weren’t handling it, so I gave you a push.”

“I had it handled.” You frowned. “Believe it or not, I handle a lot of things around here. Including my substitute— who was gracious enough to fill in for me by the way— who you apparently reamed in front of the entire wing.”

Law cocked his head to the side.

“And you still needed to be taken care of. I wonder how that works.”

You didn’t humor him with an answer. You shook your head, breathing in a heavy sigh as you glanced toward the ceiling. Law appeared all too happy with himself, sitting with his neutrally lidded eyes and the slightest concave of his cheeks where his lips were acutely upturned.

“God, maybe you’re just a jerk after all.”

You moved to kick off his chair to climb down from his desk, but Law caught your ankle. And so you stood in front of his chair, one foot planted on the floor between his knees, and the other hiked and trapped where you had planted it before.

“If your guy can’t handle feedback, he can stay in Syrup Village,” Law said, his hand firm and unmoving around your ankle. “You take feedback from me nearly every day just fine.”

“No, you��re an ass, and I’m the only one who’s not afraid to give it right back to you.” Law quietly released you, and you braced your hand on the edge of his desk as you regained your balance. “Something that’s apparently got me on your shit list.”

“You’re just too comfortable mouthing off.” Law leaned back in his chair again, coiling his arms over his chest once more. “Maybe you’d be a little bit more pleasant if you were more polite.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize snark was exclusive to you, sir.”

You puffed a slight laugh, shifting to look somewhere else in the room as you happened to notice the subtle freeze in Law’s posture. It was the slightest crack in his usual unreadable, cocky exterior—a small gulp, the discreet glance away, and the catch of his breath. And you pounced.

“Wait… Oh my god.”

Law glared up at you.

“Don’t,” he gritted.

You leaned back against his desk with a gleefully evil smirk.

“Don’t what? Call you sir?”

Law stood, grabbing his black coat from the coat rack adjacent to his desk. You scurried up next to him, absolutely beaming.

“Wait, you really like that?” you teased. “Like Christian Grey? Do you have a dungeon you’re not telling anyone about, Doctor?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You were having far too much fun. Because, for all the talk about the perfect prodigy, Trafalgar Law, and having to put up with his cold, unceasing demands and general demeanor, you finally got him on something.

“Do you freeze like that whenever someone calls you that? Like at the deli counter?”

A flash of something dark blipped across Law’s face. He exhaled a breath, teetering on the edge of restraint. All subtle signs that you, of course, in all your fun, didn’t even notice. You didn’t realize how white his knuckles were turning as he clutched the inside fabric of his pockets, his thumbs hanging out the top corners. He was calm, still composed.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

You popped your hip, confidently turning your nose up at him in a grand stance of satisfaction.

“No, sir,” you answered immediately, smile never wavering for a second. Law visibly flinched. “You should have told me. I would have started calling you that ages ago.”

Law stormed over to his office door, swinging it open to gesture out into the hall.

“Out,” he commanded.

You floated after him, reaching a hand to the inside wall to grab the light switch on your way out. You turned to Law cheekily as he continued to hold the door.

“Yes, sir,” you practically purred before flicking off the light and humming down the hallway.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III

Glossary for Nerds

Tag List: @aveocadeo @augustanna @starzbrii

I'm happy to add people to the tag list, but be warned, any blog that requests to be added and has not interacted with the series will be blocked! (For your sheer audacity!!)

And because there’s going to be explicit adult content in later chapters you need to be 18+ for the tag list. Minors are DNI on that content as it is but ESPECIALLY for the tag list.

Notes: Even though I've made up my mind that this MC is fem, it still feels so awkward to me to use she/her pronouns. I just can't bring myself to do it!

#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar x reader #op x reader #x reader #x you #reader insert #one piece x reader #one piece x you #trafalgar law #trafalgar #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar dw law #fic: God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R #fic: GSBID

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parappatheyappa · 3 days ago

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"This round's killer is... 1x1x1x1."

A/N: This is... MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASS TICKLES! .... But seriously though, MAN. This GUY is such a LER like OUGH. And the worst part is that he'd definitely be EVIL. I may or may not have made this one a bit longer than last time, but it's still gonna be bearable.

⛓️💚This POV contains: Rough Tickling, Restraining (CHAINS, BABY), Teasing, Getting tickled to TEARS?!⛓️💚

With that out of the way, hope you enjoy!

You weren't even out of the red zone when it happened.

Here's the good news, and the ONLY good news in here: you and your team are done with the generators, and all you needed to do was wait until the timer hit zero.

And here's the bad news: everyone else died which means you're the last man standing.

You could barely focus as you walked through the marble streets, your sight landing on the cheerful signs—a stark contrast to your otherwise unfazed demeanor. Suddenly, you heard the sound of clicking behind you.

Uh oh. Mass Infection incoming.

Your legs moved like it was gonna be the end of the world if they stopped. You kept running, not even thinking of stopping until you found somewhere safe, and kept running until you hid behind a rock and successfully avoided the attack.

Something else exploded in the distance. Probably one of those cardboard things where a character's face has a hole you put your face on and take a picture with.

Well, that's gone.

But it matters not as you allowed yourself to take a breath of relief, for now you're safe.

Or so you think.

On your tail was the last thing you wanted to see right now: the embodiment of hatred itself. And it's pretty obvious why.

He's the killer this round, and like everyone knows (yourself included), he has NO intention of being merciful. You shouldn't even try negotiating. Knowing him, it would backfire instantly. And he'll undoubtedly kill you.

Out of both pure instinct and fear, you instantly begin to pray and back away as it's the one and only safe option you've got.

"Don't try to run now, rat. There's no escape from here anyway."

You've gotta admit, he was kinda right. You ended up in a dead end as you ran and therefore you were cornered—just how dumb can you get?!

You could have went and stunned him right away without even an ounce of fear, grabbing the chance to run away—and fast. But unfortunately, as fate would have it:

One: You ain't no sentinel.

Two: You're not brave.

And three: You're completely and absolutely not trying anything funny even if it murdered you. He's 1x, for crying out loud!

Plus, even if you were a sentinel, your ability would be in cooldown because you missed it earlier. You knew this from... let's say, experience.

Before your thoughts can kill you before his blade does, 1x suddenly approaches you with dark intent. His red eye gleams with evil intent at the mere thought of what he'll do to you.

It's almost as if he's going to kill you—except he doesn't.

Chains envelop your arms, suspending them upwards as you yelp as a result of your startling by this sudden change of events. 1x would sheathe his sword. He then approaches you and... Uh oh. That feeling.

You knew what this was. And you hated that it flustered you.

The feeling of those long, sharp nails. The cold hands. Oh no. You laughed the second his nails began dragging themselves softly across the skin of your sides.

"Well well well... we got a little squirmer in here, huh?~" Those words alone were enough to send a shiver down your spine. The type you didn't like, and yet, you adored. Let's just say, it's a love-hate relationship between you and this type of things.

You were squirming. Kicking. Crying out loud. Begging, even. But he was relentless. From your sides, he moved to your ribs, becoming rougher by the steps. "There we go. I'm telling you, what's the point in holding it in?~" He'd add a poke to your side for extra emphasis, and then hum as he returned to your sides for a bit.

"I've got a feeling you like this, huh? Do you really want me to stop?~"

Following upwards, he went from your sides to your ribs. And it's no surprise what he ended up doing. Though it kind of should be.

"I'm going to count them all... one. by. one...~"

The embodiment of hatred then starts going across your ribs with one finger like he's descending the stairs. "One... Two... Three... Four..."

Counting until he reached eight, because your squirming made him lose count. Now he had to restart, and his fingers treated your ribs like a playground slide as he hummed the melody to 'Ring Around The Rosie' to himself.

Then, he went to your armpits. You shrieked and started kicking more as he mercilessly dug his fingers into the holes.

Your laughter quite possibly couldn't get any louder than this. 1x picked that up immediately and went to your back, drawing soft patterns on it and sending shivers down your spine.

"What's wrong? Why is it bothering you? Does it tickle?~"

After saying that bomb of a tease like it was your average Tuesday, he kept going: sides, ribs, armpits, repeat. Sides, ribs, armpits, repeat.

"Oho, yes it does. There's no point in denying it~" And on top of that, he said it in a singsong tone.

Sides, ribs, armpits, repeat—until tears began to prick your eyes and fall out like a cascade.

Upon seeing that, it didn't take long for him to stop as he detected you were at your limit. The chains dissapeared into nothingness as you fell onto the cold damp grass with a soft thud, closing your eyes and hiccuping in flustered whimpers.

Attempting to steady yourself, you gather shaky breaths until you're calm again. Your cheeks radiate red right now and your mouth hurts from smiling so much.

Despite that, you couldn't help but to feel relieved in some way—despite being tickled the absolute crap out of.

You didn't want to move a muscle due to how tired you felt and how flushed your face was. You're gonna end up spawning at the base face first on the ground.

Plus, isn't it like past your bedtime? You should be asleep by now and you most likely missed dinner back at the cabin.

It was pretty late at night when the round started, it was gonna be the last round of the day. When they died, the other seven people you went with were most likely conked out. Except Two Time for... some reason. And they didn't even participate in this round.

But eh, who cares about your victory anyway? It was unanimously decided in your brain.

The Killer won.

But the same can't be said for your dignity.

A/N: Boy did I struggle writing this one. It took me like four days. (It's my first rodeo)

I shall go and dissapear into the trenches of hell now. Goodbye.

#sfw tickle community #sfw interaction only #rappa makes it #“This round's kil-LER is...”#forsaken tickles #lee!reader #ler!1x1x1x1

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ellesthots · 1 day ago

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Fateful Beginnings

LIV. “an unthinkable fate”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: talking about it should fix things, right? things definitely need fixing, right?!

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, slight emetophobia warning (just a mention of bile/wanting to vomit)

words: 5.2k

a/n: if you know where the chapter name's from, i salute you <3 chapter names are always oh so fun for me to choose. feels like a lil thesis statement. a bow tying it all together! been burnt OUTTT lately but i think finishing this chapter has fanned the flames right back up. these lovebirds are so entangled with one another. as always, your comments and reactions make my day, and i loveee watching this story unfold with all of you. endlessly grateful !!

Coming home might’ve looked like any other time, but that was where the similarities ended. When your hand brushed the doorknob to enter your empty house, your whole body lit up. When your thoughts weren’t strictly focused on the steps in front of you, your mind lost itself in the rush of your sore lips and clawed for ways to feel him again.

Walter ran right up to Bruce, headbutting his calf until he received attention. Also usual. Possibly the strangest of all of it was that your house felt just a little bit different. Still quiet, still yours. But slightly tilted off its axis.

A routine was beginning to set; not even two full days here and he was settling into your life. Terrifying, given the secret he refused to hear and the imminence of your forever separation, but deliciously, painfully golden. Like he’d painted a ray of sunshine and a slice of gray in the same stroke. The contrast was… affecting.

You wandered to the kitchen, acutely aware of the dwindling food and the need to go to the store. Disrupting this dreamlike, fragile state felt like sin, so you grabbed the last apple and hoped it would be sufficient.

Bruce’s low, soft voice offered to watch a movie, and you ended up plopped on the couch with a feline between you. The black television screen stared back. Its remote sat a foot away, just enough out of reach to make you hesitate. Each minute decision was a fork in the road between something platonic and something very not.

On the ride home you’d offered him an out from the whims of your family and their schemes—‘I can drive you to the airport early in the morning’—but he’d declined. Secretly pleased, you hadn’t pressed it. Debbie would be decidedly frustrating, but having someone to debrief with after might prove helpful; even if he had to be her chosen victim, and you’d undoubtedly have to hear some ridiculous rant about the monstrosity that was Gotham from someone who saw the closest town with a three-story building as ‘the big city’.

The air was thick with indecision when you reached toward the remote. Neither of you mentioned The Kiss since driving off; as soon as you possibly could, you’d shuffled your library to rid of the music laced with his taste. Stevie Nicks’ voice lullabyed Dreams to the motion picture of trees, gravel, and cow-dotted fields blurring out the window. Your heartbeat kept elevated, continuously overwhelmed by the weight of his presence pulling you closer, begging you to let your last shred of restraint snap.

“Are you humoring me?”

Whatever dam so strictly kept you at a distance disintegrated when he looked at you that way, his gaze lingering longer than afforded comfort.

“A little.” Breathless again from simply meeting his eye. Once grating acknowledgements were now tingly in your ears. It remained an incomprehensible thing that you now knew what his mouth felt like on your skin. Probably still had some of his spit on you—the man had been salivating.

You didn’t want to watch a movie. You wanted him. To forget his hands from yours.

He dropped to your lips, then the cushion, studiously petting Walter like it might save the both of you from this suffocating tension. You’d come so close; to telling him the truth; to finally feeling each other. Just… so close.

Your hands wrung together in your lap. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He met your eyes again and it was like he’d dunked you in ice water. “About the kiss?”

That word slipped like poetry from his lips. The kiss was supposed to help the festering, not instill a new basic need into your wiring. But your body’s reaction told you this needed to be acknowledged to its fullest, so this awkward weight might leave the room and the both of you could move on.

You shoved the words out as you averted your eyes, wanting to burst into flames. “About how we almost had sex.”

“What about it?”

He said it gently, sweetly, carefully, like tending to a scared animal. Your mind froze on the thought that all of this undoubtedly confirmed he was a thoughtful lover. How he’d paused to take you in despite how his body buzzed beneath you. The reassurance in every touch. His restraint was intoxicating.

“That we should talk about it. I feel a little…” you sighed, thumbing through an index of words too lewd or too sterile. “Wary. But maybe that’s just me.”

“Not just you.” A slight furrow creased his brow. “Was it too much?”

You couldn’t stop a tense laugh. “I was the one that grabbed you.”

“I was the one who asked.”

“Do you think it was too much for me?”

“I mean, the condom thing—you seemed surprised I mentioned it.” His face burned red. It was so cute, even through the blustering heat of your own embarrassment. “I must’ve assumed,”

“I was the one trying to take your pants off.”

More silence. Good god this was getting awkward.

You both apologized at the same second.

“Don’t be” was the next refrain your voices blended on.

Your heart thumped, all the blood leaving your head. The black screen was the respite your attention chose. It was the one he chose, too.

You locked eyes in the reflection and nearly twisted your fingers off.

So close. So close to what?

Fucking? Screaming? Eloping?

Nothing?

“I’m feeling tense.” The words were barely breathed, let alone spoken audibly, but he caught it.

“I can tell.”

A pause.

“How can I help?”

Why did this feel like foreplay?

You tracked the slight shift he did on the screen. It was easier to talk this way; looking at each other, but not really. Doesn’t that describe our entire relationship?

Was this a relationship? Even though it couldn’t be?

“Talking about it might make it less intimidating.”

He nodded, but the elephant refused to leave the room. You cleared your throat. “I can’t even say it while looking at you.”

“Say what?”

Was he genuinely unaware, or was he giving you an opportunity to neutralize it? Either way, you pulled your focus back to him. Meeting his gaze was diabolical. “Sex. Or, fucked. That’s harder to say.”

“Why’s it harder?”

“It feels more intense, rougher.”

His features flickered. All your attention went to your breathing, and you threaded some resources back to your thoughts.

“I saw you thinking something.”

“You saw me thinking?”

“Bruce.”

Stop being so fucking cute.

He didn’t stop, instead drawing shy, his shoulders rising to briefly meet his ears. “It was a passing thought.”

“Is it sexual?”

He glanced from your eyes to your lips and back again, so imperceptible he might not have been aware of it. But you were. Aware of everything the man in the baggy black tee and black Converse ever did. Aware of every last inch he occupied in every room.

“If so, say it. We’ve gotta get comfortable talking about it if we’re gonna sell it.”

The weight in the room wouldn’t go away. This tension in your chest was equal parts invigorating and uncomfortable. You steeled yourself as if it were just another conversation with Mar at Mora’s.

This would go away. You two could be comfortable talking about these things.

Bruce was skeptical at your assurance this was necessary, but the longer the words sat unsaid the greater a sensation of drowning. If he could kiss you like that on a whim—and good lord he wanted to do it again—why was it so hard to talk about? As if he were a teenager bumbling around the very concept of intimacy.

Making eye contact was brutal. “Wondered if you… I wondered if you liked it that way.”

Endure. Endure. Endure. He buried such a significant cringe he might’ve fossilized.

“I, uh, I mean, it depends on what you mean by rough and intense.”

“You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, no, we may as well, you know, push through.” Jesus. Why was his heart beating so goddamn fast? “I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just, um. I don’t know. If you like it, that’s great, I’m sure it’s, you know. Enjoyable.”

You looked like you wanted to do anything but this. “You really want to talk about it?”

“How else do we get over the awkward?”

Honestly, he didn’t know. Kissing had made it a million times worse.

The one thing he could do? Clear up the misconception that had followed him for the entirety of his adult life—and before, but he wasn’t going to talk about how uncomfortable the comments at the galas Alfred had forced him to attend in his teen years had been.

“Per our earlier discussion…” What the hell was this, a business exchange? “I know about the whole Christian Grey thing. Been compared to him my whole life.”

If you had been expecting something like that, he couldn’t deliver.

Well, he could. But he didn’t want to.

“My friends here,”

Bruce’s expression dared you to correct yourself. You needed to stop calling them anything other than what they were. You smirked, semi-apologetic.

“Ex friends. Back during graduation, I talked about doing an interview with you and that’s all they talked about. Obsessed over it, actually.”

“Thought I had to live up to it for a while.”

He thought he watched you take a deep breath.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t get that vibe from you at all.”

Having himself reflected by someone who read him so well was an intriguing trap he was too willing to walk into. “What do you get from me?”

He bit his cheek as you gave him a once-over, undressing him with your eyes.

“You’re a masochist, aren’t you?”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. Though he desperately tried to mitigate it, he knew he was beet red. “What makes you think so?”

“That you put up with me.”

Walter chirped between you and jumped down, waltzing to the kitchen. Bruce had half a mind to follow suit, boycotting you thinking of yourself that way.

“I don’t put up with you.”

You put up with him. His awkward silences, weird faces, generally offputting presence. Engaging with you was easy as breathing. Even if sometimes said breathing ended up being a coughing fit.

“And that noise you made when I bit your lip.”

Christ.

“Kissing isn’t exactly a kink.”

Saying ‘kink’ to your face felt like dunking himself in the arctic. A smile rounded the peaks of your cheeks. He felt his torso go limp.

“That was a different noise, and you know it.”

“So your kink’s dry humping?”

“Oh my god!”

Surprising himself with how removed his filter was—and how it lit a twinkle in your eye—he feigned offense, which stretched your smile wider. It was pathetic the lengths he’d go to maintain it. “You did it, but I can’t say it?”

“Like you weren’t an active participant.” You nudged him hard in the shoulder, your attention skirting his lap.

Though you were very, very much getting to him, he shrugged. Like you weren’t mentioning sliding over his hard dick in the driver’s seat twenty minutes prior. Like he wouldn’t have bought protection and faced Greg in a heartbeat if you’d given him one more pleading look. “Wanted to help.”

“So you’re just a helpful member of the community? I’m so off-base you have to deflect?”

You weren’t wrong. But he wouldn’t show you were right. “Sounds like you want me to be one.”

“It fits you.”

“Because I moaned during a kiss?”

Moaned. He needed to sew his mouth shut.

You resituated on the couch in a way that intended movement. Action. He held a breath, trying oh so hard for nonchalance.

“Come here then. For experiment purposes.”

Experiment purposes.

“I’ll kiss you, and you’ll react. Or try not to, if you want to be annoying and prove your fake point.”

“Mhm.” His mind turned off the second you said ‘kiss’. He was stupid. He was stupid and immature and oh my god you were sitting up toward him. Saliva flooded his mouth.

“Is that fine?”

“Yeah, you won’t learn anything though.” It was nearly impossible to keep a straight face, to keep his breathing steady as you crept closer. His heart was about to give out when you leaned far enough that your lips touched his again, aching over getting to feel your kiss more than he ever thought he would. He fought—fought—not to kiss back.

He couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think. Not at all. Not for a second. Not about your lips. Not that each slip of your mouth synched with his heartbeat. He was just kissing a wall. A very soft one. A warm one. Oh, he was so close to a whine. A hint of tongue slipped in. It was so over.

Fight it. Fight it. Fight, fight, fight…

You dug your teeth into his lower lip again and he half-gasped, a rush prickling throughout his entire body. Fuck.

“See!”

Breathe. Steady. He looked away from your mouth to your eyes, but that only made things worse. This was insanity. It was embarrassing. He’d let you bite until he bled. “It’s painful.”

“So fucking stubborn…”

All the times Alfred had berated him for being so stuck in his ways when that was presumably the thing that led him to you. Something you liked about him. Something to tease about while drugging him with your kiss.

You dove back in and his body melted beneath yours. He steeled his hands from wrapping around your back, ignored the smile returning in your kiss, the way your tease knocked around his skull like a firecracker. The faintest taste of apple was in your spit, and he wanted to fucking drink it.

“Sure it’s just painful?”

Gripping at his hair with a tight fist, you yanked enough for him to wince, then grazed his tongue with your teeth. His overwhelmed body fell back against the couch, accidentally rocking you on top of him. Holy hell. Jesus. God. He was so stupid. Kissing you like he didn’t know any better.

When his eyes opened, the vision of you above him was fuzzy. His lungs ceased functioning at the same time as his heart. You were so pretty. So cool. All-consuming.

You scoured his face like you sought to unlock its meaning. You released your grip on his hair, but still kept your hand there. Your hips welded atop his. Life outside of this couch, who needed it? “So that’s why you like me? I’m demanding. Bossy.”

Humiliating, but if you asked him to bark, he would. “Perhaps.”

“Most men like you don’t want women talking back.” Your fingers twirled his hair, and he thought he’d black out. Such a calming feeling.

He wanted you to talk back. He never wanted you to stop getting at him. “They’re missing out.”

The crinkle by your eye was a stunning sight.

“Can I try something?” His heart knocked against his ribs.

“Sure.”

“Can I leave a mark?”

Your pupils dilated, and even that turned him into a puddle.

“Totally.”

Totally, huh? He nudged your chin to the left to access your neck. Just as his lips ghosted along the skin, he paused, fighting a victory grin. “Your breathing already changed.”

“Trying to mess with you.”

“Mhm.”

He didn’t buy it for one second.

He stomached the euphoria at kissing your skin and flung his mind far away from how intimately he sensed your pulse. Even his most self-flagellating thoughts fell away as he sucked on the nape of your neck, a low moan drawing out by his ear. The sound brightened every cell in his body.

“Still messing with me?”

You didn’t answer, shifting the conversation entirely with a slow swallow. You sounded heady. “Do you know the first time I wanted you to kiss me?”

Bruce nuzzled the red mark with his nose. “I know the first time I wanted to kiss you.”

“When was it—mm,”

He kissed his way from the mark to the side of your jaw, desperate to memorize those noises. “On my couch. Before Gordon visited.”

You jumped, startling him. “Me too!”

Having you like this, so close together, chatting between gasps and moans and devastating kisses. Nothing had ever felt so natural.

He squinted at you, his face hurting from smiling. “No way.”

“Way.”

How scared he’d been. Like the world would cave in on itself if he’d kissed you. Dirty thoughts of apologizing with his tongue and making up for lost time wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t know if he wanted them to. Frozen by all the times he felt this pull without knowing you felt it too, asking himself if you were thinking the same thing, right now.

You grabbed his shirt and rocked back, thudding him on top of you. A flash of worry at hurting you was quickly alleviated by your legs wrapping around him, wanting him closer.

His eyes flicked to your lips. You regripped at his hair and fluttered your lashes, engulfing him in warmth. “You don’t have to ask.”

“To do this?” He planted a single kiss on your cheek.

You grinned. “No.”

His lips grazed your ear. He felt you stiffen beneath him, and knew you heard his shaky exhale. The room closed in. The heat of his breath decorated the space.

He nipped at your earlobe. “What about that?”

Your exhale was longer, slower. Your cheek pressed to his set him on fire.

A voice so familiar—shifted. “Trying to seduce me?”

His heart couldn’t decide if it was speeding or stopping. “Is it working?”

You grabbed his jaw, dragging him to look at you as you nodded. “Yes.”

He papered your smile to the walls of his brain like a coat of fresh paint. Gotham breathed right down his neck but he barely felt it.

You anchored your hands around his shoulders. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Tired of cryptic answers and incapable of giving one when you looked at him like that, he started to unfurl. “Yes.”

Bruce went in slowly for another kiss, an experiment of feeling. He levitated higher with every centimeter gained, eyes instinctually falling shut when your lips touched. As if the taste of you was the only thing keeping him alive. He loved this. From the tenor of your voice to the jokes he could never glean the intent of, to the curl of your hair into the couch, he loved—

You lifted your head up to press into the kiss; unable to metabolize this much feeling, he smiled first this time, and you laughed into his open mouth. Bliss. It was impossible to isolate one feeling; you were every last thing.

If he was kissing you, he couldn’t see you, and if he could see you, he couldn’t kiss you. There had to be a way to rectify such crushing tragedy. Your legs tightened around him as he pulled away to admire you, pressing his hips into yours with an overcoming pressure.

Except when his eyes opened he didn’t see bright eyes or a beaming smile; your face was set in a gray pallor, framed with a bouquet of hot, fresh blood. Abullet threaded between your brows.

It was gone as quickly as it came but the feeling remained, leaving behind a gnarly bruise. Bile rose in the back of his throat. What the hell did he think he was doing?

Gotham was rotting while he acted like a careless, infatuated kid. He sat back, disconnecting your bodies.

“You alright?”

Not in any sense of the word. “Let’s not go there.”

“Okay.”

He couldn’t get up to leave again, but he really needed to puke. In the meantime, his heart sunk into the acidic pool of his gut. It’d become a whole thing if he showed it.

Brucerolled off the couch, landing on his knees on the floor. Being lower than you didn’t help. “I don’t want to lead you on.”

The confusion on your face was incredibly kind. Like he didn’t hold the capacity to do such a thing, like it wouldn’t even cross your mind. His teeth stung from acid. Breaths became tight and shallow, the walls of your home closing in on him from the inside.

“You’re not. You’ve been really clear. I’m sorry for pushing it.”

“We both did.” Bruce ripped in half by dueling parts that wanted to care and needed to run. “I don’t want to disappoint, but,” he didn’t have any better way to say it. “No.”

You put your hand on his thigh and called him to you with such convicting eye contact he had no choice but to attune to it. His body ached, and his panic was thinly veiled. “I don’t care about fucking, or kissing. I like just being around you.”

He couldn’t belong to anyone. Moments like this convinced him he already did. He wanted to die.

“Friends.”

“Yeah.”

You straightened on the couch and pulled your knees up, shaking out the past few minutes like it was so simple. All he could manage was forcing himself to not pass out.

“Want to talk about boundaries?”

He nodded, swallowing the cup of vomit in his mouth. It left behind an acrid taste. “Let’s not kiss anymore either.”

“Got it.” A grin was lent to him, but he could hardly register it. “What about at city hall meetings? What do we do for those? Is it any different when we’re in public together?”

“We can… do quick ones.”

He chanced a glance your way to show that he was listening, and a stream of blood globbed out from the bullet wound. The carpet was a welcome sight.

“Holding my waist, holding hands…?”

This was the first time ever he never wanted to see you again.

“All that’s fine.”Whatever got you out of the room the fastest.

“What about talking about sex? Like we did with Oz?”

Suddenly your conversation was coming to you so naturally, at the worst possible point. Words slipping out without worry or concern. He needed a break.

Oz. Fuck. He’d be walking you right back into the blast radius. He gripped a tuft of carpet, feeling the strain on the fluff. “Sure.”

Performance art. A performance that would get you killed, but what did you ever care about that?

“Sounds good. What about with my parents?”

Jesus, you couldn’t slow down?

“You know them.”

“Obviously we’re not gonna make out in front of them. Hand holding? Hugs? Leaning on your shoulder? That sort of thing?”

Had you rehearsed this? How were you able to speak so fluently? Were you not as into it as he was? Had been?

You were naive, and he kept excusing it. You never saw the risk here. You acted like he was a shield and not the weapon itself. It’d get you choking on your own blood.

“Just none of that in private.” End the conversation! “Let’s keep things platonic.”

This created a pause, but he couldn’t look at you to see what might’ve prompted it. You made a noise like you were thinking. “Can I still like, nudge you if you’re being annoying?”

Sure, whatever. “Yeah.”

“Good. Didn’t want to miss out on that.” You laughed. Why the hell were you laughing? “What about hugs in private?”

He didn’t want to touch you ever again. Not ever. Could barely stomach being in the same room. “If you need one.”

“What if I want one? Platonically?”

Why were you so insistent on putting yourself in harm’s way? For what? Why couldn’t you accept him for what he was?

He knew it’d be an argument if he disagreed, so he bit back his good sense. “Platonic. Strictly. This won’t happen. I want that to be clear.”

“It is.” You rustled above him on the couch. The crunch of the cat eating in the other room stabbed his ears.

Your sigh was a goddamn knife. “Me wanting to know you isn’t wrapped up in a fantasy, by the way. Being your friend is most important to me. I just feel comfortable with you.”

Five one thousand, six one thousand, seven one thousand, eight one thousand.

“I don’t want that comfort mistaken for flirting if I’m—loose and normal around you. I’ve been told I’m a lot when I like being around someone.”

His cue to look up, but he couldn’t. His body stopped working.

“Promise I’m not flirting, this point forward.”

“Won’t read into it.”

A sinking feeling of termination circled his thoughts. Would he need to break this off sooner, whatever this was? Go no contact after you left in November?

“Do you want to be close? As friends?”

Not you reading his mind again.

“Or do you want, just, strictly business? Because I don’t want to impose, but I would really like to be friends. Good friends.”

He set his jaw so tightly he swore he felt a molar split. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at that.”

“You’ve been great so far. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.��

An out. His fingers started to tingle. “I uh,”

“Can you look at me?”

Fuck.

His gaze dragged to yours. Concern wore you. A contrast from your pretty eyes, rimmed with blood.

“You seem really upset.”

A lie came easily for someone whose brain wasn’t functioning. “Your parents. Not used to that.”

“What do you need? You can go tonight if you’d like, seriously. No hard feelings.”

“I need some sleep.”

He’d check in on things in the morning, because he couldn’t agree to shit right now.

“Wantto sleep right now?”

“Sure.”

“Wanna leave Tuesday morning, then?”

“Yeah.”

Thoughhis vision was entirely blurry, he could tell by your body language that the last thing you wanted to do was leave. That you didn’t buy his answer, but didn’t think you had the right to push it.

You got up and Walter raced from the kitchen to bump your leg. You knelt to pet him, and gave Bruce a somber look. “If you’re hungry you can always doordash something. You can text me for the information to my account so they won’t know it’s you.”

“Sounds good.”

Another lie.

“I’ll text you. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The same shit. Same fucking shit. He couldn’t be alone with you anymore.

You shut your door carefully, thoroughly confused. He’d seemed to like kissing you. Until he realized he was kissing you, and that you liked it. Like the first time when he’d just up and left the room.

Before you forgot, you pulled up his texts. You couldn’t believe this was becoming a normal occurence. You doubted he’d eat but you texted the information anyway, at least providing him the opportunity. He was so set on barely existing. Being as small as humanly possible, subsisting off nothing more than spite and the occasional bite of fruit.

Changed from your going out clothes into baggy pajamas, you plopped into bed and nursed a cacophony of emotion. His kiss. His rejection. His insistence on closeness and distance. You thought of what Mar might say in such a situation, that he was a commitment-phobe who got off on fucking with you. His resistance was more robust than that.

He resembled a feral cat. Skittish. Wanting affection but petrified of it. What the fuck was so scary about it? Oz? He already thought you were together anyway. Not ‘actually’ dating would make things easier? What was so easy about the current dance?

Staring at your ceiling proved surprisingly fruitful for sifting through the weekend’s conversation. After disentangling your own insecurities from his statements, it became increasingly suspicious how he said he couldn’t have anyone around him. His responses were dodgy, but honest.

But still fucking dodgy.

He felt similarly, and he liked you, and you’d never seen him smile that way. Was it wishful thinking that painted those grins technicolor? A crush injecting meaning into placation? He said he’d learned to play a part, what was to say this wasn’t another?

You pulled the covers over and rolled on your side, sick of this endless game of ping-pong.

Taking him at a face value. He liked you, then. He wanted to be with you, then. But he couldn’t. And he wanted to be friends. You’d spend the same amount of time together anyway, be living together regardless. Why did he want no closeness whatsoever outside of publicity stunts?

An hour of reciting every word he’d ever said to you later, the room transformed into a merry-go-round. The awareness of your parent’s return took up most brain space.

You shot up in bed. Duh!

When you linked the thread of his parents to this, incorporated his visceral sense of blame, it was like the whole world fell into place.

You looked at the door like it might make him materialize.

He wasn’t bad. He wouldn’t hurt you. Especially not as a friend. But how could you show him that?

A car woke Bruce up. He hadn’t thought he’d slept.

Walter stretched on his chest, walking his leaden paws down the most sensitive parts of his leg toward the door. He heard voices that sounded a lot like your parents, plus another he couldn’t place.

He checked his phone, dwindling on a meager two percent. Eight in the morning?

Stumbling off the couch, he made it halfway down the hall toward your room when he circled back and adjusted the cushions. Ran to the kitchen and put the (very few) dishes into the sink, tossed the half of an apple left on the counter, and pulled the tablecloth evenly across the dining table.

Someone jingled the lock and Bruce bolted down the hall to knock at your door. He rubbed sweaty palms on his pants, vibrating with anxiety. He’d be gone tomorrow anyway, there was no reason to feel like this. Meeting people he’d already met.

You opened with a squint like you’d been in pure REM. “What’s going on?”

His jaw threatened to bolt shut in such close proximity. “They’re here.”

“We’re back! Deb—don’t let out Walter.”

He stuttered to the side to allow you to pass, feeling reserved. Bruce ran his hands through his hair as a makeshift brush, and you caught it in yours on the way down. Warm, soft hands gave his a squeeze. “You’re perfect, don’t worry.”

Interlaced fingers separated as you stepped ahead. That hadn’t sounded sarcastic.

“Wait, wait.” You spun around and peered at his hair, taking initiative to flip a few tendrils to either side and smooth what he assumed were flyaways. Your smile showed your teeth, and you gave him an encouraging pat on the chest when you finished. A smile died between his thoughts and his lips.

All he saw was a walking funeral date when you skipped down the hall. He couldn’t entertain such an unthinkable fate.

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atopvisenyashill · 3 days ago

Note

What do you think about the relationship of Dany with her dragons?

Certainly interesting! Let's dig in a bit.

VISERION

I guess let's start with the negative - Viserion. There's a whole lot that hints that Viserion is going to bond with someone who is not aligned with Dany, whether through a dragon binder horn or a regular bond, and might even potentially be responsible for Rhaegal's death, or die in a fight against Rhaegal.

Rhaegal and Viserion were fighting over a scrap of meat, buffeting each other with their wings as smoke hissed from their nostrils. My furious children, she thought. They must not come to harm.

Viserion's scales were the color of fresh cream, his horns, wing bones, and spinal crest a dark gold that flashed bright as metal in the sun. Rhaegal was made of the green of summer and the bronze of fall. They soared above the ships in wide circles, higher and higher, each trying to climb above the other.

"Well, how long does a dragon live?" She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails.

"The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times," the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other. "Once for blood and once for gold and once for love." Dany was not like to forget. "Mirri Maz Duur was the first." "Which means two traitors yet remain . . . and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you." Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion's tail, to pull him off his green brother.

"There was no sign of Viserion, but when she went to the parapet and scanned the horizon she saw pale wings in the far distance, sweeping above the river. He is hunting. They grow bolder every day. Yet it still made her anxious when they flew too far away. One day one of them may not return, she thought.

Dany had commanded that the top be removed, so her three dragons might be chained to the platform. Irri and Jhiqui rode with them, to try and keep them calm. Yet Viserion's tail lashed back and forth, and smoke rose angry from his nostrils. Rhaegal could sense something wrong as well. Thrice he tried to take wing, only to be pulled down by the heavy chain in Jhiqui's hand. Drogon coiled into a ball, wings and tail tucked tight. Only his eyes remained to tell that he was not asleep.

Her captains bowed and left her with her handmaids and her dragons. But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. One of the wings buffeted the sellsword in his face. The white dragon landed awkwardly with one foot on the man's head and one on his shoulder, shrieked, and flew off again. "He likes you, Ben," said Dany.

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks. Rhaegal, still chained, was gnawing on the carcass of a bull. The bones on the floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only earth and stone. Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of old Valyria? She hoped not.

There's a lot of "gold means treachery" stuff within her chapters too, as well as Missandei having similar colored eyes - which is all to say I think Viserion's fate looks bleak no matter what happens. I go back and forth on whether Viserion will be bound using a dragon horn by Euron or someone will actually ride him. I know people think it's going to be Tyrion who rides him, certainly I can't discount all the Viserys-Tyrion connections. But I think it's very notable here that Tyrion's connections are to Viserys II and not Viserys the First. Viserys II was a) not a King for long but rather the power "behind the throne" b) did not have a hatched cradle egg c) never rode a dragon. Very different from the two other Viserii kings - Viserys the First was "betrayed" by the Hightowers and Viserys the Third was also "betrayed" by Khal Drogo. Visenya and Vhagar, as well as Meraxes are also a bit important here - the line of Targaryen Kings does not descend from Visenya, Vhagar dies in a fight against another dragon, and Meraxes (who is similarly colored) is killed by a scorpion bolt.

I think this combination - two Viserii and a Vhagar who are "betrayed", one in the Reach, one in a dragon battle, and one in a foreign land by a "barbarian" king points us to Viserion's fate. Not that Tyrion will ride him (because Viserys II rides no dragon and has no hatchling) but that Viserion will "betray" Dany by having a rider that is not aligned with her, likely Euron, and die fighting against one of his brothers.

RHAEGAL

In many ways, I find Rhaegal to be trickier to figure out than Viserion. Similar to Viserion, there's some curious stuff here and some of it is negative-

Across the tent, Rhaegal unfolded green wings to flap and flutter a half foot before thumping to the carpet. When he landed, his tail lashed back and forth in fury, and he raised his head and screamed.

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin.

She stroked Rhaegal. The green dragon closed his teeth around the meat of her hand and nipped hard...As Dany lifted her goblet to drink, Rhaegal sniffed at the wine and drew his head back, hissing. "Your dragon has a good nose." Xaro wiped his lips. "The wine is ordinary. It is said that across the Jade Sea they make a golden vintage so fine that one sip makes all other wines taste like vinegar. Let us take my pleasure barge and go in search of it, you and I."

She took a chunk of salt pork out of the bowl in her lap and held it up for her dragons to see. All three of them eyed it hungrily. Rhaegal spread green wings and stirred the air, and Viserion's neck swayed back and forth like a long pale snake's as he followed the movement of her hand. "Drogon," Dany said softly, "dracarys." And she tossed the pork in the air. Drogon moved quicker than a striking cobra. Flame roared from his mouth, orange and scarlet and black, searing the meat before it began to fall. As his sharp black teeth snapped shut around it, Rhaegal's head darted close, as if to steal the prize from his brother's jaws, but Drogon swallowed and screamed, and the smaller green dragon could only hiss in frustration. "Stop that, Rhaegal," Dany said in annoyance, giving his head a swat. "You had the last one. I'll have no greedy dragons."

They had chained [Viserion] whilst he slept. Rhaegal had been harder. Perhaps he could hear his brother raging in the pit, despite the walls of brick and stone between them. In the end, they had to cover him with a net of heavy iron chain as he basked on her terrace, and he fought so fiercely that it had taken three days to carry him down the servants' steps, twisting and snapping. Six men had been burned in the struggle.

Interesting to me that Rhaegal is grumpier, wilder, more untrained as an animal than Viserion, starting fights with Viserion just as often as Viserion starts fights with Rhaegal. Despite that, these two do seem closer to each other than to Drogon - it could be a sign that their riders are aligned, it could just be a way to differentiate them from Drogon. The reference to "the green of summer" reminds me too much of the "green children" theme that comes up - the green knights of summer of the Reach, the green Vale knights, the green girls of Margaery's court, etc. There's a lot of Reacher imagery there associated with "the green of summer" which obviously points to Hightowers, to the Greens....and to betrayal.

So similar to Viserion, I think Rhaegal is being set up here for a dragon fight. Rhaegal being particularly aggressive makes me wonder if he wins, or perhaps he/his rider is the one who starts the fight. Perhaps it's a hot head thing, a "green boy" sort of thing - Rhaegal's rider rushes off to battle against Viserion, puts up a good fight, but ultimately both dragons/Rhaegal and his rider die. I think the focus on Viserion being "missing" in some scenes means he will die first, but it could mean that he literally leaves first, and dies second, while Rhaegal is first - I don't know that I could say concretely which one.

Then we get into the names & Conquerer dragons - Rhaegar, Rhaenys, and probably the other Rhae- names like Rhaegel, Rhaella, Rhaena, Rhae, Rhaelle, and Rhaenyra. Here is a great meta from the lovely @transdimensional-void about the Rhae- prefix and the themes there. I think it's interesting Rhaegar & the Rhaegæls are so tied to women's names, to women who were usurped, and to women who struggled with fertility. Again, I don't know that I would say definitively what all of this means and who will ride Rhaegal and how he will die. But I think all of this does mean he's going to die - I think it's more likely Rhaegal survives the dragon fight and gets shot by a scorpion but I think it's honestly just as likely that Viserion is the one that dies and Rhaegal, like Meraxes, is the one who gets shot by the scorpion. As for a rider, I think both Aegon and Jon are clearly in the conversation, more clearly than Tyrion for me, and all of this green imagery makes me think it's going to be Aegon that attempts to ride him rather than Jon but it could be both?

DROGON

Drogon is by far the hardest to predict.

"A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead." Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany's heart. "Dead?" she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. "You are certain? The Usurper is dead?"

"This changes everything." Dany rose abruptly. Screeching, her dragons uncoiled and spread their wings. Drogon flapped and clawed up to the lintel over the archway. The others skittered across the floor, wingtips scrabbling on the marble.

She understood now why Xaro Xhoan Daxos called it the Palace of Dust. Even Drogon seemed disquieted by the sight of it. The black dragon hissed, smoke seeping out between his sharp teeth.

The long hall went on and on and on, with endless doors to her left and only torches to her right. She ran past more doors than she could count, closed doors and open ones, doors of wood and doors of iron, carved doors and plain ones, doors with pulls and doors with locks and doors with knockers. Drogon lashed against her back, urging her on, and Dany ran until she could run no more.

Upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair. "Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said to a man below him. "Let him be the king of ashes." Drogon shrieked, his claws digging through silk and skin, but the king on his throne never heard, and Dany moved on.

Ten thousand slaves lifted bloodstained hands as she raced by on her silver, riding like the wind. "Mother!" they cried. "Mother, mother!" They were reaching for her, touching her, tugging at her cloak, the hem of her skirt, her foot, her leg, her breast. They wanted her, needed her, the fire, the life, and Dany gasped and opened her arms to give herself to them . . . But then black wings buffeted her round the head, and a scream of fury cut the indigo air, and suddenly the visions were gone, ripped away, and Dany's gasp turned to horror. The Undying were all around her, blue and cold, whispering as they reached for her, pulling, stroking, tugging at her clothes, touching her with their dry cold hands, twining their fingers through her hair. All the strength had left her limbs. She could not move. Even her heart had ceased to beat. She felt a hand on her bare breast, twisting her nipple. Teeth found the soft skin of her throat. A mouth descended on one eye, licking, sucking, biting . . . Then indigo turned to orange, and whispers turned to screams. Her heart was pounding, racing, the hands and mouths were gone, heat washed over her skin, and Dany blinked at a sudden glare. Perched above her, the dragon spread his wings and tore at the terrible dark heart, ripping the rotten flesh to ribbons, and when his head snapped forward, fire flew from his open jaws, bright and hot. She could hear the shrieks of the Undying as they burned, their high thin papery voices crying out in tongues long dead. Their flesh was crumbling parchment, their bones dry wood soaked in tallow. They danced as the flames consumed them; they staggered and writhed and spun and raised blazing hands on high, their fingers bright as torches. Dany pushed herself to her feet and bulled through them. They were light as air, no more than husks, and they fell at a touch. The whole room was ablaze by the time she reached the door. "Drogon," she called, and he flew to her through the fire.

"He was not born wealthy. In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness. The warlocks said the second treason would be for gold. What does Illyrio Mopatis love more than gold?" "His skin." Across the cabin Drogon stirred restlessly, steam rising from his snout. "Mirri Maz Duur betrayed me. I burned her for it."

Dany knew her face was flushed, but in the darkness Irri surely could not tell. Wordless, the handmaid put a hand on her breast, then bent to take a nipple in her mouth. Her other hand drifted down across the soft curve of belly, through the mound of fine silvery-gold hair, and went to work between Dany's thighs. It was no more than a few moments until her legs twisted and her breasts heaved and her whole body shuddered. She screamed then. Or perhaps that was Drogon. Irri never said a thing, only curled back up and went back to sleep the instant the thing was done.

"No, Khaleesi. Drogon breathed his fire, but in the empty air. The slaver men feared to come near him." She kissed Irri's hand where Drogon had bitten it. "I'm sorry he hurt you. Dragons are not meant to be locked up in a small ship's cabin."

"He will not come," Kraznys said. "There is a reason. A dragon is no slave." And Dany swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver's face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back, the blood running red down his cheeks into his perfumed beard. The harpy's fingers had torn his features half to pieces with one slash, but she did not pause to contemplate the ruin. "Drogon," she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. "Dracarys." The black dragon spread his wings and roared.

Drogon and Rhaegal were asleep atop some cushions, curled about each other, but Viserion perched on the edge of her empty bath.

"You must be my children," she told the dragons, "my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead." Drogon looped his neck around to nip at her hand. His teeth were very sharp, but he never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled him back and forth until he roared, his tail lashing like a whip. It is longer than it was, she saw, and tomorrow it will be longer still. They grow quickly now, and when they are grown I shall have my wings. Mounted on a dragon, she could lead her own men into battle, as she had in Astapor, but as yet they were still too small to bear her weight.

Alone again, Dany went all the way around the pyramid in hopes of finding Quaithe, past the burned trees and scorched earth where her men had tried to capture Drogon. But the only sound was the wind in the fruit trees, and the only creatures in the gardens were a few pale moths.

And Drogon … The winged shadow, the grieving father called him. He was the largest of her three, the fiercest, the wildest, with scales as black as night and eyes like pits of fire. Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

In the smoldering red pits of Drogon's eyes, Dany saw her own reflection. How small she looked, how weak and frail and scared. I cannot let him see my fear. She scrabbled in the sand, pushing against the pitmaster's corpse, and her fingers brushed against the handle of his whip. Touching it made her feel braver.

The lash was still in her hand. She flicked it against Drogon's neck and cried, "Higher!" Her other hand clutched at his scales, her fingers scrabbling for purchase. Drogon's wide black wings beat the air. Dany could feel the heat of him between her thighs. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst. Yes, she thought, yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!

She would sooner have returned to Meereen on dragon's wings, to be sure. But that was a desire Drogon did not seem to share.

Because this is her most intimate relationship with a dragon, there's a lot here for her, for drogon, for their story. Firstly, Drogon is a lot more calm than the other dragons and this is repeated - there's a lot of "even drogon was upset" sort of talk, for example. At the same time, he is also the one who does the most damage - to the warlocks, to Hazzea, to Irri, to the peasant farmers and freedmen of Meereen. Secondly, he is very attuned to her feelings even before she mounts him - he feels her anger, her arousal, her happiness, and reacts with her frequently. He feels her restlessness in Meereen and soars where she cannot, then is drawn by the stench of blood and death, gorges himself, and takes her away, then refuses to take her back. What's most important here is the emotional bond they have - very reminiscent of Aegon & Sunfyre, Drogon keys in on the fears of his rider and follows them to places he should not go.

I think what really sticks with me is how restless Drogon can be - he leads her through the House of the Undying, and he never wants to stay in the same place for long. Always, always, he's guiding her, pulling her away from what it is that is taking up her time, to what he feels is more important - and what he feels is more important are Dany's desires. I'm always saying that Dany waits too long to invade, she is too late to ever be successful at this point, and it's like Drogon knows this and is trying to pull her to Westeros - like, hello mother, we have conquering to do. He does not care for Meereen, and in fact he is actively hostile to all Meereenese, freedman and Great Masters alike.

What I can concretely say is that I think it's obvious Drogon will outlive Dany. I think it's obvious she is going to start using him offensively, burning the Khals in Vaes Dothrak, and likely sacking several cities on her way back to Meereen. I also personally think it's very obvious that Drogon is going to be involved in the burning of King's Landing - when he burns the warlocks, reacts to Aerys, and reacts to Robert's death, that all just feels pointed combined with everything else regarding Dany being involved in burning King's Landing.

I've wondered a lot if Drogon will harm Dany in some way and I do still worry about it but I think it's interesting Drogon has no real betrayer imagery attached to him. Balerion dies peacefully, but notably is involved in kinslaying when he is Maegor's dragon. Drogo "betrays" Viserys in a way which could speak to Dany coming up against Viserion's rider - note that Drogon and Rhaegal are mentioned to be curled up together while Viserion roams.

THE DRAGON MUST HAVE THREE HEADS

So all together. What I think is most likely-

Viserion is stolen somehow, and kills or graciously wounds Rhaegal -> most likely by Euron using a binding horn, but I can’t rule out Aegon or Jon or even Missandei being the one to do this either (Euron feels most likely to me)

Rhaegal’s death will involve rushing off into a battle, an unknown area, because he is too “green” or his rider is too green. Maybe it’s at Viserion’s hands, maybe it’s a scorpion bolt.

Drogon will be involved in burning KL, and will outlive Dany, and probably never turn against her.

One thing I’ve thought of a lot is that the three betrayals will come from her dragons. There’s already a lot of traitor stuff surrounding Viserion, and the gender/fertility/usurpation stuff feels very relevant when you think about Rhaegar and the Jon of it all.

Rhaegal -> treason for blood -> bonds with another who has valyrian blood who Dany is not aligned with

Viserion -> treason for gold -> is forcibly bound away from Dany

Drogon -> treason for love -> destroys KL in defense of Dany

I'm still very much married to the "Dany commits treason on a technicality against Rhaego, Viserys, and Jon" but I think there is something here when you think about the namesakes of her dragons and the potential treasons. It's the betrayal that would hurt her the most, it's the betrayal she would never see coming, and it's betrayals the dragons aren't even culpable for - they can't stop themselves being bound to another because that is their nature. To quote Hugh Hammer, Dany very much believes as the people of Westeros have that her dragons are gods. They're not. They're just meat.

#asks #please dot #dragons #twow speculation #ados speculation #mother of dragons #rani attempts meta #again i just don't want to lose this #magic in asoiaf #should probably tag the dragons by name #rhaegal #viserion #drogon the black dread come again #i think that was the tag #daenerys targaryen #long post for ts #working in children's so i did this instead of my job #(that's a lie i tried to figure out how our standing orders work for baker and taylor and got mad and gave up)#(cannot stress this enough. but FUCK baker and taylor all my homies hate baker and taylor)

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kutepik · 5 months ago

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Eyes on you

(nsfw 18+) Caleb has hidden cameras all over his house, and you've decided to put on a show for him.

2k words. posted also on ao3!

stalking, obsessive behavior, voyeurism, fem!reader.

PART 2 IS HERE!

Cameras. There were hidden cameras all over his house. There wasn't a bookcase or a mirror that didn’t have a little dot on it, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. You only knew they were there by accident: when you took the elevator to Caleb's apartment, you bumped into an excited boy wearing a cap and uniform of a security company.

"Are you Mr. Caleb's girlfriend? What a pleasure, I only saw you in pictures!" The boy waved, taking you by surprise.

"No... I'm just a friend." You said a little confused, and the energetic boy explained himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I saw so many photos of Mr. Caleb with you the day I went to install those cameras that I thought you were dating. He also said he was installing the cameras to protect someone he liked." Cameras? What cameras? You thought, but before you could say anything, the elevator door opened and the boy jumped out. "Let me know if any of them stop working, I've installed so many I've almost lost count! Bye!" And so he disappeared down the hall.

Now you were in the living room, standing there in the middle, feeling the weight of your body and your movements, self-conscious about yourself and alert to the fact that you were being watched. Was he watching you? Now? Right now? That’s fucked up. Jail worthy. Caleb was obsessed with you and if your recent reunion hadn't already proved it, the dozen or hundreds of hidden cameras scattered around that room were proof that Caleb was sick.

But we know the saying: When you point one finger, there are three fingers pointing back to you. More sickening than knowing that you were being watched, from every angle and probably in every room, was the fact that you were aroused. The spot between your legs throbbed, excited by the situation, by the fact that Caleb had probably seen you naked, had seen you sleeping, had seen you showering... It was so fucking wrong that, despite being against everything he had done in Skyhaven right after the reunion, you still delighted in remembering the possessiveness and obsession that melted at the words of your friend, oh, dear friend.

In addition to the burning sensation between your legs, there was this tingle in your stomach at the thought of a man - not just any man, we're talking about Caleb - being so concerned, so devoted to you that he would kill and die for your happiness. In fact, a man who returned from the ashes and survived for you and you alone. He was no longer your sweet childhood friend... But that wasn't a bad thing. Now he became a man who had eyes (many, it seems, all over the house), only and exclusively for you. Caleb was crazy about you, and, oh shit, you loved it, which made you as crazy as he was.

So you had two options: the first was to confront Caleb about why the fuck he had installed so many cameras in the apartment if the only person who spent time there apart from him was you; the second was to pretend you didn't know anything and carry on with your life as if everything was normal.

You always chose the second option when it came to Caleb, ever since you were a teenager and in college. Whether it was sneaking around his room and finding your panties secretly hidden in the back of his closet, or listening to him masturbate while calling your name when he thought he was alone, you always pretended everything was normal. But ever since, and even more so now that you've found each other again, there was nothing normal about it, and no reason to carry on in the same way. After all, if he had changed, there was no reason for you to remain the same or pretend you didn't know anything.

Then there was a third and new option: pretending not to know anything, but taking advantage of the situation to play with Caleb. Basically, make him taste his own medicine. If he wanted to see you, well, he would.

Pretending to be normal, you sat down on the sofa and took off your coat, throwing it on the coffee table. You took out your cell phone and called his number.

"Is my favorite guest home yet?" Caleb answered in his usual animated voice.

"Yeah. I'm bored. Still working? Is it break time?" You remembered that around this time he was most active on social media, so it should be the best time to put into action what you had in mind.

"Ah…You've always been very clever. Yes, I'm on break. I'll be home in two hours and we can do whatever you want. Don't get bored, you can turn on the TV or play a game on the console I have." Caleb was always like that, attentive to you, always wanting to please you. He wasn't much of a gamer, but because you liked games, he had bought a console with the excuse that he was getting interested in games. But now you weren't going to play with the console. You were going to play with something else.

"Oh, no..." You put the phone on speaker and placed it on the arm of the sofa. You lifted your shirt and brought your fingers up to your bra, massaging your nipples. "I want to relax, not play." You said, holding your right breast while spreading your legs, slipping anxious fingers into your pants, brushing the fingertips against the wet panties.

The call went silent. Bingo. He was indeed watching you, like the pervert he was.

"Caleb?" You asked innocently, keeping your voice steady as you started moving your hand in circles, making it obvious what you were doing inside those tight pants.

"A-ah, yes. Relax..." His breathing was heavy on the other end of the line, and suddenly you heard the sound of a zipper being opened. You had to stop yourself from moaning just then. He was starting to touch himself while watching you. "Why don't you, uh, take a shower in my bathroom?" His voice was a little choked. He was probably pumping himself slowly, staring at your live image through the screen in his office. Your pussy throbbed and suddenly your pants were too tight and too hot. You stopped stroking your own breasts and took both hands to the waistband of your trousers, sliding them down your legs. Then you took off your shirt, leaving only your panties and bra on. You positioned yourself again, this time with your legs spread wider and your heels resting on the table in front of the sofa. Your fingers returned to the soaked fabric of your panties, touching the sensitive clit through the wet cloth.

"Yeah, I'll have a shower, I'm just finishing something up." With your middle finger, you moved your panties to one side to touch yourself directly. You bit your lip, holding back a moan, and squeezed your breast with your other hand.

"Fuck..." he swore.

"All right?" You replied innocently, holding back your unsteady voice as you carried on stimulating your clit at a steady pace. You wanted him to think you didn't know about the cameras, so you had to stay as normal as possible on the phone.

"Yup... I- I just hit my finger," he lied, slurring his words.

"Caleb-" You said, catching your breath. "I miss you,"

"I miss you too." He sounded almost breathless. "I can come over now."

"No, you can't. There's work. Or is there something urgent you need to do here?" You quickly pulled down your panties, leaving them between your thighs. Then, out of the blue, you heard the unmistakable sound of a camera zooming in. He must have been eating you with his eyes, and now he wanted a closer look. You opened your folds, circling your fingers around the soaked entrance, like a pervert. You slowly moved the fingers up to your clit, stimulating yourself obscenely again. The other end of the line was completely silent, only a few low sounds and grunts were audible. "Caleb, is there something urgent you need to do here?"

"Uh-" He stammered, and you raised your hips a little, grinding against your hand. "Fuck, fuck," he said. He didn't bother with sentences anymore.

"What’s up with you? I'm feeling lonely and bored here. Can't you entertain me?" You teased innocently, but your legs were already shaking.

"I can entertain you. Ah-" For a second, you heard the wet, rhythmic sound of his thrusts against his own hand. Oh my. Caleb had his pants down, sat somewhere in the FAA, and was touching himself like a teenager while he watched you. And you fucking loved it. "I can entertain you... I can be so, so good for you, if you let me." His voice was raspy and breathless. If you weren't so close to your orgasm, you might've asked him if everything was alright and put him in a tough spot again, but you couldn't even think about that. You were too caught up in your own pleasure. One hand was on your nipple under your bra, the other was all over your clit, and you arched your back on the sofa.

"I- I know you know how to entertain me. You're so good to me, always." You gasped, no longer caring that he was probably listening to the sound of your quick fingers against the wet flesh of your vagina.

Suddenly, you heard a muffled cry on the other end of the line and several "Fuck, fuck, fuck" being whispered like a mantra at a low volume, as if he had his hand against his own mouth. He was coming. And that was all it took for the tingling at the base of your belly to explode and flow out of your pussy in an obscene and intense orgasm.

You had just squirted all over the living room table and carpet, and had probably wet the sofa as well. The two of you were silent, only the audible gasp of your breaths as you caught your breath.

"Caleb? Are you still there? It seems the connection was cut." You lied, still pretending you didn't know anything. He coughed and the sound of things being adjusted or stirred could be heard in the background.

"Yeah, yeah… Probably disconnected or something."

You got up and stood next to the sofa, looking at the mess you had left there.

"Caleb I think I spilled...something on your sofa and carpet. Is there any cleaning cloth so I can clean it up?" You looked around.

"NO!" Caleb almost shouted from the other side. "I mean, it's no problem, pipsqueak. You don't have to clean up. You must be tired from all this, right?" He cleared his throat. "From the trip, and everything. Just rest more, like I said, you can use my bathroom and take a shower if you want."

"Hm, where's that cleaning freak from before? Who are you and what have you done with my Caleb?" You heard a laugh on the other end of the line.

"That's why. I'll take care of it. Please" The last word sounded as if he was begging. "I'll be home soon, and I'll be able to...entertain you, as you wish. We can, huh, relax together, too."

You laughed and picked up your cell phone, walking to the bathroom while dropping your bra in the hallway, knowing that he was watching here too. You picked up your wet panties and placed them on the bathroom door handle. In an instant, you could see a small dot hidden next to a painting, pointing directly at where you were standing. You stared directly at it, smiled and winked.

"I'm waiting for you then, Caleb."

Part 2 is here

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x you #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb smut #lads smut #kutepik

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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

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Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- OH BOY- fingering, Suguru being a psychotic munch so oral (f recieving) rough sex, dirty talk, multiple positions, choking and smacking (in and out of the bedroom) cockwarming, mating press, creampie, TOXIC asf, hate sex, angst. WC this part- 8k

Will be three parts I THOUGHT now looking like four lmao <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!- This won the poll as the thank you for 7k followers, tysmmm!

<<<Part One - Playlist - Masterlist - Part Three (soon) Based on Clan Leader Geto

Part Two

“Now.”

Suguru’s quiet command was just that, a command, one for you to obey as his ‘wife’. But you damn sure weren’t going to act like you wanted to fuck this deranged psycho any more than you already did.

“Get it over with then, the sooner I get pregnant the better.”

“Exactly, we won’t have to do this any longer. Useless little-”

You smack him, earning a psychotic glare, violet eyes glittering dangerously as your hand stings, and red lifts on his perfect face. “Call me a monkey one more time.”

He smirks, leaning close now, yanking you to him, turning you and unzipping your dress, letting it fall, so you don’t see just how perfect he thinks you are. His hands slip around your front, one sliding up to squish a breast, thumb brushing a nipple, making you cry out before you can stop yourself, he chuckles at your response, his other finding your pussy now, dripping.

“Already so wet, hmm? Admit it, you love getting fucked by me, you know how above you I am, pathetic… human. Hmm?” You turn in surprise, as you’re soaking his fingers now, your lips parted, tantalizing, eyes rolling back as he finds your engorged little clit, swirling his fingers on it.

“Fuck… you… mnh…” Is all you manage, as he feels your hair fall back against his chest, and his cock is already throbbing, even after jerking it this morning and last night, he has to be inside you again.

“Soaking me from a little touch? So fucking pathetic.” He whispers, you bite down on your lip, shoving at his hands then, turning.

“Just put it in, I can take it now.” You have him lifting you like you’re nothing, and for this brief moment when he holds you, and your lips are too close, he pictures it, letting go with someone so measly and useless, someone so annoying and absolutely insolent.

But he can never think that way.

He tosses you on the bed, spreading your thighs, spitting right on your pussy then, you gasp at it, lewd and wanton, as he watches the bubbly clear liquid pool between lips still puffy from getting fucked last night. He moans at the sight, at loud, as he leans down, inhaling you, and you shove at him with your feet, earning another death glare.

“What are you doing, just get it done. Don’t… whatever that is!” He aches to taste you, fuck you’re annoying him, the scent driving him insane. He can smell how badly you want him, as he gathers his spit and shoves it in your little hole, and you whine out, sore and throbbing.

“Stop thinking you can tell me what to do, you’re nothing but a tool for me, a pretty little tool.”

“Pretty huh?” You cry out as he scissors his fingers now, done with your remarks, his other hand slamming on your mouth, muffling your protests.

“Will you shut up, fuck I’ll get there.” Suguru took his time with things, he wants to devour every pretty inch of your body, but you’re correct, it is in fact stupid to do so, to waste the talents of his tongue and mouth on your pretty, but useless human body. “Undress me.”

You take a shaky breath, sitting up now, with no help of his, undoing the buttons of these black robes he’s wearing, pretentious and royal, stupid just like him. You’re filled with so much hate your chest heaves, as you realize your body wants this, and you hate that it does. You quickly drop his robes and once again, gulping as you remember the initial pain last night.

Suguru watches you hesitate, raising a dark brow now, acting as if his tip leaking precum is just so normal for this situation. “Go on, I’ll allow it.” He says then, and your eyes narrow.

“Allow what?” Your voice is full of laughter, he wonders if you have any sense of self preservation, serving to only infuriate him further.

“You to serve me, you may if you beg pretty enough.” He tilts your chin up then, and you burst into laughter, only making him scowl down at you.

“I’ll not serve you anymore than I already have to. Get one of your little cult girls to do that.”

“You insolent-”

“Come on now, what position is best for baby making?” He turns you around then, until you’re on your knees, you look back wildly at him, at his flexing muscles, his long dark hair falling over a shoulder as he grabs your hips.

“Arch your back, monkey.” Your jaw sets, and he realizes very quickly you won’t, sighing and rolling violet eyes, pressing between your shoulder blades, yanking on your hip and almost cumming at how pretty your ass looks arched. “Fuck…”

“This is the best po-mnh!” He’s pressing his tip against you, up your slit now, which pools out arousal, when he smacks you firm on one ass cheek. “Don’t fucking do that psycho!”

“You’ve irritated me.”

Your ass looks perfect with his handprints.

“Now, arch more, hmm?”

He just wants a good look at you, how small your waist looks like this, how your ass is shaped so perfectly, hips fitting in his big hands that are taking you over, and he presses deeper, sucking in his moans. His thumbs press into the dimples on your lower back, cursing silently at how perfect you feel, gripping just his tip he could cum, his head falling forward as he leans over you.

His feet planted on the floor, he presses further, making you cry out, as he stretches you, fills you, and damn if it doesn’t feel good. You bite it back again, inhaling sharply as he leans over you, his hair now falling against your bare shoulders, his breath hot in your neck as he shoves his cock so deep. His hand comes to cup your chin, turning it to make you look up at him.

God you’re pretty.

“Got you to shut up- hah.” He huffs, and you open your mouth to protest when he slams your cervix, squeezing your throat just so, until you’re fuzzy, and your cunt is slick, sucking him in hungry.

“F-fuck you… hate it…” You whisper, he laughs then, deep and dark in your ear, squeezing your throat tighter with long fingers, beginning to fuck into you, lewd noises filling your bed chamber as he moves.

“Could fucking kill you right now, tiny, pathetic little neck. Could snap it right now, huh?” He squeezes further, and you should be terrified, surely, but instead you’re convulsing around his cock, making you both sigh in pleasure, as each of you try to hide your body's reactions, and fail the more he pumps.

“Kill me… then… do it…” You whisper, and he squeezes more now, your windpipe pressed between his strong hand, as he presses fully in, bottoming out all his inches in your pussy, and you scream silently, eyes rolling back in your skull as you feel fuzzy, like you’re floating.

“I could do it, oh I could do it.” He loves it then, feeling as you’re close, he can tell with how your body jerks and moves, then he’s shoving deep and rolling his hips, watching as you shatter for him. “Can’t fucking help it, feel too good?”

You shake your head even as he’s squeezing your neck, as you’re cumming all over his cock, when he lets go, and you take a breath, burying your face, fingers gripping the silk red and black blankets. You don’t see Geto losing it, his hands shaking, cock pulsing as your walls flutter, and he feels it, he’s close already, you’re too tight, you’re too much.

Annoying.

“Don’t wanna show me how much you like it, do you?” You shake your head, gasping for a breath then.

“Hate it, hate you, hate your dick- ah!” He’s on you then, prone position, heavy weight over your much smaller body, taking you over. You’re whimpering helplessly when he finds your clit again, and shoves his cock deep. “S-stop touching it, shit!”

“You like it, huh?” You bite your lip, shaking your head as he fucks you far too intimately, one elbow holding himself up, hand right back on your throat, as he laps up sweat that’s dripping down the curve of your neck. “You love it, me inside you, don’t you monkey?”

“Fuck you.” You manage to breathe out, giving him no satisfaction as you bury your face again, hands gripping the blankets so hard they’re crumpling, screaming as he makes you cum again, as he makes you hate him more.

Suguru loses himself in you, burying his face in your neck, as he had last night, groaning softly as he feels your orgasm surround him, milk him, pulling his fingers back finally giving your overstimulated clit a reprieve. He puts his fingers to his lips then, and when he tastes you!?

Suguru pauses his thrusts, the sweetness of you unlike anything he’s ever tasted, making his cock twitch inside you, and suddenly it’s too intimate, it’s too much, having him inside you, on you, teeth sinking into your neck. It feels far too perfect, and you despise this monster even more for it, for making you weak against him, under him like this.

“God…” He murmurs, confusing you when he presses his lips against your ear, breath tickling it again, making you shiver. “Ready for me to fill you up?”

“Get it d-done.” You squeak out, he yanks you further down on his cock, pumping inside you then, and you swear this psycho cult leader whimpers, it’s almost disorienting hearing it, you barely manage to focus, as your vision swims. When his sexy - fuck it’s not sexy - moan fills your ears, and he’s shoving his thick cock so deep, you can’t stop your body’s reaction.

You’re cumming again, only edging him on further, laughing at you, even as he’s crying out, pulling your hair by the nape of your neck, pumping so deep. “F-fuck… gonna put so much in you, fill you till your stupid little ass can’t walk.”

“Fuck you- ngh!” Your orgasm is just extended as his cum fills you so deep inside, feeling him pulse and spurt so much cum it’s stupid.

“Bratty, annoying, insolent… fuck…” perfect, you feel perfect.

Suguru supposes if he had to be paired with a monkey, you were by far the best, he’d never felt anything like you before, even how you smell, the softness of your skin, everything just draws him in. He tries to shake himself out of the stupor, feeling your aftershocks milking every last drop from him, impulse making him press a kiss on your upper back.

“Don’t do that.” You whisper now, and he pauses himself, why is he kissing your skin, why is he lingering. This isn’t what this is for, it’s for power, it’s for an heir to get the Geto clan off his fucking back.

After that you won’t be needed to breed would you?

Suguru contemplates that for a moment, still laying on you, hoping you don’t get pregnant any time soon, which confuses him more than anything, as you’re gasping for a breath under him, wriggling just so. “You’re heavy, get off me.”

“You’re such a mean little bitch, you know that?” He hops off you then, turning you to your back and shoving you down by your collar bones, your breaths come faster as he looms over you, thin sheen of sweat coating his perfect body.

“A bitch? You expect me to be happy, to worship you? I never will.” You whisper, his fingers itch to touch you more, when he finally pulls back, and sees it, the milky white cum starting to ooze from your little hole. The sight of it ignites something feral in him, as he takes his fingers and scoops it up, your mouth drops open just a bit.

“You’re not even keeping the cum inside you, hmm? Guess I’ll have to help you keep it in.” He shoves his two thick, long fingers in your cunt then, watching as your hole swallows it, and you’re whimpering, so sexy his cock, sticky from you still, twitches again.

“N-not necessary, is this?” You whisper, clearly naive and innocent, it’s him defiling you really, but how can he help himself, when he needs more of you.

“It is very necessary, slutty little cunt wasting it all.”

“Slutty, bet your cult girls are like a - ah!” Suguru is curling his fingers in you again as you speak, making you stutter, when his thumb hits your clit again. “That… part… why do you…”

“Cumming, it’ll help it take.” You frown at him, brows drawing together. “It’s not as if I want you to have pleasure, or work at it, but it’s true.”

“We’re already done now though, can you- f-fuck I…” You’re gushing down his hands, the mix of his own cum and yours making him die to taste it.

“Tsk, so messy, aren’t you?” He slips his fingers out now, putting them inside your mouth, only for you to enjoy this asshole’s taste before you think better and bite the shit out of his fingers, making him scowl as he pulls them back. “Not just weak and useless, you’re stupid. Think I won’t kill you before you have a baby?”

“Worth it to bite your stupid fingers and slap your stupid face.” You sit up as he finally stands, blushing for a moment as you see the wet spot you’ve caused, as you see his cum trailing down his tip. You think wildly about licking it before you stand and turn away, clearing your throat and bending down to get your robes.

“You’re lucky my family needs you around, or I’d send a curse in and kill you in your fucking sleep.” You roll your eyes, adjusting your robes now as you turn, seeing him still shirtless, as he adjusts his own robes.

“Anything else you require of me, husband or Lord Geto- whatever the hell I’m supposed to call you.” He chuckles then, cupping your face, but not sweetly, no he’s squeezing it, violet eyes so dilated they look black, the intensity making your heart falter for a moment.

“Your mouth is just begging to be shut. Maybe if I fuck your throat good enough you’ll lose your voice?” He taunts, and your glare just makes him hard all over again, along with the thought of fucking this insolent mouth of yours. “Nothing to say about that? Get you wet?’

Yes.

“You wish.” He smirks his full lips, trailing his fingers down your waist now.

“You’ll be dripping me all day, won’t you?”

“I sure hope not, it’s uncomfortable and disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You are!” You shove at him now, breaths faster and faster, he loses his smirk, his humor, gripping your wrist bruisingly.

“You’ll be ready for dinner tonight, as well as my meeting tomorrow, you’ll be everywhere I am publicly.”

“Oh joy, can’t wait.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he opens the door, summoning the little bull curse again, who runs up to you now. Suguru’s eyes narrow, as he turns and watches the curse lick your cheek. He’s known the curse to be odd, but the way you giggle, how your face lights up?

He’s seen you scowl, seen tears in your eyes, seen your jaw set and your eyes full of fire, but for the moment you’re just happy, as the curse is nudging at your hand, and he realizes you’re not just a pretty human. You’re fucking beautiful, the kind of girl who would have taken the Suguru of Jujutsu high days by his heart, that would have had him desperate for you.

He’s not that man, but some part of him annoyingly persists, the part that misses Gojo, Shoko, fuck he misses Nanami, so many of his fallen classmates. The rage he holds is usually enough to keep the loneliness at bay, the fact that though he’s surrounded by people who love him, who need him, he’s truly alone. There are no friends, there is no love anymore.

You remind him of a past he aches to forget, when your smile and glittery eyes look at him, before they fall, and you remember yourself, which Suguru needs almost, he doesn’t need to crave happiness for you. A means to an end, perhaps the sex has ruined his fucking brain.

“Could I name him?” You ask, and he wants to smile at you, the smile he used to have, not the cruel psychotic smirk, but instead he just shrugs a broad shoulder.

“If you must, I never gave him one. He’ll keep you…” Safe. “From leaving, but he won’t…” Hurt you. “He’s very calm.”

“I know, I like him a lot. Hmm, I’ll think of a name for you, handsome boy.” You tease him, and then Suguru hears your tummy growl quite loudly, making you flush in embarrassment.

“I’ll have someone show you where the kitchens are.” He says, he hasn’t even contemplated that you need food, and even curse users eat. Clearly he’s been a little too… involved with that insane pussy you think is normal, to worry about you properly functioning.

“Oh thank you I guess… I haven’t eaten since I’ve been here.”

“Ah, that’s… not okay for making a baby.” A baby, the words hit hard then, you know your duty but to think of it… to think of your life being over… to think of bearing this man a baby.

Your tummy lurches even as you’re starving.

“I’ll send the girls up, they’re a little more…” What should he care of your comfort!? “They’re well adapted here, it’s their home.” You nod then, and he walks out, leaving you with this derpy looking curse, body aching from Suguru’s touches, as you sit on the bed, and the curse jumps up for more pets.

Just who was Suguru Geto, how did he get this way?

Should you even care, and would you survive long enough to know if it’s even worth it?

Soon Mimiko and Nanako are giggling, taking each of your hands, sucking on little lollipops and damn near frolicking, as they guide you through each hall of this ridiculous estate. They start asking you more and more questions, and for whatever reason it doesn’t feel malicious, like Suguru, like the others, like the Geto family.

“Dad seems to really think you’re pretty.” Nanako says, and you shake your head with a laugh.

“No way.”

“Have you seen how he stared at you? While you were dancing?” Mimiko asks, and you almost snort.

“Yeah, no, your dad… hates me. Clearly.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Nanako says, then points to a kitchen with cooks actively working, the aromas making your tummy growl again. “Go ahead, get whatever you want.”

“It’s all yummy.” Mimiko says, they run over and giggle, grabbing little pieces of different sushis, as the curse licks your hand, you smile a bit at him.

“What if I named you Sashimi?” It lolls its tongue out, head tilting to the side, and you giggle. “I like it though!”

Suguru finds you sitting with his daughters, who are on either side of you, stirring something in him that should not be there. But it’s undeniable, when you smile softly at them, a smile you’d never shoot his direction. Manami comes and tries to kiss him, which he quickly tilts his head away, but not before you catch him, but your eyes avert and you show no emotion.

Do you feel anything towards him but pure hatred and fear? Has he given you any reason to? Do you feel this odd energy, or is it all in Suguru’s head?

“It wouldn’t look right.” He says. Manami is his best and most loyal assistant, but he can’t stand the thought of anyone touching him.

But you.

And would you ever?

Why does he care?

“Then later, Lord Geto?” She asks, and he eyes her for a moment, her breasts apparent in this low cut blazer.

“I think it best I don’t… divert from trying to have an heir with… my…”

“Your wife?” She finishes, laughing a bit, Suguru’s jaw tenses.

“Best to spend the energy there, get it done.”

“As you say, Lord Geto. What’s on the agenda for today?” He starts to speak, but all he can really think is how much he wants you to hit him again, how just that feels like more than he’s had since long ago.

Annoying girl.

*****

Three days later

Over the next few days, Suguru can’t get enough of your pussy, of your face when he makes you cum, of your scent, of your presence. He hates it, how much he wants you all the time, like you’re some leech that’s sunk into his brain. He constantly calls you in for more, now you’re right in his office, he’s fingering you as you sit on his lap, your legs up on the arms of his enormous leather seat.

“You’re close, aren’t you dumb little monkey?” He whispers, you shake your head, jaw clenched when he pulls his fingers out and you whine pathetically. “Oh, need something?”

“Just fuck me, god.” Your legs are shaking as he’s teasing you with his fingers again, circling your clit, his other hand gripping your breast, squishing it in his hand, cock aching to pump you full.

“Sit on my desk.” He orders, husky toned, you struggle to get up, and he laughs cruelly. “Can’t stand huh? Gotta do everything, don’t I?”

He hoists you up, spreading your thighs then, sinking back into his seat as he eyes your perfect pussy, and he’s so tired of holding back, what he’s been dying to do, as he leans over, fingers pressing into the plush of your thighs. Your eyes go wide when you feel his breath on your clit, making you jerk, this mother fucker inhales you, moaning and shutting his eyes.

“What… are you sniffing me!?” You demand, thighs threatening to close, and Suguru exhales, eyes locking on yours.

“I’m going to fuck you with my mouth.” Those words are far too attractive, as your pussy throbs in response, you try to focus, you hate this psycho, you can’t have him further fucking up your head.

“That’s not how babies are made, Suguru.”

“Orgasms help, remember?” You frown, biting your lower lip, it seems too intimate, it seems like too much, as your hands grip his desk, and your hips arch, his lashes lowering, casting shadows on his cheeks.

“I cum anyway, stop acting like you don’t know that.” You look away, hating even admitting it out loud, and he smirks, chuckling and making you tickle again, as he spreads your puffy lips, watching your pussy drool out wetness more and more.

“Try not to scream too loudly.” You snort, rolling your eyes.

“Oh you’re so full of yourself, I doubt- ah!” He swipes the flat of his tongue from your hole, and then when he tastes your honeyed arousal, it’s over for him.

Moaning, he drags you against him now, closer to his face as he swipes his tongue in, and your head falls back, mouth open in a slutty O as he lavishes you, it feels so good you’re not sure you’ve ever enjoyed something this much. Addictive with each stroke, with each breath, the way his teeth hit you, fuck how his straight nose bumps your engorged clit.

Your hands instinctively grip his silky hair, for the first time you’re touching it, glossy strands in your fingers as you try to pull him off, it’s too good, way too good, this can’t be something you do. He’s licking you up and moaning, tastebuds slid inside your fluttering walls, as you desperately cry out, whining and pulling at his hair for him to detatch his mouth.

“What are you doing!?” You manage to squeak out, and he pulls back just a bit, feeling your little pathetic hands pulling on him, as if you could stop him now, that he has your slick all over his lower face.

The sight of Suguru Geto between your thighs, licking his glossy lips, eyes dilated and drunk off your pussy is far too tempting. You feel your pussy clench around nothing, as your breaths come quicker and quicker, and Suguru exhales right on you, smirking as he watches your tiny clit twitch for him in response.

“Eating your pussy, are you so stupid you don’t know what it is?” You bite your lower lip, glaring now.

“I’ve heard of it, I just… Why do you want to? Remember, you don’t want to ‘prep a monkey’ your exact words.”

“Will you shut up and just…” He pulls you back again, and he’s devouring you, no other word for it, the insane way he licks you, drinks you up, the sounds of him inhaling and slurping obscenely in his office, and you find your hands pulling him closer.

As he feels you press your cunt further in his face, he’s done, cock throbbing in his pants and oozing precum out, making him damn near cum as he feels her clenching his tongue. He dares to look up, tilting his head that you’re still yanking on, your thighs trembling on each side of his raven haired head, as you whimper, hiccuping in pleasure, tears falling from your eyes.

“Close, aren’t you?” He whispers, tauntingly, those violet eyes glinting as you shake your head, and he laughs, just the laugh touching you he sees you’re drooling more and more from your pretty pussy. “No?”

“Don’t like it.” You whisper, he smirks and flicks his tongue one more time, ending you, your orgasm washes all over your body until you are cupping a hand on your face to stop your scream, and he moans again, drinking all your cum that’s pouring down out of you.

“Fuck…” He whispers, more to himself than anything, Suguru loves eating pussy but he never thought a pathetic human would taste like you, your heat burning him, he can hardly delatch his mouth even as you pull on him.

“What even… is that…” You weakly manage, and he slips two fingers through your slick, your hands fall weakly when he leans over now, undoing his robes to reveal his ready cock, thick and heavy, slapping his belly button and leaving sticky white residue on his robes.

“Shut it, useless little human.” You can’t find the energy to scowl, your body is still shaking, trying to recover from all the pleasure he’d brought you. You grip his biceps as he sinks into you, so wet he slips in easily, and you’re so sensitive you almost cum when he slips all the way inside.

“Shit…” Is all you manage, you want to tell him- hurry up or - fuck you- maybe - hate you- but for just a moment he’s got your brain too addled, when he starts fucking you, you’re clinging to him, whining, and you hate yourself for it.

He hates you, as he watches you for once pliant, sweet even, fuck what would it be like if you wanted this fully, if you wanted him?

He can’t think like this, no it’s your pretty face and your sweet taste, he can’t stand how bad he wants to kiss your lips as he spreads you over his desk, pumping in and out of your slick cunt over and over. Your thighs grip him, your hands gripping his arms so tightly, when your head falls back, and he’s kissing and licking your pretty throat.

“Shut you up, it is possible.” He whispers meanly in your ear, and you try to focus, as his tip drags on your spot.

“F-fuck y-you.” He smiles, he smiles, loving just how that sounds, a tiny little mewl of words.

“I am fucking you, should thank me.”

“Never.” He groans now, yanking you down, turning you so you’re bent over his desk, feet dangling like you’re nothing, the way he moves you with his strength is heady, exhilarating, not frightening like it should be.

Suguru is shoving his cock back inside, gripping your wrists behind your back. He can’t take how pretty you look, he needs to stop, it’s easier this way. “Won’t thank me for fucking you? Me, a curse user, you a-”

“Shut up and fuck me then.” You glare, turning your pretty face to him, and he does just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck… stupid, pathetic little thing-mnh…” He busts deep inside you, squeezing your wrists so tightly you can’t even feel them, cum filling you to the brim. He exhales as your head rests on the cool wood, and tears fall.

Why did he have to make you enjoy him more?

Suguru turns you and releases you now, you stumble and the fucker doesn’t even catch you, instead he hovers, lips just an inch from yours, as you struggle to gain any senses. “I hate you, Lord Geto.”

Suguru, could you call him Suguru?

“I don’t even hate you, you’re so insignificant.” He whispers, tilting your chin up, imagining having you taste yourself off his mouth. “Hate is even too good for a nothing like you.”

“I have enough hate for both of us.” You whisper back, before stumbling away, righting yourself, hurriedly walking to the door when he murmurs.

“My meeting tomorrow, you’ll be there.”

You just scowl and walk away, detesting the thought of having to be in a room full of psychos that want you eradicated. “Why?”

“You’re my wife, it’s one of your duties.”

“They want me dead.” He scoffs now.

“And you think I don’t?” You stomp off, slamming the door, Suguru groans as he slumps into the chair, burying his head in his arms on the cherry wood desk, thinking of how much he wishes he did want you dead.

*****

“Are you ready for the meeting?” Manami asks, coldly, and you smile at her then, shaking your head.

“You’re so worried about me, why? I don’t want your cult daddy.”

Manami glares now, tossing back her red locks. “Cult daddy!?”

“Yeah, him, you can have him. What do I fucking care? I am sure he still comes to you plenty, and I won’t stop him.” She blinks once more, mouth open in shock.

“You haven’t… you don’t care if he does?”

“Not one bit.”

“Then why hasn’t he-”

“Let’s go, monkey.” You hear now, and he catches sight of you, in a gorgeous white gown that makes your skin glimmer, you’re far, far too beautiful. For a moment he's standing there, stupidly, thinking of just how good your pussy tasted yesterday, thinking of burying his face back against it, before he shakes it off, clearing his throat. “Did I stutter, human?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go then.” You huff, as Suguru’s assistants eagerly set up the stage he’s to be on, and you’re both behind this dumb fucking curtain. “You’re pretentious as fuck.”

“What did you say?” He demands, brows lowering, and you laugh then, shaking your head.

“A stage, a microphone, as if you’re something so profound, and not some angry little fucking emo bitch.” Suguru glares now, smacking you right in the face, instantly hating himself more when you blink rapidly, and he sees the mark on your face.

You’re both silent then, as he just stares at what he did, but you smile suddenly, as he stutters. “I… you…I should-”

“Thank you,” you cut him off then. “For a moment sometimes I forget how fucking horrible you are.” As you turn away, you’re slipping your hair to the other side of your face, so that it’s even more apparent. “So they can see you treat humans how you should, right? Beneath you.”

Suguru’s heart pounds in his chest now, you’ve slapped him, he’s said the nastiest things, you’ve both declared hate. He’s slaughtered fucking villages, but something about his hand print on your cheek feels just too far. What’s he become, what’s he doing, why does he care if you’re hurt? Soon you and all of useless humanity will be dead.

Even if he keeps you around, who would you have? You’d be some toy, a pretty prisoner for his pleasure. You’re nothing, nothing, nothing.

Nothing.

You look at him curiously, as you wait for him to signal for the curtain to lift, standing so damn strong and proud, you remind him of his friends, of people he’s loved and lost. Your resilience in the face of everything, it’s stupid but admirable, fuck he’s admiring you, he’s…

He’s caring for you.

He’s desiring you more than anyone.

He’s upset that he just hurt you, more upset than you clearly are, what do you expect from a monster, but this, but coldness, cruelty. He’d shown you no affection aside from a small brush of his lips on your shoulder, a kiss on your clit, those were sexual. He doesn’t show you anything else but his cruelty.

“Are you going to start?” You ask, voice not even shaken, wearing his smack like a badge of honor, not sensing the inner turmoil. “Need to hit the other one, make it even or something?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You blink then, and he grabs your face, thumb brushing over raised skin, he’s too strong, you’re too pathetic and small. “Useless, weak, stupid little human.”

You go to open your mouth when he slams his lips against yours, you exhale at the sensation, yanking back in confusion at how your lips tingle, how your heart hammers in your ears. You panic as you feel it, something far different than anything before.

You can’t.

“I’d rather you hit me than kiss me.”

“I bet you would.” He drags you back to his lips again, stumbling as the onlookers from behind see what’s unfolding, mad passionate and angry kisses, teeth clicking, as you bite his lower lip till you draw blood, and he laughs at you.

“Don’t fucking kiss me.” You watch as he touches the blood on his lips, hearing a low moan that makes no sense.

“You have something, there is cursed energy, there has to be.” You laugh at him then, outright, as he studies you in the dark.

“There are no excuses for you, I’m all human. If you like anything about me, even if it’s just my pussy, I’m human.”

He curses under his breath, as you right yourself, and he aches to…

Goddamit Suguru Geto wants to apologize.

To a human, a monkey, someone beneath him, the cause of all wrong with the goddamn world. You all cause it all.

Right?

But he can’t live with smacking you now, it makes him sick, he wonders what younger him would think, would say. He wonders what Satoru would think, but then, Satoru’s long since given up on him, he’s sure. The havoc he’s brought for the past eight years alone is unforgivable, he wonders… is he going too far? But he can’t make those thoughts tangible, not now.

“You can go to your rooms if you wish.” Is all he says, and you look at him in shock again. “If you don’t… feel well now.”

“Why would you care how I feel? I’m a tool.” As you spit his own words back at him, he can do nothing but agree.

“Then let’s begin.” The curtains lift, and it’s a different Suguru than you know, he’s laughing and joking, and pointing, as he spews the most vile things about humans he can, and you’re just sitting there next to him. The few humans he allows look almost as terrified as you do, as you tremble and try to hold it together.

When it’s finally over, you go to head to your chambers, and he pauses you, a hand on your waist, you look up at him curiously. “I’ll have you tonight.”

“Again?” You whisper, he drags you now, away from your chamber, you blink in confusion as he pulls you further down the halls. Mimiko and Nanako wave at you curiously, and he pats their heads and murmurs a fond good night, before taking you by your wrist once more. “Why your room?”

“Why ask endless questions, human?” You go to protest as you enter his room for the first time, but you can’t speak once he’s got you against the door, barred with his arms. “What exactly are you?”

“I’m a human, Lord Geto.”

“That’s what you call me, huh?” Your jaw locks, when he cups your face, right where he hit you prior, you can still feel the shock, the sting.

“I could call you an emo bitch, but you like to smack for that, and I’d like my jaw intact.” He exhales now, forehead resting against yours, once again, too intimate, too close. “Don’t kiss me again, if I can ask anything.”

“You think you get to ask things from me?” You shake your head. “Hate kissing me, huh?”

“Despise it. More than anything.” His lips are a breath away from yours, when he turns you, having you face the door, hands pressed on the cool wood, and he’s slipping your dress up your hips.

“Spread your thighs.” You keep them together, frustrating him to no end.

Imagine if you wanted him.

If this was your choice.

“Fine, stupid little monkey.” He spreads them for you, finding you soaking wet, clicking sounds as his fingers pump in and out, and your head falls back, as you moan out loud.

“I hate you, Suguru.” You whisper softly, he dies then, at the use of his name, from your perfect lips, shoving two fingers inside you to the knuckle, you’re drooling down his hands, down his sleeves.

“I know you do, it’s what humans do, it’s how you create them. Fuck you’re soaked.” You blink as you register his words, as he turns you again, dropping to his knees, you gasp at the sight.

“I’ll cum without it. You don’t have to.” You whisper, knowing this man’s tongue makes you stupid, him on his knees makes you stupid, you can barely function when he puts a leg on his broad shoulder.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up I wondered? But then I realized, this is the only time you do.” He buries his face against your hot, eager pussy again, and you don’t even try to fight it, your head smacks the wall as his mouth finds you.

“It’s the only time I don’t h-hate you completely…” He chuckles, and you damn near laugh at the insanity, when he presses a kiss on your inner thigh, biting it between his teeth as you’re trembling.

“Mutually beneficial.”

“That’s it. The only reason.”

“Right.” He buries his face against you, moaning as he sucks your clit into his hot mouth, and you’re cumming then and there, pulling on this psycho’s silly locks, as he drinks every bit of cum you produce, dying for you to scream his name.

Insanity.

You’re insanity.

He’s humming as he’s got your little clit in his mouth, looking at you under long lush lashes as you cum so hard you nearly fall, clinging to him barely. He drags you down then, slamming you on the floor and shoving his cock fully in, groaning and kissing you once more, you shove at his chest.

“Fuck me, don’t kiss me, d-don’t.”

“You should taste yourself, stupid little pathetic bitch. How good you taste, what you fucking do.” You glare, but he’s kissing you again, as he fucks you, and it’s overwhelming, the dizziness, how good it is, how perfect he feels. “Prefer me to spit it in your mouth?”

“What!?” He spits then, as he holds your mouth open, chuckling darkly.

“Swallow.”

Why do you obey!?

It’s hard to hate a man who eats pussy and fucks like the god he thinks he is, though you’d never fucking let him know.

Suguru can’t get enough of you after that night, not even fucking close, and soon you’re in a whole cult meeting, and you’re cockwarming him. You hate this - you want to hate it at least- you tell yourself, the fact that you’re casually in his lap in front of hundreds of followers, as he’s spewing hatred, all while being shoved deep in your pussy.

You’re soaking him down to his balls, his thighs, as his veiny cock just pulses inside you, unmoving, and you feel how hot your cheeks are, your ears, trying desperately not to move. Suguru hears someone ask about you then, referring to you as a ‘monkey’ and he glares, before flinging a curse in their direction, cock twitching in your tight entrance.

All of this mind you while he has a goddamn creepy one eyed curse just standing with a morbid grin. This psycho holds a meeting while he’s buried eight inches deep in your cunt, with curses and curse users all around, not missing a single word. You look at him and hate him more, and you still hate him, even when you’re left alone, and he finally moves you up and down him.

“F-fuck… feel you… stupid, pathetic pussy so wet?” You shake your head when he lifts you off and spins you, putting you on top of him. He’s fucking up into you now, grabbing your ass as you cling to him on his plush cushions, and the angle feels so good your eyes roll back, head lolling to the side.

“F-fuck you, Suguru.” He groans at that, at his name, picking you up and slamming him down on his sensitive cock, as you eye the creepy ass curse, mumbling - ‘it’s f-fucking watching’.

Suguru laughs then, not a dark chuckle, it’s… real, as he brushes your hair back and flips you on your back for a moment, studying you with mirth in his eyes. For just one moment, as the curse disintegrates, you think… Is there more to him, is that glimmer a piece of who he used to be?

No, there can’t be.

“A whole room watched you sitting on my cock, but you mind the curse?” He’s… being teasing? You just glare, and he laughs again, enjoying it too much, enjoying you far too much.

He should worry about that, but you look too pretty, especially when he folds you in a mating press, making you suck in a breath, eyes wide on him. “This is how babies are best made, how you'll take my cum.”

You just nod weakly, while he's slamming into you, even though you've taken him many times now, the stretch and how deep he hit were too much to take. Your hands grip his back, nails digging in, and he groans at it, as he folds you under his weight, his full lips parted, eyes boring into yours, watching as you struggle to take him.

“You should beg me, for my cum inside you.”

“Hah- n-never.” He glares, pressing harder on the backs of your thighs, fucking you rougher and rougher, until you’re both shattering messes, and he’s cum so deep you feel him everywhere. You shove at him when he lays atop of you after a moment, your thighs falling to the side, as you try to get yourself together. “Beg you? You’re even more delusional than I thought.”

“You can’t keep lying.” He brushes your hair back, jaw locking as he studies your fucked out face. “You fucking love it, me inside you. Bet you have never felt anything better in your shitty human existence.”

Your teeth clench together. “You’re a conceited, arrogant, psychotic, delusional man.”

“That’s all?” He asks, raising a brow.

“With a good dick, yes, that doesn’t matter. How long till you kill me? Till you kill everyone?” He pauses, watching your perfect breasts heave up and down, as your little hands now push on his chest. “Sure, I enjoy it, what do you care, Suguru?”

“I… you just… why do…” How do you make him stutter, a man like him, a puny little girl like you have him on his knees, have him obsessed, you’re all he can even fucking think of.

You can’t fall into this, into him, with his beautiful face and his sad fucking eyes, you can’t fix this man, there’s no fixing the psychotic nature of him. As badly as you want to, as much as you feel that you keep in, that’s brimming to the surface as you lean up on your elbows, and tears make their way out of your eyes, falling down your cheeks.

Suguru pauses, as you can’t hold it back anymore, as he’s pulling back, out of you, making a mess with all of your fluids, making you feel empty. “What does it matter if I enjoy something when I’ll be dead soon? Will you… kill our baby if it’s human too?”

Suguru scowls now, on his knees, as you hastily cover up, hands shaking. “What the fuck do you mean, powers are genetic-”

“No, you don’t know that. What if one kid has em, one doesn’t huh? Gonna kill one of my kids?” He blinks rapidly, opening his mouth as you stand, and he looks up at you. “You better hope I’m long dead if you do, because I will make sure that’s the last thing you ever do.”

“Will you fucking stop?” He is standing now, grabbing your shoulders, as you shake your head, heart ripping into pieces.

“I can’t feel things for you.” You say, more to yourself than him. “Yes, pathetic monkeys feel things. As you said, too much. We cause them, yeah?”

He gulps now, hands squeezing your shoulders too tightly. “Yes, you cause them, all of it. If not for humanity, then-”

“Then what would you do? If a kid doesn’t have any cursed energy?”

“I wouldn’t kill them.” He whispers, and you laugh without humor.

“No, I can’t believe that. Where’s your line, Suguru Geto? Where does this end for you, for anyone?” He pauses as a human girl destroys him with her looks, when you cup his face for just a moment, making his heart falter. “That Suguru I met, he was sweet. I actually had a crush.” Your words speak to something, he’s transfixed, refusing to believe it.

“You were staring at Gojo.” You shake your head and smile.

“That’s what you saw. Yeah, your friend is something to look at for sure. But no, it was you that day I had eyes on. Felt butterflies.” You can’t believe you’re saying it, that he’s… listening, for just a moment. You sigh. “Do you ever miss him? The guy that you were?”

Yes.

No.

He can’t.

Suguru says nothing as you drop your hands, tugging your robes closed. “Can you summon Sashimi?”

“You named it fucking Sashimi?” You glare, a little back to normal, but he dresses, summoning him for you, as you sigh a bit.

“I’m really sore, okay? Can I go rest?” Suguru scoffs, feigning as if he could care less, when he wants you again, more of you, all of you, like a black hole that’s sucking him in deeper and deeper.

“Can’t handle dick with your puny little body?” He taunts, instead of just… Saying it.

“Not this much. You could get your-”

“I don’t go to anyone.” You blink in surprise, as he confirms what you had assumed a bit from Manami.

“Why?”

Suguru scoffs, rolling his violet eyes. “Why!? I don’t have to explain myself to a pathetic-”

“Yeah, never mind. Come on Sashimi.” You walk off, leaving him to swipe a hand across his face, your scent is all over him, your slick still on his cock, his fingers still taste like you.

“Fuck.” He grumbles, as his room spins, as he’s covered in you, consumed by you, wondering…

Did he miss who he was?

No, surely not. He sets his jaw, you’ve taken so much of his mind, and he has much to do, heading to his room alone, but he can’t focus, all he does is stare at his ceiling, thinking of you, of your words. Your face, your body, your eyes that see right fucking through him.

God, Suguru hates you.

A/N LMAO why did I think I could do anything short? I need four parts now not three my baddd babess lol. But I hope you're enjoying psycho whipped Sugu- the monkey thing should lessen as he gets more pathetic hehe. Tysm for all the comments and love !?! I am excited to see what ya'll think hehe

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kamitv · 9 months ago

Text

▷ (S)CREAM VI

Synopsis . In which your ‘killers’ soon realize you’re not stuck with them but they’re stuck with you… / Pairings . (Semi-Separate) Ghostface!Geto x f!reader, Ghostface!Gojo x f!reader, & Ghostface!Choso x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, three/foursome, squirting, non-curse au, oral sex, reader gets kinda passed around, men teasing one another, dirty talk, unprotected sex, established relationship, lowk feral reader, cuck!Geto, rough sex, praise, overstim, degrading, tw: spitting, pet names, filth (cùm eating), pussy slapping, teasing, a hint of knife play, etc . / wc . 9.6k (oops!)

A/N: Sorry this is late, but anywho! I <3 Ghostface. Art creds to @aransmind [MDNI]

“You want me to wear that and chase you around the estate?”

“Yeah, and when you find me…”

“I fuck you instead of killing you.”

“Mhm!” You hum cheerfully to your rather concerned boyfriend whose lap you’re currently sitting on.

Those dark raven strands of hair framing his gorgeous face sway with the light tip of his head to the side as his naturally slim eyes narrow at your overly excited expression, “And I’m doing this, why?” Geto questions.

You let out a giggle, which only confuses him even more. “Because Scream is my favorite franchise and Ghostface is hot… Duh.”

It’s as if the man only falls for you more and more every day. Geto’s been with you for roughly two years now and yet you’ve never revealed this sudden… mask kink you clearly have. He likes the Scream franchise just as much as you do and the idea of chasing you around and eventually fucking you in costume definitely excites him.

So there you are; sitting in his lap and pouting, steadily snaking your arms around his neck and pulling yourself in close before you plant a chaste little kiss on his lips.

“C’mon Sugu, I know you’ve thought about it before,” You point out to him in a low purr as your lips depart from his.

The hands that’d been calmly resting on your hips suddenly grow intrigued as they slide up to your waist and give you a soft squeeze, “I really haven’t.” He admits honestly. You can see it all in his eyes that he silently agreed to this the moment you brought out that stupid mask.

At his soft admission, a gleaming smile spreads across your face, “Okayy, well you are now… So is that a yes or what?”

He pretends to think for only a moment longer, glancing off to the side in faux thought before landing those pretty lilac irises back onto you, “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow's Halloween so, we can do it then.” Geto tells you.

And that was all it took.

Halloween night was here before you even had time to fully prepare for it. The entire day you weren’t able to stop thinking about the moment Geto would walk through the front door, dressed in all black with that overly attractive ghostface mask cloaking his equally beautiful face.

Your heart was racing in anticipation as the sun began to set outside and the clock ticked closer and closer toward the time of which he would return home from work. You knew he’d be there no more than thirty minutes after and all you could do was wonder how this all would go down.

Clad in only one of his oversized white t-shirts, you distracted yourself by mindlessly scrolling on your phone as you awaited the moment he’d get home. Any second now and you’d hear that lovely security chime go off—

You jump a little in your bed when your thought is cut off by an incoming unknown number. If you weren’t buzzing with excitement before, you damn sure are now because it’s clear your boyfriend is going out of his way to play into this with you. There are practically small hearts in your eyes as you tap that enticing green button on your screen to answer the phone.

Biting back a smile, you’re quick to bring the phone up to your ear, “Hello?”

An almost low-quality distortion to the person’s voice is instantly recognized by you—it wasn’t Suguru’s voice at all, it was that infamous voice changer that spoke to you. “Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” A man asks, and you know this line all too well.

Hell, you know the entire dialogue. This is exactly why you sit up in your bed and hold back that smile of yours like your life depended on it. Tilting your head into the phone, you glance around your bedroom, “Who is this?”

“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine,” The ‘mystery’ man continues.

You had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from giggling right then and there. Your dark little fantasy was becoming true right before your very eyes and it had a sliver of excitement slipping down your spine. Sliding out from your bed, you take small steps toward the nearby window and glance outside.

Scoffing softly, “I don’t think so.” You quote, straight from the first Scream. You’ve seen the movie enough times to recite the whole thing word for word, even his lines.

It’s a bit off-script how things go from here on out but, that’s the goal.

“Aw, you’re no fun.” He purrs. Even with that damn voice changer, you’d recognize that purr any day. You know this is your boyfriend and that only has your body heating up with each passing second.

Now you’re left to improv a bit. “Think so?” You reply as you pull your bedroom curtains closed and turn away from the window.

“Oh I know so, sweetheart. It’s Halloween night and you’re doing nothing to celebrate.” The man on your phone points out.

You’re walking out of your room now and taking a careful peek into the dimmed hallway. “And that makes me not fun? What am I supposed to do to celebrate Halloween aside from dressing up and maybe handing out some candy?”

He chuckles. “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure something else out.”

“Let me guess,” Your brows raise a little, “I should be watching scary movies?”

“That depends. You like scary movies?” There you are, right back onto the script.

“Uhuh,” You hum in response with a slight nod as if he could see you.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” And there it is, infamous line one of many. You nearly let out a dreamy sigh knowing that it’s nothing but your boyfriend on the other end.

Allowing yourself to smile this time, you trek down your hallway and towards the staircase. “Uhhh, I dunno,” Of course you know, but where’s the fun in saying it so soon?

“You have to have a favorite. What comes to mind?” Every scratchy distorted-pitched word that pours from the man’s mouth has anticipation bubbling within you.

You sigh. “Uhmm, Halloween!” As you recall that answer straight from the movie, you turn to your staircase and allow your eyes to scan the first floor of your home.

Most of the lights are on so it’s not too dark or anything but you really are curious whether or not Geto has made his way inside already.

“Y’know, the one with the guy with the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters?” You quote flawlessly yet again. You’re such a fanatic for the Scream franchise that you’re loving every single second of this.

“Yeahh,” He purrs again, making your heart involuntarily flutter.

You begin to slowly descend down the flight of stairs, “What’s yours?”

“Guess.” He orders on the other end.

Pausing halfway down, you glance over to your kitchen. The light is still on and everything is exactly the way you left it. “Uhm, Nightmare on Elm Street?” You soon reply.

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?” The way your boyfriend knows every word to this just as well as you do makes your stomach churn in affection just a bit.

Your voice turns enthusiastic and you continue your steps down, “Yeah! Freddy Kruger.”

“Freddy, that’s right.” He continues, “I like that movie—it was scary.”

“Well the first one was but the rest sucked.” You’re downstairs now, looking around at the way all the blinds in your home are open. Did you leave them like that for this exact reason? You don’t remember.

“Mhm,” ‘Mystery’ man hums and you swear you can picture the smirk on his face as he utters the next infamous line. “Soo, you got a boyfriend?”

You pull your lower lip into your mouth for a second before smiling, “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Now you’re making a right to enter your living room, heading toward your couch placed in the center.

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks again.

You pause for a second. This literally is your boyfriend so, surely he wants you to play into this question, right?

“No.” You chirp simply.

You can hear the smile on his face even through that stupidly attractive voice changer, “You never told me your name.”

You know what comes after this and you can’t help but begin to look around as you plop down on your couch, “Why do you wanna know my name?”

It’s silent over the phone for a long couple of seconds

“Cause’ we wanna know who we’re looking at.”

Your heart surprisingly sinks as those words hit your ears. We? That’s not… how that scene goes. He was supposed to say that he wants to know who he’s looking at. There’s no we? Where the hell did he even get that from??

For the first time since you picked up this damn phone and started this whole thing, you’re actually a bit nervous. Chuckling loosely, you try to play it off as your eyes glance around your living room, “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

There’s a shuffling over the phone for just a moment. Then, you hear that distorted voice again, but the pitch is slightly different. “C’mon, princess. You’ve seen the movies, you should know by now that there’s hardly ever only one killer.” The man says.

Eyes all over every corner of the house, heart thumping slightly in your chest, you can feel your anxiety rising within. “I… I don’t understand.” You murmur softly.

And then… all the lights go out with a loud noise coming from somewhere outside. If you weren’t shaking in fear before, you damn sure are now. Your eyes go even wider and you move to put your phone on speaker, clicking your flashlight on right after.

“S-Suguru, this isn’t funny! I like the movies ‘nd all but I’m not the biggest fan of being scared, you know that.” The person(s) on the phone can hear the clear trembling in your voice as you stand up and point your flashlight to whatever area your eyes land on, searching for any signs of anyone.

There’s a snicker over the line. “Oh but this iss funny, sweets.” The tone changed again—it’s still distorted in that famous Ghostface pitch, but it’s not Suguru nor the person who’d said something before. “You look sooo scared right now.”

Aw hell, that lets you know he (or they) can see you right now. Which is just great considering you can’t see shit aside from darkness and the few areas of your house that your light lands on. You’re scared to leave the living room but… you’re also terrified of staying right where you are. You don’t know how many Ghostface’s are in your house right now and you don’t know what the hell Suguru has planned for you tonight.

“Stop playing around! Turn the lights back on and quit this scary shit, Suguru.” You huff out into the call, taking one step to your right and hearing the floor creak below your foot.

The house is eerily quiet—which is ridiculously concerning considering how he-, they can see you but you can’t see them at the moment. How the hell are they talking to you without you hearing them? They are in your house now, right??

“You said you wanted to get fucked by Ghostface, baby.” The voice returns, as does that natural purr, letting you know it’s Geto talking once more. “You never said how many…”

You slowly walk around your couch and shift your flashlight toward the blinds, trying to get a look outside your windows. “Are you serious? That sounds insane. How many of you are there?!” Your gaze flicks toward the nearby staircase and you only scare yourself as your eyes get lost in the darkness of your home.

Geto’s still talking, “Including me, there’s three of us. How does that sound, hm? I’m obviously not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to but, you do know who we all are.”

You swallow thickly. “Do I?” This time your words leave in a whisper and you swear you hear a shuffling coming from upstairs.

Lord knows you’re scared out of your mind right now. But, it is comforting to know that whatever this is, your boyfriend is in control of it all. You trust him more than anything, so there’s no real reason to be scared… right?

“Mhm. So how ‘bout we play a game?” Your boyfriend requests, and the sound of him smiling again is heard through his tone.

You stop walking entirely and your eyes are fixated upstairs as you flash your light up there. “Okay Jigsaw.” You snort, “What… What kind of game, huh?”

He sighs, almost sounding as though he were sitting back against something. “The one you and I were going to play. Y’know, you run around ‘n hide but if I find you, I fuck you. Let’s continue that but… with two others.”

“Suguru, you’re gonna let two other guys fuck me?” You’re beyond baffled by this whole thing. Never in a million years would you have expected this from your boyfriend. This is the same man who got mad a while ago for the way some guy who was all flirty with you at a restaurant…

Geto hums deeply, “S’long as you’re okay with it and they find you before I do, yeahh.”

“I didn’t know you were into that…” You reply, moving a hand to tug his shirt further down your body. Knowing that there was more than just him in the area right now made you a bit self-conscious.

“Didn’t know you were into masks but the Ghostface thing really does it for ya’, huh?” Suguru snaps back with that sass you know and love.

“I mean…” You shrug, “Yeah.”

“Right. So then, the game is simple. You try to hide and whoever finds you first; fucks you.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, nooo. There’s more to this baby…” You swear you hear a creak upstairs—coming from somewhere down the left end of the hallway. It gives you the chills as Geto continues. “See, I know how loud you are when you cum so… tonight, I want you to be nice and quiet.”

You gulp, “What happens if I’m not?”

“Another one of us will find you.”

“Oh—“

“…And join in.” He steadily adds on with an amused smile on his face that you obviously can’t see right now.

Your heart races at the thought alone. “Oh.”

Just for extra consent, Geto tilts his head against the phone, “That alright with you?”

“Yes… but, wait do I still have to be quiet even if there ends up being two of you guys fucking me…?” You lean to the side a bit and aim your light toward the direction you heard the creak, spotting no one and no signs of life whatsoever.

“Yep.” Geto replies with a teasing pop of the ‘p’.

“But—“

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine. After all,” The voice changer clicks off and Suguru’s tone is nice and clear with you, “Y’know whose cock you’re supposed t’get loud on.”

You feel yourself throb at the sound of his voice without that stupid filter, puffing out a little sigh in reaction to his lewd words.

“Oh, and by the way…”

“Huh?”

The voice changer clicks on one last time and he chuckles. “They’re already in the house.”

——

Okay, you knew Halloween was one of Suguru’s favorite holidays but shit you didn’t expect him to go all out like this.

Not one, not two, but three Ghostfaces in your home searching for you right now? You’re lucky the house is big and there are plenty of places to hide but fuck is your anxiety through the goddamn roof as you sit in the empty tub of your first-floor bathroom. The door is shut but not locked and you’ve got the tub curtain pulled closed, just in case one of them does happen to stroll in.

Obviously, this wasn’t the best hiding spot in the world but you wanted them to eventually find you. You were scared in the beginning because of how unexpected this was but now you’re just as excited as you were when you first received that infamous phone call and recited all the lines with your boyfriend.

As soon as the call had ended, you clicked your flashlight off and snuck around in search of a hiding place—which is roughly how you ended up where you are now…

Now you’re left wondering who would find you first. Well, that and who the hell is under two of those masks. You suspect one of them is Gojo Satoru since that’s your boyfriend’s best friend but the other guy… you’re not too sure. Geto said you knew him but that still doesn’t help much.

Your boyfriend has a lot of friends that you know. Which one does he trust enough to let them have their way with you??

After maybe fifteen minutes of sitting in the tub, you start hearing someone outside the bathroom door. Footsteps shuffle by and you can tell the person went off into your kitchen. Then you hear the sounds of doors and cabinets opening, all of which make your breath hitch.

It’s so nerve-wracking and exciting waiting for someone to swing open the bathroom door. The footsteps soon pass it again and you let out the faintest sigh.

…Only to hear those steps halt not too far off from the door. Then, they turn and your body stiffens up entirely as each thump against the hardwood floor draws closer and closer to the door. You can’t see it because of the shower curtains but, there’s a shadow at the bathroom door.

Then you hear a small clinking sound, followed by a very soft… thump? Almost as if someone were leaning against the bathroom door to listen.

It was so scarily exciting that you had to move a hand over your mouth to keep yourself as silent as possible. After which, it’s all so very motionless.

There’s no sound, safe for someone walking around upstairs, and you just know someone’s outside the bathroom door right now. Your heart sinks into your ass the moment you hear that doorknob turning torturously slow until it’s lightly pushed open.

Then, there are but two soft steps taken inside and you don’t hear it but the door is closed behind whoever just entered.

They could be coming in to just use the bathroom… riiiight?

That’s extremely naive of you to think but a girl can only hope. Another step is taken deeper into the bathroom and that soft clinking sound you heard before is getting louder. It’s faint, almost like… jewelry or… necklaces slapping against one another gently. Jewelry… Necklaces… Which one of Geto’s friends do you know wears a lot of jewelry...? C’mon, think.

Necklaces… rings maybe… piercings—

The very second it clicks in your brain who this might be, you practically flinch right out of your skin as you spot a knife slowly moving to slide the bathtub curtain open. As the curtain is pulled open, you’re met with the tilted head of someone in a Ghostface costume.

Your eyes are all wide on them and you genuinely have no idea where on your body this guy is looking but the mask is actually quite scary when it’s all dark and neither of you is making any sudden movements.

His head slowly angles to the opposing direction, just like Ghostface often does in the movies, and you gulp loudly. The curtain is pinned to the wall by the knife in his hand and you think you’re sweating.

“Scared?” His voice is deep. Familiarly deep. It quickly confirms your suspicions of who’s face may be lying beneath that iconic mask.

With your eyes all frantic along what’s covering his face, noticing the bits of blood and cracks decorating it, you swallow thickly yet again. “Choso?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper and the air feels so heavy with tension.

His hand moves away from the wall and the knife, which you hope is fake, is placed on the edge of the tub with a soft tapping noise emitting into the still air. Then he takes that same hand and lifts it to pull his mask up to the right side of his face, revealing his expression to you as he crouches down to your eye level. You quickly feel your fear die off and it’s replaced with… something else as you study his face. There’s fake blood splattered on his skin, makeup extending the tattoo along the bridge of his nose, and piercings that stand out against his facial features.

“The tub, really?” He whispers to you, chuckling softly and flashing this kind smile at you that makes you feel overly warm inside. “S’this the best you could do? Y’know if I was a real killer you’d be dead right now, right?” Choso teases, all of his words kept in a low voice.

You roll your eyes and shift against the cold tub flooring, “I wouldn’t have hid in here if you guys were real killers, I’m not dumb.”

His lips curve into this sexy yet lazy smirk and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. You had a thing for Choso way back before you started dating Geto and it seems as though your body hasn’t forgotten why. “Yeahh?” Choso chastises with another tilt of his head, “Think you would be the final girl?”

Leaning forward a bit, you nod. “No, I know I would.”

Choso lets out a hum before biting his lower lip for a moment. Then, he lets it fall from in between his teeth and you think you’re in a trance. “Oh she’s cocky, huh?” He teases.

You smile at him and then push up to stand on your knees. Leaning all the way forward, you slowly reach for the knife and take it into your hands. Then you move to hold the tip of it right underneath his jaw and the sound of his breath hitching hits your ears just right.

You openly stare at his lips and watch the way his smirk slowly transcends into a full cocky smile. “Y’know that’s not fake, right?” Choso hushes out to you.

The knife is carefully caressing his skin as you trace it up slightly to his chin, “It’s not?” You ask innocently, placing your free hand on the edge of the tub and watching how he slowly moves to sit on his knees so that he’s looking up at you.

His face is all pretty from this angle, big brown doe-eyes batting up at you so softly, such a pretty face of dark innocence presented before you. Who’s really the ‘victim’ here—you or him?

“Nah,” Choso whispers, “That’s a real knife.”

“Why would you carry around a real knife?” You ask in an equally soft tone as your brows twist up in confusion.

He shrugs. “Honestly, I was gonna ask if you were into a bit of knife play…”

His words make your mind stray away from the situation at hand. Your imagination is quick to push out ideas and all sorts of scenarios that could have occurred with this knife of his had you not looked so scared when he first saw you…

“Are you?” The question in return makes Choso’s gaze flicker into something way more lustful than it was moments before.

He scoffs, “Am I? Why would I ask you about it if I wasn’t.”

“So… What, you wanna cut my clothes off of somethin’?” You ask carefully, steadily slipping the tip of the knife along his jawline.

Choso just barely nods his head in response.

“Y’know it’s funny you say that and yet you’re the one on your knees with a knife held up to your chin right now.” You point out with an all-knowing grin plastered all over your face.

Choso bites back a laugh. It’s cute that you think you have the upper hand here. “You and I both know that could easily change in a matter of seconds.” He claims.

And y’know, maybe it’s because you found yourself turned on by this whole game or maybe it’s simply because you wanted to fuck Choso but either way—you do not shy away from testing that theory. All you said was a simple ‘prove it’ and you found yourself in quite the position moments later.

It was one thing that Choso managed to easily gain a hold of the knife once more but it was another thing entirely that he was able to swiftly and quietly get you out of the tub and into his arms. All without even so much as grazing you with that sharp weapon too.

It was almost impressive, in all honesty.

Somewhere in the mix of all that, he ends up placing the knife down and soon has you sitting on the bathroom counter. Well, had you sitting on the bathroom counter—it quickly becomes a lot more than simply that.

Choso used that lil’ knife of his to cut down the center of your (Geto’s) shirt and was quick to have you all exposed to his overly greedy eyes. You were wearing nothing more than this lacy black set beneath that oversized shirt so it wasn’t much to get you unclothed.

One second he was cutting your shirt open and the next his lips were on yours. Then his pierced tongue was in your mouth and your arms were around his neck, tugging him closer to you and feeling his hard cock poking you through the thick layers of black clothes between you and him.

Which is exactly what led to the way you are currently.

Choso now has your legs spread wide open for him and his clothes are hardly even off, safe for the black cloak-like jacket that slipped off of his shoulders and the way his pants have been tugged down. He’s got on this black compression shirt and you spot the layered chains/necklaces hanging from around his throat that you heard earlier. Now leaning back slightly against the mirror behind you with your eyes set down between the two of you, you’re left watching the mean slap of Choso’s leaky cockhead against your clit.

“Cho,” You whispered out pleadingly. He’d been doing this for the longest—tapping his thick cock against your clit and then rubbing it from side to side against you, feeling the way you leak onto the counter below and hearing those faint whines escaping your throat.

Then he has the nerve to have the sluttiest expression on his half-revealed face, eyes all low-lidded and glued to your exposed pussy, bottom lip locked in between his teeth as he holds back his own breathy sounds of pleasure, and brows all tense as if he’s not the one torturing the two of you like this. “Shiiiit,” Choso rasps out, sliding his cock down slowly and pressing his fat tip against your weeping hole. “Suguru was right, this pussy is s’fuckin’ loud ‘n messy…” He breathes.

Your lips are all parted and all you can do is pant softly as he lifts his tip away and then slaps it against your cunt again, listening to the shlick tapping sound that comes from your sex.

Almost in a daze, he glides his cock up and down your wet folds, “Look at herrr,” Choso purrs, “All wet f’me. Can’t believe he’s lettin’ us fuck you.” His hips push forward a bit and you feel the way his heavy shaft glides against your cunt instead of inside like you so desperately want him to.

You have to suppress the needy whine that threatens to escape your throat, holding one hand slightly over your mouth. “Choso, please.” You whisper beneath your palm.

He pulls his hips back and angles his tip back down to your entrance, pushing forward ever so slightly and teasing that tight ring of muscle, not trying to really push himself into you at all. “What is it, princess?” Choso taunts, smirking as he lifts his eyes up to your face, “Want me to fuck you?”

You throb at his words, nodding as if a second longer would have you pronounced dead. “Please,” You whine, trying your best to wiggle your hips forward.

Choso leans forward and moves his lips right up your ear, his breath all warm and tickly against your skin. “Yeah? Y’want my cock inside you that badly?” He says with another faint push of his hips. Every word that leaves his lips has you dripping all over him.

It’s not until you move your hand away from your mouth and place it on the counter space behind you, and whisper, “Yes Choso, just put it all the way in already, I’m losing my fuckin’ m-mind…” Your last word leaves a little shaky due to the way he suddenly moves a hand over your lips.

Pressing his palm against your mouth, you grow confused until you look over to the bottom of the bathroom door and see a shadow moving by. Yet another Ghostface was nearby.

Choso, not yet wanting to ruin his alone time with you, presses his lips further against your ear, and his other hand grips your thigh tightly. “M’not ready t’share you yet so, be really fuckin’ quiet f’me, alright?” His warning confused you for half a second before you felt him roll his hips forward with a sharp snap at the end, stuffing you full with every hard inch of his cock in one go.

Your eyes tear up and your mouth hangs open under his hand, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Choso’s dick is so stupidly big, reminding you of your boyfriend in more ways than one. Unlike Geto though, Choso’s got this ruthless right curve and just drags against your sweet spot with every small movement he makes, the rest of his cock felt throbbing and twitching wildly against your sodden walls.

He lets out a choked grunt against your ear and you can feel him humping his cock deeper inside you with these small maddening little thrusts. “Does he even fuck you? S-Shiiit…” Choso lets his thoughts be vocalized against the crown of your ear and you only squeeze around his girthy shaft. “S’fuckin’ tight.. God-, fu-uck…” His voice has this pretty lil’ crack at the end that makes you soak his cock even more, sloppy juices leaking all out from where the two of you are connected.

Choso has to tug his hips back a bit and he completely forgets that he recently heard someone walking by the bathroom as he mindlessly thrusts right back into you. Your eyes meet the back of your skull and you groan into his palm. The wet gurgles and squelches from your pussy are what draws attention to the bathroom, if any.

Which is something you can’t even control, especially not with the way Choso goes from short grunts in your ear to moaning delightedly against your skin and fucking his thick cock into your sinfully warm cunt. Deep and almost passionate strokes are made into you and he can’t help but rid his hand from your mouth at some point. Moving it back to your thighs, he sprawls your legs out even wider so his cock can dig deeper into you.

With your jaw still hanging open, the sounds of him fucking you against the counter slowly grow louder and louder. You’re trying not to moan but it’s so hard with him—Choso knows how to use his cock all too well and his eyes are studying your face so he knows where exactly he should be thrusting. Just the slightest shift of his hips causes drool to leak from the corner of your lips and that makes him flash this fucked-out little smile.

Choso leans up closer and his body sandwiches against yours for a moment. You swear you can feel his angry cockhead prodding at your guts because fuck is he in there deep. Not to mention how orgasmic it is to feel him drag his pierced tongue against your chin, lapping up the mess of drool from your face before shoving the muscle into your mouth and forcing you to suck on it.

That leaves your moaning drowned out for a bit and Choso takes the opportunity to pound himself into you like a damn madman. Your legs quickly begin to feel like jello in his hands and you couldn’t even focus on sucking on his tongue anymore. Then, he pulls his mouth away, just barely, and the two of you are staring deep into each other’s eyes as his pace gets faster. His hips are so sharp against you and you can feel his weighty balls slapping against your ass with every mean and pronounced thrust.

Your breath mingles with one another and you’re both so fucked out that you don’t even realize you’re a lot louder now until you spot the bathroom door cracking open in your peripherals. It barely makes a sound as it’s pushed open slightly and all you see is yet another person wearing a Ghostface mask—the sight alone and the clear eye contact you make with them leading straight to your orgasm.

The second Ghostface stands motionless, doing nothing more than watching the blissful way your eyes lull to the back of your head and you release this sweet moan of Choso’s name. Choso, oblivious to being watched right now, is so close to emptying himself inside you.

“F-Fuck,” He huffs, tipping his head back and looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “So tight… I’m gonna c-cum if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” His voice fluctuates here and there but by the time your eyes roll back into place, the bathroom door is shut and that second Ghostface is now standing right behind Choso.

You flinch and Choso chokes out a grunt at how tightly you just clenched around his cock. The second Ghostface is slow to lift his mask up a bit, only revealing his mouth with this recognizable snake bite piercing that has your cunt gripping onto Choso even tighter. Then, the man leans to Choso’s ear and practically scares him into cumming inside you.

“What do we have here, hm?” Gojo whispers, making Choso’s hips stutter against you. He then reaches a gloved hand around Choso and your neglected clit is met with his thumb swatting over it, “Can’t believe you found her first. S’not fair…” Gojo hums softly with a slight pout.

You have this dumbfounded look all over your face and you may be fucked out of your mind but you swear Choso’s cock is almost harder inside you. The two of you curse in unison as Gojo rotates his thumb against your clit in a sensual circle motion, making you clench again and Choso rolls his gaze back—only the whites of his eyes visible to you.

“K-Keep rubbin’ her like that,” Choso pants with a soft moan. “She’s so fucking tight… I’m gonna die in here, s-shit.” He curses dramatically.

Gojo flicks his thumb upwards against your clit with a nasty trickle of your slick oozing out onto Choso’s cock. “You’re not gonna die, Cho,” He says in a chastising tone with a smile on his face, taking his free hand to pull his mask further up so that you can see his eyes.

You watch the way Gojo looks over Choso’s shoulder and stares at Choso’s lengthy cock disappearing in and out of your slobbering pussy. Gojo feels his own dick throb against his pants, pressing himself a bit closer to Choso and moving to talk into his ear. “I mean look at her,” Gojo directs, leading to Choso focusing his hazy gaze onto your face. “You’re already fucking her to tears, you’re not gonna die, heh. You’re fuckin’ her good.”

That last praise is what causes Choso to slump forward against you and roll his hips harshly against you—followed by which is a thick spurt of cum as he finishes inside you with a broken groan pouring from his lips. All as Gojo keeps his thumb on your clit, despite his hand getting squished in between you and Choso’s body.

Then Gojo smirks and leans in toward Choso again, “There ya’ go, good boy. Let it all out inside her. Jus’ like that…”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this… ruined before in your life. Watching Gojo tease and praise Choso like that while you were still being fucked and your clit was being stimulated led to you abruptly squirting. Choso’s cock slips right out of you and Gojo removes his hand just so that both of them could watch you let out that filthy lil’ stream.

Choso’s completely out of it as he watches your pussy spasm wildly. “Holy…” He whispers, hardly able to finish the rest of his statement.

Gojo clicks his tongue, “Suguru didn’t tell us you were a squirter. Or, has he never made you do that before?” He asks, slowly lifting his eyes up to your face.

You look like you’re about to pass out, your body all sweaty as you lean back against the mirror again and pant heavily. “He… hah, f-fuck, h-he has.” You squeak out softly.

Gojo hums before looking back down, allowing Choso to step (stumble) back slightly past him so he can catch his breath. Then, once Choso is completely out of the way and the space between your legs is left vacant—Gojo lets out an alarming chuckle.

He watches the way Choso’s cum dribbles out of your overstimulated cunt, glob after glob leaking out so prettily that Gojo can’t help but crouch down to get a closer look. Your eyes lazily follow his snowy head of hair and watch as his face is repositioned in between your spread legs. He moves his gloved thumb to your pussy lips and sloshes that mix of you and Choso’s cum around against you.

Then, Gojo flicks his gaze up to you and you gulp. He looks you dead in the eyes before spreading your lips further apart with his thumb and leaning forward. Your jaw drops in shock as Gojo cups his mouth against your pussy and suckles the mess from Choso into his mouth.

You whine, “S-Satoru—oh, w-wait,” You’re left gasping as you shoot a hand down to his hair and grip him tightly.

Gojo groans deeply and you feel his tongue lap against your saturated cunt leisurely. Moving up and down in a sloppy filthy manner, your legs are trembling while Gojo cleans you up casually.

Choso’s sitting on the nearby toilet seat now, batting his lashes at Gojos actions in shock. “Satoru you… you know I just—“

“Mhmm,” Gojo mumbles into your pussy, pulling his lips back just barely to allow a cool slap of air to hit you. Then, he swallows. “You both taste really,” Gojo leans back in to kiss your cunt, “Mmph… fuckin’ sweet.” He murmurs against you before slithering his tongue inside you.

Your back arches and your legs move to close around his head as your fingers tug desperately on his locks of hair. “S’toru,” You mumble, “Fuck. Please… mgh, n-needa’ break. I-I can’t—“

Gojo tilts his head and smiles into your honeyed slick, “Sweetheart,” He rasps against you, suckling on your taste for a moment longer before pulling off with a wet pop! “I jus’ got here ‘n you want a break from me already?” He says, pushing out his bottom lip to pout. “That’s so mean.”

Before you even get the chance to argue with that, he’s diving right back in and eating you out like a man staved. Sucking, licking, kissing, spitting—Gojo’s between your legs in some kind of trance as he drools all over his current meal. He’s such a messy eater too, his actions quickly leading to the lower half of his face being coated with remnants of you.

After a bit, Choso seems to have collected himself and he’s soon standing up. His pants have been hastily pulled up and you’re too lost in the overstimulation Gojo’s giving you to realize Choso is approaching you too. When your eyes lift, you see Choso with his Ghostface mask back over his face and his phone held in his right hand.

Cocking his head to the side, he looms closer to Gojo and sneaks a, now gloved, hand into his bright white tufts of hair, prying his mouth away from your cunt with a harsh tug. You watch with teary eyes as Choso holds his phone up to Gojo’s face, and hums out a low, “Smile.” With the voice changer turned on.

Gojo sparks a toothy grin and his expression is all high in pleasure. He looks faded out of his mind, simply off of eating you out alone. The flash from Choso’s phone lights up the bathroom and within the picture he just took, only your legs are visible dangling over Gojo’s shoulders. They’d just recreated that infamous photo you see around this time of year all over your socials. Usually, the victim would be laid out stomach first on the floor and Ghostface would tug their head up by their hair but, this definitely works too.

“Atta’ boy,” Choso praises after he’s taken the desired amount of pictures.

Gojo looks up to you and he’s pretty sure he can see little hearts in your eyes as you glance back and forth between him and Choso. “You don’t mind, do ya’? We wanna have somethin’ to remember this by,” He tells you.

You simply shake your head no and both of the men in front of you smile. Choso then nods his head a little before using his grasp on Gojo’s hair to shove him back down in between your legs—earning a surprised hum from your throat and a muffled groan from Gojo’s.

Despite the little Surprise, Gojo gets back to work with his mouth and you end up leaning forward a bit in surprise. Choso moves over to the side a bit and he feels you drop a hand to Gojo’s head to give him a light push away so he can ease up on you. In contrast to this, Choso steals your attention by wrapping a free hand of his around your throat. Your eyes shoot up to him and you’re met with the eyes of Ghostface since he’s got the mask back on.

Purposefully, he does that head tilt again. So slowly does it tip to the side as Gojo’s teeth graze your clit, causing you to let out a pleasureful yelp. “Fuck!” You gasp, to which Choso removes his hand from Gojo’s hair.

Creeping up along your body, Choso grabs a greedy handful of your breast before leaning in. “That was loud, princess. You’re gonna get us all caught,” He snickers to you.

Your bottom lip quivers and you think the sight of it makes Choso feel bad. He takes his hand off of your tits for just a second to pull his mask up and then returns his gasp. Both of you have the same idea in mind but it’s you that reaches for him this time, tugging him in so that his lips can meet yours again.

And then it’s just sloppy from there on out. Anyone with ears could walk past that bathroom, or anywhere down stairs for that matter, and hear the sliding of lips over one another followed by gurgled gasps and barely muffed goans. Choso’s making out with you while he plays with your tits in his hands and Gojo’s still lost in between your legs.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire and your head is beginning to spin from how good you feel everywhere. It only gets worse when the two start muttering praises out to you.

Dragging his lips down to your chest, Choso hushes out these elated whispers, “C’mon pretty girl, don’t tap out on us jus’ yet.”

Then there’s Gojo who moves to suck on your inner thigh. “Yeahh, don’t tap out. Let us make you feel good, baby.” He hums into your skin.

The counter beneath your ass is a slippery wet mess just like the bottom of Gojo's face and all the way down his neck with the way he let your juices trickle along his skin as he ate. All three of you get a little lost in the moment for quite some time. So much that you all seem to forget there’s supposed to be a third Ghostface.

Who, unknowingly, ends up silently opening the bathroom door and catching the way his two friends have his girlfriend all spread out ‘n ruined like some slut. Geto swore he almost came in his pants at the sight alone. You don’t seem to notice he’s standing there and you’re the only one facing him. His eyes are all over your wet expression, watching and listening to you moan two other guy’s names.

He didn’t even want to say anything. Geto just wanted to remain where he was and watch because lord knows if he joins in he won’t last longer than a few seconds. So, he does exactly that—going completely unnoticed there for a while.

Up until Gojo pulls his mouth off of you for a second. He looks up to see Choso decorating your chest in hot kisses and wet hickies, the two of you constantly making eye contact with one another before he moves his lips to yours again. Fuck just watching you two was hot. So hot that it makes Gojo wonder where the hell his best friend is at and why he’s missing out on all this.

Which is what leads to him turning around to glance back at the bathroom entrance, quickly spotting Geto standing there leaning against the door frame. Well, shit. It’s in that moment that Gojo realizes he sees the appeal in the whole Ghostface thing because fuck is his best friend just as hot as everything and everyone else in this damn room.

After Gojo, you’re the next person to realize your boyfriend is now present, and then Choso seconds later. Each of you have this face as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to but that little detail is irrelevant given how Geto could care less about how he was the last to find you. And sure, he may have watched you run into the bathroom earlier and could’ve gone in there to scare you a while ago but, watching Choso and Gojo eventually find you and then listening to them interact with you from outside the bathroom was far more entertaining.

—

So, one thing led to another and…

You find yourself laid out in your bed all over again, this time accompanied with three men. Geto was the first to get himself situated—seating himself not too far away from the bed and telling you to “put on a show for him”.

By this point, who were you to even question him? If Gojo and Choso were leading things before, they damn sure aren’t now because it’s you who’s ordering them around and letting them know where you want them. Starting with you on all fours, showing off that arch that Geto has had you perfect over the years. Then your legs part slowly and Gojo’s behind you in a trance as he watches you move a hand to spread your cunt open for him.

“You spoil us, sweetheart,” Gojo rasps in a low pitch, voice slightly hoarse from how long he’d gone without talking earlier.

You wanted to focus on him some more but a pair of fingers are placed on your chin and your face is quickly redirected to the second man of need. The moment your head turns, you’re met with Choso’s fat cockhead right in front of your face. Batting your lashes, you’re slow to look all the way up to him and see the way he’s smirking down at you.

“‘Could get off on that look alone, y’know.” Choso comments deeply in reference to your wide glossed over eyes and how close his tip is to your lips.

Gojo’s behind you frowning at the way Choso stole your attention yet again. In an attempt to, at least, have your mind on him once more, Gojo simply pushes his hips forward and eyes the sloppy part of your pussy spread against his pink tip. He hears it, Choso hears it, they all hear the way you gasp softly. It’s like they’re all hyper aware of every sound or slight movement you make.

Immediately after, your hips are wiggling back and Gojo’s quick to palm the fats of your ass. “Finally givin’ me some attention now, huh?” He quips.

You pull away from Choso’s touch just to look back at Gojo. “Suguru should’ve told you guys, I hate bein’ teased.” The way you force yourself back on him not even a second after that last word is leaving your lips has Gojo’s jaw falling and his fingers curling into your skin.

“W-Woah sweets, you could’ve warned me f-first…” He stammers, eyes dropping down to your greedy cunt swallowing up his lengthy inches of cock like it’s nothing. Gojo had to bite back a whine as he listened to the syrupy squelches that came with each backward push of your hips. “Fuuck, don’t stop. Give it t’me, baby.”

Gojo doesn’t even have to move yet and you’re already letting off a shaky moan, driving your hips back carefully and feeling him fill up every inch of your cunt. He’s all dazed while he watches his aching cock delve deep inside you, inch by inch—you take him like you were fuckin’ made for him.

The man is just dazed. He understands why Choso said he was gonna die earlier becuase fuckin’ hell he’s not even all the way in yet and you’re already clamping around his veiny shaft with no intention of ever letting go. And the goddamn arch you have, they way your ass looks all pretty backing up against him—

Gojo’s thrusting forward before he even realizes he is and his hands slide up to your hips to hold you nice ‘n steady. Your legs shake and your jaw mirrors his with the way it just hangs open. Then there’s your eyes and the way they roll back, a delicious moan exiting from deep within your throat.

He definately fucks you harder than Choso was earlier because you can feel his cock everywhere—he has you so stupidly full and dumb on his dick within seconds, landing a mean hand down onto your ass amid his thrusts.

“Ohh fuck, Suguru y’had this pussy all to yourself all this time?” Gojo grunts. “…S-Selfish bastard.”

Gojo’s hands are arguably slimmer than your boyfriends but his grip on you is just the same. Hence why you can’t do anything as he tugs you back to meet his rough pounding. Hell, all you’re left with is a brain full of nothing as your head turns to face forwards and you unconsciously look up at a stunned Choso.

His hand is wrapped around his cock and despite being right in front of your face, he’s definitely jerking off to they way Gojo’s fucking you (or maybe just to Gojo himself, who knows). When Choso does look down, you see his brows twist up and his lips part.

Your mouth is already hanging open so clearly you’re silently offering to help him, right? Which is why he angles himself toward your gape mouth and grunts, “Open up f’me pretty girl, nice ‘n wide…”

And you do, widening your mouth for him to slide his cock in steadily. Choso hisses at the sensation, the underside of his cock gliding down the center of your slobbering wet tongue so lewdly that it makes his teeth grind together. God, if you weren’t every bit of perfect like this. He watches the way his dick fills your mouth and feels how ridiculously tight your throat is as he eases his hips forward.

Almost in unison, Gojo and Choso and up tossing their heads back—one letting out a guttural groan and the other releasing a sweet moan. You’re soaked just about everywhere. Your pussy is sobbing and dripping around Gojo’s cock and your mouth is hardly any better with the way drool is dribbling down from your chin and onto the bed.

All as your boyfriend is losing his ever loving mind.

Geto came twice in his hand already and yet he’s still bucking his hips up into his fist. He’s never been this hard in his life. Something about watching you get absolutely ravaged by his two friends just make his dick throb in ways he cannot explain. You look perfect too, so damn angelic despite the rather sinful situation you’re in. There’s a creamy mess of cum slicked up and down Geto’s length from the thick tip to his base.

You’re busy getting fucked to tears (again) by Gojo and Choso, one of which has a heavy hand on your head encouraging your throat further around his curved cock and the other keep’s snapping his hips against your ass with his weighty balls grazing your clit every now and then.

You’re all so screwed. This is like something straight out of a damn porno and yet you didn’t care. Hell, you could hardly fathom enough thoughts at the moment to care.

And of course all three of them are just babbling all sorts of things to you, teasing you, taunting you, making you dizzy with pleasure.

Gojo’s back there spreading your ass apart and watching how wet you’ve gotten his dick, smiling sinfully at the sight. “Look at this pretty girl,” He grunts, “Takin’ my cock so. fucking. well. ungh.”

Then there’s Choso, nodding along as if he agrees with Gojo’s groaned words. His fingers are buried into your hair and by this point he’s fucking your face at the same rate Gojo’s fucking your cunt. “Her throat’s even better—shit. Y’should see how her lips look wrapped around me right now. Especially when I get,” Choso pauses just to give his hips one tortuously slow push, making you deepthroat his angry cockhead. “Right here, f-fuck.”

Again, Geto’s on the side just losing himself at the moment. You make the mistake of glancing over at him and his eyes lock with yours. Geto’s bottom lip is quivering and you watch his hand jerk himself off faster, his legs shifting open and closed as he overstimulates himself. Some nerve you had to look at him as if you don’t have two cocks inside you right now.

“M’gonna cum,” Geto’s muttering to himself over and over in some fucked-out little mantra.

Watching his head toss back and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down is probably one of the sexiest sights. The Ghostface mask is all pulled up and his hair is splayed out in a mess of strands.

You end up gagging around Choso when Gojo hits your sweet spot for the sixth time in a row, your fingernails clawing against the sheets below. That’s all it takes for Choso to pull out and come undone all over your face without warning. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting your throat to tighten around him like that so suddenly…

Geto’s not too far behind, cumming in thick ropes with a sexy groan of your name leaving his lips—a sight you barely get to see because then Gojo’s leaning over you and your torso is suddenly pressed down against the bed for a moment. Then, you’re tugged up by a harsh grasp of your hair and Gojo’s fucking you even rougher than he was before, pressing his lips right against your ear.

“Fuckin’ slut,” He degrades so suddenly, wraping a free hand around your waist just to swat a finger over your clit again. “Look at this mess,” Oh, he’s just mean all of a sudden. Gojo lets go of your hair and turns your face toward him, leaning in and… licking the remnants of Choso’s release off of your face, again.

Your breath hitches and you wish you could have said something snarky but then you’re shoved right back down onto the bed. Gojo shifts his gaze to Choso, who flinches at the sudden eye contact, and then motions for him to come closer.

Once he does, Gojo grabs him by the jaw and pulls him in. “Open your mouth,” He breathes out hotly.

Choso bats his lashes at the man but doesn’t hesitate, parting his lips and taking the extra step as to sticking his tongue out. Gojo spits right onto the center of it and then smirks, “Good boy, now swallow it ‘n taste yourself f’me.”

It’s right about then that you release for the nth time of the night, followed by you squirting again due to the exchange you just heard between those two men. Then, as you wait for the stars in your vision to clear out, you hear Choso gulp loudly.

Half-way smiling to himself, Choso scoffs. “Guess you were right… I do taste pretty sweet.”

A/N: ty guys so much for 6k followers here btw!! much love, mwah.

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itneverendshere · 10 months ago

Text

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ONE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter two┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for him—Rafe.

It had been a long month.

Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little “breaks,” they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldn’t. You’d known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truth—he’d always come back.

But this time was different.

This time, he wasn’t calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Ward’s death—But it was the truth.

Still, you hadn’t expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing you’d heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topper’s new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Mase’s place—something about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right.

You pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing.

You weren’t stupid.

You’d always known Rafe wasn’t the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry—but so were you. And in some messed-up way, that’s why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off.

Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling that’d been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.

You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didn’t bother with.

Your mind was set on one thing—Rafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. It’s time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.

But then there was Ruthie—blocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.

"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.

You forced a smile, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t miss a party like this,” you said, keeping your tone casual.

You weren’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing.

“Oh, I just bet,” she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.

What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didn’t, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.

“Ruthie, I swear to God—” you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “don’t get mad at me. I’m just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.” She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy he’s gotten with her.”

You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake she’d always been. You couldn’t believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.

“Thanks for the tip,” you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didn’t try and wait for her reply.

You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadn’t seen him since the break, and part of you didn’t want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafe’s.

And then you heard hers.

No fucking way.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You told yourself you just needed to see him, talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. That’s when you heard it again—her laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.

She was there, with him.

You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.

There they were.

She was smiling, laughing softly at something he’d said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like he’d done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.

"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?"

You froze.

He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofia’s shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched her—like she was something to be savored—sent a rush of burning humiliation straight through your chest.

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafe’s words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap.

What the fuck was this?

Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didn’t help, not even a little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.

It was real. He moved on in two fucking months. That’s all it had taken for him to replace you, to be done with you.

He was over you, just like that.

After everything you’d been through together, all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldn’t breathe because your whole family was gone—after years of being his and him being yours—how the fuck could he move on when you’d been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?

Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldn’t breathe, it was coming out too fast, shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.

What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t even had anything to drink. But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you couldn't stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement.

Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.

Without a single warning, not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything you’d just seen replayed in your mind—Rafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.

“Look who’s still standing!” Topper’s voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. “Jesus, what did you have to drink? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldn’t say a word.

Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. “You good? You look kinda—"

You cut him off, the question was heavy, a lump lodged in your throat. “Did you know?”

He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. “Know what?”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking.

“About Rafe and Sofia.”

You hated saying her name. Hated that you’d been forced to know it by heart.

Topper’s smile dropped, his expression changing. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, you were the only one in the island who’d been let out of the secret. Surely, your friends, your only family would’ve told you something right? It’s not like you were on a remote island away from them.

You’d spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle.

You visited occasionally. You were a call away.

“Did everyone fucking know?”

Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we didn’t think it was serious. You know how it is with you two—you’ve done this before. Played with other people…”

Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didn’t make sense. You’d always known how it worked, understood how these things went—but it was never real.

You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse.

“Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.”

He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadn’t seen you in this desperate state in years, “Hey, hey, calm down. Look, it’s not like it means anything. Rafe’s just—he’s going through a lot with his dad dying, and he… he’s just messing around. You know how he gets.”

But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worse—how everyone knew, they’d all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking he’d come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.

With someone else.

You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knew—ways that had always been yours—made you feel like you were being torn apart.

Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying. “You know how it goes. You always end up back together. He’s just doing whatever to distract himself.”

That word. Distract himself, as if your entire relationship could be boiled down to that—a series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.

You could still remember the night your life changed—the phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your family’s private plane had gone down. Your parents, your sister.

Gone, just like that.

Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.

You'd been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he knew what it was like to grieve.

He knew loss, he understood. Because you’d been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that day—fourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.

The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and you’d found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadn’t started dating yet, hadn’t crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.

A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other, it was fucked up, but you couldn’t imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.

How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?

Was that it?

Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything you’d done for him?

All the times you’d been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what you’d said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasn’t a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you can’t pretend like he didn’t fuck you up."

You hadn’t even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and you’d spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his father’s approval like it would ever be enough. But that didn’t make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better, how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.

But instead, you’d been brutal. Honest, but brutal.

And now, two months later, here you were—staring at the empty street, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

“Fuck, why did I say that?” you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldn’t you have just let it go?

But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside.

So you’d been too harsh about Ward. So you’d said what everyone else had been too scared to say.

It wasn’t like you’d been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.

Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.

You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadn’t just met, like you hadn’t spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way he’d held onto you. That was the real Rafe—the one he hid from everyone else, who was lost and broken underneath all the anger.

And you’d seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could.

Not Sofia. Not anyone.

"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."

The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much, that you were out of control.

But then…

You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. ‘Time of the month’, he'd said.

Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when you’d last…fuck.

You hadn’t had your period in… so long. Almost two months.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke. You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door.

"Shit."

How could you not have noticed?

Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"

You couldn’t even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.

You hadn't even thought about it until now—everything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasn’t possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.

“Shit,” You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.

He was still staring at you, “What? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

But you were already backing away, shaking your head.

“I—I need to go,” You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.

Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.

"You’re not driving in this state." he warned you, his hands up, trying to physically stop you.

You just glared at him, “Fucking watch me.”

He didn’t budge.

"You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.

You couldn’t believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do?

You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking.

"He’s too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."

The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didn’t care how harsh they sounded, you didn’t care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place.

Before he could say anything else, you made your move, pushing past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess. Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys, managing to unlock the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.

You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.

Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth you’d been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadn’t even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

You weren’t thinking clearly—shit, you weren’t thinking at all, but you couldn’t stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didn’t even exist.

You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock.

Fucking idiot.

His arms were stretched out wide, as if he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.

“You’re not doing this, I swear to God, you’re not!” he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced you’d actually go through with it.

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield.

“Top, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didn’t move. “You think I’m letting you drive like this? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt.

You weren’t bluffing, you were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didn’t deserve it.

You just needed to get out of here.

“Move!” you screamed, “I’m not joking’, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!”

His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night.

“Rafe! Dude, get over here!”

Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw him—Rafe. Right there in the yard.

And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually.

As if he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second.

A moment too long, amoment that broke something inside you.

While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topper’s stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.

You didn’t look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this, hated that you were crying, that you’d let yourself get to this point.

“God, what is wrong with me?” you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. “Why the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldn’t be crying over him.” You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.

You’d told yourself you were stronger than this—that after everything you’d been through, you didn’t need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadn’t he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. You’d relied on him so much.

Too much.

“Fuck,” you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, all the nights you’d spent together, him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way he’d pulled you out of the gloom when you thought you’d never get back up again. You thought he’d always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own.

You’d always fit together perfectly.

You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to even think about what you were about to do.

The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of place—like a stranger in your own skin. You hadn’t even thought about how ridiculous you must’ve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the store’s glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearing—sleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this store—with its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien.

You didn’t belong here.

You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you.

They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.

The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.

You always did this—dressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.

The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?

You didn’t bother looking at her, all you wanted was to pay for that shit and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something.

For her own good, you prayed she didn’t.

You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster.

“Take it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didn’t care that she was young or nervous. You weren’t here to make friends or for anyone’s sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didn’t talk, that was all that mattered.

You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the money—none of it meant shit right now.

You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.

You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole life—which, to be fair, it kind of did.

You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it. Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests.

How had it come to this?

Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out.

Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?

It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Your body was probably fucked up from all the stress. Perhaps your period was late because you’d been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t want to cry anymore, not after all of this, especially not over Rafe or your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didn’t even want to be a part of.

The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated place—the one you’d spent so much time making into a refuge, an escape—it didn’t feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you. Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it.

Of course, it was Rafe.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?”

The nerve.

The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience.

Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit. Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind.

You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass, but instead, you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

You blocked him.

You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldn’t. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.

This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would, cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldn’t settle.

Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.

You were tired.

Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight, no comfort to be found.

Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white or in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.

Maybe tomorrow you’d feel differently.

You'd wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests, you’d be strong again like you’d been so many times before.

Tonight, you were just tired.

You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep.

That’s what you needed, a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, you’d deal with everything.

All of this would go away.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb

@rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2 @starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols

@icaqttt

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hellfirenacht · 4 months ago

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Fic Summary: Eddie had a casual thing going, but when that ends he realizes he has more options than he thought. SMUT

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fem!reader, slightly-experienced!Eddie, virgin!Reader but don't make it weird, friends to lovers, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, porn with plot, or maybe plot with porn, drug use (weed), two idiots figuring things out, slightly ambiguous ending, no use of y/n, Reader is not described

Notes: No beta, what am I a fish?

Word Count: 7.8k words

Master List

Eddie had known he was being used, he wasn’t an idiot despite the fact that she thought he was. He knew from the second that she asked him to meet her behind the school what she wanted, and for once he gave in.

It had happened twice before, and with both of those girls he shot them down immediately and walked away. Aside from not being interested, those girls were too young for him anyway.

It was obvious that Heather wanted more than a dime bag when she sat at the picnic table. Eddie didn’t do subtle, and neither did she. He had been ready to turn her down and walk away but he didn’t. He should have, but he didn’t.

Maybe it was because she actually talked to him before the exchange. Buttered him up with questions about his band and his pins. Maybe it was the way she sat on top of the table and had her skirt hiked up to a dangerous level.

The most likely reason is that she wasn’t a kid and Eddie was just a guy. An 18 year old and a 20 year old hooking up wasn’t a crime.

It lasted longer than he thought it would.

Three months this went on, sneaking around and never being seen together. It had been fun at first, a little dangerous. For a while it made him feel like being a freak wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hearing someone scream his name in pleasure was a lot better than out of anger.

The first month was the best.

The second month, things were getting strained. Rick always says that pleasure was the business, but in Eddie’s case the pleasure was ruining his business. He couldn’t keep cutting deals with her, and he was barely making enough to buy more from Rick. Plus condoms were way more expensive than he thought. Eddie would cheap out on a lot of things, but condoms and guitar strings were not it.

Heather was also getting bored by the third month. She stopped asking him questions and stopped talking to him. She didn’t even stay to cuddle, or she’d kick him out of her place after getting what she wanted. Sometimes even before he got his.

The sex was fun until it wasn’t. It became mechanical, uninteresting. Screams of pleasure now sounded shrill and fake like some of the bad pornos he’d sneak from the local novelty shop. Eddie found himself enjoying the company of his right hand more than Heather as the end of the third month came to a close.

It was a relief when Heather and Jacob were seen walking down the halls hand in hand passing Eddie’s locker that day. No words were needed, just a look from Heather that made it clear that it was over.

That was fine. He hadn’t been in love with her or anything, but it stung. Girls didn’t want Eddie Munson, they wanted the Freak, the Drug Dealer, the Guitar Player.

Okay fine, girls didn’t even want those things from him most of the time. Any girl that attempted to flirt with him was either clearly making fun of him, or just wanted bragging rights. Even those girls were so few and far between.

Eddie was never looking to be anyone’s boyfriend. He has other priorities; his band, his club, his friends, his van, his Uncle. All of that came before things like romance or dating.

Sex, however, fluctuated on that list. He was a healthy young man after all.

Wayne had just left for work, and Eddie had closed the curtains and turned off the lights in the living room before popping in his favorite VHS into the player.

It didn’t do anything for him.

Eddie waited for the excitement to build inside of him but the longer he watched the less interested he became. The moaning sounded too forced, and the girls just weren’t doing it for him like before.

But he had nothing else to do so he kept watching, not even paying attention. His eyes glazed over and he found himself thinking of anything other than what was supposed to be his distraction for the evening.

He wished he had a joint, but Heather had taken his last one. Rick was out of town for the next few days.

The only thing that snapped him out of his haze was the sound of the door slamming open, and you bargain in like you owned the place.

“Jesus!” Eddie jumped and grabbed a pillow and held it over his crotch, which wasn’t even necessary as his pants were still fully up and he was barely half-hard. Eddie panicked and scrambled for the remote, pushing every wrong button to try and turn off the stupid porno.

“Bad time?” you asked dryly, walking over and looking point blank at the tv where some blond chick was bent over a table while being pounded. From this angle it was hard to tell if it was in her pussy or her ass.

“Don’t you ever fucking knock?!” Eddie asked as he finally managed to turn the tv off, plunging the room into darkness.

“Not when it’s important.” You said, still looking at the now blank tv. “Are your pants up yet?”

Eddie set aside the pillow and turned on a lamp. “They were never off. It wasn’t doing anything for me.” He was being more honest than he intended. You two were friends, good friends even. Eddie would consider everyone in Hellfire a good friend. Despite his lapse in judgement with Heather, Eddie didn’t really do casual.

Eddie liked passion, he liked knowing that he was alive. He wanted to feel wanted. Maybe that’s why he spent those three months with Heather. At least she tried to make him feel wanted for a moment before she got bored.

You turned around to look at him with a disappointed frown.

“What? Can’t a man enjoy an evening alone with his porno collection?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t like you to be judgemental about sex, he knew for a fact that you had your own small collection of dirty pictures and romance books.

You took a deep breath and sat next to him on the couch, turning to face him. Eddie stiffened a little, noting the irony that every part of him was now a bit more stiff except for the part that he had wanted to earlier.

“Eddie... where have you been?” you asked carefully.

Eddie was surprised at the question and a little confused. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been here or at school or-”

“I mean, yeah.” you interrupted. “You’ve still been at school and running Hellfire, and at the Hideout but...” You stopped and furrowed your eyebrows as if you were unsure how to really finish your sentence.

“But...?” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s like you aren’t around. We all keep trying to hang out with you and you keep blowing us off. You stopped hanging out after band practice with Jeff, Doug keeps trying to get you to hang out to talk about the new D&D expansion, and every time I ask you to hang out you say you’re busy.” You finally manage to say.

Eddie flinched, and rested a foot on the coffee table. “I’m allowed to have a life outside of school, you know.” He was being defensive, and he knew it.

“Yes, and that’s fine!” you said quickly. “You’re allowed to have other things going but I- we miss you.”

Shit. Eddie felt like a heel at those words. He hadn’t meant to blow his friends off for Heather, it just happened. He figured as long as he was still running the game and showing up for practice then everything would be fine.

Eddie had wanted to feel wanted, but had turned his back on the people who actually wanted to be around him.

Damn Heather and her short skirts.

No, that wasn’t completely fair. She had been honest about what she wanted. Heather wanted sex and cheap weed. Eddie, as much as he would never want to admit to it, had craved something deeper. Not with Heather, per say, but just in general.

Eddie was never looking to be someone’s boyfriend, but for a while it was nice to act like one. It was a complicated feeling.

“Sorry.” He said, more to the discarded pillow than to you. “Things have been weird these past few months. My schedule has just cleared up though so I’ll be around more.”

There was silence from you for a long while, and Eddie was worried that his apology wouldn’t be enough.

“Did she dump you?”

Eddie froze in place and he felt all the blood drain from his face. How had you known...?

“Wh.. what?” Eddie could only manage to force out as his mind scrambled for anything to say to either explain or get out of this conversation.

“Heather. I uh, I saw you two in the forest on accident.” you said, messing with a rip in the couch.

Eddie grabbed the pillow again and covered his face with a groan. “How much did you see?” he asked.

“Enough to know that she’s willing to be shirtless when it was barely 40 degrees outside.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie smacked his head on the pillow a few times as he heard you let out a small giggle.

“I’m pretty sure I heard her say that, too.” You said, catching the pillow he had tried to smack you with.

You grabbed the pillow and held into it now. “Did you like her?”

The question gave Eddie pause. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I thought I could since she paid attention to me and at least tried to get to know me a little but...”

You put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a rub. “I get it.” you said quietly. “Sorry you got dumped.”

“I’m more pissed that I spent so much on weed and condoms.” Eddie admitted, feeling relieved that he had someone to talk to about this for now. “She cleaned me out of my stash, and Rick’s out of town.”

You gave him a shit-eating grin. “Who’s your best friend?” you asked.

“Jeff.” Eddie said immediately, not even thinking.

“Damn, that was cold.” you cackled, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the ugliest joint Eddie had ever seen. “I guess you don’t want to share then, so I’ll just keep this to myself-”

“Shit- wait- you-” Eddie stumbled over his words. “You! You’re my best friend. Right now.”

“Just right now?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Right now and alternating Fridays.” He promised.

“Good enough.” You decided as you handed over the joint.

He took it and stared at the slightly crumpled paper in his hand. “Who rolled this?”

“I did.”

“This is... shit.” he said. “Hold on, I at least still have some papers.” Eddie said and you rolled your eyes and he hopped up to run to his room.

“It wouldn’t be shit if I had my normal guy to roll for me!” you called after him.

“You had three months to learn!” He yelled back, rummaging through his drawers.

“I did, and apparently it’s not good enough for you!”

Eddie’s laugh echoed through the trailer and he came out, turning on a lamp as he did, and it felt good to actually laugh again. He began quickly disassembling your joint and reassembling it with fresh papers.

“I came all this way with a joint as a peace offering to make sure we were still friends and it wasn’t good enough.” You sighed dramatically, leaning against his shoulder with all of your weight.

Eddie’s head snapped up to look at you, but his hair was in the way. He nudged you off and turned to look at you. “You thought we weren’t friends?”

“You stopped talking to me outside of school.” you said. “We barely talked during Hellfire, and you’d always run off the second you were done with your gigs at the Hideout. I thought I’d done something wrong until I saw...”

Eddie let out a deep sigh and went back to rolling the joint. “Sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t just you, I was blowing off everyone-”

“While Heather was blowing you.” you nodded, leaning against him again. Eddie winced but did not argue. He licked the paper and finished the joint.

“Let’s go outside.” Eddie said. “Wayne’s been on my case about smoking inside.”

The two of you made your way outside the trailer, and further away from the park where no one would bother you or smell what you were doing. Just because it was a trailer park, it didn’t mean that some of the neighbors wouldn’t call the police for something so stupid.

The chill of late winter had turned into a mild spring, and there were patches of grass that weren’t as brown as the others, and a few were even green. Eddie led you to a nicer patch of grass that was down wind and lit the joint, taking a hit. It wasn’t the best weed, but it was free and he had no right to complain when you were sharing with him.

It was comfortable standing outside with you. Despite not having seen you in what felt like years, conversation flowed easily between the two of you as the joint was passed back and forth until it was no more than ashes under Eddie’s sneaker. You caught him up on any gossip you knew, while Eddie pretended not to care about how two cheerleaders were caught kissing and the scandal it caused.

The two of you drifted back to the trailer, collapsing on the couch. You leaned against his shoulder again and Eddie stared at the black reflected glass of the TV. Well, you two were high and he figured some background noise would be entertaining. Without thinking, he reached out and turned it back on.

The two of you were back on the site of the porno that Eddie had been half-heartedly watching earlier. The VHS had still been going, even if the TV was off. Eddie scrambled to find the right button to turn it off, forgetting in his haze that the tape player didn’t have a remote and he’d have to walk over and manually turn it off.

You, however, burst into a mess of giggles at the sight of the actress bouncing on her coworkers dick like it was her job.

Well, wait, it was her job.

“No, no, leave it!” You said as Eddie made a move to get up. “I wanna see what you’re jerking it to.”

You had always been open when it came to things like sex, but the high seemed to remove your filter entirely. Eddie leaned back on the couch again, so thrown off by the request that he couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“So, is there a plot?” you asked, giggling harder every time there was a close up of the man’s balls. “Is she a poor young woman who couldn’t pay the plumber? A mishap with the pizza man when she forgot her wallet?”

“Uh, no plot.” Eddie said, his head swirling with the weed and the surreal situation he’d found himself in. Tonight he was supposed to be watching this alone as a pity party, not with his friend laughing about what got his dick hard.

Shit, was his dick getting hard?

“It’s just a bunch of scenes from others in the series.” He clarified, coughing. Eddie glanced at the opposite corner of the couch, groaning internally at how far away the pillow was.

“A ‘best of’ clip show? Not my usual style, but I see the appeal.” and despite your giggles, you still didn’t have any real judgement in your voice.

“Yeah? And what are you getting off to?” he asked, deciding if he can’t beat it ‘em, join ‘em.

“I like my porn with a little more plot.” you said, still staring at the tv. “It’s not enough to know that two people are getting it on, I need to know why they’re fucking to really get into it.”

“So porn never does it for you?”

“No, I’ll still get off to these videos, it’s just not as satisfying. It’s just easier to get off knowing that the woman is going to be able to pay for the pizza.”

This time it was Eddie’s turn to burst into laughter, which only made the two of you laugh harder. You slipped from his shoulder, face landing on his thigh was a small thud and another round of muffled giggles from you. Eddie was just thankful you didn’t slide face first into his boner, for a number of reasons.

When you made no move to get up, Eddie rested a hand on your shoulder, enjoying the weight of you with his mild high.

You pointed to the tv, where the current actress was bouncing at a different angle. “Did she do that?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, honestly. Fuck it, what was there to lose now? “She was more shrill though.”

“What about that?” You asked, when the position changed to doggy style.

“Did that, too.” Eddie sighed, watching the film. Watching this made him think that maybe, perhaps, Heather had been putting on a performance with him. “Usually in the van.”

“The van?!” You gasped, scandalized. “Eddie, we use that van!”

“We did that in the front seat, too.” he motioned to the new position on screen. “It... wasn’t good.”

And so, that became the new topic of conversation between the two of you. Every new position that was being shown on screen, you asked about and Eddie answered honestly. His boner kept fluctuating between half-hard and full mast as the two of you chatted.

“Was she your first?” you asked, when the conversation died down. Your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant? Eddie couldn’t be sure.

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah.” he finally said. “I mean, I had a blowjob before last summer but... yeah. She was my first.”

You didn’t say anything to that, and Eddie wondered if you had fallen asleep. “Who made the first move?”

“She did. She was just in it for cheap weed and sex.” He wasn’t proud of it. “And it’s not like she was a kid or anything, she’s eighteen.”

“I know, I know,” you waved your hand. “You aren’t a creep.”

“It’s not like I’m drowning in options here in Hawkins.” Eddie said, feeling like he needed to defend himself, despite knowing you weren’t judging him. “Everyone at school is too young, and my reputation doesn’t really get me many dates.”

“You could have asked me.”

The words were so quiet, they were almost drowned out by the obnoxious dirty talk that the man on screen was doing to the woman. Eddie froze for what must have felt like a minute, trying to convince myself that you had said what he thought he heard.

“What?”

“If you just were looking to fool around, you could have.... Asked me." The last two words were even quieter, but unmistakable.

Why did Eddie’s dick suddenly feel harder than it had in days? Why was he now just noticing that the woman on screen had damn near the exact same body type as you? Why was he now imagining trying the position on screen with you?

You must have taken his stunned silence as awkwardness and so you pointed as the scene changed again. “Did she do that?” You asked as the woman started blowing the man.

“No.” Eddie said, and that got you moving. You sat up and turned to look at him, your face a bit too close to his.

“Really? No blowjob?” You looked scandalized and that amused him.

“She wasn’t really into oral.” Eddie shrugged. “I didn’t go down on her either.”

“You don’t do that?”

“No! Wait- yes-” Eddie was thrown off for the hundredth time today by your line of questioning. “I would have. I wanted to.”

“And she said no?!” This seemed to be the most offensive thing Eddie could have said to you. “She’s seen your tongue and the fact that you never shut up and said no?!” You were practically gaping at him.

“She wasn’t into oral.” Eddie repeted, glancing at your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

You could have asked me. What would your lips look like wrapped around his-

Jesus Christ, what was he doing?

You could have asked me.

You were an option this whole time?!

Time seemed to stay still between the two of you. Your face looked warm, and Eddie had a bad feeling his wasn’t much different. He swallowed, trying to decide if he was allowed to be thinking the thoughts that were now rushing through his brain of you and the porno and all your damn questions.

“Why the curiosity about everything?” Eddie blurted out the first question that came to his mind. “Wait, have you-?”

It was now your turn to be thrown off and you looked down. He really hoped his jeans were hiding his boner and that you weren’t looking too closely.

“Like you said, freaks don’t have a lot of options around here.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. “No one’s really looking to date the local burnout.”

“You could have asked me.” Eddie didn’t really know it was true until the words came out of his mouth. Maybe it was the weed, or the boner, or the porn, or the fact that your hand was resting on his thigh- yeah, you were quickly climbing up to the top of the People Eddie Munson Would Realistically Date list.

Fine, you were the only one on the list right now. But fuck, quality over quantity, right?

“You didn’t seem interested in dating.” you said, and he didn’t miss the way your eye flicked down to his lips for the briefest second.

Why the fuck was the tape still playing? Shouldn’t a moment like this deserve a better soundtrack than fake porn moans?!

“I don’t know if I’m really boyfriend material.” Eddie admitted. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“So am I.” you said in a half laugh.

Yeah, of everyone else in Hawkins you probably understood him the most. You had been a good enough student in school until you weren’t, and had dropped out when offered an extra year of high school. Eddie almost did the same, once, before Wayne convinced him otherwise.

What did Eddie even have left to lose? This night was weird enough.

The first kiss was fast, but firm. A press of his lips to yours for just a moment before pulling back. That movement seemed to sober you both up, realizing what you were doing. Your eyes were less hazy, far more focused and aware than before.

You mimicked the kiss, letting your lips linger just a bit longer than his before pulling back as well.

Neither of you pulled back from the third kiss.

With some awkward adjusting and shifting, you were moved to straddle Eddie’s lap, and his hands rested on your hips as tongue was added to the mix. He could taste the weed on you, reminiscent of Heather but without the cherry flavored lip gloss. Your hands rested on his shoulder, slowly rubbing down his chest and then back up which felt good. Then your fingers slid into the back of his hair and that felt really good.

Why hadn’t he just asked you?

Your hips shifted and pressed against the straining bulge in his jeans. “Is that for me or her?” you asked against his lips, motioning your head just slightly towards the tv.

“You.” Eddie didn’t hesitate for a moment, before sliding his tongue into your mouth before you could ask any more dumb or distracting questions.

One of his hands slid up and under your stomach, feeling the warmth of your skin there. He felt the way your stomach flexed slightly, as if he had accidentally tickled you and pressed his hand more firmly down. His hand crept up on instinct before stopping himself just before your chest.

Shit, you had just said you were a virgin, right? How far should he be asking to go-

The thought barely crossed his mind as one of your hands slid down his arm and pushed up on his elbow, elevating his hand those much wanted few inches so that his palm was now resting on top of your bra. Eddie groaned and gave your covered breast a squeeze, which you arched into.

Eddie’s fingers traced over your bra, squeezing occasionally as he tested out your reactions. His hands followed the path of your bra strap to the clasp and he pinched so that it came undone.

“Oh good, I don’t have to teach you that.” You laughed softly against his lips before pulling back to slide off your shirt. It only got a little tangled with your loose bra before falling to the floor.

Boobs.

Eddie was a simple man, and the sight of your chest out and free and bare was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all night. There had been plenty of tits on screen this evening, but nothing would compare to the real thing right in front of his face.

They jiggled as you laughed. “My eyes are up here- oh.” Eddie knew where your eyes were, but they were not his focus as he dove in and immediately latched onto one of your nipples while rolling the other.

You arched into his mouth, and tangled your fingers into his hair more. He groaned as you tugged at the roots at the base of his neck, and flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple. As he played with your tits, your hips started rocking against his crotch and Eddie tried to adjust himself so that you’d be rubbing against his cock.

“Knew you’d be good with your tongue.” You sighed, as he swapped to your other breast. You leaned down and grabbed the back of his shirt and gave it a tug. Eddie was quick to pull it off and toss it aside in record time so that he could get back to playing with your breasts.

He probably could have stayed there for hours if you hadn’t pulled him back up into a kiss, letting your tongue flick out to tease his before sliding your lips down to his neck. You pushed his hair out of the way, and Eddie tilted his head back against the couch, one hand moving backup to your breast.

“Hickies?” You breathed into his ear, which resulted in a full body shudder from him.

“Only if I can leave them on you too- fuck-” he had barely agreed before your lips had latched onto the side of his neck and began sucking hard. If he had any thoughts outside of how good it felt, he might have wondered if he’d be able to cover the forming bruise with his hair. That Monday he would be walking around the school with a low ponytail, where rumors would fly between him getting lucky or having been attacked by leeches.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathed out as you attacked the side of his neck, alternating between soft pecks, hot open mouthed kisses, and an assortment of hickies. “Thought you were a virgin.”

You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look; it was one you often gave him during d&d. “Don’t make this weird, Eddie.” you said. “I’ve made out before.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly and to try and salvage the mood he leaned in and nipped at your neck. “I won’t make it weird.”

“Save that for next time.” Your voice hitched and your hands gripped his arms as he started mimicking the way you had been kissing his neck. When he felt you shudder or grip his arm tighter, he focused on that spot until you started rocking your hips again.

Eddie slipped one hand down your side, resting at the top of your shorts and rubbing his thumb against the button. You reacted by reaching down and unbuttoning it yourself to give him the go ahead.

With you unzipped now, Eddie slid his hand into your shorts but didn’t get very far. The material wasn’t stretching enough and the angle was awkward for his wrist.

“Might need a different position for that.” you laughed as he removed his hand.

“Should we go to my room?” Eddie looked up at you, hoping that question didn’t backfire on him.

“You should turn the porno off, first.” you climbed off of him and grabbed your discarded clothes. “I don’t think Wayne wants to walk in on that.”

In the midst of making out, the tape had FINALLY stopped rolling, and was running through the end credits. Rewinding could wait, Eddie quickly ejected the tape and shoved it back in it’s generic looking sleeve. When he turned, you were already heading towards his bedroom, topless.

He had never seen a back that looked so sexy in his life.

You had dropped your clothes at the side of the bed, and when Eddie tossed the tape aside you grabbed him by the belt and pulled him close, barely giving him time to close the door. You were kissing him again, deeper and more passionately this time as the two of you scrambled to push down each other's pants.

Eddie pushed you onto the bed, and he had to stop himself from cumming in his boxers at the sight of you panting and in your underwear in his sheets. You were looking up at him as if he were the only person in the world that mattered right now, and there was a clear damp spot on your panties.

Heather had never been to Eddie’s trailer except once, when he had to grab a special purchase from his room. She had refused to come in, as if being seen at Forest Hills was an embarrassment. All of their time had been in his van parked in secluded spots, in the forest behind the school, or at her home.

Seeing you in his bed, wanting him, was too much to take.

He was on top of you again, kissing your neck as his fingers pulled down your panties. You kicked them aside as he started kissing down your body again.

“Please tell me I can go down on you.” Eddie’s head was hovering right over your hips, looking up at you.

Your legs spread at the plea, and you didn’t waste time with words as you pushed his head down to where he desperately wanted to be.

It took one lick of your slit for Eddie to be pissed at himself. He could have been doing this the whole time?! His arms wrapped around your thighs and his tongue dove in to explore every part of your pussy. You squirmed against his face, gasping and gripping his hair.

“Fuck- Eddie....!” you gasped, in a way that only encouraged him.

Eddie was quick to find a rhythm with his tongue that you seemed to like by the way you were letting out quiet whines. You weren’t nearly as loud as she had been, and so every gasp and sigh of his name was a victory to him. He spread your lips to get a better look at you and found himself grinding against his mattress at the site. You were wet, there was no question about that and it wasn’t just from his tongue either.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” your voice was breathless, and the corners of your mouth were turned up.

“I don’t have a camera.” Eddie nipped at your thigh making you jump. “...I might get one now though.”

“Not on your life. There’s no way I’m gonna let pictures of me like that be dropped off to an hour-photo.”

“What if I got a polaroid instead? Instant development.”

Eddie felt a special kind of high, the kind that only came when he was running a really good session or when he was playing with his band during a really good set. He didn’t know that sex could be more than just mindlessly horny- he was having fun.

No one told him that this was an option, dammit.

“Put a pin in that.” you laughed.

“I have something else I’d rather put in you.” Eddie said as his finger started to ease into you.

“Fuck.... if this didn’t feel so good I’d kick you out of bed.” you laughed breathlessly.

“Kick me out of my own bed?” Eddie looked at you amused as he started rocking his finger in and out.

“Wouldn’t even feel bad about ih--ohh- oh god-” You stopped talking, your sounds now turned into louder gasps and whines as Eddie curled his finger up and found that sweet spot.

“Found your off switch.” he said with a shit eating smirk as he started massaging your g-spot.

“Fuck... you....” you whimpered, your heart clearly not in it. Your legs were squirming as he stroked your inner walls, as if you couldn’t decide if you wanted to push him away or beg for more.

“We’ll get to that.” Eddie said and decided to put his tongue to better use as he leaned back in to wrap his lips around your clit and start licking again.

Eddie lost himself between your legs, and he had no idea how long he was down there. He always had an oral fixation, and was quick to decide this was now one of his favorite things to do with his mouth.

You were getting louder, which only spurred him on more. His tongue worked fast against your clit while he kept a more steady pace with his finger. When he decided you were as wet as you were going to get he carefully started to push in a second digit which slid in easier than expected. He was rewarded with his name being moaned, and your walls clenching around his fingers.

One of your thighs started trembling, which had to be a good sign. Your fingers tightened in his hair and your core was starting to tense up.

Eddie didn’t expect you to actually start begging.

“Fuck- please don’t stop.” you gasped out. “Please, Eddie I’m so close please, please please-”

Eddie had no plans to stop, and he would have happily stayed there all night if you let him. He didn’t stop his pace, keeping everything exactly as what he was doing because if it was working he didn’t want to risk you losing the orgasm he was working so hard to build.

You came with a strangled cry, and he felt the way your walls throbbed and squeezed around his fingers. He sucked on your clit until you had to push him away from over-sensitivity.

You were left breathless on the bed, your body completely melted into his sheets. Eddie wiped his mouth and moved up to kiss up your neck to your lips again. You had tasted so good, he had to share.

When he finally pulled back, he was looking down at you with what had to be a goofy smile. Those past three months were becoming less and less appealing in hindsight.

“You really never did that before?” you asked, tracing the puppet strings on his arm.

“I’m a quick learner when I’m excited.” he replied, and you pulled him close to kiss his neck again. The kisses were softer this time, as if an apology for the myriad of hickies he was sure was on his neck now.

Legs wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer. Your hands trailed along his chest, and Eddie settled between your legs. He rocked his hips, enjoying the feeling of his cock rubbing up against your pussy.

You pulled him back into a kiss, which was happily returned. Eddie was more than willing to give you all the time you needed to recover, though he would be lying if he wasn’t already thinking about other positions to get his mouth on you.

Eddie grunted as you suddenly pushed and rolled the two of you over, and you were now straddling his hips, grinding against his cock.

“Fuck” he groaned, grabbing your thighs. He watched the way your hips rolled hypnotically and he bit the inside of his cheek to not cum.

“Your turn.” You purred, your nails scratching down his chest in a way that made his eyes roll back and his hips buck slightly. His turn? Had Eddie ever had a turn? He was so used to being the one in charge lately, in Hellfire or band practice or sex- “Do you have any condoms?”

Eddie’s brain exploded. Violently. When he came to his mind raced for where he hed put the small box of condoms.

“Dresser-” he finally managed to choke out. “Should be on the dresser.”

You slid off him and walked over to the dresser, which was covered in discarded clothes, a cigarette tray and more than a few empty beer cans. He made a mental note to try and clean up more next time.

He really hoped there would be a next time.

The sight of your ass swaying and slightly bent over his dresser was one that he would engrain into his memory forever. He could name about a half-dozen W.A.S.P. songs that suddenly felt very relatable.

You turned around with the condom box, giving him a look that worried him. You turned the open box over and nothing fell out.

“Oh, fuck me.” Eddie groaned, sitting up on his elbow.

“Yeah, that’s not happening without a condom.” you said dryly. “Guess she really wiped you out, huh?”

Eddie fell back on the bed with a groan. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You tossed the box to the side and crawled onto the bed again, spreading his legs and settling yourself between them. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you high and dry.” you said, placing a kiss to his hip bone.

He looked down at you, feeling his cock twitch at the way you licked your lips.

“Shit- you don’t have to-”

“Eddie, when have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?” you asked as your hand wrapped around his shaft.

“G-good point.” he choked out. Your hands were softer than he had expected and you gave his cock a slow stroke aided by your wetness that was still on his shaft.

“Just let me know what feels good.” you said, leaning in and licking him from base to tip. Eddie was torn between closing his eyes and laying back and staring at you intently as you played with his cock experimentally.

You leaned over him, using his thigh for a bit of leverage as you wrapped your lips around his tip and let your tongue slide over the sensitive skin of his head. He let out a low groan, trying not to thrust up into your mouth. You were being a tease whether you meant to or not with the way you were taking your time licking and sucking him.

“I can’t promise I can let you fuck my throat, but I’ll do what I can.” you said when you pulled back after a few minutes. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how casually you said it, as if you were talking about fixing his amp for the hundredth time. “Something funny, Eddie?”

“You just said that so casually.” he giggled, remembering that he was also high from earlier. His laughter was contagious, and soon you were giggling again to.

His cock was only half-hard by the time you two were done giggling, but that quickly changed when you leaned in and wrapped your lips around him again. You slid him about half-way into your mouth before stopping, and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Eddie Munson had been given one blowjob before the previous summer by a girl he met a town over at a small show he had been playing with Corroded Coffin. That night he had felt like a rockstar getting blown by a groupie, and hide rode that high for months.

You, admittedly, were not nearly as experienced as that girl had been but he didn’t care. Seeing you, one of his best friends, blowing him sent a thrill up his spine more exciting than the fantasy he had lived out. This was different and he was far too gone to try and figure out why. He just wanted to keep you here with your enthusiastic mouth on his throbbing cock. The way you were humming around his cock and looking up at him occasionally made it clear that you really wanted him to feel good.

No one told him that someone just wanting to make him feel good was a fucking option.

You sucked his cock as if this was the one thing you had wanted to do all day. Your head moved up and down enthusiastically and your tongue was everywhere. For the first few minutes you would occasionally come up to breathe before finding your rhythm and learning to breath through your nose.

Eddie’s orgasm came far quicker than he would have liked. He was still so worked up from eating you out and learning a lot about how he enjoyed sex that it only took about ten minutes before he was pushing on your shoulder to warn you that he was going to blow.

He should be embarrassed. Eddie was gasping and letting our sounds that were damn near whining as you pulled away. You were panting, your lips a touch swollen and eyes glazed over as you jerked his cock.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around yours, guiding it to the pace he needed to spill all over himself and his stomach. He really hoped that next time he’d be able to cum on your tits or in your mouth. Please, let that fucking be an option-

You grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned him up, and Eddie made a note to do laundry soon. You wiped your mouth and collapsed next to him, and he reached for you.

He wished he hadn’t been so surprised when you easily cuddled up against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I knew your tongue would be good. She really fucking missed out.” you said, your arm laying across his chest.

“I studied only the best techniques.” Eddie said, holding you just a bit tighter. Cuddling after sex (or whatever it was the two of you had done) felt just as good as getting off. Well, maybe second only to getting you off.

“How much porn do you watch?” you laughed.

“I have three tapes and a stash of magazines.” Eddie said honestly, because why would he need to hide that from someone he was so close to. Heather had once glimpsed one of the tamer issues of Heavy Metal that he had in his van and had rolled her eyes in disgust.

“We’ll have to swap material sometime.” you suggested, looking up at him. “Or we can do a movie night like we used to. Just more hands on.”

“So there’s really gonna be a next time?” Eddie asked.

“I mean, I’d like there to be. I would really like there to be.” There was a slight waiver in your voice, the kind that he knew when you were considering a risky move in D&D.

“It’ll probably be a while before I can afford condoms.” He admitted. “I’m kinda wiped for cash until Rick comes back.”

“Oh no. You’ll have to use your mouth on me again. How awful. However shall we go on?” you sighed in a dramatic fashion. “Oh well, if I must sit upon your face next time then so be it!”

Eddie could live with that. He was more than okay with that.

“Well, if you’re sure you’re fine with that, then I’ll just have to grin and bear it.” He said, matching your tone of dramatic exasperation.

The two of you laid there for a moment in silence, coming down from the highs of orgasms and weed.

“This isn’t going to make things weird, right?” you asked after a few minutes. “I don’t want this to be... I don’t know. I liked doing this with you, and I don’t want this to fuck up what we have.”

Eddie had been so lost in the strangeness of the evening, he hadn’t really stopped to consider the consequences of what would happen after. “I won’t make it weird.” he promised. “I’m not about to start being nice to you during the game just because you blew me.”

“Good, I’d be mad if you did.” you shook your head. “We don’t need to label this but.. If we’re gonna be doing this more, just know that I’m only going to be doing this with you.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of people around here banging on my door to get a piece of this.” Eddie motioned to his dick. “Even if I did, I'd rather just be messing around with one person.”

You grabbed his flaccid dick and gave it a wiggle, laughing at the way it moved. Eddie felt that he should maybe be offended at you laughing at his cock, but he fought himself laughing at the weird feeling.

“Little Eddie isn’t going near anyone else.” he said as you kept wiggling it.

You dropped his cock finally, which had started to wake up again from the attention.

“Nevermind, I’m never touching it again after you called your dick that.” you cackled.

Eddie rolled over and hovered over you. “I can live with that as long as I get to go down on you again.”

“Oh my God-”

“Just Eddie is fine.”

You half-heartedly pushed him, your eyes alight as you looked up at him.

“So... when does your uncle come home?” you asked.

“Not until about six or seven.” He looked down at you, his cock already coming back to life again.

“Wanna go again?”

“Only if we can cuddle after.”

“Deal.”

By the time the two of you had passed out in his bed, Eddie had realized that maybe there was more to life than just the bullshit hand he had been dealt. And as you lay next to him, wearing one of his shirts while asleep next to him, he started thinking...

When given an option, he would prefer you as his first choice.

Author Notes: I might write a sequel later if I feel like it but we'll see lmao. This wasn't originally Eddie x Reader, it was just a character study but then I got horny lmao.

Tag List: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @ghcstpyre @wheels-of-despair @crocwork-clockodile @cyanfairywren @justalotoffanfiction @ihaventgotaclue-really

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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