#there is a purpose to that last little bit I promise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingkaisen · 10 days ago

Note

PLEASE do a one shot where gojo and reader announce the pregnancy to the whole family i beg

DOUBLE TROUBLE ୨୧

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Last year, you & your husband, Satoru, adopted two of his teenage students, Yuji & Megumi. You also have a biological five-year-old girl, and now? You’re pregnant with twins! How does your chaotic family handle your pregnancy & two new members of the family?

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || contains fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst. pregnancy & birth, fem reader, canonverse, brief mentions of depression & suicidal thoughts, feral/protective gojo, “uncle” nanami, brief “aunt” shoko, & “uncle” geto, gojo being the best dad and husband ever!

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: . . . 14k :)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this fic is part of my dad!gojo series, but reading the other parts isn't necessary. also, i apologize for any inaccuracies regarding pregnancy/labor! || artwork by @/3-aem, ribbon dividers by @/cursed-carmine!

THE NEWS

“We’re homeee!”

The double front doors shut with a gentle slam, and in walked Yuji with Megumi lingering behind him.

“Mom? Dad?” Yuji called out yet again, darting his eyes around the big foyer for any sign of life — the sound of you whipping together an afternoon snack, the excited ramblings belonging to their little sister — your biological daughter — Maya, or Satoru’s heavy, yet comforting footsteps making their way down the hall; the usual noises they came home to.

“Momma?” Yuji tried once more. Stepping further into the foyer, he leaned down to take off his red shoes. “Anybody home?”

“I think it’s just us,” Megumi, who too started to remove his shoes, spoke up. Was it out of worried curiosity, or was he simply tired of hearing Yuji shout? The truth was unclear.

But he did know one thing.

He, for the most part, was a well-behaved teenager. Rarely did he ever find himself in trouble, and when those all-too-rare moments occurred, it was usually because he was wandering the streets too late at night, failed to check in on time during his missions, or he got lost in his latest nonfiction book while at the park — and thus, didn’t realize that the afternoon sunlight was no longer illuminating the pages of Of Wolves and Men by Barry Lopez, but the moon and nearby streetlight were.

Those days, he would always arrive home, later than promised, and he’d hear the hurried footsteps coming from the warmly lit living room all before being met with the worried frowns that belonged to you and Satoru. One of the many purposes behind the Gojo household’s group chat was for those unfavorable scenarios. While it served as a form of family communication for good morning texts, chore reminders, last-minute items to add to the grocery list, and any silly videos Yuji or Satoru wanted to send, the main purpose it served was as a check-in.

“You’re teenagers. You guys are very independent, and up until now, you never needed to let anyone know your whereabouts. I get it. And I don’t care if you guys wanna, I don’t know, catch a movie after running an errand or something like that. All I ask is that you send a text message to the family group chat so we don’t worry, okay?”

Those were the words you spoke to Megumi and Yuji during the week following their adoption.

Megumi couldn’t quite believe that had happened a year ago. A year.

And he didn’t understand it at the time. The protectiveness. But, either way, he knew just how much it mattered to you.

It wasn’t a one-sided expectation either. You and Satoru also took the time to alert him and Yuji whenever an unplanned circumstance occurred.

That was what initially led to a wave of worry washing over Megumi, because as Yuji started to walk through the house, calling for you, Megumi pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His lock screen only held seven notifications: a reminder to take his antidepressants, two text messages from Maki, three text messages exchanged between Nobara and Yuji in their class group chat, and a photo Satoru sent to the family group chat of Maya’s dinosaur painting from school; a photo that was sent hours ago.

There was nothing that explained your current absence.

Yuji returned to the foyer as Megumi tried to refresh his messages and double-check his wifi connection.

“They’re not here,” Yuji, who leaned against the wall, let the corners of his mouth fall into a small frown.

“They didn’t send a text either,” Megumi glanced up from his phone. “I know they’re alright, but-”

“But it’s weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Megumi replied, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his school uniform.

“Mom and dad have been acting weird lately in general if you ask me,” as Yuji spoke, he pulled out his own phone, checking his lock screen — which was a picture of the entire family, along with Nobara, at a baseball game — and his frown deepened at the sight of no new text messages. Megumi was right.

“I’m gonna call ‘em,” Yuji shrugged, strands of his pinkish hair tickling his forehead. “Can’t hurt.”

Yuji dialed the number under your contact and put the phone on speaker. The two boys listened in a thick silence as the phone rang four times. Just as another wave of worry was about to make Megumi fidget with his hands, the ringing was abruptly cut off.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Mom!” Yuji’s eyebrows shot up, and Megumi moved closer towards the phone. Alas, they knew you were just fine.

“That’s me,” You joked, but then, with all the care and worry of a mother that you held in your heart, you softly asked, “Is everything alright, honey?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, it’s just that, uh, we’re home and you guys aren’t here. You didn’t send a message either. Where are you?”

“Hold on one second.” The boys heard you pull away from the phone. Then, they heard a sudden, faint shout. “Satoru! Our kids are worried about us!”

“See? Told you they liked us,” Satoru’s voice came through the phone speaker, distant, but ever-present.

“Huh? Was that even a real concern? Same kids who panic when you have a small cold, here.” Yuji paused. “Where’d you guys go, anyway?”

“We’re in the backyard.”

With a blink, Yuji darted his brown eyes up at his glaring brother. “Ohhh.”

“You idiot, you didn’t check the backyard?” Megumi’s hand met his forehead, and he closed his eyes in utter disbelief.

“I forgot about it!”

—♡ —

When Satoru was young, he didn’t enjoy relaxing in the grass and daydreaming about his future. There was too much chaos going on in the present, in his opinion. However, when the overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses and a foolish grin imagined his future now and then, he pictured himself living in the city, surrounded by wild people, alcoholic beverages, and the finest decor that represented both his unique taste and astonishing wealth.

Those rotten daydreams were a direct result of how he was raised — not as a person, but as a god.

Then, one day, he met you.

That overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses, and a foolish grin walked into his first class at Jujutsu High School, and he saw the most stunning girl — he was certain he had overused his Six Eyes, and his otherworldly perception of his surroundings was skewed, but no. That wasn’t the case.

You were truly that stunning.

You turned your head, facing the fellow first year standing in the doorway from where you sat in the first row of the majorly empty classroom, and you smiled at him.

It was a shy, friendly grin.

But oh, that was enough.

The Satoru Gojo was no longer a god. He was a blushing fool, one who tripped over his own feet when he tried to take a step forward, one whose throat dried to a crisp when he tried to say hi, and a pathetic squeak came out instead.

His dreams changed then. When that stumbling teenager with sweaty white hair, crooked sunglasses, and a flushed face imagined his future, he pictured himself living in a house big enough for the enormous family he wanted to have some day, surrounded by his loved ones, the gifts he would adorn them with, and photographs of his big, big family at festivals, birthday parties, and holiday gatherings hung upon the walls.

That was why, currently, Satoru grinned as he flipped over a steak on his grill, watching as his two boys emerged from the back door. To his left, Maya was creating a Magical Meal composed of grass, dirt, sticks, leaves, and whatever else she could find in the backyard. To his right, you were relaxing on the outdoor sofa in the patio area, sipping on water with one hand, and holding a novel with the other.

It was a dream come true.

“What’s going on? Is it someone’s birthday?” The question came from Yuji, who collapsed onto the empty, light blue sofa cushion beside you.

“Nope. Your mother and I just have some pretty big news,” Satoru paused, flipping another steak. “How was school and the movies? Kill any curses today?”

“You’d know if you were there,” Megumi said. “Does you taking the day off have anything to do with the big news?”

“Sure does.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know what it is.”

“Sure you do.”

“When are you guys gonna tell us?” Yuji darted his eyes back and forth between you and the man standing over the grill. “I hate waiting for big news!”

“We’re gonna tell you as soon as dinner’s ready,” you replied with the tone of someone cool, calm, and collected, as if this wasn’t something that made your palms sweat. As if.

Suddenly, Megumi felt something tug on his school uniform. He glanced down to see Maya staring up at him.

“Hm?”

“Can you help me with my-with the homework? Pleaseee?” The five-year-old frowned, though it wasn’t necessary. When you or Satoru were busy, or she simply wanted to spend time with her brother, she would always ask him for homework help, and he would always say yes.

“You know I will. Do you want to go inside or stay out here?” Megumi questioned with a soft smile.

“Muffin, you already finished your homework, remember?” Satoru chimed in, and the little girl pouted as a result.

She adored homework. Homework, in her eyes, was extra bonding time with whichever family member she picked. It was true she finished her assignment about numbers with her dad when she came home from school, but right now, she wanted to color with Megumi.

“We can color after dinner, if you want.” Megumi offered — he was smart in that way.

Suddenly, Maya’s pout changed into a bright smile. “Okay!”

“Take her inside,” You spoke up. “You all need to go wash up and set the table. I gotta talk to your dad about something.”

Two teenagers and the little girl offered their share of curious gazes, but they shoved that confusion down, temporarily satisfied with the promise of hearing the Big News! later on, and they made their way back into the house.

Once they were out of sight, you got off the outdoor sofa, put your water and book down on the edge of the unlit fire pit, and walked over to your cooking husband.

“Before you ask, yes, I’m giving you the biggest piece. No, I won’t let you switch with me, and yes, I'm cooking it to the safest temperature.” Satoru grinned, but when he turned his head and noticed your face didn’t share the same grin as his own, he asked, “What’s on your mind, baby? Don’t be nervous.”

“Useless advice,” you mumbled. “Why are we doing this? Making a big, nice dinner to deliver news they might not be too happy about?”

“They will be, I promise. I’m sure they’ll be shocked, but they’re not going to raise hell like you think they will.”

“It’s Maya and Megumi I’m worried about. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I just . . .” Your words trailed off into nothing, the sizzling steaks filling the silence, but that was fine. No other words were needed. After all, this was, indeed, a conversation you had a thousand times.

Satoru figured that, maybe, you’d start to accept his words if they were said a thousand and one times.

“Muffin loves people. Remember how happy she was when Megumi and Yuji joined the family? It’ll be no different than that. As for Megumi, we’ll do whatever it takes to show him that adding new members to the family doesn’t mean we’re taking members away.” Satoru held his arm out. “Come here. Come on.”

With a little frown, you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“You have the cutest frown in the world, you know that? I hate when you’re frowning, of course, but it’s so cute.” He kissed you yet again. “You’re just so cute, what the hell.”

“Stop it,” A smile now replaced your frown, and when you put a bit of distance between your body and his, he took advantage of it by pressing his soft lips against your forehead, nose, and cheek.

“Sir, your behavior is the reason I’m pregnant now.”

“Your cuteness is the reason you’re pregnant now.” Another kiss. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up pregnant again after this, just saying.”

“Like hell,” you giggled, and the very lips that released that soft laugh? They were kissed as well.

—♡ —

Megumi and Yuji hovered over the dining room table. The dark-haired boy gently set out the plates in everyone’s desired seat, meanwhile, Yuji laid out the napkins and silverware.

“Hey,” Megumi interrupted the comfortable silence, grabbing a plate from the stack in his hand and setting it down in your spot. “When they mentioned the news they wanted to tell us, did they say it was good news?”

“Huh?” Yuji looked up from where he stood at the other end of the table. “Uhh, I think they only mentioned it being big news. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

What a lie. Yuji wasn’t as observant as Megumi was when it came to certain things. He didn’t know that Maya — who was currently in the bathroom washing her hands — used the term homework to sometimes “trick” her family members into playing with her, for example.

But Yuji knew Megumi quite well. And right now, he could see his pinched brows and downward-pointed lips, as if a cloud of worry was forming over his head.

“So, how’re you feeling lately?” Yuji asked, his eyes on Megumi, though his hands were placing forks and knives on the table. “Ya know, the meds, the therapy, the psychia-”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m in therapy too, ya know.”

“Your care plan isn’t as intense as mine.”

“Well, is your care plan helping?” Yuji tried yet again. This time, he was the one with the cloud of worry forming over his head.

“I don’t know. I think so,” Megumi shrugged. It wasn’t a lie, either. Some days, he wanted to rewind time and stop his comrades from intervening whenever a curse came close to ending his life. Other days, he smiled as he defeated his entire family in a game of trivia and ate a few handfuls of your homemade trail mix. But most days, he felt like a zombie. As if moods and emotions were beneath him, or rather, out of his reach.

“Is therapy helping you?” Megumi asked.

“Yeah. Feels nice to have someone to talk to without them getting all worried and stuff, ya know? I can see how stressed mom and dad get when I talk about all this vessel mess,” with a smile, Yuji set down the last of the silverware. “Ya know, there are some things only you and I can understand. I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can.”

Yuji started to walk towards the nearest bathroom. Before he was completely out of Megumi’s line of sight, Yuji paused, glanced back with that familiar smile, and said, “Love you!”

—♡ —

Dinner time occurred fifteen minutes later. Your family sat around the table packed to the brim with grilled steak, steamed rice, roasted brussels sprouts and asparagus, and hot miso soup. The tantalizing aroma from the delicious food certainly caught Yuji’s attention, but the anticipation of hearing your big news made him keep his eyes on you rather than the steaming dishes sitting in the center of the table.

It was as if your back leaning against your dining room chair was an activation switch.

“What’s the news?” Yuji was practically bouncing in his seat.

Maya, following her older brother’s lead, said with a giggle, “What’s the news? What’s the news?”

“News? What news?” You gave them a playfully sly smile. Then, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh! Satoru, we forgot the donuts and tea.”

Donuts and tea? Megumi thought.

He watched as you and Satoru left the dining room like sneaky little kids, whispering among yourselves.

Satoru returned moments later with a small tray of donuts.

“Ooo, pink and blue!” Maya’s eyes glistened at the sight of the colorful desserts being placed on the table.

You returned with mugs, sitting them down in front of each family member before retreating yet again, only to return with the hot container of herbal tea — and a lukewarm cup of tea for Maya.

“Here’s some tea to help with digestion,” you said, pouring the soothing beverage into everyone’s mugs.

“No juice, mommy? I love, love, love, love juice.” Maya asked.

“No, no juice this close to your bedtime.”

“Okayyy.”

You sat down once again. Satoru reached for a particularly large steak and put it on your plate, and just like that, the family began passing around the prepared food, portioning out however much they desired.

Fifteen minutes of dining and polite conversation went on. The subjects drifted between the film Megumi and Yuji saw earlier that day — Megumi liked it, Yuji thought it was a little drawn out — vague dreams of a big family vacation within the next year or so; simple chatter.

Maya was the one who interrupted the simple chatter. Her eyes were fixated on the little mug in her hands, or rather, what was written on the front of it.

“Sss . . . suh-is-ter . . . of . . . of . . . fa-or.”

“Whatcha reading? Let me help.” Yuji leaned over, glancing at the mug.

“Sister of four,” he read, then tilted his head a bit in confusion. He looked over across the table at you. “Momma, did you read the mug before you bought it?”

“Hm, I can’t remember,” your voice was sugary-sweet with false innocence. “I wonder if they all say something.”

Those words led to Megumi and Yuji grabbing their mugs. As they read in silence, Satoru sneakily grinned at you, reached over, and squeezed your hand.

“Mine says brother of four,” Yuji said.

“Mine too,” Megumi added, putting his mug down and taking a spoonful of soup.

“Dad, what does your mug say?”

Satoru didn’t answer Yuji’s question. Not with words, at least. Instead, the man raised his mug, taking a slow, suspicious sip.

“Awesome father of five,” the boys read in unison.

“Hers says loving mother of five,” Megumi’s eyes trailed the words along your mug.

For a while, the boys sat in silence . . . thinking, thinking, and thinking . . .

Yuji started to cough, nearly choking on the tea he was sipping on.

“You’re pregnant?!” He exclaimed in between coughs, his face going red, his eyes going wide. “With twins?”

“Wait, seriously?” Megumi leaned forward, his eyebrows almost shooting up into his hairline.

Duh. Of course. Of course!

“Took you boys long enough to piece it together!” You couldn’t help but erupt into laughter, holding Satoru’s hand as he too joined in on your joyous fit.

“Hmm?” Maya blinked.

Satoru rose out of his seat, walked over to where his little girl sat, and kneeled.

“Your mommy and I are giving you a couple more siblings, Muffin,” his long fingers tickled her tummy, and she shrieked, giggling wildly as he spoke. “You ready to be a big sister, sweet girl?”

As it often did, a round of tickling turned into a game of chase. Maya hopped out of her chair, continuously laughing all the while, and Satoru trailed behind the running girl — not using his full speed, of course — and together, they played in the living room.

“The donuts . . . You’re having a boy and a girl?” Megumi asked.

His expression, once the initial shock wore off, was unreadable. He was as blank as a new canvas.

You tried. You tried to place meaning behind the blank stare, the stilled lips, the straightened brows . . . but there was nothing. Nothing.

“A boy and a girl, that’s right,” you said.

Yuji was on his feet. He held his arms out, and you grinned, standing and opening your arms.

“Congratulations! This is huge! How far along are you? Have you come up with any names yet? Can they hear me talking?” The rambling boy hugged you more gently than he normally would. After letting go, he leaned down a bit, pressing his ear against your stomach first. He wasn’t very satisfied with the silence. Suddenly, he shouted, “Hellooo! This is Yuji, your older brother!”

“You’re too much,” You ruffled his pinkish hair, but your smile faded into a more stern look.

“So, boys, how do you feel about this?” You asked, grabbing a seat near the two of them, and Yuji, who knew that stern look meant that it was time to get serious, sat back down in his chair. “I know things tend to get pretty chaotic around here sometimes and, well, having twins won’t make that any easier. I know you both tend to think that your wants and needs come second to everyone else’s just because we adopted you both a little over a year ago, and I know I’ve shown you both how that is completely, one hundred percent untrue. Having twins won’t change that, okay? You two are just as important as these two. And Maya, of course. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

The eager response came from Yuji. Megumi took a tentative sip of his tea.

“Megumi?” You called out, raising your brows.

He gave a small nod, then, that blank, fresh canvas-like face of his met yours.

“Congratulations,” he said.

—♡ —

That next morning, your eyelids fluttered open to the ding of your phone. You reached over as best as you could with your husband clinging to you like a needy koala, and you grabbed your device off your nightstand. Blinking away the last bit of sleepiness was a chore. But, eventually, your vision cleared up enough for you to make out your most recent notification.

Megumi had sent a text message to the family group chat.

Megumi: I’m going for a walk. Be back soon.

A walk? A morning walk?

Your eyes flickered up to the time displayed in the corner of your screen. It was so early, the sun hadn’t yet fully risen.

Before Megumi’s depression kept him bedbound until noon, he was an early bird, often awake before or at the same time as you, making his way around the house unintentionally as quiet as a mouse.

Therefore, you would have been happy to know that he was, once again, rising with the sun. But this? This created a wave of worry that washed over you until you pressed the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Satoru?” You rocked your body against your husband. “Wake up.”

He groaned, pulling you closer, albeit gently, still aware of your delicate condition even amidst his sleep. “Wake up,” you tried once again.

“Hmm?” With a yawn, Satoru rubbed his eye. The messy strands of his white hair were going every which way.

“Megumi’s going for a walk,” you whispered.

“Good for him. I love exercise.”

“No, not good. This isn’t like him. He’s upset. He’s upset about the twins. I knew it. I told you.”

The sheer, slight panic in your voice knocked out the last bit of sleepiness dancing around within Satoru.

“Want me to rush and try to catch up with him?”

“No,” you mumbled. “If he is upset, a walk is the best thing for him, right?”

Satoru leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Do you ever worry about me and the little things I do this much?”

“Nope. You’re easy to read. You have a very expressive face. When your eyebrow twitches, I know you’re hungry. When you frown, I know you want my attention. Plus, you’re just gonna tell me whatever is bothering you immediately. I never have the luxury of worrying about you.” This time, it was your turn to lean forward, and you kissed his forehead as best as you could with his messy white hair acting as a barrier. “I’m gonna wash up and get started on breakfast. I want to surprise Yuji with those soufflé pancakes he likes. Make Megumi some black coffee, fresh juice for Maya too.”

“Your favorite fruit chopper is on his way,” Satoru yawned and rolled over onto his back.

—♡ —

Breakfast was served. A beautiful display of food crowded the breakfast nook in the kitchen, earning a heartfelt, “Wow! This is the kinda breakfast you see in movies!” from Yuji.

While he and Maya were in the kitchen, enjoying their meal, you were straightening out the pillows on one of the living room couches with Satoru.

A figure appeared.

You glanced up and smiled at the sight of Megumi.

“Megumi, you're back! How was your walk?”

“It was fine,” he said.

But there was something more. His eyes . . . they darted away from you.

“What is it, buddy?” Satoru asked him. He noticed his son’s strange, distant gaze as well.

Megumi stepped away.

He then returned with a large box in his arms.

“Here. I got this for you.”

Satoru hovered over you as you reached for the box.

What now rested in your arms was a soft, curved, dark blue, pregnancy pillow.

You wanted to say a lot of things; he didn’t have to spend his money like this. How big of a surprise this was. How much you absolutely adored him.

But all you could do was stand there in shock, letting the hot tears start to brim in your waterline.

“You’re gonna make her cry,” Satoru smiled at the teenager as he soothingly rubbed your back.

“Oh, hush. Leave me alone. I can cry if I want to,” With a sniffle, you said, “thank you, Megumi!”

“You’re welcome. You’re a great mom. And you’re a great dad.”

“Stop, now I’m gonna cry,” Satoru turned his head, but he couldn’t fight off the grin upon his face, nor did he want to.

“Can we hug you?” You asked Megumi.

“Sure.”

After setting the box down, you and Satoru wrapped your arms around him. You released a heavy sigh, feeling the burden of worry finally ease off your shoulders.

—♡ —

THE BABY SHOWER

The friends and family of you and Satoru were hardly surprised by the . . . odd traditions and ideas Satoru implemented into his life after traveling to various continents as a hard-working sorcerer.

That was why walking into a baby shower venue, one that looked more like a modern museum, was a shock to no one.

Only the best for Mrs. Gojo.

It was a little ways into the evening, sometime after everyone had been fed, marveled over how Maya was getting taller, and before presents were to be presented to you, and Satoru was chatting with Utahime when he felt someone tap his arm. He turned around, grinning, as he faced Maki and Yuta.

“Congratulations,” Maki said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, congrats! We’re happy for you,” Yuta smiled as well, his smile noticeably brighter.

“Hey, thanks, you two, and thanks for coming.” Satoru’s large hand landed on Yuta’s head, and he ruffled his hair.

“Free food,” Maki shrugged, but in truth, she adored you — everyone did.

“Have as much as you want. My future unpaid babysitters should enjoy the baby shower, right?”

Satoru walked off then with a sly grin, shoes clanking against the floor as he ignored Maki’s shouts of protest.

Kento Nanami was standing near the colorful arrangement of balloons nearest the buffet. The well-dressed man was replenishing his cup of lemonade, and as Satoru strolled over, he could hear his loud son, Yuji, chatting with his relatives; both real ones, and those who were simply friends of the family, but were close enough to earn the honorable title of aunt, uncle, or cousin.

“Kento! It’s been a while!” Satoru slung his arm over the unsuspecting man’s shoulder, but that composed man didn’t jump, flinch, or appear startled in any way.

He only adjusted his glasses and said, “Indeed it has. Congratulations, Satoru. I’m happy for you.”

“Hey, congrats to you as well, you’re getting another niece and nephew.”

“Uncle Kento, huh? What an honor.”

“One Muffin bestowed upon you and the rest of my friends. She’s always running around asking for Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, and the like.” Satoru removed his arm from around Kento’s shoulder. “You’d make an amazing father, you know that, right?”

“Babysitting your kids has been and will be enough for me,” Kento took a sip of his lemonade. “Besides, I don’t know if I could bring kids into . . . Sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you.”

Much like how Kento’s composure didn’t falter when Satoru surprised him, Satoru’s pleasant grin didn’t twitch.

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re not wrong, either. I always thought it was selfish to bring kids into a world filled with curses and curse users, but,” Satoru’s hand was on Kento’s shoulder, and he turned the man around until they were both facing the swarm of chatting guests, and Satoru pointed to you, the one person among the crowd who glistened brighter than the lights, stars and moon themed decorations within the baby shower venue. “Seeing that amazing, beautiful woman over there carry my child, and holding that child for the very first time . . . It’s turned me into a selfish man.”

Kento turned back around to face Satoru. A whisper of a grin appeared on his face.

“One could argue that you’re doing the world a favor. Your children will undoubtedly grow up to become the strongest sorcerers. They could save many lives someday,” Kento said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. If they wanna fight curses, I won’t stop them. But if they wanna make music, flip burgers, sell houses, or whatever, then that’s fine with me.”

“You’re hoping for the latter.”

“Of course I am.” Only then did Satoru’s smile start to fade. “The last thing I want is for my muffin to experience the things Yuji and Megumi have. I can barely keep it together when she cries. How am I supposed to handle her coming home someday, scraped up or worse?”

“You speak as if you won’t be right by her side.”

“I can’t always be there. I told you about the time the school took advantage of my absence and sent Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara off on a mission they weren’t ready for, right? The one at the detention center? And that curse turned out to be a special grade?”

Kento glanced up at the ceiling covered in glistening starlike lights for a brief moment, thinking. Then, his eyes locked with Satoru’s. “Right, I remember. Nobara and Megumi got hurt, and Yuji, well, died.”

Satoru nodded. “They were just my students back then, but even then, I was ready to kill all the higher-ups. I can’t imagine the person I’ll become if something else like that happened to any of my kids. I mean, you’re telling me my sweet girl’s next? In a decade, Muffin will be going to Jujutsu High?”

This time, it was Kento’s turn to place his arm around Satoru.

What an odd act, coming from him. Satoru was certain Kento would only ever initiate physical touch when he was in his casket, and Kento would lightly tap his hand or shoulder as a way of saying goodbye.

For Kento’s arm to rest around Satoru’s shoulder now? Well, the other man’s face must have shown a great deal of borrowed grief from the future.

“You’re not the kind of person to start stressing out about things that have yet to happen,” The blonde-haired man’s voice was soothing. Like a comforting hug. “And you shouldn’t stress out about it tonight. I’ll . . . finally let you come to my house and vent about it all later this week if you aren’t busy. Just promise me you won’t let it get to you right now. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

And, like it often did, that familiar, Satoru Gojo Grin reappeared on his face. “Kento, Kento, remember who you’re talking to. I know how to be stressed out and have fun. Keeps things exciting, ya know?”

“I don’t.”

At the front of the museum-like venue, there was a stage. It was home to the giant crescent moon decoration that brought tears to your eyes — you blamed the pregnancy hormones, but in truth, it was just that gorgeous — and right now, that stage was home to Satoru as he stood on it, microphone in hand.

The chatter and music died down, and your husband started to speak.

“Hey everyone, thanks for coming to our baby shower. It means the world to me, my wife, and our kids. We’re about to start opening gifts, but first, there’s something I wanna show everyone. Most of you might remember this video from our wedding, or from my little muffin’s baby shower, but there are some new faces here. And the old faces are just gonna have to put up with it again, ‘cause this woman right here,” Satoru hopped off the stage. A spotlight followed him as he approached you, leaned down, and gazed at you with a passion so obvious, the hearts of your guests melted at the sight of love they witnessed. “I’m madly in love with her, I’d die for her, and I’m lucky enough to be the man she decided to marry and have kids with. I’m grateful. This video means the world to us, because if it weren’t for the events that happened on this day, there’s a chance none of us would be celebrating the arrival of two new family members right now. So, watch it, or else none of you are coming to Yuji’s future wedding.”

Gentle laughter broke out among the guests. Just above the stage, a projector screen came to life. The old video started with Satoru resting his head on his school desk.

Upon seeing the italicized date in the corner, Shoko, who then locked eyes with Satoru, gave him a soft, knowing smile.

—♡ —

JUJUTSU HIGH SCHOOL — 2006

“Why’re you recording me? Can’t you see I’m crying? You think this is funny?”

The second-year student glanced up at the camera in front of his tear-soaked face. His blacked-out sunglasses had fallen off his desk and tumbled to the floor, and his teary, blue eyes darted between his two best friends.

“You’re the one who talked up a big game. Now hurry before you miss your shot.” Suguru said from behind the camera. He was the one recording Satoru’s all-too-rare meltdown, and he zoomed in on the special-grade sorcerer’s face.

“Shoko, can’t you ask her for me? Pleaseee?” Satoru, who sat backwards in his chair, ran his fingers through his messy white hair.

Suguru turned his camera towards Shoko. The teenage girl rolled her eyes.

“Kinda pathetic to get someone else to ask. If I were her, I’d say no because you didn’t have the courage to ask me directly,” she said.

“Oh my god,” Satoru hid his face in his hands. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die, I swear I am.”

Suguru’s camera picked up the sight of you at the front of the classroom, quietly sitting at your desk, jotting down the last few bullet points written by your teacher on the green chalkboard.

Then, Satoru’s flushed, wet face came into view once again.

“Are you seriously crying?” Shoko asked, stifling a giggle.

“Leave me alone, I’m nervous, okay? I swear I’m gonna throw up. Do you see how pretty she is? And she’s so strong, too. Her smile is-is just . . .” dramatically, Satoru sprawled out across the desk in front of him, sniffling. “Guys, what if she says no?”

“What if she says yes?” Suguru said. “Clocks ticking, Satoru. Karaoke night is tonight and school’s about to let out. If you don’t ask her now, you won’t get another shot.”

“Can’t we reschedule?”

“Why? So you can panic and cry again later?”

Satoru whined, raised his head again for a moment, then rested the side of his head on Suguru’s desk — tried to, at least. In truth, he just ended up smacking his head.

Shoko suddenly came into view, her short brown hair dangling. She leaned close to the camera, and whispered, “What’s really pathetic is that he killed special-grade curses yesterday all while talking on the phone, and now he’s crying because he can’t ask a girl out on a date. Weird.”

“I can hear you,” Satoru mumbled. “You guys don’t get it. Every time I talk to her, all I do is stutter and embarrass myself, almost like I’m not as awesome and amazing as I think I am. What’s up with that?”

“It’s called having a crush,” the amusement in Suguru’s voice was clear.

It made Satoru whine yet again — he was suffering. His friends found it funny, but he was suffering. Suffering!

“Yep. You are downright smitten. Poor thing,” Shoko chuckled.

Suddenly, the school bell rang.

Satoru’s head shot straight up like a dog hearing a whistle, and his blue eyes widened in pure panic.

“Shit, shit, shit, is she leaving? I’m scared to look,” Satoru said, but he turned around and looked anyway.

“I’ll stall her.” Shoko rose from her seat, speed walking to the front of the classroom where you started to gather your belongings.

Bits and pieces of the distant conversation could be heard, and well, Shoko was quite an actress.

There was a gentle thud as Suguru set the camera in his hand down on the desk.

His body then came into view from the waist down as he pulled his nervous friend out of his seat.

“Wipe your tears,” Suguru mumbled, and straightened out Satoru’s uniform. “You can do this. You’re Satoru Gojo, aren’t you?”

“Right . . . right. I got this,” trying to make his messy hair appear neater by running his fingers through it, Satoru released a shaky breath.

Then, he approached you.

Suguru grabbed his camera, moved up a few seats, and sat down. Shoko ended the improvised conversation with you and grabbed the seat of the empty desk beside Suguru.

Suguru zoomed in on the scene that unfolded before him.

“Excuse me,” Satoru tapped your shoulder. You faced him, and he mumbled, “ . . . Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Hi . . .” Satoru repeated. His eyes fell to the floor, and he scratched the side of his head with his trembling hand. “So, uh, do you like music?”

“Yeah, I do, why?”

“No reason. Well, there is a reason, but it’s not important or anything.”

“He’s blowing it,” Shoko whispered to the camera. Suguru shushed her as if his dear friend was talking during the best scene of a film.

“I take that back, it’s actually pretty important,” Satoru cleared his throat. God, he could barely look you in the eye. “Asking you out is a big deal to me, ya know? I’ve been practicing for weeks. I can’t believe I just said it wasn’t important. I can, uh, tell that I’m about to do this thing that, for some reason, only happens around you, where I get nervous and start talking a lot, so um, I-I was just wondering if you’d . . . like to go to this group date night karaoke thing . . . tonight? With me? As my date? O-On a date?”

Everyone held their breath. Even the green leaves among the trees visible outside the classroom windows did not blow in the wind.

It was as if the world stopped spinning, and its rotation only began yet again when you laughed softly, your smile brightened, and you said, “You’re adorable. I’d love to.”

“Wait . . . wait, really?” Satoru’s eyes went wide with shock.

The video captured a quiet, joyous shriek from Shoko.

“Yeah, it sounds fun!” You said, closing the binder on your desk.

“O-Oh, great! Um, wait here,” Satoru sped away from you, nearly tripping over his own feet. Again.

His body blocked the camera lens, but he could be heard saying in a rushed, quiet tone, “pen and paper, pen and paper, hurry!”

Suguru put down the camera. He and Shoko scrambled around like disoriented ants, but after a couple of seconds, Suguru handed Satoru a piece of paper, and Shoko gave him a pen. “Here!”

Satoru leaned over a desk and started to write down his number. Suguru grabbed his camera and zoomed in on his trembling hands.

“Your hands are shaking,” Shoko mumbled.

“Not now, Shoko. Please shut up,” Satoru said, writing the last digit, and ripping off a piece of the paper.

Satoru made his way back over to you, his smile bright, cheeks and ears red.

“Here’s my number!” He handed you the tiny piece of paper.

“Okay, cool. I’ll text you when I get home.” You gave him one last smile as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You started to make your way out the door, when suddenly, you paused, turned to face him, and said, “Bye, ‘Toru!”

That was it.

The sorcerer was on the floor.

Suguru and Shoko were on their feet, rushing towards their collapsed friend.

The teenager on the floor came into view, and, once again, tears were streaming down his face, spilling onto the classroom floor beneath him.

“Cut the camera, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna die. Did you hear that? Did you hear her call me ‘Toru?” Satoru tossed his arm over his eyes. “I can’t believe it. She said . . . she said yes. I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

Before either one of his friends could answer, he suddenly got off the floor.

“Holy shit,” Satoru whispered. “I gotta go get ready!”

And with that, the man flew out of the classroom. Shoko and Suguru were quiet for a moment, hearing his quick footsteps down the hall, and then, at the same time, they erupted into heartfelt laughter.

“I’ve never seen him act like this before. Is that why you started recording?” Shoko said once the last of her giggles fluttered out of her.

“Yes. I have a good feeling about those two.”

“Wait, wait, Suguru, come look!”

Shoko made her way towards the window, and Suguru — and his camera — quickly followed.

There, they saw Satoru running out of the school.

“See that, future viewers?” Suguru said to the camera. “That’s Satoru running. My best guess is that he’s planning on stopping at any store that catches his eye for a new outfit, new cologne . . . the list goes on and on.”

Suguru then turned the camera around, his face on full display.

“If they don’t work out, I won’t share this video, but as I said, I have a good feeling. I’m thinking I’ll share this video when they go on their . . . fifth date. What do you think?” He looked at Shoko. The girl appeared behind him, joining him on the screen.

“I say whenever they become boyfriend and girlfriend. What if they fall in love and get married? They could show this video at their wedding.” Suddenly, Shoko’s eyes lit up. “Wait, I have an idea.”

She took the camera from Suguru.

With a small wave and a smile, she started to speak to the camera — to the future viewers. “Hi there, if you’re watching this video, that means my friend, Suguru, and I, successfully predicted the future, and Mrs. Gojo is watching this. Congratulations.”

“Wait, what if they decide to show this to their children?”

“Oh, you’re right!” Shoko raised her eyebrows at Suguru’s interjection, then gave the camera another wave. “Hi, kids. I’m your Aunt Shoko!”

“I’m Uncle Suguru,” the dark-haired teenager popped his head into the frame, waving as well.

“I predict that . . . Satoru will become a girl dad.” Shoko knocked her head against Suguru’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

“Well, I see the two of them having multiple children.” Suguru said, and with a soft smile, he added, “But to Satoru’s future children, and to the future Mrs. Gojo, we wish you the best. I hope your days are filled with love and happiness. It’s the best thing one can ask for.”

Together, the two teenagers waved at the camera. “Bye!”

—♡ —

THE BIRTH

Over the last several months, Satoru Gojo’s only mission was to kiss your round belly with every sunrise and sunset. He didn’t travel the world for special assignments only he could handle, he didn’t spend hours cooped up in the stuffy classrooms of Jujutsu High School, teaching young sorcerers the difference between cursed energy and cursed technique.

Once you hit the nine month mark, once you were predicted to go into labor any day now, he walked into the creepy meeting room belonging to the higher ups, told them he was taking some months off to be by your side, and strolled out of there with a relaxed grin on his face, hands in his pockets, all while the old fools huffed and puffed, going on and on about how he couldn’t do such a thing — blah, blah, blah.

Satoru didn’t care.

He only cared about his family.

Damn it all, the world itself could catch on fire and he could be the only human being with an earth-sized extinguisher, and he wouldn’t do a thing. Not if it meant leaving your side right now.

It was early in the morning when the orange, gentle sunlight peeked through the curtains of your big bedroom window, and Satoru raised your night gown and pressed two soft kisses against your belly, one for each of the children you carried in your womb; the boy-girl twins.

“Good morning princess,” Satoru ran his hand gently across one side of your belly, where he knew his baby girl was located. “Daddy can’t wait to meet you soon.”

Satoru felt a small kick against his palm. He grinned.

“Aren’t you precious? I’m glad you’re excited to meet me too.”

His hand graced your skin as he moved it to where his boy was resting.

“How’s my little prince doing this morning, hm? You’re gonna love your nursery. Your Uncle Kento and I worked hard on it.”

His boy didn’t give an energetic kick, but rather a tiny wriggle. Satoru had read online once when you were pregnant with your first child five years ago that how a baby acts in the womb is not always an indication of how they’ll act outside of it, but for some reason — call it fatherly instinct, a lucky guess, or what information he could gather with his Six Eyes based on their cursed energy fluctuations — Satoru believed he was dealing with a hyper, excitable girl, while his boy was on the quieter side.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Satoru grinned up at you, moving away to give you some space. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Huge. I know I say it every day, but my back is-is . . . god, it’s killing me. I’m so ready for these little ones to come out.” You suddenly swung your legs off the side of the bed, moving much faster than your husband was comfortable with.

“Easy, easy,” he said. “What can your awesome, loving husband cook you for breakfast today?”

“Guess.”

“Crepes?”

You smiled at him. “You really are an awesome, loving husband.”

—♡ —

The soft clink-clank of dishes being washed with soap and hot, running water filled the kitchen. As you grabbed the drying rag to finish off with cleaning the plate that held your crepes, Maya, who too finished her breakfast, approached you with a curious, childlike gaze.

“When will the twins come out, mommy?”

“Any day now. Are you excited?”

“Uh-huh! I get a . . . a new sister and a new brother!”

“That’s right. It’s gonna be a full house.”

Megumi had awakened a while ago. He walked into the kitchen with an empty mug in hand, as he had finished his morning cup of black coffee.

“Do you want my breakfast?” He asked you.

“Of course not. There’s plenty for everyone, and you know you need to eat something with your meds. I don’t want you to get a stomach ache,” you said, moving out of the way so he could make his way to the sink — his favorite mug was much too precious to go in the dishwasher.

“You need the extra food more than I do. Besides, I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

“We know. Your dad cooked you something else. Your breakfast is in that pot on the stove.”

Megumi didn’t respond. But, he truly didn’t get the chance to, as Yuji appeared in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you.

“Momma!” He greeted excitedly. Talk about being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Good morning, Yuji. How in the world do you wake up with so much energy?”

Yuji pulled away from the gentle hug. “Hmm, well, you could go into labor any day now, so I’ve been pretty excited lately. But I’m always excited about, well, everything.” He continued, “Feel alright today?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, and Maya suddenly grabbed your hand, wanting to hold it. You smiled, stroking her soft skin with your fingers. Then, you refocused your attention on Megumi, who was washing his mug, and Yuji, who was opening the fridge. “So, boys, your ride will be here soon to pick you up and drop you off at school. I’m going with your dad when he takes Maya to school so we can buy the last of what we need before I give birth, and I need-”

You heard footsteps. They didn’t belong to Satoru — you knew what his footsteps sounded like. You whipped your head around, and in the archway of your kitchen stood Kento.

“Kento? When’d you get here?” You asked in pure surprise.

“Uncle Kento!” Maya exclaimed, running up to Kento and holding her arms out for a hug.

“Look at you, Maya. You’re getting taller every day.” The man kneeled, hugging the young girl. Afterwards, he looked your way. “Good morning, I just got here. Satoru called and said you need someone to sort through and put away some supplies. I thought you knew, or else I would have knocked. Sorry for startling you.”

“It’s fine. I gave you a house key for a reason,” you smiled. “But I can’t ask that of you, Kento. It’s my fault I’m so behind with preparations.”

“Well, I’m not letting you tell me no. You have three kids and two more on the way, and to say you have a busy family is an understatement. No one blames you for falling behind. There's going to be a full house here soon enough, and there’s nothing wrong with your family needing a little outside help.”

“That’s what mommy just said! Full house!”

Maya spread her hands wide.

“And your mom is right,” Kento said. “Anyway, your children call me Uncle Kento for a reason, don’t they? Even this one right here,” Kento nodded towards Yuji, who gave him a smile in return. “I need to show I’m worthy of that title.”

“Well, fine. But sit down and have some breakfast, at least. And I’m not letting you tell me no.”

Kento knew better than to go back and forth with you, Mrs. Gojo, when it came to your policy: everyone who walks through your front door will be fed.

Satoru appeared in the kitchen next. He dangled his car keys at you and smiled down at Maya. “Alright, you two. Time to go.”

—♡ —

On ordinary days, you and Maya would stroll down the sunlit streets as a means of transportation, as her school was close enough for you to walk with the young girl, hand-in-hand.

While Satoru would have gladly walked Maya to school, the two of you had last-minute errands to run, and that led to him pulling his car into the parking lot of the white and brown building instead.

“I’ll walk her in. You can clean off the black mark on the back window. It’s driving me crazy,” you said.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. Satoru exchanged loving goodbyes and a couple of tickles with Maya and grabbed the car cleaner and rag he kept in his truck. You strolled across the parking lot and up to the front door of the building with your girl by your side, and she played with the straps of her backpack.

That was when a strange, suited man standing outside the see-through front doors spoke to you.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Excuse us,” you replied. You gave him a stranger-friendly smile and went to grab the door handle, but he didn’t move.

“Wait a second, Mrs. Gojo,” the man was fast. His hand gripped your elbow. He pulled you a little ways back to halt your footsteps. Instinctively, you grabbed Maya’s hand. She frowned with great worry, pressing herself as close to you as she could get.

The man’s grip tightened. “You are Mrs. Gojo, correct? And this is your little girl, Maya?”

“What are you doing? Don’t touch me-”

Another hand appeared, this one familiar. It wrapped around the strange man’s wrist, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing, until he let go of your elbow.

“Hey, back the hell away from my wife and my kid.”

A shaky breath of pure relief escaped from you at the sight of your husband. Without wasting another second, you took your daughter inside the school and walked her to her class.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s grip on the strange man’s wrist only tightened.

“Who the hell are you?” Satoru released his wrist, but only to take haunting steps towards the man, forcing him to walk backwards, stumbling over his own feet as his frightened eyes stared up at the tall, pissed-off sorcerer approaching him.

“Please, I didn’t mean any harm, but-”

“But, you’re a strange man standing outside of my daughter’s school, one who knows my wife and daughter’s name. One who noticed they were alone. One who grabbed my wife’s arm.” He kept walking towards him. The man kept trying to back away. Satoru continued, the dark tone of his voice growing. “I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me who you are. One last chance . . .”

Satoru hooked his index finger around his black blindfold. He pulled it down slowly. He revealed his frightening, wide, blue eyes.

“I’m just a recruiter! Please, I didn’t mean any harm. I-I work with a group of intelligent sorcerers who oppose the teachings of the Jujutsu High School. Therefore, we’re trying to build up our own institution, a-and we would love to have your daughter as one of our students. Perhaps your wife would be interested in becoming a teacher, or-”

“My little girl is five years old,” Satoru spoke through gritted teeth.

“We understand, but being that she’s a member of the Gojo clan, she-”

“Don’t you ever show up here again. Don’t touch my wife, don’t speak to my wife, don’t look at my wife. Don’t touch my daughter, don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, or anyone else in my goddamn family, or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

The strange man gulped. Droplets of sweat poured off his pale skin, almost as if he had been walking in the rain.

“Y-yes,” the man squeaked out. “My apologies, sir.”

He ran off like the devil himself was chasing him. Satoru stood in front of the school doors, waiting until the strange man was out of sight before he went into the building.

The entire situation had pissed him off. Greatly. So much so that he had to hold you and Maya close for a couple of minutes.

This wasn’t the first time the Jujutsu Society tried to push you back into the lifestyle of a sorcerer, or get their hands on his daughter.

Satoru himself was separated from his parents at a young age, training relentlessly every single day instead of playing in the warm sun. He would not let the same thing happen to his little girl.

Ever.

—♡ —

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to alarm you, but there is a man who has been staring at you for some time now. He’s two aisles over. I can stay with you while you shop if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, you’re too kind! There’s nothing to worry about, though. That’s just my husband, but thank you.”

“Oh, no problem!”

The kindhearted woman who noticed Satoru’s eyes — as he took his blindfold off for a few minutes — following your every movement walked off with a little smile. You gripped the handle of your grocery cart and hurriedly rushed over to Satoru’s aisle.

“Satoru! You’re supposed to be grabbing baby powder, not stalking me. That lady thought you were a creep!”

“What? I can’t help it. First of all, what happened this morning taught me that I need to be more protective of you, and second of all, you had that look on your face, the one you make when you’re concentrating? It’s too cute, so I gotta stare, sorry.”

Satoru tossed two containers of baby powder into your crowded cart. Sneakily, he pressed a kiss against your cheek. You rolled your eyes and started to walk off with the cart, but he could see the smile tugging at your lips.

The shelves of the pasta aisle were quite packed with a variety of different shapes.

Turning towards Satoru, you said with a playful frown, “Make yourself useful and grab those noodles on the top shelf for me.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” he smirked, reaching for the big beige box.

“I love it when you’re quiet.”

“Ouch,” he pressed his hand against his heart as if your words were a loaded gun and a bullet was fired into his chest. “I’ll shut up in about five minutes.”

“You still have more to say?”

“Yep. So, I was thinking we could stay out all day until it’s time to pick up Maya from school. The twins will be here before we know it, and who knows when we’ll get to enjoy a nice outing together once they’re born?” Satoru paused. “After we drop off these groceries, we could get some lunch, do a little sightseeing, all that kinda stuff.”

“Sure! Let’s hurry, then!”

—♡ —

Yuji and Megumi stepped through the front doors of their home. The smell of clean laundry and freshly mopped floors hit their noses, and the sight of a spotless, glistening foyer caught their attention.

“Whoa, did Uncle Kento really clean this place up? And I thought it was pretty clean before!”

“Why do you call him that? You know he’s not your uncle,” Megumi said, reaching down to remove his shoes, and Yuji did the same.

“Some families do that kinda stuff. The kids call the friends of their parents aunt and uncle. Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, Aunt Jane, and so on and so on. Mom calls Nobara her niece. I think it’s just something you do when you’re close to people, so close you might as well be related, ya know? I love it. It makes me feel like I have this really, really big family.”

“But in reality, when it comes to blood, we’re all alone.”

Yuji froze.

He was used to Megumi’s rather depressing tone, but what made Yuji halt his movements amidst removing his left shoe was the wave of hurt that washed over him. I’m not all alone, Yuji thought. We’re not all alone. We have a mom, dad, siblings, distant relatives . . . right? It counts, right?

Yuji was silent for a moment, but, in a quiet voice, he mumbled, “. . . I think I understand now . . . you think family can only mean blood or marriage, huh?”

Megumi swallowed down the lump of guilt starting to form in his throat. Yuji hardly ever spoke in such a quiet tone. Only then did Megumi realize he had hurt the other boy’s feelings.

“No. In fact, the only people I’ve ever felt a familial bond with were people who weren’t related to me by blood.”

Both Megumi and Yuji rose to their feet, shoes off.

“I don’t get it. What’s the problem, then?” Yuji asked with a great, big frown.

“Be honest with me, Yuji,” Megumi’s eyes focused on the vase of flowers sitting on the table in the center of the foyer. “Do you honestly see me as your brother?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I kinda did before we were adopted, ya know? But I take it you don’t see me that way.” As Yuji spoke, Megumi faced him. Yuji gave him a sad smile, trying to hide his hurt. “It’s fine. Maybe someday, right?”

The pink-haired boy started to walk off, but Megumi’s sudden words made him stop.

“You’ve got it all wrong. You guys are my family. That’s the problem.”

“How’s that a problem?” Yuji turned to face him, his eyes begging for answers. “You can talk to me, c’mon. I’m worried about you.”

The words that Yuji spoke to him several months ago replayed in Megumi’s mind: “I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can. Love you!”

“Blood or no blood,” Megumi started. “There’s just something that keeps people from staying in my life. Something always goes wrong. People leave, people die . . . and I can’t shake the feeling that the bonds I’ve formed with all of you will just cause me more pain someday, ‘cause these sorta bonds always end up hurting me in the end. It’ll turn out how it always turns out. I’ll somehow end up all alone.”

Kento appeared in the foyer then.

“That’s the risk that comes with loving people. Especially with the kind of lives we live as sorcerers,” he looked at Megumi apologetically. “Sorry to intrude.”

“It’s fine.”

“Megumi,” Kento continued. “I can’t promise you that you won’t lose anyone else. That’s the cruel world we live in. But, I suggest you cherish the happy moments with the people you care for. There’s nothing worse than losing someone and having no memories to look back on with them, all because you shut them out, thinking it would make the inevitable easier. It only makes it worse. Trust me.”

A brief beat of silence followed Kento’s wise words. While Megumi puzzled over his words, repeating them in his head, Yuji approached the blonde-haired man and wrapped his arms around him.

“Yuji, why are you hugging me?”

“I’m creating a happy moment with my uncle.” Kento couldn’t help but smile. He hugged the boy he wholeheartedly now viewed as his nephew.

—♡ —

After a day of errands and relaxing fun, you and Satoru pulled into the driveway of your home. Outside, Megumi and Yuji were carrying empty boxes from the finished nursery to the recycling bin after eating snacks Kento prepared for them.

Upon seeing you, Satoru, and Maya emerge from the car, Yuji tossed his empty hand up. “Hey!”

Megumi waved silently.

“Hi, boys!” You waved back.

Just as you were putting your hand down, a wave of pain — a cramp-like pressure — shot through you. You hissed.

“You alright?” Satoru asked, shutting the car door after Maya climbed out of her seat.

“Yeah, just a small cramp. One of the little ones, probably.”

The three of you made your way into your home, all the while, Maya was rambling about her newest fixation after seeing the stars and moon decorations at your baby shower.

“ . . . and when the rockets go into-into space, the um, the people in the rockets see the planets too!”

“Yep, they sure can,” Satoru smiled down at her. “Do you know how many planets there are?”

“Nuh uh,”

“There are eight. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.”

“He’s wrong, Maya. There are nine. I won’t stand for any Pluto erasure, I don’t care what anyone says,” you called out, making your way into the living room. The living room was cleaner than you had left it. “Did we hire a maid?”

“No, I work for free, apparently,” Kento’s voice came from the hallway. When he stepped into the living room, you were quick to hug him. He knew quite well you would try to pay him, but he knew quite well he would also refuse to accept it.

“You did all this, Kento? Oh, thank you!”

Once you released him, Satoru took the chance to hug him as well.

“My turn, bring it in, bring it in,” Satoru grinned.

“The Gojo family likes to give out hugs, hm?” Kento said, and he was met with soft laughter.

Satoru noticed your eyebrows were pinched in discomfort.

“Come on, baby. You should sit down,” Satoru said, and he started to guide you towards one of the couches.

“Can someone bring me some water?” You asked.

“I’m on it. Do you need anything else? You look like you’re-”

“Oh!” Your sudden gasp of pure pain interrupted Kento. You doubled over, your hand on your stomach. “Oh god!”

“Baby? I need you to talk to me,” Satoru leaned over with you, his hand on your back. “What are you feeling?”

Your two boys rushed into the living room then.

Yuji started to say, “What’s wrong? Is she-”

You gave another shout of pain.

“Oh my god, she’s dying,” Yuji gripped his hair in pure panic.

“Yuji!” Megumi and Kento sharply called out.

“What’s wrong with mommy?” Maya, who tried to approach you until Yuji made her stop, gave a worried, little whine.

“They’re contractions,” Satoru said, his large hand rubbing your back. “Satoru,” you cried. When he looked at you, he saw it. Not the look of nervous excitement amidst the pain as the labor you had been preparing for finally started to occur, but he saw pure fear. “Satoru, they hurt more than they did with-with-”

Another shout of pain.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay, I’m right here,” Satoru worked hard to keep his composure. He had to. He was someone who felt the urge to faint or cry when his poor wife had a cold, but right now, he needed to be strong for you. And, damn it all, he would be. “Megumi, get Maya. Yuji, grab the hospital bag. Then get in the SUV. I didn’t buy a seven-seater for nothing.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, she’s going into labor,” Yuji said, running off in search of the bag. He had been rehearsing this moment. It was not going as smoothly as it was during his practices.

“I’ll drive,” Kento offered.

“Is-Is-Is this normal? Is it . . . is it supposed to hurt more with twins?” Your questions fluttered from between your lips in between pained groans. Your panicked eyes sought out Satoru’s, but they were hidden behind his blindfold. He knew what you wanted. What you needed. He was quick to snatch the blindfold off, headaches be damned.

“I’m gonna carry you to the SUV, okay, sweetheart? Just hang in there. Everything will be alright. I’m right here.”

The car ride was filled with your groans and shouts of pain.

“We’re almost there, baby. You’re doing so well,” Satoru stroked his thumb across your cheek with the hand that wasn’t within your grasp.

“I’m squeezing your hand, I’m sorry,” you said, breathless.

“Don’t be, I want you to squeeze it. Look at me.” Satoru lifted your chin with his fingers. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m not letting go of your hand, okay? I’m not letting go.”

—♡ —

The blinding white lights of the hospital only worsened your disoriented state. The nurses were scrambling, you were guided into a wheelchair, the painful contractions were intensifying, your family stared at you with concerned gazes — it was too much. Too much.

The doctor told you that your labor was progressing quite fast.

Throughout the intense delivery of the twins, the only thing that kept you grounded in reality, even as droplets of sweat accumulated across your forehead, screams of agony left your throat, and the doctor and nurses encouraged you to push, was your husband.

Satoru had positioned himself behind you in the hospital bed. You were in between his legs, your back against his chest — thank god, as his familiar scent and the sound of his heartbeat soothed you just as much as his calming words did — and you squeezed his hand until his pale skin was now a shade of red, but he didn’t complain. Not once.

“Give me another big push,” the doctor said with urgency, yet, in a calm, reassuring tone.

Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights.

But, as the back of your head hit Satoru’s chest out of pure exhaustion, you heard it.

A sound that created a wave of nostalgia, one that washed over you as you recalled your first experience with this, five years ago.

It was a cry.

“It’s a girl!” The masked doctor exclaimed.

“Baby . . . baby, it’s our princess,” Satoru brought your hand to his lips. He kissed your knuckles. “It’s our little girl! You’re so goddamn amazing, god, I love you, I love you. Do you see what you just did? That was all you, sweetheart.”

“Let’s work on getting the boy out of here, Mrs. Gojo. You’re doing great.”

It hurt — damn it, it fucking hurt.

“‘Toru!” You cried. Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights.

“I know, I know. I can’t even imagine, baby.” Satoru stroked the skin of your hand with his thumb. “Keep breathing. Keep squeezing my hand. I’m here for you.”

And with that, you pushed out the very last child, your baby boy. His soft cries filled the hospital room.

—♡ —

Satoru’s baby girl was so, so tiny. She rested in his arms. A tear drop softly splattered against her forehead, and only then did Satoru realize he had started to cry. But he didn’t bother wiping away the tears streaming down his face. It was pointless. Darting his teary blue eyes between the faces of his son and daughter melted his heart, seeing the features they copied from him and the love of his life created those tears, and they would stream endlessly right now.

“Hi, princess,” Satoru whispered to the small newborn, smiling as more tears fell. “It’s your daddy. We’re finally meeting, aren’t we? Wanna say hi to your mommy?”

The hospital room was dimly lit now, thank goodness. Your babies had been cleaned, wrapped in blankets, and at the moment, you were breastfeeding your son when Satoru walked over carefully.

“Did you see her eyes? She has my eyes,” you gave Satoru a tired smile. “I can’t believe it. The shape . . . everything.”

Satoru sat on the side of the hospital bed.

“She looks just like you. Every detail.” He paused, leaning over a bit to lovingly gaze down at his son. “Look at our prince’s tiny white hairs. He has my nose too. Don’t you, little guy? You’re just the cutest little prince, aren’t you?”

Then, Satoru’s loving gaze met your eyes. He leaned in — careful not to squish the two newborns in between your bodies — and he kissed you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, then gave you another quick kiss in between his words. “Are you ready for me to help you get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, that would be nice. I think I feel strong enough.”

—♡ —

“You’re okay!”

Your worried family members piled through the door of your hospital room, rushing to your side. Yuji was the first one to shout, followed by Megumi’s soft, but concerned tone.

“How do you feel?”

“Happy,” you reached out, squeezing both of their hands. “Tired, but happy.”

Maya started to crawl up your bed, and you welcomed your firstborn with open arms, holding the young girl against your chest.

Just then, your boys held up four big gift bags — holding two each.

“We stopped by the gift shop and bought everything in sight,” Yuji said. “You can look through it later since you’re tired.”

“You two have a couple of panic shoppers here,” Kento said, looking between you and Satoru, who was putting warm socks on your feet.

With a laugh, you said, “Thank you, boys.”

“You ready to meet your new siblings?” Satoru asked, nodding in the direction of the two bassinets at the front of your room.

The two boys rushed over. Maya only clung to you tighter.

Megumi and Yuji’s eyes widened in unison.

They could have sworn they were looking at the mini versions of you and Satoru.

It was quite humorous. Maya was a perfect mix. Fifty-fifty, as Yuji often described it. But the little girl in the bassinet before him was the spitting image of you, whereas Megumi was looking at a copy-and-paste of Satoru himself.

Carefully, Yuji scooped the baby girl out of the bassinet. “Hi there, remember me? I’m Yuji, the guy who spoke to you every day. I’m your older brother.” He paused, taking in her features. How astonishing. “Wow, you look just like our momma.”

“He won’t let go of my finger,” Megumi suddenly said.

He was standing over the baby boy’s bassinet and reached down to touch his tiny hand. But that tiny newborn gripped his finger with a force Megumi was certain a newborn shouldn’t have.

“I had a feeling you two would bond,” Satoru laughed. He then walked over with Maya, who wasn’t too in love with the idea of ending her snuggle session with you just yet, and he said, “Take a look, muffin.”

Yuji leaned down a bit with the small baby in his arms.

Maya raised her eyebrows. “Ooo!”

Kento walked over then. He adjusted his glasses as he stared down at the baby boy gripping Megumi’s finger.

“Oh, great. Another Satoru,” Kento said.

“In appearance alone,” you chimed in with a little laugh. “He’s a quiet one.”

Their boy looks like Satoru, but is as quiet as Megumi. The girl looks like her mother, but has tons of energy like Yuji. Hilarious, Kento thought.

Around fifteen minutes later, Satoru approached your bed, his phone screen illuminating his face.

“Alright, I just ordered some sushi for you. Yes, I got the right variety. Yes, I told them no wasabi. Yes, I got your favorite drink to go with it,” he said.

“I love you,” you smiled at him, but then, your face fell into a little frown.

“Honey, you look exhausted. Where’s your blindfold?”

It was true. His head was throbbing. Pounding as if someone was slamming a hammer against his skull. His overworked eyes were sore, and with the level of fatigue he was experiencing, he didn’t feel entirely too comfortable carrying one of his newborns right now.

But he snatched off that blindfold so you, his panicked wife, could look into his eyes and know that you weren’t going through any of this alone. So he didn’t mind the suffering.

Satoru simply ignored your question as he smiled, leaned across the bed, and pressed his lips against your soft cheek. “I love you more.”

—♡ —

THE AFTERMATH

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Quite often, Megumi found himself sitting on the bench at the local park, a nonfiction book — typically about animals — resting in his hands. Normally, it was just him. Him and the gentle breeze that made the leaves of the surrounding trees dance. But lately, his little brother accompanied him.

The eight-month-old was glued to Megumi’s side from the second he was born. Perhaps, it was Megumi’s quiet nature and calming presence that the fellow quiet baby adored. It was no different than the way his hyper eight-month-old sister would giggle and babble when someone as excitable as Yuji was around.

Flipping the page of his book with his thumb, Megumi took a second to glance down at the head of the baby sitting on his lap.

“I wonder if you’ll become an animal guy too,” Megumi mumbled.

The baby looked up at the sound of his beloved brother’s voice. He pressed the bee-shaped toy against his lips, attempting to chew on it.

“Jegi?” The baby babbled.

Megumi smiled softly. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but okay.”

—♡ —

“Babababa . . .”

Satoru, who sat on the floor of the playroom, grinned as his baby girl slowly crawled closer to him.

“You’re coming closer to calling me dada every single day, aren’t you?” He grabbed her gently, pulling her onto his lap. “Wanna go see your mommy? Hm? Wanna see mommy? I wanna see your mommy.”

The kitchen was alive with the sound of a knife meeting your favorite wooden cutting board. Satoru entered to see you standing over the kitchen island, slicing potatoes.

Grabbing the arm of the baby he carried, he made his little girl wave.

“Say hi,” he cooed.

Your excitable baby girl babbled at the sight of you.

“Hi my little baby,” you waved at her.

“She’s going through diapers like crazy today,” Satoru said to you, then turned his attention back to the baby, stroking her cheek with his finger. “Someone doesn’t know how expensive diapers are, hm? You know how many curses I have to kill to afford them? Too many curses, sweetheart.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” you rolled your eyes, grinning.

A figure suddenly appeared inside the kitchen — you couldn’t help but jump a bit. Though you heard him coming — you recognized Yuji’s footsteps — but just as Megumi was starting to look more and more like his biological father with every passing day, Yuji had gotten taller over the last several months.

The sudden reminder of his height made you sneakily bite your inner cheek, as you remembered that both of your boys were close to turning eighteen, and you and Satoru had something special planned for their birthdays.

You couldn’t believe it. Around two-and-a-half years ago, you adopted them; two orphaned teenage sorcerers who needed a loving family. And now? They were almost adults.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Yuji greeted. “You guys mind if I take her to the park with me and Maya?”

“No, not at all. We’d appreciate it,” you said.

“Make sure you keep an eye on Muffin. Her latest growth spurt has made her a bit clumsy.” Satoru thought about Maya’s new elementary school class photo, one he sent to all of his friends. “Looks like my little muffin’s gonna be tall like me. Buttt, I don’t care. I’m gonna keep picking her up until she’s fifty-two.”

“You got it. I wanna introduce my, uh . . . friend . . . to some of my siblings.” Yuji smiled, his cheeks becoming a dark shade of pink. “And, um . . . to you guys as well. But I don’t think she’s ready for that. Too soon, ya know?”

You and Satoru exchanged a knowing grin with one another. You then cleared your throat, suppressing the urge to giggle out of pure excitement, and you sliced into another potato. “Well, just know that we would love to meet this friend of yours. She can come over for dinner anytime.”

“Great,” Yuji approached Satoru, taking the babbling baby into his arms. “See you guys later.”

The door opened and closed. After a beat of silence — silence you had grown quite unfamiliar with — you smiled widely at Satoru.

“Yuji might have a girlfriend! This is huge!” As you started to ramble, your husband made his way around the kitchen island, approaching you. “Oh, this is so exciting. I should bake her something whenever she comes over.”

“Yeah, yeah I agree,” The words that Satoru spoke were soft, barely above a whisper, as he closed the distance between you both. His sudden kiss, however, was anything but. He bit your bottom lip with the hunger of a starved man.

He pulled away, his lips hovering above yours.

“Are you even listening to me, sir?” You whispered against them.

“Sorta, kinda,” his warm breath grazed your cheek.

You playfully backed away from him, turning your back to your husband as you started to walk away. “If your answer isn’t yes, then no kisses for you.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist. He pulled you back towards him, your chest colliding with his, and he said, “alone time with you doesn’t come often. I’m taking advantage of it.”

His mouth was on you again. And his lips weren’t just kissing yours — no. He trailed his lips and tongue across the skin of your jaw and neck. His wandering hands roamed your body, exploring what was starting to become foreign territory to him after not being able to get any alone time with you. His hand gripped your ass, his lips found their way back up to yours, and he kissed you yet again, releasing a moan into your mouth as his tongue swirled around yours.

Satoru turned you around. Though he viewed his wife as a precious prize — the prize — he wasn’t exactly in the mood to handle you with gentle care right now.

Not when his dick was hardening against the fabric of his pants, begging for freedom and relief.

He used one hand to pull your hips back until your ass met his bulge. He used his other hand to push your back until you were leaning across the kitchen island, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“In the kitchen, ‘Toru?” You said with false innocence. Oh, he could spot that bit of trickery within your voice. “That’s so . . . so unsanitary.”

“Downright nasty, isn’t it, baby?” He thrusted against you. The sheer force of his grind made your arm hit the potatoes on the kitchen island, and you could only watch helplessly as the starchy vegetables scattered onto the floor.

Satoru leaned across you until his chest was against your back. His grip on your hair tightened, the pace of his grinding quickened, and he ran his tongue across your right ear.

“Right there, right there,” he hungrily whispered. He pressed his clothed cock against you harder, your bodies rocking back and forth, back and forth. “Feel that? That’s where I need you, baby.”

“I need you somewhere too,” you breathlessly spoke. Every thrust from him was driving you crazy. You could feel him through your jeans, feel just how badly he needed you.

Satoru released his grip on your hair and let his hands fall to the button and zipper of your jeans, but you suddenly grabbed his hands, halting his advances.

He backed away from you. But, before any questions could flutter from between his wet lips, you turned around, facing him, and got down on your knees.

You ran your hands up his legs.

“My amazing, perfect husband is always showering me with love and affection, waiting on me hand and foot.” You looked up at Satoru with pleading eyes. “I want to show him how much I appreciate him.”

Satoru didn’t say a word. His blindfolded eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt.

It started off with a few, teasing swirls of your tongue around his tip, leaky with precum. But Satoru wasn’t exactly patient. He wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with, not when he wanted his cock somewhere inside of you. And that led to Satoru gripping your hair yet again and thrusting himself down your throat. He tossed his head back at the heavenly feeling, moaning your name like a prayer.

“You can still take all of me, right? Let’s see,” he said.

That was, in a way, your only form of a heads-up before he started to thrust in and out of your hot mouth at a quick pace. Spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth. His moans grew louder, louder, and louder — he was never a quiet man, except for when his brewing orgasm suddenly washed over him, taking his breath away and making him go silent as he shot his load down your awaiting throat, but he then inhaled sharply, and more moans of pure pleasure escaped him as he finished cumming.

Satoru pulled himself out of your mouth with a smirk, and you knew what that smirk meant.

It meant that, while he technically just finished, he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

—♡ —

Clothes were scattered along the kitchen floor, mixed with the knocked-over vegetables, cutting board, and decorative bowl of fruit.

That was the result of Satoru grabbing you off the floor, tossing you over the kitchen island, and fucking you until you were dizzy from the motion of his fast-paced thrusts.

“Give it to me one more time,” he would say after yet another orgasm, and another.

Now, after dragging your clothes back on, you were disinfecting the kitchen island and sipping on water, trying to rehydrate your weakened body, all the while, Satoru picked up the fallen fruits and vegetables.

“Someone lose their voice?” Satoru teased. “I’m glad we don’t have neighbors close by. I can only imagine how they would’ve reacted to all that moaning.”

“Well, I would have apologized and told them to forgive my husband and his whorish ways,” you snapped back with a small grin, wiping the kitchen island.

“I went easy on you this time, ya know. I could’ve kept going,” Satoru said, picking up the cutting board.

“Seriously? My legs hurt, my back hurts, my throat hurts, and I lost count of how many rounds we-” you cut yourself off with a sigh. “Your stamina is insane. Why’d you stop if you weren’t ready to?”

“Well,” with a teasing smirk, he paused. “Number one, Someone — not me, by the way — looked like they were on the verge of meeting their maker. Number two, I was hoping we could get out of the house during the last few hours of our free time.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? We haven’t been to the movies in a while. Or . . . maybe . . .”

“Maybe you could show me what else your mouth can do. Day-time karaoke?”

“Day-time karaoke!” You laughed. “Though . . . I’m divorcing you for that bad joke.”

Satoru walked around the kitchen island. “Let’s go, we can finish cleaning when we come back,” he said, taking the cleaning supplies out of your hand.

“We can sing the song we sang during our first date. Remember?” You looked at him, smiling brightly. Sweet memories came back to you, warming your heart and soul.

“Of course I do,” with a smile that matched your own, he continued, “I almost blacked out from nervousness before we sang together, not after.”

“I can’t believe I used to drive you that crazy.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean used to?” His face frowned up with great offense — you would’ve thought you had raised your hand and slapped him across the cheek.

“Come on now, you’re not damn near fainting and stuttering around me like you used to do,” you said. “You’ve gotten used to being around me. Our love has changed from that puppy-like, crushing stage into something mature and wholesome, and that’s fine. It’s beautiful.”

“Wrong,” Satoru put the cleaning supplies down. “Maybe I don’t stutter anymore, but you still drive me crazy. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

“Pretty words.”

“You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no.

“Gimme your hand,” Satoru nodded down at your wrist. “Come on, give it here.”

You did as you were told despite your confusion. Your husband placed your hand upon his chest, and you felt it against your palm.

The fast-paced thumping of his heart.

“What the hell? Why is your heart beating so fast?” You asked, pulling your hand away.

“Pretty sure it’s because my extraordinary, beautiful, amazing, loving, super cute wife just smiled at me a minute ago.”

Oh.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him. He didn’t waste a second before returning your hug.

“I love you. What did I do to deserve you?” You asked, taking in his comforting scent.

“I ask myself the same thing every morning. What did you do to deserve me?”

A laugh escaped from you as you pulled away from him. Shaking your head, you started to walk out of the kitchen. “Okay, you know what? I’m about to go get ready, and you can shower by yourself.”

And with that, your dear husband, the Satoru Gojo, the special-grade sorcerer who loved his amazing wife and five children more than anything, followed you down the hallway, shouting, “Wait, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I bought a house with a shower big enough for two people for a reason!”

— NEXT PART.

What did you think? Please let me know!

🍼: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos @stoneaf @dreamypirate @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @starlightanyaaa @arrozyfrijoles23

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chastiefoul · 2 years ago

Text

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace

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uncannydevotion · 7 months ago

Text

“ we haven't found one lipstick that's kiss proof! ”

a/n: based on tht one art meme going around iykyk anyways happy holidays, and merry christmas if u celebrate! nd happy day to everyone else! enjoy this lil gift <3 i wanted to get it out today so it might b a little rushed, and definitely shorter than i would like but i still like it so. i'm posting it.

includes: homicidal liu, eyeless jack, jason the toymaker, nina the killer, and jeff the killer.

warnings: gn!reader but it's assumed u wear lipstick, italics my beloved, so much fluff it'll make u sick, lots of kissing. is kiss even a word anymore. it's short, with varying different lengths, and it's sweet this time for real i promise.

HOMICIDAL LIU

Perhaps a bit confused when you ask him to help find some kiss proof lipsticks, but nonetheless willing to help. He just assumes you wanted to go out to a cosmetic store or something to find some.

He's very confused when you drag him over to the couch and tell him to stay put while you gather every tube of lipstick you have.

He's oblivious guys okay you're his first relationship ever how is he supposed to know you're about to smother him to death with kisses?

Liu will be a bit caught off guard when you place the first kiss on his cheek, your lips gentle, mindful of the sensitive skin surrounding his scars.

"What was that for?" He'll ask. And maybe you'll give a cheeky smile and respond with something like, "I'm just testing out my lipstick, babe."

And oh. Oh. That's what you meant when you said you wanted his help.

Liu is nothing if not the greatest boyfriend haver, so even though he gets increasingly more flustered with each kiss you press against his skin, he stays painfully still so as to not interrupt you.

Every time you pressed a kiss against his skin, he'd let out a little sigh. It was rare for him to ever really feel at ease, but it came easy with you.

Sometimes, he wonders if you truly understood the gravity of the love he felt for you.

Each kiss makes his heart race faster and faster, so much so that when you place one last kiss against his lips, he's so overwhelmed by the amount of love he holds for you that Sully thinks he's fucking dying and takes over.

Sully is very confused when he finds that Liu was, in fact, not dying. And you're certainly no help, just smiling and telling him to wash his face off as you clean up.

What.

One look in the mirror gives him the answer he was looking for. His entire face was covered in lipstick stains. This is what had Liu's heart racing so much? Sully really thought he was dying, man.

Turns out the guy is just an idiot in love.

EYELESS JACK

One of the only ones here to really understand what you meant when you asked him for help in finding a kiss proof lipstick, already taking his mask off.

He didn't have anything better to do, and he liked how your eyes lit up when he agreed, so.

He'll sit patiently, watching as you set out all of your lipsticks, setting them out in a color-coded pattern.

Jack will take this very seriously, I think. You won't really be able to get him flustered, because he's determined to figure out if you have any kiss proof lipstick. He's a man on a mission.

Every time you kiss him, he'll pull away from you and look at himself in a mirror to study how visible the stain is. The less he can see it, the better he thinks the lipstick is.

If anything, he'll end up flustering you from the way he'll grab your cheeks and press his thumb against your lip, rubbing the lipstick gently to see how much pressure it takes for it to transfer.

He's not doing this on purpose, he just... doesn't realize the effect he has on you. But between you and me, he's 100% teasing you.

He's the one covered in kisses, and yet you're the one shying away from him and getting all embarrassed. Seems your plan to fluster him backfired.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You would ask.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You're the one who asked for help." Would be his response.

Somehow you end up with more marks on your skin than he does?? Since you get to kiss him a bunch, he doesn't see why he can't kiss you back. And maybe he bites a lil, idk.

This will either end with you scurrying away, or with him pouncing you and abandoning the lipstick. Make your choice.

JASON THE TOYMAKER

He's busy tinkering with a new creation when you enter his workshop carrying every single lipstick you own.

He's too focused on his own work to really pay attention to you, so he just mutters a vague 'yeah' when he hears you ask a question, not really catching anything you said.

Jason's only vaguely aware that you're in the same room as him as he leans forward, brows pinched together as he focuses on stitching up a small stuffed animal.

It's not until he feels you resting your hand on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly and pressing a kiss against his cheek that he's brought to reality.

Just sits there, confused for the longest second, his hand coming up to his cheek where he had felt your lips. He's not against the sudden affection by any means, he's just a bit curious as to why you were suddenly giving him so many kisses.

When you explain how you're trying to find kiss proof lipstick, he lets out a small 'oh' and he goes back to his work.

Or, at least, he tries to get back to his work.

But you continue placing little kisses against his skin every few minutes, and it's making it really hard to focus, and he can feel his face getting hotter and hotter the longer this goes on.

Jason fucking loves you, okay? He tells you it multiple times a day. You are the one for him. So you smothering him with a bunch of kisses has him feeling all soft and gooey inside.

Whatever the hell he was working on before was no longer important to him, his gaze now seemingly glued to you and every little move you make as he leans back in his chair, basking in your attention.

Like hell he'll let you leave when you run out of lipstick.

You doomed yourself the moment you walked into his workshop to even start this little game.

He'll be dragging you down onto his lap and will refuse to let you go until he's had his fill of you. Which could be like... all day. Jason could never get tired of you.

NINA THE KILLER

Hell yeah!! She's been meaning to go through her lipsticks too, so she takes this as an opportunity to do that.

She definitely makes it into a game as well, I think.

You two will trade lipsticks without looking at the labels, and you'd both have to guess who was wearing what lipstick based on the shade and the feel.

The two of you trade kisses, lipstick stains covering her cheeks and your jaw and neck.

She really did just want to find a kiss proof lipstick, but each kiss had her letting out a small giggle.

And she knew you were teasing her, always leaning in for her lips before dodging and pressing another kiss against her cheek.

All that teasing had her feeling flustered, and she just wanted you to stop messing around and kiss her lips already. So when you put on a new thing of lipstick, she doesn't even give you a chance to do anything before she's pulling you closer and slamming her lips against yours.

You probably planned for this to happen, she thinks, but she didn't really care much.

You don't need an excuse to kiss her silly, you just gotta do it.

And when the two of you finally break the kiss, you're both breathless. Lipstick stains your skin, and both of your lips were smeared.

Nina didn't even care about the little game you two had been playing anymore, her hands resting on your cheeks.

She thought you looked stunning like this.

And it's not like you two had any pressing matters to attend to, so she didn't hesitate before leaning in for another kiss.

JEFF THE KILLER

When you had asked him for help with finding a 'kiss proof' lipstick, he honestly didn't understand why. Like... did you want him to put the lipstick on and kiss napkins with you? And why would you need his help doing that anyways?

He would've said no, if you hadn't asked really nicely.

Definitely grumbling about how dumb he thought this was as you get everything together.

Someone would probably assume you had a gun to his head or something from the way he looked as if he didn't want to be there, arms crossed and somehow frowning even though his scars made it look strange.

It really isn't until you place the first kiss against his cheek that he finally shuts up.

Oh. So this is what you had planned?

Truth be told, Jeff wasn't that big a fan of affection unless he was initiating it, but... he supposes he could let it slide, just this once. Especially after you press another kiss to his cheek.

You could never get this man to admit that he's enjoying this, but it's not like he was doing a good job at hiding it, either.

The frown he had was gone, replaced by a smile he was barely able to conceal. Do not point out the smile, he will leave the room if you do.

Each kiss you give him makes his heart race faster and faster, and when you're wiping off the last lipstick you have, talking about how you've yet to find a kiss proof one, Jeff is an utter mess.

He's got his face buried in his hands, cursing to himself for being so weak when it came to you.

Fuck, he really loves you.

#creepypasta x reader #homicidal liu x reader #eyeless jack x reader #jason the toymaker x reader #nina the killer x reader #jeff the killer x reader #was this entire thing an excuse to write liu flustered...#perhaps.....

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tangerineastronaut · 6 months ago

Text

Let's Put the End in Friends | Jackson Wang (Part 2)

Part 1

The one where your best friend/sort of boyfriend really wants to fuck you.

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, SMUT, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 7.8k Warnings: reader is bad at feelings, jackson is in love, two horny weirdos, "begging" for sex (but not in a bad/manipulative way there's a mutual understanding ok), oral - fem!receiving (the man eats it like cake even after he hits), unprotected sex (don't do it unless you're best friends with Jackson Wang and I'm guessing you aren't), discussion of contraceptives, breeding kink sorta kinda heh, brief talk of having kids in future, banter, teasing, name calling, dirty talk, I think that's all?? they're still really annoying except just horny now A/N: Ughhhh here's the part two that I desperately wanted to write and finally people requested it!! This chapter is like 15% feelings and 85% smut, but it's all kinda mixed in so I apologize in advance. Jfc I love these two so much. If this is bad I'm sorry! I love writing where it takes me and it all felt right. I love my readers so much. <3 Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

You hadn’t really known what to expect.

In dramas, after a confession, things were usually a little awkward, shy, sweet. But the day after Jackson confessed to you, he nearly bit your hand off when you tried to steal one of his dumplings. Granted, you bit him first, but it was his job to be chivalrous, not yours.

“Um, maybe eat your own before you try to steal mine?”

“I’m literally just a girl, Jackson.”

A few weeks after said confession, things were still mostly the same, as you were awoken by someone pinching your cheek. Bleary eyed, you squinted, looking up at a very hot, very annoyed face.

“Where the hell is my academy sweatshirt? I’m gonna be late for my shift,” he huffed, giving you another pinch. Jackson worked part time at an MMA academy, teaching a class of young children. Unfortunately, that meant three days out of the week, he had to wake up at 7 in the morning to be ready by 8. And if he was up, so were you.

“I dunno,” you whined groggily, rolling over. “I didn’t wear it. Promise.”

“Liar,” he accuses.

“Mmn. ‘m not lying, check my laundry.”

You hear shuffling, the sound of your hamper being opened (filled with clean clothes, because dirty clothes go on the bathroom floor of course), and quickly tug the blanket over your head as Jackson calls your bluff.

“At least it’s clean,” you attempt to plead your case, but the covers are yanked off. You yelp as Jackson flips you onto your back and begins to tickle you.

“Didn’t wear it, huh? Seriously, of all my clothes?” he snarls, fingers digging into your sides. You can’t speak; you instead make animalistic noises of possession as you attempt to free yourself. You wrap your legs around his waist and shove at his chest, shouting apologies in between fits of laughter.

At last, the tickling ends, and you all but collapse against the sheets, sprawled out like half a starfish.

“I’m going to start charging you for the things you steal,” Jackson says, breathless himself from the efforts of torture. Only then are you made aware that his hands are on your thighs. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, until you do, when he squeezes them beneath his palms and brushes his thumbs under your pajama shorts.

“Hey,” you warn, wriggling beneath him. He laughs and leans over you.

“What?”

“You know what. Get off of me.”

He sighs, letting his head drop down as though weary.

When he looks at you again, his eyes have gone all soft, and it makes you feel warm and tingly inside. You swallow and force yourself to look away. You weren’t completely immune to his charms and didn’t want to risk it, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

“Nope.”

That was the deal.

Kissing was alright—as long as it wasn’t too long or too deep. Touching was fine too, just avoid any erogenous zones. Truthfully, you weren’t sure why you’d placed such heavy restrictions on your…relationship? Whatever this was. Probably because at the end of the day, you were still terrified of losing him. Of crossing a bridge that crumbles behind you, never being able to return to where you were.

Right now, the two of you could still be around your friends, could still shamelessly flirt and insist it isn’t flirting. When you’d shown up to dinner with the guys, your hand clasped in Jackson’s to test the waters, no one said a word. Youngjae crinkled his nose and said it was cringe…and that’s it. That was the only reaction. The only people surprised about this development were the two of you, apparently, mostly you. And, you hadn’t realized how horny you were for one another.

When you’d stare at him after a shower, when he had the audacity to drink juice from the carton wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, you noticed that…you’ve always stared. That wasn’t new. It’s just that you were now aware of it, and also very aware of how it felt to see his throat working as he swallows, beads of water dripping down his chest and following the dip of his abs like a treasure map for your tongue—

But it went both ways, fortunately, as Jackson’s playful way of grabbing your waist when you were busily bent over no longer felt fun, but rather, made you want to push against him, feel his hands sliding elsewhere, because god had they always been so big? Had his fingers always been so long?

Presently, Jackson rolls his eyes and kisses your cheek. You refuse to look at him still, so he tilts down, where his lips brush your throat; when your head snaps up to scold him, he takes the opportunity to catch your lips with his, sighing as though relieved.

Kissing him feels so normal that it’s almost painful, like every second his lips are against yours, you ask yourself why you were so stupid, why you hadn’t noticed before, why you hadn’t understood that the feelings you’ve had for him were being confused for platonic when they were much, much closer to something akin to lo—

“Mmff…ou’re ‘unna ‘ee ate,” you mumble, though Jackson doesn’t stop kissing you. You giggle as your words are slurred by his mouth, which in turn makes him smile, which in turn makes you wrap your arms around his neck and consider begging him to let the kids down just this once.

You know he wouldn’t hesitate. So that’s why you groan and push him away. You squirm from beneath him before he can snatch you up, fixing your pajamas as though you were preparing to walk the red carpet. When you look up at Jackson, he’s on his knees on your bed, hands gripping the covers and head tilted to the side. Oh.

“Stop looking at me like that, puppy boy,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. You cross your arms, taking on the weight of the world’s strongest soldier as Jackson fucking Wang silently begs to bend you over the mattress

Jackson lets his legs slip over the side, feet planted on the floor as he tugs you toward him by the strings of your shorts. You whine in protest—losing a drawstring was so—

“I think you like it when I beg,” Jackson says, voice too low to be good for your health. You look at him in surprise, his expression hasn’t really changed, but why did he have to do this to you?

“I think you’re gonna be late,” you huff, feeling your cheeks redden.

“I think you’re cute when you blush.”

“I think—”

“I think we’re gonna be good for each other.”

“It was my turn,” you pout. “I think you need a cold shower.”

Jackson mumbles something you don’t catch as he nuzzles his face against your stomach. His arms hang loosely around your hips, and you’re once again left with emotional whiplash as the man somehow goes from fuck me~ to hold me in the span of a few seconds. You swallow and rake your fingers through his hair (which he pulls at less nowadays, thanks to your nagging).

“I want to,” you say quietly, nails scratching at his head. “But I’m scared. Like…we could probably bounce back from this, and from holding hands and even kissing. But I’m afraid that I’d never be able to, you know, not hurt around you the further we go if things turn out bad. We just don’t know what’ll happen if we commit. That’s scary.”

To your surprise, Jackson squeezes you tighter. He tilts his head back to look up at you, his chin resting just above your belly button.

“What is it gonna take, pie?” he asks softly. Your brows furrow, though he continues. “What’s it gonna take for you to realize I’ve been yours this entire time?”

Your breath catches in your throat; you know he can feel it from the way your stomach tightens. He noses at the material of your top, planting a kiss there. Then the bastard opens his mouth again. You can taste his words.

“You own me, baby.”

You wake up confused and sweaty, fumbling around for your phone. You grab the device and groan—it’s not even five in the morning, and it’s a saturday.

The dream woke you up. You and Jackson had an idea to conserve water, apparently, sharing a shower too small for one person let alone two. Your brain filled in the blanks for the missing information, unfortunately for you, though you had no doubt he was as beautiful in this reality, too.

It was almost impossible for you to go back to sleep after waking up usually, so you throw the covers off with much more attitude than necessary before quietly stepping out of your room. The light beneath Jackson’s door is off, and you tiptoe down the hall, but when you round the corner to the kitchen you gasp in surprise.

Jackson raises a brow at you, taking a sip from the bottle of water in his hand. He’s wearing nothing but black boxers, showing off the lean muscles he works so hard on. So very hard.

“You’re up?” he asks, and by his raspy tone it’s clear he woke up not long before you. You nod and shrug for no reason at all other than to distract from the fact that your eyes are eating him alive. He has the sexiest bedhead, and the thin chain he wears glints as it drapes over his collar bones.

“Thirsty,” you lie. You move past him to reach the fridge, but an arm hooks around your waist. You inhale sharply as you’re tugged against his chest, the warmth of him shooting tingles down your back. You swallow, and he holds the bottle in front of you.

“Here,” he mumbles. He sounds so casual, like his actions hadn’t just made your soul briefly leave your physical form. You take the water from him and tilt your head back for a sip, not having realized how thirsty you were until you’ve finished half of it.

You turn around, though he doesn’t release you, so you remain pressed to his bare chest. You have no idea why, but you lean forward and kiss him just below his collar bone, realizing too late how cruel you were being. In an attempt to make it chaste, you kiss the other side, right above his heart, though Jackson’s hand flies to your hair. He cups the back of your head and refuses to let you move.

“Jackson,” you protest, but he whines.

He fucking. Whines.

“Please, pie. Just keep your lips on me. Please,” he breathes. You exhale a shaky breath and nod.

“Okay,” you say quietly, and you swear he sighs with relief. You watch his face, tilting in again and pressing another kiss to the same spot as before. Jackson nods, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips.

You kiss the center of his chest, lips dragging over his skin to his left pec. When you move a tad bit lower, this time where his heart beats, he hisses and tightens his grip in your hair. You gasp for all the right reasons, though he doesn’t know that.

“Fuck, sorry,” he whispers as though the two of you are sneaking around rather than doing…whatever this was in the middle of your shared kitchen. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you giggle softly. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Jackson looks down at you, his expression morphing completely into…calmness? But it still puts you on edge.

“What’d I say?” you ask with a frown.

“I haven’t had sex in almost a year,” he admits.

You blink.

“You…what?” you breathe, shaking your head. “But, you’ve had tinder…you’ve gone on dates.”

Jackson pulls you close again, silently asking for more kisses. You realize he might’ve been right…you like when he begs. You kiss him as he asks, this time close to his nipple, and he shudders.

“I’m not gonna fuck a girl who wants more than I can give her,” he says. You mouth over his skin, tongue reaching the edge of his areola. You like his answer.

“Why can’t you give her what she wants?” you ask, knowing what he’ll say but wanting to hear it all the same. Jackson knows this too, but he’s more than happy to give you what you want.

“Because she—fuck—”

Your tongue lathes over his nipple and he grips the counter tight.

“—’cause she’s not you,” he finishes. “None of them are. Can’t be anything for anyone except you. Wanna…wanna be everything to you.”

“You are…you are…” you mumble carelessly, barely kissing him, but rather rubbing your mouth on his chest. He seems more than okay with that, his head falling back, though he shakes it.

“I’m not, baby. I’ve got so much to give you, gonna show you what it’s like to be loved right, fucked right, needed right. I need you, y/n. I-I fucking need you so bad. Always have.”

You were supposed to be turning him on, not getting choked up, but you pulled back and covered your face. Jackson was still a little breathless and out of it, but he grabbed at your wrists.

“Sorry, fuck, was that…was that bad? I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you mumble, wiping helplessly at tears that slide down your cheeks. Jackson pulls you forward, crushing you to his chest. He wraps both arms around you so tight you can barely breathe. You love it.

What else do you love?

You love that you can feel his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, that you can feel how much he wants from you. You swallow your tears and reach between you, your palm finding the thick outline beneath his boxers and squeezing.

Jackson’s reaction is visceral and downright sinful. He jumps, then buries his face into your hair.

“Again, p-please,” he mumbles. You do it again. There’s a weird mix between sadness and horniness between you, but you keep going, sliding your hand up and down his clothed length. He’s definitely thick and a little longer than average, but not frighteningly so.

Thick enough to make you choke, but not enough to bruise your cervix. Perfect. Somehow, you think you know exactly what it feels like to be fucked by him.

“Jesus fuck—I don’t care if I get to fuck you, just please…let me taste you, baby,” Jackson grunts, hips lazily bucking against you.

That…sounds alright with you. You take your hand off his cock and grab his wrist to pull him to his room, but he twists you around so that your back is to the counter. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but the words die on your tongue when he drops to his knees.

“J-Jackson, you don’t have t-to…”

“Shh, baby,” he mumbles, cupping the backs of your thighs. You feel dumb, forgetting how to speak. “Let me make you feel good. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make when you play with yourself.”

Your cheeks flush pink, Jackson’s words hardly registering in your brain. He hooks his fingers into the elastic of your pajama shorts, leaning forward to kiss the front of your thigh before he begins tugging them down.

“W-What do you mean when I pla—oh…”

Jackson doesn’t hesitate, going face first between your legs and groaning. The vibrations ring through your inner thighs and go straight to your clit, nearly sending you down. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“If you tell me you didn’t want me to hear you fucking yourself, I’m gonna call you a liar,” he whispers. His lips graze over the hair you keep trimmed—you could be a little self conscious about that at times, a couple past partners even commenting on it, but Jackson is worshipping your pussy without words and you’ve never felt so perfectly adequate.

You think over what he said once you regain a little bit of consciousness. And fuck.

You were tired of this sort of hindsight ability you had now, the way you felt when you thought back to the times you were so obviously head over heels in love with him and had convinced yourself you were friends.

Like fucking yourself with your favorite toy, back to the wall splitting your rooms. Moaning loud even though you didn’t do that when he wasn’t home.

“S-Sorry,” you whimper, because what the fuck else are you supposed to say? You feel warmth as Jackson breathes a laugh against your thighs, teeth grazing the sensitive skin near your labia.

“It’s okay, baby. Just do it again for me, hm? While I’m in the same room at least?”

Did he have to be such a fucking brat? You thought “pie” and his attitude would disappear after all of this, but you were sorely mistaken. You opened your mouth to complain.

Jackson pushed your thighs open wider, settling between them and looking up at you from his knees. You squeaked, and the last thing you saw before his face disappeared was that smug grin underneath his pretty brown eyes.

You learned two lessons very quickly. One:

Jackson Wang ate pussy like his life depended on it.

And two, you were immediately jealous of any woman who’d ever had him like this, on his knees between their legs. This should be illegal.

His tongue slid between your tender pussy lips, expertly finding your clit and daring to flick at it beneath the hood. Your knees did buckle, but he hugged your thighs and kept you upright, taking the opportunity to squeeze and knead at your ass. You reached down and gripped his hair for purchase, tugging, eliciting a groan from him that felt better than any dick you’d ever had. You did it again, and this time he practically sang praises into you—he was literally fucking you with his moans.

“Jesus fuck, Jackson?” you ask, unable to do much else other than feel and squeak out your needs. His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs, though one hand slipped beneath your shirt. His thumb grazed over your nipple before gently pinching it, and you were ready to die.

When he sucked the tender flesh of your clit into his mouth, you stumbled forward, nearly sending him back until he caught you by the waist. You whimper and tug at him to let you go until finally, he pulls away from your cunt, looking far too pleased with shiny lips. He licks them and you fall into his lap, shuddering as you cling to him.

“That bad, huh? Should I keep my day job?” He teases you gently, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other hugs you tighter. You can still feel his cock straining against his boxers, nearly perfectly aligned as it presses against your ass.

“S-Shut up, a-asshole,” you stammer out, gripping his shoulders tightly for comfort—or maybe dear life. Jackson chuckles in a way that makes you feel safe and annoyed—because how can he send you to fucking space and then try to convince you it’s all good and dandy with the same mouth?

“You okay baby?” he asks softly. When you nod, he pulls back enough to kiss your temple, though keeps his lips there. You swallow, having a feeling that he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

“Was it good?” he asks.

“Very c-classy,” you manage to huff, but Jackson only laughs.

“Mmm. Knew you’d taste good. Knew you’d love me on my knees,” he hums. You shiver, and he moves to your ear, nipping at your lobe. “Knew you’d look so pretty while I eat it.”

You let out a soft whine, your hips rolling into his. You’re spreading your sticky juices along his clothed cock, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he grabs your waist and bites his lower lip.

“Are you done? Hm? Or can I take you to my room and finish you off?” Jackson asks, tilting his head to kiss below your ear. “Lay you down and hold you open until that pretty clit is nice and swollen…”

“F-Fuck,” you whine, digging your nails into his shoulders. “N-No.”

“M’kay, need me to run you a bath then? I bought some new bath bombs—”

“No I meant…” you breathe, letting your head drop to his shoulder. You were dizzy, but your thoughts had never been more clear. Not necessarily a decision out of desperation, just…it needed to happen. You needed it.

“I-I don’t want you to eat me out, Jackson,” you say as you swallow.

You lift your head, relieved to see there’s no frustration in his gaze, no disappointment. God, he’s really just here to make sure you’re happy, safe, comfortable.

“I want…I want you to fuck me.”

“Why are we in your room?”

“My bed is bigger.”

“When’s the last time you washed your sheets?”

“I don’t know, pie. When’s the last time you washed my sheets?”

You crinkle your nose, but Jackson just rolls his eyes. He drags you onto the bed with him, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it in your face. You sniff, your eyes immediately narrowing.

“Have you seriously been washing your bedding regularly now under the implication that we’d fuck soon?” you hiss, sitting up to glare at him. He was sprawled out, looking much too happy for your liking.

“Yes,” he says gleefully. You grab the pillow and make an attempt to suffocate him, but he doesn’t fight back, and that’s not very fun.

Oh yeah! You’re also only wearing his a t-shirt, and he’s only wearing boxers, and his cock is very hard and you’d very much like to put it in your mouth now that you’ve recovered somewhat from his tongue.

“You’re such a boy,” you groan, throwing the pillow back to the headboard. Jackson nods, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah. Take this off and sit on my face please,” he hums, lying back as though preparing to be sacrificed to the thigh smothering gods.

“How romantic,” you scoff.

“Come sit on my face so I can make you cry the only way a man should make a woman cry, please~”

“Better.”

With the back and forth out of the way, you can’t bring yourself to smile, pulling your knees to your chest. Jackson sits up, reaching out to take one of your hands in his large one.

“Hey, no expectations, remember? You wanna stop right now, we’ll stop and never do anything like this again. You want me to finish you off, that’s fine too,” he says, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. You shake your head.

“No. I think…I think we should. We need to, I mean, otherwise we’re gonna be in limbo forever. But…” you pause, feeling your eyes burn a little damn it. When you look up at him, his boyish charm is gone, replaced completely by a concerned man who almost looks in love with you.

“Hm? What is it, pie?” he asks, coaxing you gently. Ugh—why did sex have to be so god damn complicated?

“Promise me,” you say, biting your lower lip as you gather your words. “Promise me if we hate it, if it’s bad, just…stay with me? Like, forever? Please don’t move out? I mean if you have to get married just try to find someone who’s nice enough to let me stay? I’ll do the laundry. We can be like a throuple except you both just have to feed me and nothing else.”

“I love you, y/n.”

“Nevermind, let’s just do it.”

Jackson laughed as you flopped onto your back, though he leaned over you and caught your chin in his hand. You avoided looking at him, but he tilted your head down and pressed his forehead to yours to prevent you from escaping his eyes.

“I know you’re allergic to that word—”

“I am not—”

“But I love you. I love y/n and I love pie and I love the girl who thinks ‘coinkydink’ is an appropriate alternative for ‘coincidence’—”

“It is but okay—”

Jackson rolls his eyes, cupping your cheek under the romantic guise of making you shut up by pressing his thumb to your lips.

“Do you know why I want to fuck you?” he asks, his voice oddly gentle for such an erotic question. You blink, he lifts his thumb.

“Um, ‘cause I’m hot?” you offer with a shrug. His thumb goes back to your lips.

“Yes, but the truth? I want to make love to you but I assumed your reaction to that phrasing would be…”

Jackson lifts his thumb.

“Cringe?”

“Correct,” he smiles. “I’m gonna do what I can so the next man you meet has to climb to fucking heaven to reach the lowest bar for you. I’m nowhere near perfect, but I’ll be damned if you leave my bed able to call your best friend and complain that your inner thigh got more action than you did.”

You pout and push his hand away.

“That was one time,” you mumble. “If sex with you sucks, who am I gonna call? Yugyeom?”

“I dare you to fucking try,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. You beam, attempting to boop his nose, but he leans forward and kisses you instead. “If you leave this bed and hate me after, I’ll move out before sunset. And if you want me to l-o-v-e you for the rest of your life, I’ll do that too. I told you, pie. I’m yours.”

You kiss him this time, turning into him and cupping his jaw. Why couldn’t he see that the more of this he showed you, the less you wanted to risk it all disappearing?

You tilt your head to the side, nuzzling your face against his throat to plant kisses there. He inhales, leg sliding between yours as a hand strokes your hair.

“Mm…what do you want, y/n?” he asks, groaning when you suck beneath his jaw.

“Wanna suck you off,” you mumble against his skin, relishing in the heavy groan you feel from him. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

“I can do that,” Jackson nods, licking his lips. You release him and sit up, looking over his stretched out form. He was so fucking gorgeous, and you were in his bed.

You place a hand in the center of his chest, and Jackson sits up on his elbows, his thighs parting eagerly. You giggle, gently kneeing his side.

“Patience,” you hum, dragging your hand down to his abs, letting your fingertips dip between the muscles. You remembered all those times you fantasized about drawing your tongue against them—realizing you can. So you throw a leg over his, sliding down until you’re hovering over his thighs, face level with his hips.

One hand rests on the elastic of his boxers while the other palms his abs. You look up at him as you drag your finger through the lines, following the shape of his muscles. He’s tense, but still coherent, so your other hand slides down to palm him again.

Jackson curses under his breath, eyes never leaving yours. So you lean down and flatten your tongue below his navel. He gasps as you lick down the thin trail of hair that disappears beneath his boxers, kissing the sensitive skin there before moving up again. Jackson whines, and you lift a brow.

“You’re not being very patient,” you say, kissing his stomach before licking up to his chest. Jackson’s head falls back, one hand moving to your hair.

“It’s been almost a year, pie,” he groans. “Want this…want you…”

You giggle softly. When you palm him again, curling your fingers around his constricted length, Jackson practically flies off the bed, grabbing your wrist.

“Baby, I will let you suck my cock until the sun explodes, just…please not now, I’m so fucking close, wanna be inside you…” he breathes. You’re surprised to see his chest flushed and heaving, not having realized how worked up he was over just a few light touches. You swallow and nod.

He smiles in relief, pulling you in for a kiss before sitting up on his knees, gently guiding you back. It’s a little jarring, suddenly being underneath your best friend, but Jackson immediately gives you gentle kisses, whispering your name and promises to make you feel good. You believe him.

You lie there awkwardly as he reaches over you to the bedside table, removing a foil packet. You feel your cheeks redden, which makes him chuckle, and you mumble a quiet shut up. When he holds the condom packet between his teeth and thumbs the waist of his boxers, you realize that you should probably be naked, too. So you cross your arms over the hem of the t-shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it to the side.

The condom drops and bounces off your thigh as Jackson’s lips part in shock.

“What?” you mumble shyly, bringing your arms to your chest. He clears his throat and fumbles for the condom, shaking his head.

“Nothing. You’re gorgeous. Knew you were, just..." he sucks in air through his teeth.

You blush harder, resisting the urge to tell him to hurry.

Jackson manages to slide his boxers down to his thighs. His cock, once freed, smacks his toned stomach and you grip the covers at your sides as you watch an enticing bead of precum slide down the shaft. It’s exactly as you’d imagined; a little bigger than average, thick, and so beautifully veiny. God it’d feel so good on your tongue, but later. The idea that, hopefully in the future you could suck his beautiful cock whenever you wanted to, made you happier than you’d ever admit to anyone.

You watch as he rolls the condom down his length, swallowing down your doubts as he drops to his forearms on either side of you.

“You okay?” he asks, no humor, no teasing, just genuine concern. You nod and lick your lips.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you say with a shaky breath. Jackson smiles, leaning forward until your noses bump. The action makes you giggle until you realize he’s fitting your mouths together, and suddenly he’s kissing you.

It’s gentle and soft, his lips sucking at your lower one but moving no further than that. Your arms move to loosely hang around his shoulders, where both of his slip beneath you. You feel the head of his cock brush over your clit and jump. Jackson chuckles. It happens again, but this time, the swollen head catches against the opening between your folds, and you can already feel the stretch, wriggling your hips as if to wedge him in.

Jackson begins to push.

The stretch is slow, heavy, delicious, both of you releasing sounds of relief with eyes rolling back into your skulls as though you’ve both spent four years pretending you don’t want this. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, he squeezes you tight beneath him as he sinks deeper and deeper. At last, his hips meet yours, and Jackson Wang, your best friend, is balls deep inside of you. You squeeze your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the sudden and intense sensations and emotions.

“Are you okay? Feels okay, baby?” he asks softly, clearly restraining himself. You nod, licking your lips.

“Mhm. It’s good. So good,” you babble. Jackson chuckles, nodding as he kisses you again. It’s sweeter this time, moreso as he begins to slide out. The drag of his cock makes you shudder, and you clamp your thighs tight around his waist.

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Lock me up inside you, baby. So fucking pretty.”

You purr in response, arching your back. Jackson takes this as a go ahead, pushing himself up to his palms as he begins to fuck you properly.

You feel your mouth open in shock as he thrusts rhythmically, the switch between emptiness and fullness making your head spin. Every time his hips smack the backs of your thighs, another grunt escapes his mouth, and fuck if you couldn’t listen to that sound for the rest of your life.

Jackson leans down and kisses you. This time, you make sure it’s not as sweet, sucking his tongue and letting him lick yours. You taste his groan as he bucks heavily, pausing to collect himself. Your legs hook around his waist, heel digging into his lower spine, making him moan.

“F-Fuck baby, gonna make me come already,” he breathes, letting his head hang down. You smile, cupping his face and pulling him into you.

“So sensitive,” you purr. Jackson huffs.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he hums, wincing at his own sharp thrust. “Maybe I should pull out and leave that gorgeous head to wonder what it’d be like.”

“You won’t,” you reply, calling his bluff. “If I begged you, I bet you’d go raw.”

Jackson surges forward, hands moving behind your knees as he folds you nearly in half. You choke on air and look up at him, wondering why the fuck you've forced yourself to wait for this.

“You don’t have to beg for shit. Don’t fucking tempt me, y/n.”

Your mouth opens at his tone, but he begins to fuck you harder, gripping your form against him as he gives you everything he has. Your whines turn into muffled cries as he tucks your face into his shoulder.

“Shh…let’s not let the neighbors know I’m finally inside you baby…that’s it, quietly…take it for me, yeah?” he hums, and you whimper, digging your nails into his skin. Your legs bounce uselessly where he holds them in place, giving him room to be flush against your ass each time he bottoms out.

“Can’t wait for you to let me lick this sweet little cunt until you cry,” he murmurs, leaning back to slip a hand between you. You jump when he immediately finds your clit, index and middle finger repeatedly alternating pressure. He’s a god damned expert, and you feel yourself clenching tight around the obstruction of his cock.

“Fuck…is that all it takes? You’re squeezing me like a fucking vice, y/n," Jackson groans. “More, baby. That’s it…fuck. So fucking good.”

“J-Jackson,” you huff, squirming beneath the pressure of his weight. “Nng…f-feels so good…”

“Yeah, princess? Just like you've dreamed about?"

Fuck. He always knew, knew you too well, were you made of glass?

"Y-yeah," you whimper, choosing not to lie. "B-Better."

Jackson kisses you again, his hand slowing its movements to match his hips.

“Show me,” he says roughly, obviously close himself. “I wanna feel you cum, baby. Want my cock shiny and sticky like my tongue was.”

“Mm..don’t stop, ‘m close,” you breathe. You tuck your hands into his hair, tugging at the strands, knowing what kind of response you’d experience. He groans, as expected, though pulls back and pushes your thighs apart.

He looks down at your cunt swallowing his cock whole as he rubs at your hooded clit, cursing and biting his lip. Your cheeks flush despite everything, and when his eyes flicker to your face—you’re not sure what to call that expression if not love.

You want him to cum first. You bring his hand away from your clit and up to your lips, kissing the wet pads of his fingers before slipping them into your mouth. Jackson lets out a high pitched noise that you can’t wait to tease him over later as he watches you suck them.

He swallows and leans forwards, pulling your fingers away from your mouth to kiss you. You think it’s an accident, the intimacy, but the kiss is soft, so soft that he stops thrusting and you stop trying to make him cum, so soft that you’re suddenly crying and hugging him and apologizing for being a fucking idiot.

“Hey, ‘s okay baby, I’m here,” he whispers, his own eyes wet. “Stop crying, y/n. I’m right here. I’m yours. I’ll still be yours tomorrow. Shh...”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you breathe, burying your head against his throat despite the fact that his cock is kissing the opening of your cervix currently. “I was scared, Jackson, so fucking scared, I-I think I loved you so much that I scared myself into thinking I couldn’t.”

“Huh?” he asks, knowing damn well what you said according to the stupid grin on his face. You roll your eyes, using the back of your hand to wipe at your tears.

“I said I love you, asshole,” you whisper, sniffling. “And ‘m not gonna say it again.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, pulling your hands down to wipe your tears himself. “Fine. I’ll just memorize the way you sound when you say it and play it over and over until we live in a nursing home together."

"You roll your eyes, smiling through the teariness. Only you would cry in the middle of sex, but Jackson seemed to love this, taking it as your not-so-silent confession.

He eventually shifts again, making you shudder despite the fact that he was only getting comfortable. He prepares to ask—you already know—want me to stop? So you shake your head before he gets the words out.

“I want it, you know, without,” you say instead, shyly looking up at him from your elbows. Jackson looks a little confused, and you sigh, gesturing around as if that’s helpful at all. “You know. Without.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, pie—”

“I’m saying I want you to fuck me, and then I want you to tell me you love me so I can say it back without dying, and then I want to go to the pharmacy with you and get plan b even though I’m on birth control because we’d make cute babies but I wanna wait like 10 years probably. So, like, without? If you want?”

You finish your monologue, your cheeks burning hot. You flop to your back and cover your face, once again forgetting about the cock buried inside of you. Jackson doesn’t, of course.

“Are you asking me to hit it raw—”

“Must you be so unromantic—”

“Shut up and c’mere,” he mumbles. He leans down, pulling you up enough to kiss you. You feel him shuffling between you, embarrassed by the gasp that slips out when he pulls back. Jackson smirks. There’s a snap of rubber and he winces as he removes the condom, tossing it into his desk trash can.

“Easy, baby. He’ll be back,” he chuckles.

“I’m actually going to kill you,” you groan. But then he’s pushing into you again, and fuck if the look on his face doesn’t make you want to buy a first class ticket to hell.

“Fucking…jesus…baby…” he gasps. You giggle, though he just pushes you back to hide the apparent blush on his cheeks.

“That bad huh?” you mock him, feeling him bottom out, completely. He curses and dips his head to kiss you, but it’s messy and desperate and feeds the fire that’s been burning inside of you for too long.

“So fucking…nng…so fucking pretty,” he says with a sharp snap of his hips. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he leans down. He kisses you again, hard, palms flattening on the bed on either side of your hips. He uses the leverage to fuck you harder, leaning over you until you’re pinned beneath him.

“D-Didn’t know it’d turn you into an animal,” you giggle breathlessly, hand fisting his hair. He groans and tilts his head to the side.

“You turn me into a fucking animal, baby,” Jackson grunts. “Makes me…makes me want to do stupid things, like fuck you without a condom and cum so deep the pill doesn’t do shit to stop it—”

“Jackson—”

“You said it first. Still gonna make you swallow the pill with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

You squeak and tug him down for a filthy kiss, tongues barely missing the mark as his thrusts become loose and sloppy. He’s fucking himself dumb, gripping the sheets and whining against your mouth like a dog.

“G-Gotta make you cum. Gotta make it good for you,” he breathes, reaching between you. You pull his hand away, shaking your head. He begins to argue but you squeeze your thighs around his waist, making him shudder and stumble. He falls against you, cursing into your hair as he continues his thrusts.

“Want you to cum first,” you whisper, hugging him tight. “Want you to fill me up like you said, so fucking deep—"

He groans, leaning on you and thrusting heavy as he snaps his hips forward. His speed remains the same, but you can hear the sound of his hips meeting your ass like he's trying to bury himself in you indefinitely.

"T-That's...fuck..." you whimper, nodding. "Good, that's good."

“Ah…ah…” Jackson whines, shaking his head. “F-Fuck, baby…gonna cum, is that…is that okay? Fucking…ah…c-can I cum?”

Oh. Oh.

You were going to explore this later, him asking permission to cum. But not now.

“Please, Jax. Please cum for me, in me?” you beg softly. “Promise, I’ll take it so good."

“Fuck, I know you will, princess. Know you’ll take it all so good for me…so perfect, so fucking beautiful…all mine, baby…”

Jackson clings to you so tight you have trouble breathing, but you feel him shudder, hear him gasp, and you squeeze him back just as much. He releases a sob into your hair, his muscles tensing as he cums hard. You feel his cock pulsing, the warmth spreading inside of you, and realize with a start that you’re feeling his actual cum seeping into your womb.

You rub his back for a few minutes while he recovers, until he finally sits up and hisses at the sensitivity of his softening cock still buried in you. When he tugs away, it’s your turn to gasp, shivering at the cool emptiness you feel.

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, hands pushing your thighs apart. You nod.

“Yeah, ‘s good. What are you—shit.”

Jackson knelt between your legs, lips first kissing your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. You all but scream, trying to clamp your legs together, but his easy strength prevents that.

“F…Jackson...fuck, w-what are you doing?” you whimper again, trying to push yourself up to look at him. He uses a hand on the soft of your belly, pushing you back down. He pops off of your clit, free hand taking over the strokes.

“My babygirl didn’t cum. I’m gonna make sure she does,” he explains as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“B-But you…your cum…”

“Mhm, keep reminding me,” he moans, tongue slipping beneath the hood of your clit while two long fingers prod at your sore hole. You wince, but he slowly eases them in, his own cum working as lube. Rather than move them, he holds them there, gently stroking inside of your walls while he laps freely between your labia.

In a frighteningly short amount of time, you’re coming off the bed (literally) with a cry of surprise, mumbling his name over and over again as though he could save you from the crushing pleasure you felt. Your thighs clamped around his head, though he made no move to escape, apparently right where he wanted to be as it allowed him to continue sucking and licking the sensitive bundle of nerves until your legs trembled violently.

It stole your breath, and you saw stars, mixed in a few moments later with a boyish grin and someone peppering your face with kisses. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, definitely if you were comparing him to other men. Well. There was no comparison.

You could only imagine how it'd feel with his cock as deep as it was. Next time. You'd suck his cock, cum on it...maybe make him beg to do the same.

Jackson is patient enough to wait until you’ve mostly returned to your body before he smugly proclaims that he was right, the sex was great, and you owe him a backrub (don’t you usually have to make bets to win them in the first place?) but whatever, because you were fucked out and your boy was happy and probably planning your wedding.

But once you attempted to sit up, wincing at the soreness of keeping your legs open, Jackson kissed you sweetly and urged you to lie down again. He left for a few minutes, returning with boxers (darn it) and a bottle of water, which he forced you to sip whilst he ran you a bath.

You were helped down the hall, feeling like a frail old lady after you insisted you could do it—and had to catch yourself by the doorframe as you walked like a baby deer. You informed him it wasn’t polite to laugh at people you’ve nearly fucked to death, regretting your words immediately as a somehow cocky Jackson became even cockier.

He guided you into the bath, telling you to relax while he ran to the pharmacy. Before he left though, he knelt beside the tub, fingers tapping at the lava-like water you were soaking in.

“Do you like the smell?” he asks, resting his chin on his fist. You nod, letting your fingers find his and trying to pull them beneath the water. He compromised by pulling yours out, kissing the back of your knuckles. “Good. It’s strawberry scented.”

“Fucking me doesn’t make my bath bombs free real estate,” you say pointedly.

“Fucking me doesn’t make my clothes free real estate.”

You open your mouth, then purse your lips.

“Touche.”

“I have something to ask,” he sighs, resting his lips on your hand. “It’s really important.”

Oh god. What.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice shaky. Jackson grins.

“Just…did you like my cream, pie?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, contemplating the last hour and four years of your life. “I want a divorce.”

“I love you.”

“How…how long have you thought of that joke?” you ask. You didn’t really want to know the answer.

“Um…about 20 seconds after I called you pie for the first time? Not with you of course.”

“Well why in the god damn hell not with me!?”

“I mean? Yes with you?”

“Creep.”

“I love you.”

“I still want a divorce.”

“I still love you.”

“Nng.”

“That means I love you in worm?”

“...Yeah.”

“Heh~”

“Hey Jackson?”

“Mm?”

“Your lil sperms might be kinda fast? So like? Maybe leave now? I do love you but I will not have your babies right now?”

“Oh. Yeah. Be right back. Try not to make a baby with those in the meantime, they’re not ripe yet, you know?”

"...Hurry."

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taintedtort · 7 months ago

Text

" #NEEDTHAT! "

summary. how long they last during NNN

characters. kenma, akaashi, iwaizumi, kyotani, nishinoya

warnings. afab!reader, post!timeskip, SMUT!!!

a/n. my yearly NNN prompt, but with hq this time (and it’s december)

☆ — KENMA: a week and a half

he tried, though only because you asked. his stamina and libido aren’t too high, so he didn’t have much issue at first. however… you started purposely teasing him after a week; wearing short shorts, wearing tight shirts, or just prancing around in your panties. he wasn’t too interested in beating the challenge, so he doesn’t really attempt to deny himself. it’s too much of a hassle, especially with the way you’re practically begging to be fucked. so he does just that. lays you on the bed, and takes a bit of time fingering you open and making you cum on his fingers first, just because he can. it’s such a power trip, seeing you fall apart all thanks to him, he can’t help but fuck you silly after that. getting you to cum is better than beating a stupid little challenge.

"don’t be surprised, you’re the one teasing me."

☆ — AKAASHI: he distracted you!

similar to kenma, he isn’t too interested in actually winning, or even participating in general. he isn’t worried about himself, he’s more concerned about you not being satisfied for the entire month. what is he if he can’t please his woman? his fingers alone aren’t enough for your greedy little pussy, he knows that. it’s that argument that he uses when he’s trying to refuse the challenge, cooing about how much he knows you’ll miss him inside you. just think about it, love, is something like that even worth it? ends with you sprawled out under him with his cock shoved inside you, scrambling your brain and making you forget about the conversation.

"how will i please you if i can’t fuck you? don’t deny yourself pleasure just for a silly challenge."

☆ — IWAIZUMI: two weeks

only lasted that long out of sheer will. he practically lives in your pussy. he wakes up with gentle morning sex, and sends you to bed by fucking your brains out until you’re all sleepy and pliant. it’s a routine at this point, something you decided to interrupt just because you saw the stupid challenge online and got curious. you just wanted to see how long he could last! you didn’t expect him to come home all frustrated because he’s been thinking about your little cunt wrapped around him all day. you whined when he bent you over the couch, but he didn’t let you complain too much before he’s stuffing you full.

"bet you missed this too, didn’t you? nasty girl."

☆ — KYOTANI: a week

he didn’t even want to do it in the first place, he only agreed so you’d shut up about it. he was pretty sure you’d end up crawling back to him anyway, since you really can’t go that long without his cock inside you. you’re spoiled, after all. after about a week, he can tell you’re getting whiny, so he decides to throw in the towel and give you what you need. you tease him, of course, so he decides to stuff your mouth first. he ignores your furrowed brows and cute pout when he forces you to your knees.

"bratty girls get their throats fucked first, or did you forget?"

☆ — NISHINOYA: four days

he's confident at first, but then he remembers that nearly everything you do turns him on. knowing that he isn’t allowed to cum makes it worse somehow, and he forgets about the challenge most of the time. you have to cheekily remind him, only for him to groan and have to excuse himself to calm down his boner. he really wants to win, just to say that he did, but he knows he won’t be able to hold out. it’s almost pathetic how quickly he comes back to you, begging about 'just the tip'. he ends up fucking you like a rabid animal, nearly drooling over how good you feel.

"no no— i won’t cum… promise." (he did)

hi! thanks for reading :)

rules+masterlist

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hees-mine · 7 months ago

Text

Birthday girl - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms, cursing, stepcest, daddy kink, dirty talk, cheating.

Genre: 18+, stepcest.

Word count: 2k+

Decided to just post the full story here cause it got taken down on Patreon :/

“Mom, just one, please. I promise it’ll only be one.” It was your 21st birthday, and you celebrated in the kitchen with your mom and your stepdad as you begged her to let you have your first shot on the day you officially turned 21.

“No, I never had a shot at 21,” she simply answers, turning away from you and putting away the leftover cake she had your stepdad buy from the store cause she apparently couldn’t be bothered to get one for you herself.

“Mom, come on, that’s not fair!” You whined. “I’m literally an adult,” you reasoned.

“And you’re literally under my roof,” she replies back nonchalantly like she always does. You hated it when she acted like this.

She would always hold things over your head: no sleepovers, no parties, no boyfriends, no nothing, and it’s not cause she was looking out for you. It’s cause she was jealous of you.

She always told you how she never got to have any of those things, and now you can’t shake the feeling that even though she never directly said it to you, you feel like she’s taking it out on her only daughter, which just isn’t fair.

“Dad!” You turned to heeseung your stepdad, looking for his approval, and he gave you the tiniest hint of a smile while folding his arms over his chest and resting against the kitchen counter.

You and your stepdad had a much better relationship than you and your mother, unlike her. He seemed to actually care about you, which is comical cause he wasn’t even your real dad, and he treated you better than your mom ever did.

He’d always vouch for you, defend you when arguments got too heated, and he never made you feel like you were always in the wrong, unlike your mother did.

His care for you did go a lot further than just how a stepdad would care for their stepchild because his hugs would last a couple of seconds too long. His kisses on the cheek were a little too affectionate, and he'd eye you when you wore revealing outfits a bit too much.

You didn't mind, though. You did it on purpose cause you liked the attention. He wasn't your real dad, and besides, you had met him so late in your life that you were already fully grown, and you didn't even see him as a father figure at all.

Dad never even crossed your mind when you thought about him. All you saw was a very attractive man, and you wondered how your strict, bitter mother landed a gem like him.

“You heard your mom.” he swipes the cake as your mom sets it in the fridge and licks the frosting off his fingertip, humming at the sweet taste. “Now go upstairs and get ready for bed, young lady.”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said. You thought he’d vouch for you this time, too, but apparently not.

Little did you know he had other plans up his sleeve. He only said no to you cause he was not about to start a fight with his wife over you taking one measly shot, especially since it was your birthday.

His wife always had a way of making things about her. Just cause she didn’t get a shot at 21. Why couldn’t you? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his wife was jealous of her own daughter, and if he’s being honest, it was kinda getting on his nerves the way she’d bitch at you all the time for virtually nothing.

When he married her, she was not like that at all, but once he moved in and you all became family, the whole dynamic changed. She paid more attention to scolding you than him.

He wasn’t needy necessarily, but he did get lonely sometimes, especially in the bedroom, and heeseung noticed that you talked to him more than his own wife.

Which resulted in him developing maybe not a crush but a certain attraction to you, and to his luck, it was mutual between the two of you, considering all the shameless flirting you did back and forth.

At first, he felt a bit guilty, but with the way he was feeling in his marriage, he might as well have been single. He’s not excusing his actions, but he definitely doesn’t care or feel any shame in checking you out from head to toe on a daily basis.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spill his load in his palm once or twice at the thought of you.

How could he not when you’d purposefully bend over in front of him pretending that you dropped something or the way you’d push your chest against his whenever you’d hug?

You had already gotten ready for bed, sulking a bit as you leaned against the bed frame, scrolling on your phone.

Heeseung had joined his wife upstairs, lying next to her and sharing a quiet goodnight before they turned off the bedside lamps.

It was always like this: completely silent, no conversation, no talking about the day, no intimacy, absolutely nothing.

Even if he did try to talk, she’d always say she was stressed or tired.

Another one of the reasons Heeseung didn’t feel guilty for having feelings toward you was that you gave him the time of day.

He sighs putting his hands behind his head and staring at the celling finally after an hour passed his wife was fast asleep so he silently slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen where the cupboard was located pulling out a bottle of liquor one he bought expressly for you cause you had been going on all week about wanting to take a shot on your 21st.

He snuck over to your room, knocking on it softly, knowing you’d still be up. You were always up late.

You sighed and got out of bed tossing your blanket to the side and ripping open the door ready to be faced with your mom and some more of her shenanigans. “Wha-“ you stopped mid-way through, shocked to see that it was actually your stepdad instead, and you were pleasantly surprised to see he was in nothing but his underwear and a shirt.

“Hey,” he laughs softly, waving a bottle of liquor in your face along with two shot glasses.

“H-hi,” you smile upon seeing the bottle.

“Are you gonna let me in? Or are you gonna wait for your mom to catch us?” He smirks and you open the door further to let him in.

He bites his lip when you turn around to walk to your bed, eyeing the way those tight little sleep shorts hug your ass.

“I thought you said no?” You pressed your knees to your chest, patting a spot on the bed for him to sit.

He shrugs and takes a seat a little too close to you, but you don’t mind. “Thought I might break the rules a little bit. After all, you are the birthday girl.” he clicks his tongue and winks at you, placing the shot glasses on the nightstand, popping the cap off, and pouring you a drink and one for himself as well.

Feeling daring now that you two are finally alone, you decide to take things a little further than just your usual flirting. “Thanks, Daddy.” You bite your lip to hide your smile as he turns to you with a wide grin on his face.

“Of course, babydoll.” he lifts his hand up to stroke his thumb along your jaw. “Can’t have you going to bed mad at me now, can we?”

“No, Daddy,” you whisper, leaning into the warmth of his palm, and he could already feel himself twitching in his boxers, your skin so soft under his fingertips, so Inviting.

He hands you your shot and takes his, clanking your glasses together. “To the birthday girl,” you smiled shyly and downed the shot in one go.

Your face contorted from its strong taste, your tongue burning in the aftermath, but the aftertaste that was left in your mouth was enough for you to want another one.

He sees the mischievous glint in your eyes and pours you one more. “Only one more pretty girl,” he smiles, giving you one last shot, and you down it. Something about the way your throat bobs and your lips wrap around the rim of the cup makes his lower region feel warm.

“Happy birthday, baby girl.” he extends his hand to your thigh, rubbing his palm over it. Your legs relax under his touch, and you take your second shot before leaning back on the headboard, giving him more space to gently squeeze your thigh.

“Mmm,” you close your eyes as his other hand comes in contact with your right thigh, and now he’s kneading both with his strong hands going up higher and higher till his right thumb begins rubbing your clit over your shorts. “Daddy,” you whisper, rolling your hips against his fingers in desperation without an ounce of shame for being intimate with your mother’s husband.

His mouth parts open, shallow breaths escaping as he watches you succumb to pleasure. “That feels good, princess?” You nod, and he massages your clit some more, adding a bit of pressure as he circles the bud through your clothing. Your whole body heats up, and you can feel an orgasm building embarrassingly quickly inside you.

“Yes, please keep going,” you say breathlessly, your sensitive nipples hardening beneath your shirt, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you get closer.

“Gonna cum already, little one?” his words only push you closer, and he leans down to kiss your thigh. The softness of his lips tip you over the edge as you clamp around, nothing feeling your high being gently coaxed out of you.

“Oh god, Daddy, it feels so good.” You shudder and grip your bedsheets as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He rubs you through it until you come down and catch your breath. “You did so well, baby. Keep this between you and me, okay, sweetheart?” You nod, and he kisses your thigh again before capping the liquor and getting ready to make his exit, that is, until you grip his wrist to stop him.

“More,” he can’t help but smile, and he can’t say he didn’t want to do more cause the hard-on in his boxers was in need of immediate attention, but he tries to use his better judgment and say no.

“We shouldn-“

“Please, I’m so wet for you been thinking about you every day since we moved in” The admission makes his heart rate pick up and his cock throb in his underwear, and he’s too weak to resist you because like you, he has also been waiting that long to have you.

He sighs, putting the alcohol back down on the nightstand. “Just this once,” he says as if that somehow makes it better. You both know no matter what, it’s wrong, but you couldn’t care less. You just wanted him, so you would take any opportunity that presented itself.

You nodded immediately, and he stood up, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down his hard cock, flopping out thick and veiny for your eyes to feast on. You feel drool pool in your mouth from the sight, and the little bead of precum dripping off his tip was just the cherry on top. You wanted to feel him on your tongue badly.

His clothing falls around his ankles, and he climbs on the bed, hovering above you, his breath heavy with anticipation.

He grabs your shorts using his toned bicep muscles to easily yank your shorts down all the way. “So pretty and wet for me” he eyes your slick pussy and grabs hold of his thick base, guiding his tip between your soaked folds.

His breath stutters as he moves his hips forward and back, coating his thick shaft in your arousal. “Fuck” he twitches in excitement. You feel so warm and wet, and he’s not even inside you yet.

“Daddy,” you whimper desperately, and he knows exactly what you want by the tone of your voice, so he doesn’t want to tease you any longer.

“Don’t worry, sweets. Daddy’s got you.” he guides your hands around his waist, and you dig into the flesh, making him hiss with pain and pleasure.

He nudged the head on your entrance and pulled back a thin, clear string of arousal connecting you and bringing you back together as he pushed the thick tip inside your warm walls.

You wince slightly from the feeling of him stretching you out. Just his tip felt like heaven already, and you couldn’t help the way you squeezed so tightly around him. “Daddy,” you moan out, throwing your head back into the pillows as you gasped for air.

“Shit, there you go,” he grits through his teeth. “Take it in, princess. Take it like daddy’s good little girl” Your walls tighten around his tip, sucking him in even deeper. “You feel so good squeezing on your daddy’s cock. Your little pussy is so wet and warm” his hot breath blows against your face from the close proximity.

Pushing up your shirt, he reveals your chest, his big veiny hands kneading on your soft breasts that you put on display for him so many times, and now he finally got to see them up close and feel them.

Felt so much better than his imagination could ever even think of.

“You’re so big, Daddy,” you breathe out, taking all that he’s giving you obediently or maybe not so obediently cause you couldn’t help but grind down on his dick, forcing him to go in deeper.

His breath gets caught in his throat as your hole swallows him up, and he can’t help but thrust faster, your slick hole getting creamier by the second. “Fuck” his eyes roll back in his head, and he sticks his dick in you even further, watching as your pretty little face contorted in so much pleasure from being filled by his inches. “You’re taking my cock so deep, pretty girl. I’m all the way inside,” he whines, feeling your tight entrance rubbing along his tip, and it sets him off quicker than he’d like to admit. “Daddy’s gonna cum baby”

“Yes, Daddy, please cum all over me” he cups your face holding onto your cheek as you look at him with big round pleading eyes. Your words make him thrust his hips faster, his clammy skin smacking against your own, only adding to the pleasure as he fucks into your silky cunt so deep that his tip bumps your cervix and your breast jiggle with every harsh rut of his hips.

Feeling his high approaching, he lowers his hand to fondle your delicate clit to bring you to the point of no return alongside him.

“Daddy, I’m cumming!” Your body tenses at his actions, your walls clamping down on him tightly as your cunt creams around his cock, the tightness of your pussy feeling heavenly on his throbbing dick.

He lets out a lewd moan and quickly pulls his dick out, hot spurts of cum shooting all over your lower stomach. “Oh fuck fuck” he curses, watching as his dick throbs and paints you in his milky white cum.

You’re both moaning in pleasure as he rubs his cock against your stomach, releasing every last drop of cum on your pretty smooth skin. You both pant heavily while he empties himself completely.

You can’t help but swipe your finger in the puddle of warm cum and hold it to your tongue, sucking off the sticky remnants of his orgasm and savoring his taste.

“Daddy’s good girl,” he smiles in satisfaction, bending down and giving you a short but deep kiss on the lips before he gets up, and you miss his warmth already as he slips back into his boxers.

You watch him disappear into the bathroom and come back with something to clean you up.

He does it ever so gently, eyes full of care and concern, and once he’s finished, he helps you into your clothes and tucks you in for the night. “Happy birthday, baby. Daddy loves you.” he pecked your forehead, your eyes feeling heavy after those two unbelievable orgasms he gave to you.

“Love you too daddy” he smiles softly and takes the liquor and shot glasses heading to the door he took one last look at you puckering his lips and making a kissing noise you giggle and hide your face with the covers before he leaves. “Night, birthday girl,” he whispers to you.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” that’s all you remember before your eyelids fall shut. There’s a faint, satisfied smile on your face as you slip into slumber. This was the best birthday ever, all thanks to your stepdad.

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#heeseung smut #lee heesung smut #heeseung angst #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #enhypen fluff #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hyung line #enhypen fanfic #enhypen heeseung #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung fluff #heeseung #lee heesung x reader

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therealmylesmorales · 8 months ago

Text

Don’t Take It Personal

Summary: you’re a little worried about how much time Vi is spending with her new friend

Part 2

Warnings: vi’s kind of a dumbass, ngl. Angst probably. R plays a sport for the plot (just vibe guys) loser!vi au

WC: 1.6k

Vi made a new friend.

That was a rare feat for her, seeing how out of the few people she considers a friend included you, her girlfriend, and Jinx, her sister.

She came home beaming after her usual workout at the gym. There was a new face she didn’t recognize and to Vi’s surprise, the friendly chat turned into a new friendship.

Her name was Caitlyn Kiramman. You knew her name, seeing the title “Kiramman” around a few buildings. Caitlyn was studying abroad for a few months, hence why Vi didn’t meet her until now. And yet, the new friendship was blossoming quickly. You didn’t mind, just happy that she managed to make more friends without you being present.

That was until Vi started hanging out with her more than you.

Srry, babe cant make it. At the gym wth Cait 💪🏻

11:23am

You frowned a bit at the recent text Vi sent you. You were at the library waiting for her for your weekly study date but when she was almost half an hour late you finally texted her. Only for your girlfriend to take a raincheck. Again.

Seeing how Vi wasn’t showing up, you still decided to stay for at least another hour; work still needed to be done with or without her. When you did decide to leave, you had to pass by the gym in order to go home. You figured Vi was still inside so you didn’t bother to linger until you heard a familiar voice.

”I’ll see you around, cupcake!”

Cupcake?

You turned to see Vi and Caitlyn leaving the large building. Vi immediately saw you and rushed over to you. Caitlyn gave you a polite wave before going her own way.

She was calling her ‘cupcake.’ You felt a little irritated at the—at your— nickname Vi called Caitlyn. Granted, ‘cupcake’ wasn’t one that was used very often, only when Vi was teasing or being purposely irritating to you. But still. It was your name.

Pushing the negative feelings aside you greeted Vi with a kiss. She smiled into it then pulled you into a tight hug, her arms almost crushing you.

”You stick, Vi,” you muttered into her neck.

A soft laugh escaped her. “You enjoy it. What are you doing here?”

”Going home. Then I saw you and…cupcake.”

”Don’t be like that,” Vi groaned, trying to play it off. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Never said you did.” You tried to change the subject, not wanting to make it a big deal. “Are you going to my game Friday or are you going to be too busy with Caitlyn. It’s the last one of the season, Vi.”

“Hey, have I ever missed a game before?” She asked rhetorically. ”But if it makes you feel better, I promise that I’ll be there.”

”Good.”

Vi then wrapped her arm around you, putting you in an almost headlock, and started walking in the direction of the same apartment. “Let’s go. I’m exhausted.”

While what Vi said did ease some of you worrying, it didn’t stay for long. For the rest of the week, Vi was still with Caitlyn. Even though you attended most of the same classes, and stayed in the same home, you only saw her in passing or for only an hour at night. And every word that came out of her mouth was about the other girl.

“I really think you’ll like Cait, she reminds me of you.”

“Caitlyn squatted 210 today! She’s catching up to me.”

”I’m sorry, baby. Cait and I made plans to see that movie. You can still come!” You hate to admit it but that comment made you pissed off more than anything.

Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn. You haven’t even properly met the girl yet it seemed like you knew everything about her.

When Friday finally came, you just hoped Vi would pay more attention to you rather than her friend. Unfortunately, you were proven wrong.

Hey, pretty, the game is starting soon. Are you still coming?

6:37pm

Yoooo Viiii??

7:01pm

Violet, dude, where are you??

7:15pm

Your leg tapped nervously against the ground, scanning the crowd for the familiar pink haired girl, but you came up dry. In the crowd you could see Jayce, Viktor and Mel who all gave you encouraging smiles. Even Jinx showed up, sitting next to Ekko. She gave you a small shrug at your questioning glance before turning back to your phone, possibly texting her sister.

The coach got your attention, urging you to join your teammates on the court. And with a heavy, disappointed sigh, you got up from the bench. You couldn’t focus on Vi anymore, but you still hoped that she would show up sometime during the game. She did promise after all.

But throughout the game, that familiar full head of pink hair was nowhere to be seen. There was an empty spot next to Jinx that was never filled. Trying to ignore the wide open space was almost impossible, but the game was won without Vi cheering for you. Sure, the ball did slip from your hands more times than you’d like to admit, but your team won.

Your friends that did decide to show up wanted to take you out for the rest of the night, a congratulatory dinner, but you weren’t feeling it. And while Jinx doesn’t like saying the word no, she surprisingly let you go home after you refused. You really just wanted to see if or when Vi would be home.

It was nearing nine at night and Vi still hadn’t called you and your recent text went unanswered. The TV was playing a show, mostly used as background noise as your thoughts took over you.

Almost thirty minutes later, you could hear some noise coming from the hallway.

The door to the apartment opened and you could hear Vi humming a song to herself when she locked up for the night. From your spot on the couch, you saw nothing wrong with her so you were glad to know she was safe. But now she had to dig herself out of the hole she dug.

Vi actually seemed surprised to see you but the smile she gave you was instant. “Oh, hey, babe. Why are you still up?”

”Waiting for you,” you shot back, moving to get closer to her. “It’s been hours Vi, we all have been calling and texting you—“

Vi showed you her phone, a black screen staring back at you. “It died a while ago. What’s with the third degree?”

”Do you remember what day it is?”

”Um…the tenth?”

”Um, maybe it’s the day of my game that you’d promise to come to,” you mocked. Yeah, you were being petty but you thought she deserved it.

Vi muttered a small curse to herself and she looked genuinely apologetic. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I swear, I was going to come but then my phone died, and-and I was with Caitlyn and—“

A heavy sigh escaped you at the name. “Caitlyn, right yeah. That makes sense.”

A look came on Vi’s face, one you knew too well when she was about to become argumentative. “What are you talking about?”

”You’ve been spending a lot of time with her, Vi,” you pointed out. “I’ve noticed it— we all have. You’re always with her.”

”We’re friends!”

”You’re friends with Jayce but when’s the last time you’ve hung out with him since meeting Caitlyn? Is she too rich for chargers so you couldn’t check your phone for five minutes?”

Vi scoffed at you. “What, you want me to stop hanging out with Caitlyn just because you’re jealous?”

”I have nothing to be jealous of, Violet!” You yelled. “Cait’s a friend, I get that. But you have been blowing me off time and time again for her. And the one time I actually needed you, you were with her instead. How the hell do you expect me to feel?”

A short pause came from Violet. And what she said next, set your skin aflame.

”I just think you’re overreacting. It’s a fucking game, I’ll just watch the next one.”

“Okay, you know what,” you paused, running your hands over your face; it didn’t do much to calm your heated nerves. “I’m not doing this with you, right now, Vi.”

Vi’s tense posture immediately changed at the tone of your voice; it was shaky, as if you were holding back tears. You almost never cried, at least in front of her, so the new sight was worrisome. She heard you breath in harshly before continuing.

“I’m way too upset at you right now to even finish this conversation,” you said quietly to her. “I’m tired…and honestly just want some space from you.”

Vi swore her heart stopped at those words. Space? “You…Y/N, you can’t be serious.” Space was the main thing Vi hated. It meant you leaving her.

”I am, actually.” Your back was turned from her at that point so you couldn’t see her face fall in disbelief at the sight of you getting ready to leave the apartment.

She knew you made up your mind and were done hearing her but Vi still had to try. “Babe, don’t go. You’re right, is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry, alright?”

”Glad you came to your senses,” you muttered, albeit bitterly.

Vi was desperate at this point. “You don’t have to leave! I can sleep out here!”

”When I said ‘space’, Vi, I meant completely,” you said. Your voice was starting to get tense, a tell that you were getting annoyed. “My parents live a few minutes away, remember? I'll be fine.”

”Y/N please, just—“

“Vi! I’ll…talk to you eventually,” was the last thing you said before the door closed behind you.

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #c: vi #myles writing

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riricatria · 14 days ago

Text

Hiii~

"Moments of Weakness" as in the reader suffering critical aura damage by being difficult with the yanderes. This is the second part for the post carrying the same name! If you want more, the previous one can be found right about here. I hope you have a good read ~(˘▾˘~)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Characters include: Aventurine, Boothill, Gallagher, Dr. Ratio, Mr. Reca and Sunday (pre-AE) CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Yandere content (BUT this on the much more wholesome end of it. It's fluffy and sort of hurt/comfort!), cisfem!Reader, unwanted touching, manipulation, reader gets a good bonk on the head in the BH one (there's blood), alcohol mention in the Gallagher part, reader is nakey in the Sunny one but there's nothing sexual.

˗ˏˋ ★ Aventurine

The quiet shuffling of cards scraping against each other is the only thing that can be heard in the room you and Aventurine share. It’s a deliberate thing on his end: Though you’re lying on the hotel bed with your back turned to him, the mere sound is enough for you to understand the message without him having to even say anything.

It’s clear as day; he’s trying to lure you into playing with him again for whatever bet he’s feeling like setting on the game today. It’s always a tempting offer to accept: He promises you all kinds of things if you manage to win against him. The only issue is that, without fail, you have lost every single time, no matter how much thought and strategy you have put into it. It’s not even about skill anymore — though admittedly, he’s much better-versed in that field as well — but his luck is simply unbeatable.

”Hey, I know you’re not sleeping”, Aventurine sings from where he’s sitting at the table, elongating the last syllable of his words with an annoying lilt.

”I’m not gonna play with you”, you turn him down before he can even propose the activity itself.

”Come on, not even for a little bit?” he coos at you. ”I know you want to.”

”I don’t”, you shake your head against the pillow you’re resting on.

”What’s all this, now?” you hear the chair creak as he stands up from his seat. ”You’ve been so gloomy lately. Is something wrong?”

You are wrong, you want to respond to him, but speaking it out loud would serve no purpose. His ego is practically untouchable: Nothing you say could wound him deeper than a mere graze on the surface.

Your bed shifts as Aventurine plops beside you on the mattress. You don’t offer him any reaction; not even as much as glancing at him over your shoulder. Instead, you pull further into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and curling up in a fetal position.

Unsatisfied with your lack of enthusiasm, Aventurine brings his hand to your hip. There, he moves two of his fingers along your curves, pretending as if his hand was walking down the dip of your waist, the bend of your elbow, the back of your neck. It tickles a bit, and after a few moments, you have to reach your arm over your side to swat his touch away.

”There you are”, his striking eyes lock with yours as you raise your head from the pillow, scowling at him. ”What’s with the sulking?”

”...”

”Come on, now”, he intones, reaching for your face and gently moving a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. ”I have a really nice stake for this one.”

”... Like what?”

You hate how easy it is for him to pique your curiosity. With how capricious he is, one would think that you would try your absolute best to stay away from his antics, but the reality is usually quite the opposite.

”Well”, he says. You can hear the smirk in the ring of his voice. ”I was thinking we could take a trip to the Golden Hour again. How does that sound?”

It sounds nice. It has been a while since he has last taken you anywhere — for leisure, anyway: He has been drowning in work lately, and in consequence, there haven’t been many opportunities for the two of you to go out on “dates”, as he calls them.

”... What do you even want to play? Strip poker?” you ask him in a dry tone.

”Oho, are you offering?”

”I’m not.”

”Bummer”, Aventurine shrugs with a smug look on his face. ”I was thinking Blackjack. Just like back at the casino that one time, remember?”

”...”

”Heh”, he lets out a chuckle. ”Do you want to deal or does the job land on me yet again?”

”Hold on, what do you get if you win?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with your brows furrowed. There’s a dangerous glint in Aventurine’s eyes.

”Hmm, let’s say...”, he muses, tapping the tip of his chin in a thoughtful manner, ”fifteen minutes of cuddling for every hand you lose. You’ve got ten rounds to beat me.”

You purse your lips together.

”Deal”, you say.

Without delay, Aventurine briefly shuffles the deck in his hands before dealing the cards in between the two of you on the bed. Abiding by the rules, he sets one of his upside down while giving you a couple with their face up.

You count the total. It’s 15.

”Hit”, you utter.

”Very well”, Aventurine responds.

He picks up another card for you from the pile. With a theatrical curve of his hand, he lands it beside the other two.

You stare at the symbols on the thing, then count the tiny, askew squares once, twice, thrice — there’s no mistaking it. With uncontrollable excitement, you point at the six of diamonds with your mouth hanging open.

”That’s 21!” you exclaim with more joy than you were planning on. ”I win!”

”Oop, would you look at that”, Aventurine leans down lower to inspect the card, squinting his eyes. ”Fair and square. The Dreamscape is calling.”

”Do we leave right now?” you ask, already swinging your legs off the bed with your eyes sparkling.

There’s an odd, complacent look on his features.

”Take it easy, now”, he says, wagging his finger back and forth at you. ”We’ve still got nine more rounds left.”

”Huh?” your smile falls. ”But I won? It’s 21?”

”I didn’t say we wouldn’t play the rest, now, did I?” Aventurine grins at you, evidently holding back his laughter. ”Come on, settle down.”

”But you...!”

You glare at him with your mouth ajar, but as you play back the conversation in your head, his ploy becomes painfully clear to you. You’re about to raise your finger at him, to curse him to the deepest pit of the planet as the chagrin burns on your cheeks, but the man has already started dealing the next round of cards.

Your total goes over the limit with your first hit.

”That’s 15 minutes to the counter”, Aventurine swipes his tongue over his teeth.

Similarly, you lose the next round, the third, the fourth, the one after that, and every single one until the very last hand. It’s like every loss is another stab at your pride: He even scores five perfect blackjacks back-to-back without as much as batting an eye. Twisting the knife in the wound, he makes sure to keep an exact count of how long the agreed-upon cuddle session is going to last, speaking the time stamps out loud.

By the time the last hand of cards has been dealt, you have rested back down on the bed, barely even paying attention to the game anymore. You watch with very little interest as he lands two Jacks on the bed, beating your measly total of 18.

”And that one’s a win for me as well”, Aventurine states, tapping the tip of his finger against the ornate illustration of a knight on the card he just flipped over. ”Game over.”

You don’t delight him with a response. Instead, you roll over on the bed, once again turning your back to him with a deep pout on your face. It doesn’t deter him from enjoying the moment to his heart’s content, though:

”That makes, let me think... A little over two hours, does it not?” he leans over your form to catch a glance at your expression. ”We might have to cut it down to only an hour and a half, though. We won’t have much time to spend in the Dreamscape, otherwise.”

You bury your face in the pillow.

”Hey, don’t be like that”, Aventurine pets your arm, lying down behind you on the bed. ”It’s what you agreed to. You can take a nap if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

As he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls your back flush against his chest, you promise to yourself that you’re never, ever going to entertain his whims again.

˗ˏˋ ★ Boothill

You’re pretty sure you weren’t far from the verge of passing out a second or two ago. The stars that adorn your field of vision flicker in and out like sparklers, making it difficult to focus on the sight ahead of you — which happens to be Boothill’s chest.

After having pulled away from yet another one of his crushing hugs, he took matters into his own hands. You’re aware he doesn’t like it when you refuse his affections, but you didn’t exactly expect him to jerk you back to him with enough force to mash a boulder. Consequentially, as a result of more than one unfortunate factor, you ended up banging your head right against his chestplate.

You fall on your knees in front of him, sinking to the floor while clutching the middle of your forehead with both of your hands. Not only does the spot throb terribly, but as you draw your fingers back to check the extent of the damage, there’s a distinct, red smear on them.

”Fudge!” Boothill swears, to the best of his ability, kneeling down to your level. ”Why’d you do that?”

”I didn’t-!” you speak through a clenched jaw, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but the pounding ache. ”You-, ow-ow-ow-”

You bring your hand back over the wound as you see Boothill reach for your face.

”Lemme see that, Sugar”, he takes hold of one of your wrists and attempts to yank it away from the injury, but you don’t allow him to: Instead, you pull further into yourself to shake off his touch.

”Don’t touch me!” you yelp at him, although the words come out as more of a plea rather than a demand.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Boothill resorts to trying to peek at your wound through the gaps between your fingers. Catching sight of the blood, he hisses through his razor-sharp teeth, scrunching his face up a little. He doesn’t seem to quite know where he should put his hands because they’re hovering all around you, unsure where to touch or if to even touch at all.

A thin trail of blood crawls down the bridge of your nose. Boothill’s expression only grows more concerned, and as he tries to reach for you yet again, you land a slap on his hand.

”Sugar, you’re blee-”

”I know, I know!” you whine with your eyes squeezed shut. ”Just give me something to... I need something to put on it...”

”I’m not sure we’ve got anything for that in here”, Boothill scratches the side of his head in a fretful manner. ”Didn’t prepare for situations like this, bein’ a cyborg and all.”

More blood dribbles out of the wound. A droplet slides past your brow and nearly makes its way into your eye. You try to wipe it away but only manage to smear both your face and the end of your sleeve in the deep red. Boothill watches the sight with his face screwed as if he was the one in pain. He lets out a vexed sigh.

Before you can shield yourself, he reaches for your hand and forces it off your face. You let out a startled squawk and attempt to fight him off, but instead of allowing you to, he lands a strong arm on the back of your waist and locks you in place. Using his free hand, he pushes your hair back. Sparing little thought to how your eyes have widened up in alarm, he leans in uncomfortably close to inspect the injury. He softly grazes his fingers against the border of the contusion, tutting his tongue.

”Fudge”, he curses yet again.

Without delay, Boothill slides his hand under your thighs and hoists you up from the ground. There’s so much momentum in the movement that you nearly hit your head on the low ceiling of the room. He mutters out a half-hearted apology before adjusting his grip on you, balancing you on the crook of his elbow with you holding onto his head for dear life. With inhuman strength, he carries you towards the bathroom.

Kicking the door open so hard it slams against the wall and almost falls off its hinges, he sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. He grabs one of the bright-coloured towels off the side of the sink, bringing the thing under the tap and soaking it in cold water.

”Alright, hold still for a bit”, Boothill tells you as he kneels down in front of you with the piece of fabric in hand.

Gently, or rather, as gently as he’s able to, he dabs the towel around the gash on your forehead, wiping the blood off to the best of his ability. Despite how each of his touches stings, you let your defensive hands slowly fall to your lap.

He isn’t exactly careful with his actions. With each pat against the wound, his metallic fingers knock against your skull in a careless manner. He doesn’t seem to grasp the extent of his strength, to a certain degree: While he visibly takes a little caution to tone it down in your company, occasionally, you end up with unintentional bruises and marks on various parts of your body — much like now.

After a while, Boothill pulls the towel out of your face before examining the outcome of his efforts.

”Don’t know what I’m gonna close that up with”, he speaks his thoughts out loud, drumming the pads of his fingers against the tub’s ceramic.

”I can-”

”Nope, you’re gonna stay right where you are, Sugar”, he interrupts you before you can even voice whatever suggestion you had. ”We used to have some tape or somethin’ layin’ ’round here, right?”

He spins on his heels before making his way back to the sink with the wet cloth in hand. He carelessly lays it over the sink’s edge before flinging open the doors of the cabinet above it. He rummages around for a bit before pulling out a roll of wound tape from inside.

”Alright, hold your hair back for me, yeah?” he instructs you, snapping off a small piece of the material.

You do as you’re told, brushing your fingers past your hairline and pulling the strands back. Not waiting around, Boothill goes for the finishing touch and glues the tape over the lesion. For good measure, he rips another slice of the tape off the roll and crosses it over the first in an X-shape.

He leans back from you to inspect the result of his work. An amused snort slips past his teeth.

”Ha, you look like one of them forkin’ shooting targets with that on your forehead”, he chuckles, poking his index finger on the bridge of your nose, right below the wound.

You front at him in response. He closes his eyes for a moment, and his smirk simmers down a tiny bit.

”You better not give me any more attitude in the future, you hear?” he says.

Though the words are spoken as a bit of a joke, you don’t miss the implication behind them. Boothill sets his hand on your knee, giving it a few, comforting pats. You let your hair fall back over your face.

˗ˏˋ ★ Gallagher

You’re not sure if you could get a single sound out of your mouth, even if you were to try your absolute hardest. It feels like a bunch of flaming matches have been tossed into your windpipe. You didn’t even know it was possible to get sick while in the Dreamscape, yet that’s how you’ve ended up; with your throat burning and your voice gone.

You’ve spent the past few hours simply lying down on one of the benches in the bar’s back room. Due to your ailment, you haven’t had much energy for moving around, and besides, you don’t feel like roaming about the public area: There isn’t that much to see, and more importantly, Gallagher is there. The bar already closed a fifteen minutes or so ago, and he’s most likely busy setting everything up for when it opens again.

You know that he’s most likely aware of your current state — you’ve been hacking your lungs out for the better part of an hour, and the man isn’t deaf nor is he stupid — but even so, he hasn’t taken the time to come check up on you.

It’s not that you want him to, necessarily, but for how much he pesters you in general, it’s a wonder that he hasn’t slid in the back room yet to inquire about your condition. You can already hear his condescending tone mocking you for your trouble, telling you ”how adorable for little old you to catch a cold”, and even the mere thought has you rolling your eyes. Given his nature, the entire thing would be funny to him, more than anything: You don’t think you could stomach all the remarks he has in store for you right now.

You prop yourself up in your elbows with a sigh. The shiny, leather surface of the bench is starting to feel a bit uncomfortable against your side. Moreover, it’s getting a little chilly. Coincidentally, all of the blankets have been left in the public area for the customers — perhaps a purposeful deed on Gallagher’s end.

Your mouth is dry as a desert, to the point that it hurts. Looking around the room you’re holed up in, you come to find that he hasn’t left you with anything drinkable, either; the only liquid in your general vicinity is a bottle of hard liquor, and although technically being a beverage, you doubt it would serve the purpose of quenching your thirst. You wish Siobhan would drop around for a bit again: She’s much nicer to spend time with than your captor, being a woman and all, and with her, you don’t have to fistfight your own ego when asking for basic necessities.

Carefully, you get on your feet and make your way to the door with dragging steps. For a moment, you ponder if you could manage for a little bit longer, but with how your throat aches, you decide that ultimately, confronting the man is a better option than suffering with your malady.

As quietly as you can, you slip into the public area. Judging from the clinking sound coming from the other side of the bar desk, your guess is that Gallagher must be behind the middle wall that divides the spacious room, still occupied with something. He doesn’t seem to have noticed your presence just yet, and you take advantage of that.

Tiptoeing closer to the counter, you spot an unopened can of lemonade next to a few empty bottles of wine. The sight is awfully tempting, to the point that your mouth musters up the last bits of saliva you have left in favour of allowing you to drool.

You try to catch a glimpse of your captor past the middle wall, but alas, you’re unable to. Deciding to go for the steal nonetheless, with your eyes set on the can, you sneak closer to it, grab it off the desk, and-

”It’s good to see you up”, Gallagher’s voice rings in the silent room. ”Doing well?”

As you raise your gaze, you come to see him peeking out from the other side of the rounded counter. He wears the same, smug smirk as always, looking down at you with a hint of curiosity in his expression.

Your eyes widen. You’re about to greet him with a flavourless ”hi”, but even as your tongue forms the syllable, no voice comes out. Immediately after, you cough out, planting your hand over your chest in an effort to stabilize yourself.

”Something wrong?” Gallagher quirks a brow at you, making his way over to where you’re standing.

You try to mouth out an answer to him, saying ”my voice is gone”, but as you’re unable to produce a sound, you resort to moving your hand along your throat horizontally, attempting to convey the message via gesturing. Looking at his expression, you come to find that he has understood the problem, but true to his style, he isn’t going to let you live your trouble down just yet.

”Hm, what’s that?” he leans down with his hand cupped around his ear.

Biting on the bait embarrassingly fast, you put your best effort into trying to yell out at him, but the only thing that comes out is a tiny, pitiful wheeze. Desperately, you point at the can on the counter.

”I’m not sure what you’re getting at”, Gallagher sighs with a shit-eating smirk on his face, shrugging his shoulders to really sell the performance. ”You need to use your words, I’m afraid.”

”I need water!” you mouth at him with a pitiably wretched frown on your lips.

Gallagher lets out an amused sigh in response. He then closes his eyes and places his hands on his hips.

Apparently, your little show is pathetic enough to get through to his heart, and he gives up the act with a low chuckle. You nearly wince away from him as his large hand lands on your shoulder.

”Do you need a drink?” Gallagher then asks, cocking his head to the side.

You nod fervently.

”Alright”, he says. His touch pulls away from you as he proceeds to hop over the counter and back to the bartender’s side. ”What would you like? Sweet? Spicy?”

You frown at him with so much attitude that he has to let out yet another laugh at the sight. Though, instead of teasing you further, he picks up something from the shelves under the bar desk. A deep blue blanket is tossed at you.

Without another word, Gallagher starts picking out bottles from the ledges on the wall, setting them on the counter in a neat row. You drape the soft fabric over your shoulders and sit on one of the bar stools.

The scene looks like you were a customer being served, almost. You follow his movements as he pours different ingredients into a tin shaker before sealing it up tight. He then joggles the thing around in a theatrical manner, spinning it in his hand, pitching it into the air, giving it a good whirl. After he deems the results suitable, he takes out a tall glass from one of the cabinets and tips the liquid in it. For good measure, he finishes the drink up with a striped straw.

”There you go”, Gallagher slides the glass over to you.

Though, for some reason, he doesn’t let go of the base. You give him a questioning look, softly tilting your head to the side with your brows knitted.

”Hm? Not even a ‘thank you’ for a job well done?” he sighs with a mocking lilt in his tone.

You fold your arms over your chest, pouting. You reach for the drink despite his taunt, but he pulls it further away from you before you can even touch the thing.

”Ah-ah-ah”, he shakes his head. ”Come on, Darling, show me a little gratitude, will you?”

You resist rolling your eyes at him. For a moment, you debate whether or not you should just drop the entire thing and let him play his games alone, but then again, the drink smells so good you could melt through the ground. As much as you can’t stand the man, you need to admit that he understands his field to a T.

So, with the last bits of your self-respect leaving you, you avert your gaze and mouth out a ”thanks” with a slight bow of your head. Accepting the gesture, he finally lets you have the glass.

”You’re welcome”, Gallagher gives a soft pat to your head as you bring the straw to your lips.

˗ˏˋ ★ Dr. Ratio

You’ve been stuck on the same page of the book you’re reading for the better part of ten minutes. The tome in your hands is not even a particularly intriguing piece of literature — it’s one of the few that Ratio allows you to spend your free time on: He has made it clear to you that you are not to waste your leisure on something as vain as fiction.

The only issue is that you don’t exactly seem to be in the piece’s target group: It’s full of scientific jargon and bizarre words you have never stumbled upon in your life. It’s clearly meant for people well-versed in the topic, and unfortunately, you don’t happen to be a part of that group. To be exact, the book is a collection of various research papers and theses surrounding some mathematical formula relating to space travel — at least from what you’ve gathered. You would be lying if you said that you’re having fun with it, but then again, anything is better than having to stare at the wall while the man works on yet another treatise.

For one reason or another, Ratio doesn’t permit you to leave the room while he writes despite not sparing the least bit of attention to you. You have a designated chair in the corner of his office that you are to sit on: Not that there’s anything much for you to do in the crammed space, anyway, but he made it known to you that he can’t stand how you ”rummage around like a brainless origami bird”. So, essentially, the only thing you are allowed to do is sit still, look pretty, and wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing, much like now.

Ratio sighs out loud, tapping his pen against the tabletop in an agitated manner. He then abruptly stands up from his seat, scribbles yet another mathematical formula on the chalkboard behind him, and sits back down. No matter how many times he has already repeated the same routine today, you always jump at the sudden movement.

Stifling a huff, you sink back into the book in your lap. Antiparticle, equidimensionality, multivariate... Nope, you can’t make any sense of the text, even as you read over the jawbreakers a dozen times. It’s as if you were trying to read an entirely different language.

You wonder if Ratio would mind if you were to take a nap on the floor. His only requirement for you is to stay quiet and still, anyway, and sleeping would technically fit into aforementioned conditions. Besides, the book served as an excellent sedative: It’s safe to say that reading it managed to spend the entirety of your brain’s capacity in a mere half an hour.

You smack the thing shut with a thud. As you do so, you happen to spot a pair of feet at the top of your field of vision.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat as you raise your head and come to find that Ratio is now standing right in front of you, staring down at you with his usual, blank expression. Barely managing to stifle the yelp that almost slips out of your mouth, you look back at him with wide eyes.

”Doct-, Veritas”, you correct yourself before the wrong name makes it past your lips, subconsciously leaning away from his form. Unlike with everyone else, he doesn’t take kindly to you referring to him by his formal title.

The man doesn’t respond to you. Instead, his gaze flicks to the tome resting on your thighs.

”Do you have the faintest idea what you’re reading about?” he then asks.

”Well, um... I do, sort of”, you gather the book in your arms and pull it to your chest in a protective manner.

”Hm”, Ratio lets out a bland huff. ”What is the purpose of the third formula?”

”Eh?”

”The third formula. Explain it to me.”

”...”

You lift your legs on the chair, turning your body away from him with heat rising onto your cheeks.

”Hand it to me”, Ratio then demands, holding his hand out with a beckoning gesture of his fingers.

”But you said-, you said I could read it!” you argue against the request, but despite your demur, he simply reaches for the thing and yanks it out from your grasp.

He flips the tome open on the page you were reading moments ago, quickly skimming over the contents with his eyes.

”The variable?” he questions, turning his attention back to you.

”What?”

”What does the variable refer to?”

”... I don’t know.”

”I thought so.”

”Can I have it back?” you plead, reaching your hand out towards him. ”I don’t care if I don’t understand it, I just want to-”

Your words are cut short as instead of handing the book back to you, Ratio grabs you by the wrist and pulls you off your seat. You let out a small, surprised sound in response, but it does nothing to dissuade him from his new-found objective. In long strides, he drags you over to his desk.

”Sit down”, he instructs you in an indifferent tone.

Not daring to disobey him any further, you promptly take a seat in his chair. The next second, he slams a clean sheet of paper in front of you on the table. In his eloquent handwriting, he scrawls a string of numbers and letters on it.

”Find the derivative of this function”, he commands, insistently tapping his finger against the table, ordering you around like you were one of his poor subordinates.

Ratio slides the pen in your hand. Expectantly, he plants his hand down next to the paper, urging you to get to work.

With a bewildered expression, you stare at the row of symbols in front of you. Even as you try your best to concentrate on what he has written, your focus strays immediately: You’re painfully aware of how his sharp gaze is piercing a hole through the back of your head. As an additional challenge, he places one of his hands on your shoulder, silently raising the pressure even higher as he looms behind you like a bad omen.

Despite reading the line of symbols over, again and again, you’re unable to grasp even the first step of the solution. You don’t consider yourself to be from the daftest end of the population, yet he always manages to make you feel like an idiot, regardless of the matter at hand.

”Nothing?” Ratio quirks his brow.

You look back at him with a lost expression on your face, timidly shaking your head.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Ratio motions you to get up from your seat. You obey the request without delay, allowing him to sit on the chair instead. Though, rather than having you stand beside him, he pats his thigh.

”Huh-, oh-”

Your movements are a little too slow for his taste, and the man tugs you to him by your arm, urging you to take a seat on his lap. With how much Ratio breaches about patience, there are a certain few things that manage to get him quite tetchy, you have noticed.

He slides one of his hands around your lower back, and with the other, he begins making notations on the paper.

”Here is the formula”, he underlines a section of his writing, nearly crossing out another with how intensely he performs the action. ”Apply it.”

It’s a familiar one, you come to find; he has taught it to you before. Moreover, it’s one of the simple ones, too. You swallow.

With a faintly trembling hand, you get on with the task. Resting the pen against the paper, you begin writing out the steps for the solution. Though it takes you a minute or two and a few trials and errors, you manage to tackle the problem without too much difficulty — all the while tormented by his dissecting gaze, no less.

You turn your head to the side to face Ratio with a shy smile tugging on the corners of your mouth, equally as terrified as you are triumphant. He sees your work over with a captious eye, carefully going over each letter you have written. It’s only as the crease between his brows smooths out that you dare to let out the breath you’ve been holding in.

”Not bad”, he says.

You flinch a tiny bit as the hand on your waist moves to the back of your head. There, he caresses your hair, silently praising you for your performance before letting his arm fall back into its original position.

”Let us move on to the next one”, he then declares, writing yet another function below your answer.

˗ˏˋ ★ Mr. Reca

You jolt awake.

As your eyes shoot open, you come to notice that you’ve raised your hands in front of your face in your sleep, as if fighting something. Your skin is clammy with cold sweat, and for a moment, you’re unable to hear anything, other than your own heartbeat hammering away in your ears. Feeling something sticky on your cheek, you swipe your fingers along the bottom of your eyelid. You find that, yet again, you’ve been crying in your slumber.

You can’t recall the last time you’ve slept without having a nightmare beyond imaginable horrors haunt your rest. Or, more specifically, the last time you’ve gotten proper sleep without being encased in Reca’s arms.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you squint your eyes and peek at the entrance of your shared bedroom. You can’t really see much in the darkness, but judging from the stripe of light pooling in from under the door and the faint sound of footsteps in the room behind, it’s safe to say that the man is still awake.

For a moment, you concentrate on evening out the rhythm of your shallow breathing. You can’t even remember what the nightmare was about anymore: It has proven difficult to keep track of your dreams since the amount has been piling up for a good few days now. Each one has been more terrifying than the last, and out of respect for your own mental well-being, you haven’t exactly been inclined to write them down. Moreover, it’s the time frame that is of more interest to you, anyway: The nightly horrors appeared around the same time as you started refusing Reca’s affections.

It has to have something to do with his supposed Memokeeper abilities, is your best guess. The matter of his side hustle has only come up once or twice in your conversations, and you’re not exactly sure what the title means in practice, but if your own experience is anything to go by, he possesses particular skin in a certain, taboo field — manipulating memories, that is. You don’t have anything to prove it with, but you’re quite certain that your nocturnal episodes are of his doing: They’re a tad bit too... cinematically rich to be the handiwork of your own subconscious.

You’re tired, so very tired. As much as you don’t want it to, the accumulated fatigue is starting to affect you: It’s getting more and more difficult to focus on anything during the day, and you’ve been particularly irritable which isn’t a particularly favourable trait to have when having to deal with someone like Reca. His frog companion, especially, has been getting on your nerves lately: You were this close to smacking the stupid thing off his desk the other day.

Rubbing the remaining doze out of your eyes, you decide that you’re not ready to revisit the nightmares just yet. Instead, push yourself up on the bed.

Careful not to make a sound, you swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and stand up, straightening the hem of your top. Taking care not to step over anything in the darkness, you tiptoe your way to the door. With a final look at the dim outline of the bed behind you, you wrap your fingers around the handle and twist the lock open.

Reca is sitting on the couch in front of the living room table, legs crossed and a pen in hand. He twirls the thing between his fingers with a bit of a pensive look on his face, but as he notices you peeking at him through the ajar door, his expression lights up.

”Oh my”, he utters, setting the pen down beside the piece of paper he has been working on. ”Isn’t it quite late for you to be up, Dear?”

You could say the same about him. The man stays up until the early hours of the morning, invested in his movie scripts and whatnot, you’re not really sure. His habits have proven to be a bit of a headache for you: You would prefer it if he were the one to go to sleep first — that way, you wouldn’t have to fight his arms off of you during the night — but for some reason, you haven’t had the willpower to stay awake past nine in the evening. You suspect that he, once again, has got a hand in the matter, but as is with the dreams, there’s not much you can do about it.

Reca awaits for you to speak with a soft tilt of his head. As you refuse to delight him with the sound of your voice, he closes his eyes with the usual, faint smile on his features.

”No matter”, he sighs, briefly correcting his posture before leaning back against the couch again. He pats the empty spot next to him. ”You’re more than welcome to join me.”

You stand in the doorway in your nightwear, still as a statue. Swallowing down the piece in your throat, your lips press into a thin line.

”... You’re doing it”, you speak in a quiet tone, as if unsure of your own words.

Reca raises his brows. He pulls away from the table and turns his body towards you.

”I’m not sure I follow, Dear”, he says, gazing at you with an unmistakable flicker of intrigue in his keen eyes.

”The dreams”, you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering from the remnants of the nightly chill in your limbs. ”You’re the one making me have them.”

Reca lets out a sigh. Running his hand through his hair, his deep red eyes lock with your.

”That’s quite the accusation”, he responds with a strange lilt in his tone of voice.

”Make them stop”, you demand, straightening your back in an attempt to make yourself appear more resolute — though the effort fails to live up to its purpose.

Truth to be told, the man elicits a very particular kind of fear in you, and you’re not thrilled to be faced with the current scene. His gaze sharpens, and his smirk deepens. The subtle shift in his expression tells you that the conversation is about to take a less-than-savoury turn.

”Now, now, Darling. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves”, Reca idly drums his fingertips against the tabletop as if plotting something. ”I’m sure you understand there’s a reason behind the horror shows in your dreams?”

”... What do you want from me?”

You stare him down, clutching the sleeves of your top with a, no doubt, terribly pitiful expression on your fatigue-worn features. He looks back at you without much of a show of sympathy, instead observing your reactions with his usual, prying sort of curiosity.

”I thought I made myself quite clear”, he then says.

Gracefully, the hand he has rested on the table glides down to his side where he yet again pats the cushions; this time, with more insistence.

You glare at him with as much hostility as you can possibly pack in a single look. Though, the strategy doesn’t seem to be working: Not even batting an eye, Reca stands his ground, unwavering.

Bargaining, negotiating, threatening… Even appealing to his soft side never works with him. Nothing ever works with him.

”... You promise to make them go away if I...”, your voice dies down into a whisper, and the sentence is left unfinished.

”But of course”, Reca assures you, giving an answer to your question nonetheless.

He reaches to the other side of the couch for the pillows that line the armrest. Picking one up, he fluffs the thing a little before leaning it against his thigh.

You hate how tightly he has you wrapped around his finger. It’s beyond humiliating, but at the same time, he offers you everything you need — at the price of your dignity. You frown.

Slowly, you take one step, then another. Hanging your head low to save yourself from the embarrassment of meeting his eyes, you make your way across the room, all the way to him. Without a word, you climb onto the couch and plant your head on the pillow he has set out for you.

”There you are”, Reca exhales as you settle yourself on the cushions. ”Just a moment, just a moment.”

Your head shifts along with his movements as he straightens his back, ridding himself of his coat. He gently shakes the article of clothing out before laying it over your form.

”Sweet dreams, Dear”, he bids you.

His hand lands on the crown of your head. Idly, he begins playing with a stray strand of your hair. His fingers glide along your scalp in soft, comforting motions, drawing out intelligible patterns and curves. With each caress, your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and before long, you drift into slumber, accompanied by the quiet sound of a pen scraping against paper.

˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (Pre-AE)

”Give me my clothes back.”

”I don’t see a reason for that.”

”Sunday, give me my fucking clothes back.”

”Quit with the foul language, please.”

”Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.”

”This is your last warning. Is the current punishment not enough for you?”

”It doesn’t even say that in the rules.”

”It’s something to be added, then, perhaps.”

You sit in the farthest corner of your room, having put as much distance between you and Sunday as possible. The metal bars of the cage dig into the bare skin of your back, cold and unforgiving. Though you’re not inside the thing, at least for now, you almost wish that he had thrown you in there instead of leaving you out in the open. With your knees slotted against your chest and your arms wrapped around your legs, you’re just barely able to shield the private bits of your naked body from his prying eyes.

He sits at the table a short distance away from you, absorbed in the book he’s reading. His gloved fingers turn the page without haste: He’s simply passing time while making sure that you get the most out of your punishment.

You think it must be his favourite form of “disciplining” you. Yes, it’s true that you tried to take the clasps off one of your shirts for mischievous purposes, but even if you hadn’t, he probably would’ve found a way to get you in trouble regardless. It doesn’t really show in his demeanour, but he looks to be incredibly delighted with the turn of events: If the subtle, complacent smirk on his face is anything to go by, Sunday is enjoying the present situation way more than he would like to admit.

Discreetly, you try to reach your hand in the cage to grab the blanket lying inside it. However, you don’t even get to touch the thing: As if knowing exactly what you’re up to, Sunday raises his gaze from his book, and a single look from him is enough to have you draw your fingers back.

The stalemate must have lasted over an hour by now. You refuse to give up your little act of defiance, and alike, he hasn’t budged the slightest bit. You tried to go for the bedsheets at first, but he didn’t let you do that, either. It’s not that he’s actually physically restraining you from doing it, but there’s a certain, nasty trick he has available to him: As irritated as you are, having him use the Harmony on you isn’t worth the amount of amusement you would get from looking at the knit between his brows.

Though, as much as your spite is keeping you from thinking about it too much, you can’t escape from the sheer humiliation of the situation. You despise how much power the man holds over you, and furthermore, he isn’t exactly skilled in concealing his sadistic hunger for forcing you under his boot. Moreover, even with the abundance of your wrath keeping you warm, the natural consequence of being bare is that it’s starting to feel a bit chilly in the room.

”This is getting quite ridiculous, don’t you think?” Sunday then sighs as if having read your thoughts, closing his book with a dull thud.

You don’t respond to him.

”How long do you plan on drawing this out for?” he asks, propping his chin up against the back of his hand.

”For as long as it takes for you to give my clothes back”, you mumble into the mound of your knee.

”Well, you’re going to have to wait a while, then.”

”...”

You pull your thighs closer to your chest. Goosebumps are rising on your skin from the draft that occasionally breezes through the room. You could swear that the air conditioning is a tiny bit louder than usual — you wouldn’t put him above a trick like that — but then again, there’s a much more obvious reason for the chills that rake your body.

Sunday looks down at your huddled form in silence. There’s a certain tint of interest in his calculative gaze: Though you’ve never quite gotten used to the nerves that come with having his undivided attention on you, this time around, it’s even more daunting. You bring your legs closer together to make sure he isn’t seeing anything he’s not supposed to.

He stands up from his seat. The chair creaks against the floor as he sets it back under the table in his wake, and then, he makes his way to you. He kneels down to your level, not paying mind to how you pull further into yourself as he approaches.

His hand grabs your jaw, causing a yelp to slip past your teeth. The grip isn’t exactly crushing, but it’s still tight enough not to leave anything unsaid.

”You have two options”, Sunday informs you, brushing his gloved thumb over your lips. ”You may either apologize for your actions and regain your privileges, or you’re going to spend the night in the cage without the bedding. Have I made myself clear?”

You attempt to tear your face away from his hand, but he seizes you right back. Tilting your head back by your chin, he makes you look him right in the eye. Despite your initial conviction, you can’t help the way your gaze strives to stray away from his own.

”I...”

You start the sentence out of unease, not really knowing what you’re going to say, and your voice dies out after the first word. Sunday awaits for your answer with his brows raised in an expectant expression.

”Let’s hear it, then”, he encourages you.

Your gaze drifts to the corner of the metal cage that’s visible to you in the awkward position. Quickly going through your choices in your head, you contemplate whether or not you have enough willpower to sleep on the cold, hard ground for the entire night.

Though you try to repel the feeling to the best of your ability, you can’t stop the embarrassment from creeping up your neck as Sunday observes you at your most vulnerable, silently flaunting his authority over you. There isn’t a single crack to be found on his features: In this realm of things, the man simply cannot be won against.

”I’m... I’m sorry”, you whisper out an apology.

”For what?” he presses.

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. Tears of abasement prick at the corners of your eyes, and your lips purse up to a thin line. The words lodge sideways in your throat.

However, before you can even begin the process of swallowing your pride, the hand on your chin moves higher. Sunday tenderly holds your face, stroking his fingers along the curve of your cheekbone.

”I suppose that’s enough for now”, he then speaks, giving you a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ”You’re forgiven.”

Your mouth falls ajar as you’re about to question him, but at the last moment, you stop yourself. He seems to be pleased with your show of acquiescence, and he rewards you by tenderly petting the crown of your head.

”You’re quite lovely when you’re obedient, I must say”, he adds with a light, mannerly chuckle.

You don’t fall for the trap. Instead, you retreat from him, ridding yourself of his touch.

Seeing as you don’t offer him any further reaction, Sunday lets out an airy, somewhat content sigh. He proceeds to unclasp the golden brooch off his shoulder before sliding his coat down his back. He neatly folds the lavish piece of clothing over his arm before handing it to you.

You accept the gesture in a heartbeat, ditching the last bits of your fury in favour of receiving the tiniest slice of warmth in exchange. Though you see the amusement in his gaze, Sunday refrains from commenting on your actions. Instead, he stands up, briefly dusty off his pants, and turns towards the door.

”I’ll be back in a bit”, he informs you as he watches you drape his coat over your shivering body.

You don’t answer him. Relishing the residue of his warmth that lingers in the fabric, you finally allow your head to slump against your knees.

A/N

Here you go! I love you too anon, mwah (~˘▾˘)~

PLEASE excuse the fuckass title picture for Reca. I usually use the E4 pictures for the banner, but for certain reasons, that wasn't available for him, so I had to take a random quest pic of him and put a blueish filter over it. There was the same sort of a problem with Ratio as well: All of his art is nice and good, but his E4 is of him with the plastered head on and I was not gonna have that shit on the post (👁‿👁). I settled for the E3. Cheers.

Anyways, shoutout to all the darlings that know how to derive functions.

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keraawrites · 17 days ago

Text

Between friends

Summary: Eren was the popular jock, Armin was the popular nerd, and you were the only thing that mattered to them. ۶ৎ Eren x Armin x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Weed, Threesome, dom Eren, soft dom Armin, rough sex, oral (male and female), doggy, cowgirl, dirty talk, slut shaming, pet names (ma, baby, princess), overstimulating, squirting, probs more but I can't remember

Word count — 5.4k

Babble: I'm 50/50 on this one

You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone a full day without hearing Eren or Armin’s name fall out of some girl’s mouth.

And you definitely couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t in your life.

You met Armin first. You were six, he was shy and sweet, and always carrying around books too big for his backpack. Then the very next day, Eren barreled into both of your lives like a storm—loud, fast, a little reckless, but already talking about how the three of you were gonna be best friends forever like it was a promise he was born to keep.

And from then on, it was the three of you.

As different as the damn seasons, but you made it work. Armin was the calm. Eren was the chaos. You were… somewhere in the middle, orbiting around both of them, balancing out the push and pull like muscle memory.

It wasn’t a problem. Not back then.

Not until people started trying to make it one.

Because somewhere along the way, both of them had gotten hot. Not just cute, not just “glow-up in senior year” hot. No—undeniable. The type of hot that made girls change electives just to be in the same class. The type of hot that made people ask you, constantly, “Are you guys, like a thing?”

And honestly?

You still didn’t know how to answer that.

Eren was the typical kind of popular—captain of the basketball team, tall, broad, hair always falling into his eyes like he paid someone to make it messy on purpose. He was the type girls wanted to fix, which was hilarious because he didn’t want to be fixed. He liked the chaos. He liked the attention. He had a different girl on his arm every month, maybe every week, but it never meant anything.

He never brought them around you.

And then there was Armin.

Not the kind of hot that slapped you in the face—but the kind that snuck up on you. Captain of the debate team, quiet confidence, thoughtful eyes behind those wire-frame glasses. He didn’t chase attention, but it found him anyway. Girls in AP Lit would giggle every time he pushed his hair back or bit his lip in thought. He didn’t flirt the way Eren did, but he didn’t need to.

And you? You were the girl always next to them. The one who knew every version of them before the world ever cared. The one they trusted with the parts no one else got to see. You weren’t just some girl who hung around them—you were their girl. Their anchor.

And still, people couldn’t stop trying to place you into a box.

“Y’all must’ve dated at some point,” they’d say.

“C’mon, you’ve definitely hooked up with one of them…”

You’d just laugh. Shake your head. Pretend it didn’t get under your skin.

But sometimes—late at night, when it was just the three of you again, shoulders touching, conversations slow and sleepy—you’d wonder if they ever thought about it too.

"Hey girl, please tell me that Eren ain't still fucking Claire, I really need someone to break my back in tonight."

You thought you were gonna cough up blood by how hard you had to bite your tongue to stop you from lashing out at the girl.

“If I had a dime every time some girl said they wanted Eren to rearrange their spine…” You muttered, slamming your locker shut with more force than necessary.

Your friend blinked at you, unfazed. “What?”

You spun on your heel to face her. “Look, if you wanna be another notch on his belt, do you. But don’t drag me into the middle of your thirst.”

“Damn.” She raised both brows, stepping back slightly. “Relax. I was just asking.”

You crossed your arms. “You always just asking about one of them. Every week, it’s a new ‘Who’s Eren dicking down’ or ‘Is Armin still with that junior from cheer?’ Like I’m some hotline for dick updates.”

She sucked her teeth. “Girl, come off it. Don’t tell me if they weren’t your friends, you wouldn’t have let one of ‘em hit by now. Or both.”

You blinked.

Oh.

The air in the hallway shifted a little. Your heartbeat ticked up a notch, but you kept your face calm.

“Wow. Okay.”

“I’m just saying!” she defended, arms up like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade at your whole reality. “They're fine as hell. I know you’ve thought about it.”

You looked away, lips pressed tight. Thought about it? That was the problem. You’d been thinking about it too much lately.

The sleepovers had gotten more touchy over time, especially when you smoked. The idea of Eren’s rough hands on your hips or Armin’s soft lips pressed to your neck had been invading your thoughts like an uninvited guest.

But she didn’t need to know all that.

“I think about a lot of things,” you said flatly. “Doesn’t mean I act on them.”

She snorted. “Bet. But if you ever decide to, send them my way after. I’m tryna see something.”

You rolled your eyes so hard your head tilted with it. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re in denial.” She winked, then bounced off toward her class.

You stood there for a second longer, jaw locked, mind running way too fast.

Denial.

That was funny. 'Cause you were starting to think that maybe you weren’t denying anything—maybe you were just waiting for the right moment.

"I'm gonna thump Eren in his little thick skull."

You turned to face the tall blonde who leaned over you. You stared up at the freckled face who had been your best friend for 12 years now, and for the love of God, why did he have to be so attractive?

"What did Eren do now?"

"All I ask is for five minutes so I can cram for my maths test, yet he doesn't seem to understand what do not disturb means."

You giggled as you reached up to plant a kiss on the boy's cheek, like you always did. "Yet you only allow me and him to be those special ones who can bypass that special little feature."

“You two are the only exceptions,” he muttered, voice a little rougher now, a little softer too.

"Yo!” Eren’s voice bellowed from the end of the hall, snapping the moment in half like a dry twig. “Tell Armin to stop acting like a victim, bro wouldn’t even have math anxiety if he did the homework when it was assigned!”

You turned to see him stalking toward you both, wearing a smug smirk and a hoodie slung off one shoulder. A basketball perched underneath his arm, and his chain caught the light just right.

Eren finally caught up, slinging his arm around your neck without asking, dragging you into his chest as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Sup, troublemaker.”

You shoved him off with a huff, but you were grinning.

“I was minding my business 'til you interrupted my moment.”

Eren shot you both a lazy grin. “Y’all always having moments. Share the wealth.”

You rolled your eyes but your heart was racing again—and not just from Eren’s presence. Being between them like this, tangled in the easy banter and lingering looks, was familiar. But recently… it felt less friendly and more like standing too close to a fire you weren’t sure you were supposed to touch.

“I need a break from both of you,” you muttered, trying not to look too flustered as you backed up toward your next class. “You’re gonna melt my damn brain.”

“We already live there rent-free, might as well,” Eren called after you, but you just flipped him off.

Armin turned and punched the brunette in the arm, "Ow, what the fuck.?"

"For being stupid, now shut up and come on, I wanna watch her practice."

You giggled, face half-buried in your comforter, the warmth of the weed settling deep into your chest like a weighted blanket. Your legs kicked aimlessly in the air behind you, and the faint buzz of your phone matched the lazy energy of the room as you scrolled through TikTok, stopping only to laugh at something dumb that wouldn’t be funny sober.

The glow of your LED lights bathed the room in soft pinks and golds, casting everything in the kind of warmth you only ever got when it was just the three of you. Just like this.

Eren was camped out on your floor with his back against your bed, legs stretched long and wide, while his fingers flew across the controller in his lap. His tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated, muttering trash talk under his breath at whoever was on the other end of his headset.

Armin was reclined against your headboard, his long fingers typing away on his MacBook—probably editing his essay for the third time this week. Glasses sliding down his nose, the soft glow of the screen made his freckles stand out even more than usual. His knee brushed your hip every so often when he shifted, but neither of you acknowledged it.

"You know you guys didn't have to stay with me, you could have been flirting with girls at Connie's."

"Aww, mama, you know you're the only girl for us." Eren retorted from the floor, his eyes not leaving the graphics of his game.

You pulled his hair, causing him to yell out and lose the footing in his game, "Yeah right, that's why you both fuck anything that moves—"

“Oi, don’t lump me in with him,” Armin muttered, not looking up. “I have class.”

You sat up, still giggling as you faced the blonde. You held the blunt between your fingers, gesturing it towards him. Armin looked up from his laptop, his brows raised at you in question.

"Oh, come on, that essay is probably senior college grade level. Don't let me be high alone."

Armin smiled at you, his eyes looking over at Eren as he took the blunt from your fingers. He took a slow pull, exhaling thick smoke with a little grin. “Fine. But only 'cause it’s you.” You giggled, moving his laptop from his lap as you moved to sit between his legs, Armin’s arms lazily draped around your waist, his chin grazing your shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times—and he had.

"Eren, pause the damn game and come up here."

Eren smirked as he paused his game, pulling out his phone, he quickly connected to your speakers as his R&B playlist filtered through your room.

The brunette had already made himself comfortable when he came over, his jumper was gone— which you were currently drowned in, which left him in just his wife-beater, his cargos hanging low on his hips and his fingers littered with rings.

Eren placed himself on the edge of your bed, his eyes scanning over the two of you with a cocky smirk on his lips as he took the blunt from Armin's fingers.

It was always so peaceful whenever it was the three of you, Armin was always extra cuddly when he was high or not even; he always found a way to have his head on your lap or have you snuggled up against him.

Eren was the same. In his own way. He’d never say it, not in words, but the way his hand would end up resting on your thigh, or how his legs would bracket yours when you all got too close on your tiny bed—it said more than enough.

Eren passed the blunt back to you as you watched his lips part to take one last drag. You felt Armin shift behind you, his fingers trailing just under the hem of Eren’s jumper, cool against your warm skin.

"I have a question?"

Armin hummed lazily into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin. “Mm? Go ahead, princess.” You sighed a little as the sound of his voice went straight to your core.

You could feel the weight of your question before you even mumbled it out. You knew damn well you wouldn't have asked it sober, but you didn't care.

"How comes you guys never once tried to fuck me?”

The question halted everyone's movements. Armin's fingers had frozen against your skin, Eren’s body stilled instantly, his back straightening where he sat at the edge of the bed.

You didn’t take it back.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was tense. Like something had been cracked open.

Eren blinked slowly. "Say that again?"

You lifted your gaze to his, your throat tight but your voice even. “I said… how comes you guys never once tried to fuck me?”

Eren leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees as he watched you. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

"I mean, I know it has nothing to do with looks, I know I'm attractive, your friends keep trying fuck, but not you two.”

Armin’s hand moved again—this time to your waist, pulling you back into him so your spine pressed flush against his chest. His voice was quieter now, but deeper. More serious. “We didn’t know if we were allowed.”

That made your stomach flip.

“What?”

“You’re our girl,” Armin said simply, like it was a fact. “You always have been. Didn’t think we were allowed to touch without harming our friendship.”

Eren’s mouth twitched into something like a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I wasn’t about to lose you just because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.”

You sat up straighter now, questions flooding your brain, "Wait, Ren, I know you stare at my ass every chance you can get, and Armin, don't even get me started, you staring at my boobs whenever my cleavage is out. So what the fuck, one of you could have made a pass at me!”

"Yeah, I mean we're allowed to stare, but we didn't know you felt that way about us. Trust me, the reason I don't fuck that many girls as him is cause I beat my shit off to your selfies half the time." Armin said, peppering small kisses on the base of your neck, causing your eyes to flutter.

Eren watched as your body reacted to Armin's touch, the brunette licked his lips as you shifted amongst the blonde.

Damn,” Eren muttered, his voice hoarse. “You like that, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not with the way Armin was palming at your thigh now, inching higher, his breath warm against your collarbone.

You couldn’t have anticipated how quickly the mood would have shifted. You were always a little more outspoken when high.

“She’s always been sensitive,” Armin murmured, nuzzling your skin. “Especially when she’s got weed in her.”

Eren’s jaw ticked, tongue running across his bottom lip. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He leaned forward, his fingers dragging down your face, causing your eyes to flutter back open.

Eren's dark green eyes met yours, the glint in them were dangerous, he brought the blunt back to your lips, a dark smile painting his face.

"Hold it for me." You blinked up, hazy eyes meeting the brunette's in question, his eyes gestured to the blunt.

Your lips wrapped around it as Armin's tongue slid along your pulse point, teeth sinking in just enough to leave a mark. You whimpered, barely keeping the smoke in your mouth, your eyes locked on Eren’s like he was pulling it straight out of you with nothing but his stare.

Eren leaned in, one hand holding your jaw, the other bracing himself against the mattress. You exhaled slowly, lips barely brushing his, the smoke curling between you. He inhaled it greedily, his mouth ghosting over yours before pulling back with a low groan.

“Fuck, baby. You taste so good,” he rasped.

Armin’s fingers finally found the spot between your thighs, pressing through the cotton, and your hips jumped reflexively. A shaky moan escaped your lips, and Eren grinned wider.

“Rennie,” you whimpered, the nickname dripping from your tongue like honey. A wicked smirk flashed across the brunette's face, the sound of your whimper drove him crazy and he couldn't wait any longer.

His lips crashed into yours with urgency, stealing the next breath right out of your lungs. You melted into him, your fingers curling around his wrist, grounding yourself as Armin’s hand worked between your thighs with maddening patience.

The contrast was dizzying—Armin’s touch was slow and calculated, tracing circles over your clit now through the soaked fabric of your shorts, while Eren kissed like he was starving, like he needed to taste every part of you.

You gasped, breath hitching as Armin finally pushed your shorts to the side, fingertips slipping against your soaked folds. A low groan rumbled from his chest, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“She’s dripping,” he muttered, voice hoarse with disbelief and hunger.

Eren pulled back from your mouth, pupils blown wide as his gaze met Armin’s over your shoulder. His jaw clenched with restraint, breath heavy.

“Of course she is,” he said, breathless and wild. "Fucking slut has just been waiting for this to happen."

You whimpered again, your thighs trying to close around Armin’s hand, but Eren caught your knee and spread it wider, smirking as he leaned back slightly to look between your legs.

He tugged your shorts further down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him as Armin kept those fingers moving—slow, steady, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

Your head dropped against Armin’s shoulder, lips parting with a soft moan as his fingers pressed in deeper. “Shit,” you whispered, legs quivering.

Eren had moved lower, his strong hands gripping your thighs as he settled on his knees between them. His gaze locked on the way Armin’s pale fingers glided against your slick brown skin, spreading you open with casual reverence. The sight alone made his dick twitch in his cargos.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

He tugged you closer to the edge of the bed, face now inches from your pussy. His breath hit your skin, hot and shaky. He glanced up at Armin, flashing a dark, knowing smirk—then dipped his head without warning, mouth wrapping around your clit in one slow, devastating pull.

Your whole body jolted, a strangled cry falling from your lips as your hips jerked in response. Armin held you tighter, whispering something low into your neck as you writhed between them.

“Easy,” he soothed, fingers never still. “Let him taste you, baby. Been waiting long enough.”

Eren groaned against your cunt, the vibrations shooting through you like a shockwave. His tongue flicked your clit with unrelenting precision. His nose bumped your folds, his moans muffled against your soaked heat.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Sandwiched between Armin’s possessive hands and Eren’s filthy mouth, you felt like you were being devoured from both ends.

“Fuck, Min—Ren—I can’t—” you gasped, toes curling, nails digging into Eren’s shoulder and the bedsheets.

“You can,” Armin whispered against your temple, voice like velvet. “You will. Let go for us.”

Eren’s fingers joined the party then—two slipping in beside Armin’s, stretching you open as he sucked harder. The coldness of his rings had your hips lifted, thighs shaking violently as you let out a scream.

Armin gripped your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. His lips swallowed your cries as his tongue tangled with yours. The blonde moaned against your mouth as your pussy pulsed around his fingers.

When you finally came down, chest heaving, legs still twitching, Eren lifted his head, chin glistening and lips parted in awe.

Armin finally pulled away from you, your breathing laboured, breathless from the kiss and the overstimulating orgasm that just occurred.

Eren looked at Armin then, eyes wild. “Min, you gotta taste her. Swear to God—she’s the best thing I’ve ever had.”

The blonde’s glasses had slipped halfway down his nose, strands of hair sticking to his flushed cheeks. A wicked glint lit up behind those lenses as he slid his fingers out of you, coated and glistening.

With a soft groan, Armin brought them to his lips, sucking them in one at a time. His eyes fluttered closed, tongue curling around his fingers like he was savoring something decadent.

“Jesus…” he murmured, fingers slipping free with a soft, wet pop. His gaze dropped down to your trembling thighs, then crawled slowly up to your face. “Fuck, mama… can you do me a favor?”

You blinked at him, already breathless and needy.

“Wanna feel you ridin’ me while that pretty mouth of yours is wrapped around his cock,” he said, voice dripping with filth and sweetness all at once. “Can you do that for me, baby? Be good for us?”

Your eyes shifted to Eren, who was now at the side of the bed, completely stripped down—his wife-beater long gone, cargos pooled at his ankles. His hand was wrapped around his thick length, stroking slow as he watched you like he was starving.

You hadn’t even realised he’d gotten undressed. But now all you could focus on was how hard he was. How flushed the tip looked. How much you wanted him down your throat.

You nodded, lips parted, eyes still glassy from the orgasm that had just wrecked you. Armin smiled at you, a soft smile to the untrained eye, but you've known him for so long, you could see the dark mask that covered his face.

“Good girl,” he whispered, guiding you to straddle his lap as he laid back, resting against the pillows. “Come here.”

You crawled over him slowly, body still sensitive and trembling, but your core throbbed when you felt his clothed cock. Armin pulled Eren's jumper off your body, your bare tits meeting the air, causing both of them to groan.

"Help him with his clothes, baby,” Eren rasped, his hand still lazily stroking himself, the head of his cock flushed red, leaking just from watching you.

Your fingers were shaky as you reached for Armin’s shirt, tugging it up slowly, revealing his toned chest inch by inch. The second it was over his head, you shimmied down his frame, kissing across the expanse of his chest. His skin was hot under your lips, his muscles flexing slightly as your mouth dragged over him, as your fingers worked against the buckle of his belt.

“You’re so pretty,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

“Say that again,” Armin breathed, his eyes fluttering half-shut as he looked down at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Min,” you said again. You hurriedly pulled on his jeans, your actions more needy than before, your cunt wanting to be filled again.

You quickly straddled the blonde once more, Armin’s hands gripped your hips as he lined himself up with your entrance, hissing through his teeth when you sank down onto him.

“Fucking hell,” he growled, head tipping back against the pillows. “So tight. You always this perfect, baby?”

You whimpered, the stretch burning so good, your hands planted on his chest as you started to grind against him slowly, adjusting.

Eren came up beside you, his cock hard and heavy in his hand. “Damn… she’s taking you so well, Min.”

You turned to him, tongue wetting your lips, and leaned forward just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his cock. He hissed at the contact.

“Go ahead, pretty girl,” Armin urged under you, hands sliding up your thighs. “Let him fuck your throat while I fuck this little pussy.”

You moaned softly at his words, lips parting as you wrapped them around Eren’s cock. He groaned instantly, hand curling into your hair, guiding your rhythm as you slowly took more of him.

“God damn, baby,” Eren cursed, eyes fluttering shut for a second, “Mouth feels like heaven.”

Your hips began to move again, bouncing on Armin's cock while your throat swallowed more of Eren with every motion. The wet sounds of your pussy squelching around Armin mixed with the sinful drag of your mouth over Eren’s shaft.

Armin bucked up into you with more force, fingers digging into the supple of your ass cheeks as he groaned, “Fuck, fuck—just like that, mama. Use me. Shit…”

Eren’s hand tightened in your hair, his breath stuttering. “You gonna let us ruin you tonight, huh? Been waitin’ so long baby, fuck, our perfect girl.”

You moaned around him, tears already welling in your eyes from the stretch of your jaw, the fullness of your cunt, the overwhelming heat crashing into your nerves.

Armin leaned up, his mouth hot and desperate as he kissed across your chest. Then his lips found your nipple, sucking it greedily into his mouth as he moaned around it. The warm, wet pull of his lips on your sensitive skin made your back arch, your thighs trembling harder now.

“She’s gonna cum again,” he murmured against your chest, tongue flicking your nipple before he let it go with a soft pop. “Feel that pussy fluttering—fuck, she’s already close.”

And fuck, he was right, the way your gummy walls kept sucking him in, your eyes rolled back into your head as you continuously slammed down onto Armin's cock.

Eren looked down at you, his cock glistening with your spit, his jaw clenched tight. “You gonna cum while choking on my dick, princess? Gonna fall apart for both of us?”

He slipped from your mouth just long enough for you to gasp, your voice rough and strained as you nodded. “Yes—fuck—please don’t stop. Please.”

Eren’s cock tapped against your lips again, and you opened back up for him, moaning as he slid in deeper than before. Armin’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you down onto him as he thrust up into you, matching the rhythm of Eren’s strokes into your throat.

Armin's face was flushed, glasses halfway down his face. His lips parted as a long groan came out of his mouth.

You whimpered around Eren, unable to speak, every nerve in your body sparking. You clenched around Armin as your orgasm hit again, sudden and blinding. You cried out around Eren’s cock, body seizing up, thighs trembling as your release poured out of you—slick and hot as it spilled down Armin’s thighs.

“Shit, fuck—fuckkk,” Armin gasped, his head tipping back, hips jerking up hard as he came. He held you there, buried deep inside, ropes of cum spilling into your already messy cunt.

Armin gently rolled his hips, his breathing slowing, but he was still inside you, lazily grinding. “You okay, baby?” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “You did so good.”

You nodded, eyes glassy, lips swollen, still trembling as Eren moved behind you again.

You weren’t even fully down from your last orgasm before Eren lifted your hips again, carefully coaxing Armin’s softening cock out of you with a soft, wet noise. His cum leaked down your thighs, and Eren groaned at the sight.

"Fuck, mama, put that ass up for me—yeah, just like that." You couldn't even think, but your body moved on its own. Armin was still coming down from his high, but he watched as your body acted out on its own.

You didn’t even process the words—your body just obeyed, moving on instinct. Knees sinking deeper into the mattress, spine arched, cheek pressed against Armin’s chest as he lazily played with a strand of your hair, his blue eyes never left you. He watched, chest rising and falling, mesmerized by how easily you bent for them.

Eren propped one leg up on the bed behind you, hand gripping your hip as he ran the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds—dragging it slowly over your overstimulated clit. You cried out, your thighs twitching, hips jerking forward, but Eren just chuckled, holding you in place.

"Aww mama, you sensitive?" he asked, mock sympathy dripping from his tone. “Good.”

His cock was already slick with your arousal, your orgasm, and Armin’s release, making it easy for him to slide against you—teasing your entrance, letting the tip sink just barely in before pulling back out again.

You whined, burying your face into Armin’s chest. “Rennie… please.”

“Shhh,” he cooed, leaning over your back. “You’ll take me when I say you can.”

Then he shoved in with one deep, brutal stroke.

You screamed, body jolting forward, hands gripping the sheets. Eren was deep—so deep it felt like he was still in your fucking throat. The stretch burned, but it was addictive. Your eyes rolled back, your mouth dropped open as your pussy clenched hard around him.

“Shit,” Eren hissed, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re still fuckin’ pulsing. You like being used like this, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, breath catching in your throat. “Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop.”

He started to move, long, deep strokes that made the whole bed creak. Your ass rippled with every thrust, your body arching back into him like you needed him deeper. Armin slid a hand under your chin, tilting your face toward him so he could kiss you again—slow and messy, a contrast to the way Eren was fucking you raw.

“You look so good like this, princess,” Armin murmured against your lips. “So pretty when you cry.”

Eren was relentless behind you, panting now, sweat dotting his brow as his hips smacked against your ass over and over. One of his hands slid up your spine to the back of your neck, gently pressing you further into the mattress.

“You gonna give me one more?” he asked, voice tight with restraint. “Gonna let me fuck another one outta you?”

You couldn’t form words—only a ragged, choked moan as your body rocked between them. Your thighs were shaking, your breath coming in short, panicked little gasps. But your nod was enough. Your moan was enough. And your pussy squeezing around him like it didn’t want to let go? That was more than enough.

Armin had begun stroking himself softly, his hand still planted on your chin. His yes never leaving yours, his new favourite thing was to watch your face as you orgasmed.

Eren’s hands came down hard on your ass, the cool feel of the metal of his rings soothed the blow. The smirk didn’t leave his lips as his palm continued to meet your ass, the ripple of your cheeks like his own personal tidal wave.

Your nails dug into Armin’s thighs, your cries muffled as your body began to snap tight again, overstimulation pushing you to the edge faster than you could brace for.

Eren felt it—felt your walls squeezing around him like a vice. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, thrusts becoming erratic. “You’re fucking clenching—shit—fuckin’ squeeze me just like that.”

Your whole body jerked, a silent scream lodged in your throat before a broken sob of a moan spilled out of you. You collapsed forward onto Armin’s lap, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, legs quivering violently as your third orgasm slammed into you and shattered every nerve.

“F-Fuck, she's squirting—look at her,” Eren moaned, voice trembling as he fucked you through it, the sounds obscene, wet and slick and goddamn feral.

Armin let out a low laugh, pushing your hair back from your face as he kissed your temple. “Can’t get enough of you, mama. She’s soaked,” he said, voice breathless. “Fill her up Ren.”

“Shit—shit, I’m gonna cum,” Eren gritted through clenched teeth. He pulled your hips flush to his, burying himself deep one final time—and then you felt it. His release hitting hot and thick inside you, filling you up with a groan that nearly made your legs give out completely.

He stayed there, panting, bent over your back with his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. Both of you breathless, trembling, your bodies stuck together with sweat and cum and all the heat you’d been hiding from each other for so long.

When he finally pulled out, you whimpered, your body twitching from the emptiness, from the sheer overwhelming mess of it all.

Armin caught you before you could collapse, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you down gently onto the bed between them.

Eren flopped beside you, arm draped over your back. His other hand lazily traced circles into your thigh, still shining with everything they'd given you.

“You okay, baby?” Armin murmured softly, thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks.

You blinked slowly, lips parted, a dazed smile forming.

“Never better,” you whispered hoarsely.

Eren turned over, his arm looping over your waist as he planted a kiss on the back of your neck.

"Good girl, now go to sleep."

You smiled into the pillow, your body still tingling from the excessive orgasms. Now you could understand why girls never let up on the two of them.

And God help them, cause you're not letting up on them now.

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

#black fem reader #black female smut #katsuki bakugo mha #eren yeager #armin artlert #aot fanart #eren x black fem!reader #armin x black reader #eren x black!reader #eren x reader smut #armin x reader smut #aot smut #aot x black reader #eren x armin x reader

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babeyun · 9 months ago

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fool me three times... ✩ s.jy [m]

synopsis: you've come home late twice this week, and for the third time to be on jake's birthday is not as charming as they say. genre: established relationship, pwp (sigh...), angst/smut/tiny bit of fluff pairing: sim jaeyun x fem!reader word count: 3.3k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, angry?jake, mentions of jay (poor guy). petnames (baby..sir [free me!!!!]), mentions of voyeurism/3way. biting, spitting, a singular slap (below the belt), oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), squirting, degrading, no aftercare (but it's fine i promise) listen to: fallin' - dawn, pH-1 ; abyss - dawn ; meddle about - chase atlantic author's note: i wrote this on a whim, and i'm not entirely happy with it (smut is not my forte nor do i love writing it.) i'd originally planned to take one of my ideas out of the vault and write it in advance, but i got slammed with schoolwork. i am so, so tired as i write this note. happy birthday, jaeyun. i love u.

It's twelve-forty-two in the morning.

This is the third time this week that Jake finds himself sitting on the couch, alone in your shared apartment. He's turned all the lights off, legs crossed over one another as he checks his phone for the fifth time. Nothing.

He sighs inwardly, leaning further into the soft cushions of the couch. You'd picked this out together, and it was one of your favorite places to spend time together that wasn't your bedroom. The soft brown suede had seen the two of you in many situations – cuddling under a soft white blanket Jake's mom gave you for Christmas last year. Sharing a bowl of cereal because you were too lazy to get up and make your own, but you gladly stood up and refilled his bowl. Holding hands tightly when a scary scene came on the television, crashing on the couch after dancing around together to Fallin' by Dawn and pH-1.

Kissing like two desperate lovers, unable to even take your clothes off to fully feel each other's skin. This couch had seen you in every position imaginable, the cushion on the far right the usual place for your face if Jake was too excited to make it to the bedroom.

You were so busy these days. You hadn't had a date night in three weeks, hadn't had sex in two…and unfortunately – it's making him a little insane.

Recently…the couch had seen more and more of Jake, alone. Jake sitting alone, popcorn bowl in his lap as he waited for you to come home from work. Jake, laying down while wearing the oversized hoodie you'd worn the day before, engulfed in the soft grapefruit notes of your perfume. Jake, letting Layla up on the couch to snuggle with because he can't feel your warmth at that moment.

Jake, missing you.

He sighs again, flipping his phone over.

12:45AM.

No new messages from you, no missed calls. Just the soft sound of Abyss by Dawn.

Where have you gone? You were his best friend. His best friend wrapped gently in the sheets of his love, filled to the brim with his soft words and loving caresses. You were his best friend, his lover, his everything. He saw himself in you, his whole purpose was you.

"Shh, he's probably asleep." He hears your voice from the other side of the front door, before hearing you try to gently slide your key in the lock. His eyes widened, pressing pause on the song before bolting for the bedroom. He doesn't make it in time, the door opening and his ears picking up on a familiar laugh.

Jay.

"Jongseong, for the love of God." You grit, and Jake watches as the two of you carefully toe off your shoes, loads of bags in your hands as Jay snickers to himself, carefully tiptoeing to the kitchen in the dark. The hallway light illuminates the back of you, and you suddenly stiffen, lifting your head to meet Jake's eyes.

He scoffs inwardly, watching as you try to fumble with the lightswitch in the living room just as he slides into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He locks it, hearing you start an argument with Jay in the kitchen as you shut the front door.

Unfortunately, Jake only stews in his anger. He doesn't know why you're late today, but it seems Jay has your attention more than your boyfriend does. Your boyfriend of three years, pushed to the side the day before (and day of) his birthday for a friend you made through Jake.

Jake flips onto the bed, a frustrated groan from his lips as he hears the two of you rustling around in the kitchen. The fact that you haven't even come to the bedroom to let him know that you're home is even more infuriating, and Jake feels his throat start to burn as he holds back angry tears.

Jake had always been good at setting boundaries and putting feelings first, despite being somewhat of a more logical thinker. You were an incredibly emotional person, hidden behind layers of shitty relationships and hurtful friendships, was your tired heart trying to patch itself up. Jake knew that if it was him that did this – not texting you when he'd be home late, letting you agonize over your whereabouts, coming home with one of your friends in tow and giggling like they had some sort of secret…

You'd make a fucking scene.

But Jake can't bring himself to do that. Even in all his anger, his frustration…his hurt, he can't confront you like that. It's not fair, to either of you (or Jay, but who's talking about that guy right now? Not Jake.)

He takes a deep breath, feeling a tear slip down the side of his face. He wipes it away quickly, only standing up from the bed to unlock the door. He takes your hoodie off, the grapefruit perfume making his chest ache. He knows you could just be planning a surprise for him. He knows that, but his mind can't help but wonder as he pulls back the comforter.

Why three late nights, in one week? Why no messages, why no phone calls? You wouldn't even kiss him hello when you arrived, just a tired smile and a soft hey. Your hair was always in disarray, and he knew it was because you liked to drive with the windows down. He knew that.

Sighing, he slips under the covers, facing away from the door. He hears you laugh loudly, before hearing your soft footsteps make their way to the bedroom. He wipes at his eyes, feeling a few more tears trickle down his fingers as he hears the door open gently.

He doesn't turn to face you, instead choosing to squeeze his eyes shut when he hears you sigh gently.

"I know you're awake." You murmur, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't turn around, choosing to breathe through his mouth to hide the fact that your behavior drove him to tears. You click your tongue, and he hears the zipper of your pants. You're moving around, undressing from the pretty pink blouse and grey slacks he chose for you that morning.

He pulls the covers up further, covering his bare shoulders before feeling your hand on the back of his neck. Your fingertips are warm, your thumb gently circling his pulse point. "Jake." "What?" He mutters, the bite of his tone not going unnoticed. You sigh, and he peels open one eye to look up at you. "What, Y/N?" He sees your eyes scan his face, before your hand on his neck gives a soft squeeze. "I love you." He doesn't like how quickly the knot in his stomach goes away at your words, or the way you can tell his cheeks and ears are tinging pink. He scoffs, closing his eye and moving from your touch. "I love you, too. Keep it down."

"Mmh." You hum in response, but he feels your hand card through his hair. He huffs, before feeling your lips press gently on his temple. "I miss you, my baby." You say against his skin, and pull away entirely. He hears you open his dresser drawer, and the rustling of his clothing being pulled onto your body. He opens his eyes to see you tug on a random shirt of his, pulling your hair out of the neckline before opening the door.

"Y/N, where is your butter?!" Jay calls, and you quickly shut the door, scampering down the hall.

He can hear the two of you bickering before you groan frustratedly, and he can hear Jay say he's going to the store. You argue that you don't even really need the butter for the cake, but Jay's words take Jake by surprise.

"Maybe go spend some time with him while I'm out of here. You know, I love you because you're my friend, but you're really dense today. Sometimes your boyfriend just needs you."

You didn't reply, or at least Jake doesn't think you did as he hears the door open and close. He hears you groan, and he's out of bed before he can even realize it. He grabs the hoodie back off the top of the dresser, shoving his head through it before yanking the door open.

"Y/N." He calls from the threshold of the bedroom, and you poke your head out of the kitchen. Your eyes are wide, but he can see how tired you are by the bags under your eyes. You probably took it off during your overtime, you'd been doing that a lot lately.

He sighs, closing the bedroom door behind him as he walks towards the kitchen. You step out, shaking your head. "You can't go in there, Jake. I'm…we…" "I'm just going to get the butter for you." He rolls his eyes, pushing past and looking away from all the stuff on the counter – but not before catching a glimpse of baby blue frosting in a bag. There were egg cartons stacked neatly, and three gallons of milk. Too many bags of flour to count, and Jake opens the freezer to pull out the butter he'd put up there earlier.

He'd gone grocery shopping by himself, because you weren't able to get off work. He wasn't upset about it, but he remembers you liked to freeze the butter until you had to use it. He doesn't remember why, but the habit stuck with him.

Just like all of your other little habits.

Your eyes are wide as he slides it onto the island, before worming back out of the kitchen. He doesn't say anything to you, only slinking past your tired shoulders when you manage to grab his fingers. He stops in his tracks, sighing as you skirt around to face him. He looks down at you, a tense clench in his jaw as he moves his brows in query.

"Don't be mad." You breathe, both your hands now holding his wrist and fingers. Your eyes search his face, finding the anger in the twitch of his brows before he shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm just tired." "I'm tired too, but I'm not looking at you like that." Jake feels his head swim as he takes in the tinge of guilt in your voice. He knows you're trying to do something nice for him, even if you're shitty at keeping secrets. He knows you're not doing anything to hurt him, you just have a horrible way of executing things.

He appreciates you nonetheless, because he knows that you're trying your best. Your schedule is jam-packed – your days are long and frustrating, full of people that need your help constantly, full of you having to make decisions for everyone else.

Jake being someone who values quality time clashed with that. He remembers how he'd squeeze in seeing you during your lunch break when you first started dating, just to have a moment alone. He remembers even waking up early to drive to your old apartment and sit in your bedroom while you got ready for work, just for a chance to give you a good morning kiss.

He made time. You're making time.

"I'm sorry." You speak again, your hands squeezing his arm lightly. "Yeah?" He shakes his head, but you nod quickly, your hands floating to his face.

"I am, I'm sorry. I know I should be–" "Prove it." He cuts you off, his face just inches from yours. Your eyes are glued to his lips, before they flicker up to his. He furrows his eyebrows at you expectantly, your tongue wetting your own lips just slightly. "How?" "You know how." His response is curt, and you swallow hard. "...Can I kiss you?" He doesn't respond, opting to answer physically. His lips press to yours gently, hands snaking around your waist to pull you closer to him. He craved your presence, in any way he could have it. He feels you sigh into his mouth as his fingers slip under your shirt, pinching at the soft skin.

"Bedroom." You mumble against his lips, and he shakes his head. "Right here." His lips move down your jaw, before his teeth catch your earring, tugging it gently. You groan as his hands move under your sweatpants, palming at your ass as you struggle to speak. "Jay-" He growls against your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin before running his tongue over it. "I don't give a shit about Jay. We can give him a show if he wants to watch."

He reconnects your lips, tongue sliding into your mouth as he moves the two of you back to the couch. His fingers push your sweatpants down as the back of your legs hit the cushion, and you look over at the door, seeing it slightly ajar and unlocked. "The door–" "Fuck the door." He groans, tugging your underwear down in one go. He pushes you gently back against the couch before kneeling in front of you, tugging the clothing off your bottom half before yanking you closer to him by your ankle. You yelp before feeling him bite at your inner thigh. "Jake!" "That's for being late on Monday." He mutters, before sinking his teeth into your other thigh, a whimper from your throat catching his attention. "That's for being late on Thursday." "I'm sorry, I was just–" "I don't want to hear it." He interrupts, shrugging. He lowers his head again, watching you brace yourself for the sharp pain of his teeth, smiling to himself before spitting on your pussy. You jolt, but can't say anything as he quickly drags his tongue through your slit. He laps at you like a dog, messily collecting your arousal on his tongue as you breathe heavily.

His nose bumps your clit as he avoids touching it with his tongue entirely, opting to thrust the wet muscle into your hole as you whine his name out desperately. "J-Jake, please, I'm sorry–" He pulls away, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he runs the tips of his cold fingers through your folds. "You know, you could've texted me."

You shudder as his thumb makes contact with your clit, the pressure light as he circles it. "I know, Jakey, I'm–" "Or called. I paid the phone bill, and I got the confirmation email. Your phone works." He interjects, nodding his head as he eases the tip of his middle finger into you, smiling to himself as your head lolls back. "I'm sorry." You breathe out, Jake's finger curling inside you to brush that spot that makes your eyes roll. He only hums in response, feeling you cover his hand in your arousal as he slowly adds another finger, relishing in the wet sound of your pussy against his hand. "You're going to prove it to me, right? Gonna cum all over my hand, right? That's all you're good for, anyway." His tone is condescending, making you clench around his fingers. His eyes widen, before a low chuckle slips through his lips. "You like that? Being nothing but a hole for me to use?" You whimper, hiding your face in your hands as your hips meet Jake's fingers, only for his hand to slip out and land a sharp smack against your clit. You gasp, your legs threatening to close as Jake bullies his shoulders between them, his fingers slipping back into you with practiced ease.

"You can't call, you can't text, and now you can't speak. Forgive me for thinking your brain would work for anything." He rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush at his own words. The two of you had never explored this, only sweet nothings and soft praises expressed between you, even a soft slut thrown in if the night was especially raunchy.

"I'm sorry, Jake, I'm sorry." Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, and he scoffs against your skin. "Yeah, yeah."

He lowers his head, lips latching onto your swollen clit. His eyes flutter shut at the taste of you, his knees weak at the idea of having gone so long without it. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he curls his own upwards, the tug of yours making him moan into your wet cunt. Soft gasps of don't stop hitting his ears, and he knows he should be upset at you but it would take an entire army to pry him off you at that moment.

He feels you clamp down on his fingers, your back arching off the couch as he feels your release soak his face and hoodie, dripping down his fingers onto the carpet. He slurps at you eagerly, his fingers overstimulating you as you try to pull him away by his hair. "J-Jake, s'too much…" You trail off, not able to finish your sentence as he tongues at your clit with vigor, your thighs clamping shut around him. "One more, c'mon. One more, show me how sorry you are."

He hears you cry his name out softly, eyes looking up to see your head thrown back against the couch, chest moving up in shallow breaths. He kisses up your stomach, nipping as he moves up, his fingers never slowing their pace as he pushes your shirt up with his free hand, cool fingers palming at your chest. His fingers gently toy with your nipple, a soft groan from you as your thighs start to shake a bit harder.

"You're sorry, right?" He lifts himself to meet your face, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you nod. "You'll call or text when you're going to be late, right, angel?" "Yes." You whisper as his lips ghost over yours. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir." Your eyes flutter shut, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Open."

Your lips part with a pathetic whimper of his name, before he gracefully spits onto your tongue. His lips press to yours quickly, suppressing your moans as his fingers pick up their pace, feeling your release drip all over his hand and the couch. "I love you, okay? I just get worried." His mumbles are soft in comparison to the degrading words he'd said earlier, and you can't bring yourself to speak back as you nod against his lips. You kiss him back slowly, putting all your energy into it. "I'm sorry." "It's okay. Are you okay? Let me get a towel, okay?"

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair and holding him close. His fingers slip out of you, a dull ache between your thighs as he taps your knee. "Baby, c'mon." "Please." You murmur against his lips, and he feels a flustered smile taking over as he shakes his head. "Jay'll be back soon–"

"Oh, come on." Jay's voice rings through the air, and Jake looks up to see the guy covering his eyes as he runs into the kitchen. Jake's ears burn in embarrassment, only to feel you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. "Please, Jakey." "Jay–" "You said you didn't care earlier. Why do you care now?" You pout, canting your hips against the tent in his shorts, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lip tucked between his teeth. "You're so–" "Can you guys please take it elsewhere?" Jay whines from the kitchen, and you snort. Jake sighs inwardly, awkwardly rooting around for your sweatpants before finding them just beneath him, entirely soaked.

"Fuck." He shoves the material up your legs anyway, before wrapping your legs around his waist, lifting you up carefully as Jay peeks out the kitchen. "I assume I'm in here alone for the rest of the night?" You smile at him over Jake's shoulder, "Unless you want to join."

Jake stops, looking over his shoulder at one of his oldest friends. Jay's face looks a bit conflicted, his brows furrowed but cheeks pink with embarrassment. Jake's throat clearing garners the older man's attention, a small smile on Jake's lips.

"You wouldn't say no to your best friend on his birthday, would you?"

2K notes · View notes

lila-lou · 17 days ago

Text

✨Dywmtcoaeyptycomf✨

Summary: You meant to text your best friend a snarky rant about Dean Winchester and his classic “wyd” bullshit — but you accidentally sent it to him instead. Now he’s at your door, all smug grin and filthy promises, acting like your typo was a summons… and maybe it was.

(Do you want me to come over and eat your pussy til' you cum on my face)

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 4638

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

You laid on your bed in your apartment, finally done studying for the brutal exam waiting for you tomorrow. Your head throbbed a little from the hours of cramming, highlighter stains on your fingers and a cold half-drunk coffee sitting on your nightstand. Just as you were about to toss your phone across the room to avoid doom-scrolling, the screen lit up.

Dean: Hey Dean: wyd

You groaned out loud, flopping your head back against the pillow. Of course. Dean freaking Winchester. Your on-and-off, mostly-off situationship. The king of mixed signals. The man who could go from making you feel like the only girl in the world to ghosting you like you were just another bar hookup.

You stared at his message for a second, thumb hovering over the screen. It had been weeks since you'd even seen him. Weeks since he ghosted you again after that night you swore was different. And now here he was, dropping in with the classic "wyd" like he hadn’t disappeared like a vampire at dawn.

Your blood simmered. You unlocked your phone, already tapping over to your best friend's chat to complain. Your fingers flew over the screen.

You: Why is it always 'wyd' instead of 'hey, dywmtcoaeyptycomf'.

You smirked to yourself, satisfied with the sarcasm and the ridiculous acronym.

But then, your stomach dropped.

You didn’t send it to your best friend. You sent it… to Dean.

Your heart stopped. Your eyes widened. Your fingers hovered over your screen like you could somehow drag the message back into the void. The read receipt appeared. Then the little typing bubble blinked mockingly on your screen, like it knew exactly how screwed you were. You sat up in bed, heart racing, stomach doing flips.

Dean: Damn, sweetheart… that an invite or a cry for help?

You stared at the message, heat rushing straight to your cheeks—and between your legs, annoyingly enough. You hated that he had this effect on you. That just a few words could send your brain spiraling into memories of his mouth, his hands, that cocky smirk right before he ruined you on your couch last time.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

Dean: You tryna tell me you’ve been thinking about my face between your thighs, huh?

You bit your lip, trying to decide between blocking him or throwing your phone across the room. Neither seemed productive.

Dean: “Cum on my face”, huh? That what you want baby?

You groaned out loud, flopping back on the bed and covering your face with both hands.

Dean: You know all you had to do was ask, right? I got time tonight. Got the mouth. Got the stamina. Hell, I’ve got the memory of how sweet you taste

You snapped your phone shut, tossing it beside you like it was cursed. But not even thirty seconds later, it vibrated again.

Dean: Put something cute on. Or don’t. I’ll be there in twenty. You better still be wet from typing that out.

You blinked at the message, pulse thudding in your throat. He was serious. He was actually coming over.

Your first instinct was to text back something witty, maybe reclaim some of the control he’d just ripped away with a few filthy words. But your fingers wouldn’t move. Your brain was still short-circuiting from the very real memory of his mouth on you and the way he used to look up while making a mess of your body like he was addicted.

You kicked off your blanket and stood up, pacing. You weren’t gonna get ready. That was the line you drew, right? He doesn’t get the effort. Not after the last time he disappeared like you were just another stop on his way through town.

Except…

You caught your reflection in the mirror. Hair a mess. Faded college hoodie. Boyshorts. No bra. And despite everything, your nipples were already hard.

You groaned at yourself and grabbed the hoodie’s hem, tossing it off and changing into a tank top. Still casual. Still chill. Totally not trying too hard. Even if you definitely spritzed perfume at your neck before collapsing back onto the bed, pretending like you weren’t waiting.

Fourteen minutes later—yes, you checked—there was a knock at your door.

You opened it, and there he was.

“Hey”, he said, voice low, eyes scanning you from head to toe like you were the first drink of water after a hunt in the desert. “That acronym thing… you always talk to your friends like that?”.

You crossed your arms, leaning on the doorframe. “Only when my brain’s short-circuiting from lack of sex and poor life decisions”.

Dean’s smirk deepened, that slow, lazy curve of his mouth that made your thighs tense on instinct. He didn’t wait for permission… of course he didn’t. He just stepped past you like he owned the place, brushing against your shoulder as he did, the heat of his body trailing after him like smoke.

He dropped his jacket onto the back of a chair, casually, like he hadn’t just ghosted you for weeks. Like this was normal. Like you were the one who couldn’t stay away.

“I mean”, he said, glancing over his shoulder at you, “I always knew you were dirty, sweetheart, but damn. That message? Whole new level. Not that I’m complaining”.

You shut the door behind him but didn’t follow right away. You were trying to hold onto the anger. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to be the girl who rolled her eyes, told him to get lost, who didn’t let her knees go weak every time he looked at her like that.

But then he turned around fully, arms loose at his sides, eyes all heat and hunger.

“You really haven’t been touched since the last time I had my hands on you?”, he asked, voice lower now, like a secret. “No one’s made you come since me?”.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He already knew the answer, of course he did. That was the whole problem. He always knew.

He walked toward you, slow, measured steps that made your breath catch. You didn’t move, didn’t say anything. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. But he stopped just inches from you, close enough for you to smell the leather and whiskey on his skin.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about you”, he said, one hand lifting to brush his knuckles along your jaw. “That mouth of yours. That attitude. That pussy”. His voice dipped again, practically a growl. “You really sent me that by accident?”.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Dean never did when he already knew it.

His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, gripping just firm enough to send a jolt down your spine. And then, without a word, he spun you around and walked you backward toward the couch, his mouth a breath away from yours, eyes locked on yours like you were prey and he’d just decided to devour you.

You barely had time to gasp before he grabbed your waist and lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing—dropping you onto the couch like you belonged there. Like he’d pictured it every damn night he was gone.

“You know”, he said, voice low and curling like smoke around your skin, “I read that message and nearly drove off the road”.

He knelt in front of you, hands sliding up your thighs with maddening slowness, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just inside your legs.

“You wanna know the worst part?”, he murmured, head tilting slightly as his fingers teased the hem of your shorts. “I could smell you in my memory. Could practically taste you when I read it”.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest. Every muscle in your body buzzed, already aching, already on edge.

Dean’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and underwear all at once, dragging them down in one slow, deliberate motion. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, like he was memorizing every reaction, every twitch of your lips, every hitch in your breath.

“Fuck, look at you”, he muttered, almost to himself, voice thick with hunger. “Already wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet”.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Your brain tried to catch up, tried to remind you that you were supposed to be mad, supposed to keep some distance. But the moment the cool air hit your skin and Dean leaned in, all rational thought vanished.

“You were gonna send that dirty little code to your friend”, he said, lowering himself between your legs, his breath hot against your bare skin. “Instead, you sent it to the one guy who knows exactly what to do with it”.

Your thighs trembled slightly as he kissed the inside of one, dragging his mouth slowly up toward the ache building between them.

You tried to speak, to toss something smart back, maybe call him an egotistical bastard, but then his mouth met you. Heat. Tongue. Pressure. All at once.

You gasped, back arching off the couch, one hand flying to his hair before you could stop yourself. Words dissolved on your tongue, your whole body tightening, desperate for more.

Dean groaned low in his throat like you were the best thing he’d tasted in years, his mouth working you open with the kind of skill that only came from knowing someone, every gasp, every twitch, every spot that made your legs shake.

“I missed this”, he murmured against you between strokes of his tongue, voice rough and reverent. “Missed the way you sound when you try not to beg”.

Your fingers twisted in his hair as another moan slipped out, loud and unfiltered, and you felt him smirk against your skin.

“Yeah”, he said, lips brushing your clit again. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me what I came for”.

Your legs still trembled, your hips moving on instinct, chasing every flick and swirl of his tongue. Dean wasn’t gentle. He never was when he got like this. He was hungry, possessive, like he needed to make you fall apart just to prove that he still could. That no matter how many days or weeks he disappeared, your body would still remember him.

And fuck, it did.

His tongue pressed firm circles against your clit, then shifted lower, teasing and tasting, sucking you in like he was starving. You let out a broken moan, one hand clawing at the cushion behind your head, the other still tangled in his hair, holding him there like letting go would break you in half. “Dean—”, you tried to say, the word catching in your throat.

“Mmm?”, he hummed, not pausing for a second, tongue plunging deeper, and the vibration of his voice against you made you cry out again.

“I—fuck—Dean, I was—gonna—”. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say anymore. Apologize for the message? Warn him you were close? Beg him to never stop? All of it blurred into heat and pressure and the wet sound of him devouring you like he couldn’t get enough.

He pulled back just slightly, lips slick, eyes dark and wild as they met yours. “You were gonna what?”, he rasped, voice wrecked with want. “Gonna tell me to stop? Or were you about to fall apart for me like a good girl?”.

Before you could even try to answer, he dipped down again, mouth relentless now. His grip tightening on your thighs, holding you wide open like he dared you to close them.

Your stomach coiled tight, back arching as the wave built, your breath coming in sharp, helpless gasps. You could hear yourself moaning his name over and over, could feel the burn start to crest.

“Come on, baby”, he growled, barely pulling back, lips dragging across your clit with every word. “Wanna feel you come on my fuckin’ face”.

That was it.

Your body snapped, legs locking around his shoulders as the orgasm crashed through you like lightning. You cried out, no control left, your fingers gripping him so tight your knuckles ached. He groaned against you like he could drink it all in, like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him breathing.

He didn’t stop until your hips twitched, until your thighs trembled from oversensitivity, until you whimpered his name like a plea. Then finally he pulled back, mouth glistening, chest heaving. He looked up at you like you were something sacred and wrecked at the same time.

And he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that cocky, devastating grin returning. “Tastes even better than I remember”.

You could barely breathe, head spinning, chest rising and falling like you’d just run miles.

The second Dean saw the way your body trembled, how you were still catching your breath, he moved. His hands slid under your thighs and he pulled you toward the edge of the couch, eyes never leaving yours. He wasn’t done.

You barely had time to blink before he flipped you onto your stomach, the worn fabric of the couch pressing against your chest. You gasped, both from surprise and the raw ache still echoing between your legs. His hands gripped your hips like they were his to hold, to claim, to keep.

You heard the distinct clink of his belt being unbuckled with one hand, unhurried, confident, like he’d done this a thousand times in his head since the last time. The other hand didn’t leave your body. His fingers slid between your thighs, dragging through the mess he’d made of you, and then pressing inside. Slow, deep and deliberate.

“Still so tight”, he muttered, almost to himself, voice rough with restraint. “Still fuckin’ perfect”.

Your fingers curled into the couch cushions, hips twitching as he tested your reaction with each slow curl of his fingers. You whimpered at the fullness, at the familiar stretch, the unbearable pace. He didn’t move quickly. Not yet. He was savoring it. Savoring you.

Then you felt his body close behind you, his chest warm against your back as he leaned down, breath hot at your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this”, he whispered, voice like gravel, “every damn night I was gone. And I’m not stopping ‘til you forget how to say anything but my name”.

You felt the blunt pressure of him pressing against you, slow and unrelenting.

Dean didn’t rush. He never did at first, not with you.

He knew your body. Knew the way your breath caught when he pushed in inch by inch, knew how to keep his voice low and steady as he filled you, letting you feel every stretch, every second.

“Shhh”, he murmured, more to soothe than to tease. “I got you”.

You gripped the cushion tighter, breath catching hard in your throat as he eased himself inside, slow, deep and patient. Your body ached in the best way, adjusting around the thick, familiar stretch of him. You swore he filled you deeper than anyone ever had, like he was built just for this. Just for you.

Dean exhaled hard, jaw clenched behind you. “So fuckin’ tight”, he rasped, his voice catching like the control he always kept so tightly wound around himself was starting to fray.

The first few thrusts were shallow, careful, just enough to keep you feeling him, to keep you open and wanting more. He rolled his hips slowly, one hand sliding up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, holding you down gently like he couldn’t trust himself not to go harder yet.

You moaned, soft and shaky, already melting under him, already gone.

“Tell me you missed this”, he growled, hips barely moving, just enough to tease, to keep the edge right in reach. “Tell me you missed me”.

You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But the moment he bottomed out—deep and possessive—you shattered anyway.

“Dean”, you breathed. “Fuck—yes”.

He grinned, low and wicked against your skin, bending to kiss your shoulder as he started to move. And once Dean felt your body fully yield to him, once you gasped his name and arched into his touch like you needed more, everything shifted.

The patience was gone.

His hand pressed firmer between your shoulder blades, keeping you right where he wanted you as his hips snapped forward, harder now. No more slow, teasing rhythm. He drove into you with a rough, punishing pace that made the couch creak beneath you and the air punch from your lungs.

You cried out, half his name, half a sound you couldn’t control, fingers clawing at the cushion for any kind of grounding as he fucked you deep enough to feel in your spine.

“That what you needed?”, he grunted, voice strained with pleasure. “This what you were thinkin’ about when you sent that little text?”.

Each thrust drove that question deeper than his words. And the worst part? You loved it. You always had.

You’d forgotten how he could wreck you like this, how good it felt when he let go, when he got rough. Rough enough to bruise, to leave reminders. To make sure you’d still feel him days later every time you moved.

“Look at you”, he rasped, reaching down to grip your hip tighter, pulling you back to meet every thrust. “So fuckin’ desperate for it. You missed getting ruined, didn’t you?”.

You couldn’t even speak, you just moaned, body singing with each sharp snap of his hips, the burn, the stretch, the heat too much and still not enough.

Dean groaned low and deep behind you, his rhythm slamming into you harder now, sharp and relentless. “You think anyone else can fuck you like this?”, he growled. “Think they know how to break you open and still make you feel every second of it?”.

He was relentless now, hips snapping into you with the force of everything he’d held back. Every mile on the road, every sleepless night, every moment he’d thought about you with his fist wrapped around his cock and nothing but memory to keep him company.

“You close?”, he rasped, breath hot against your back. “Tell me, sweetheart. Let me hear it”.

You nodded, barely able to gasp, “Dean—yes—I’m gonna—”.

He grabbed your hips harder, his fingers digging into your skin like he wanted to brand you, like he wanted you to remember. And you would.

“Come for me”, he growled, voice full of grit and want.

And you did. You shattered, loud and raw, body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you, dragging a ragged cry from your throat. Your walls clenched hard around him, pulling him deeper, keeping him there as you came undone. He groaned, his rhythm faltering as your body milked him mercilessly.

“Fuck—fuck”, he growled, slamming into you with one, two, three final brutal thrusts before he buried himself deep and let go.

His whole body tensed behind you, low, guttural sounds tearing from his throat as he spilled into you, holding you against him like the world was ending. His hips jerked once more, slower now, riding the wave as he emptied everything he had, every ache, every thought of you, into the heat of your body.

You collapsed forward, breathing hard, your skin flushed and damp, Dean’s weight pressing against your back as he rested there for a long moment, catching his breath.

No words. Just the sound of both your hearts trying to slow down and the scent of sweat and skin.

Dean stayed there for a beat longer, still buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as both of you tried to remember how to breathe. His hands had softened on your hips, no longer gripping, just holding, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Then, with a low, exhausted breath, he finally pulled back, your body twitching slightly at the sensitivity. He groaned under his breath and straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders like every muscle in his back had locked up.

“Fuckin’ shit”, he muttered, voice still rough, winded. “Gimme a second. Legs don’t work right now”.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You were limp across the cushions, cheek pressed into the throw pillow, hair sticking to your face, body still buzzing and sore in the best way.

Dean turned slightly, one hand blindly reaching behind him, patting across the surface of your coffee table like a man on a mission. He didn’t even look.

“Where the hell—ah”, he said, fingers landing on the tissue box like it was a well-rehearsed part of the routine. Which, let’s be honest—it kind of was by now.

You snorted weakly into the pillow. “Do you even know how depressing it is that you know exactly where those are without looking?”.

He gave a soft, cocky laugh behind you as he pulled out a couple of tissues, doing his best with the cleanup despite still being half-bent and unsteady. “Not depressing,” he said. “Efficient”.

You rolled onto your side, finally managing to lift your head to look at him. He was flushed, hair a mess, breathing a little harder than he wanted to admit and somehow still looked unfairly good.

He caught your eye and grinned, that lazy, post-orgasm smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. Routine means practice. And practice makes—”.

“Shut up”, you muttered, tossing a pillow at him.

He caught it one-handed, laughing as he leaned down and kissed your shoulder. Quieter now, softer. A beat passed. Then, voice low, more serious than before, he added, “You okay?”.

You nodded.

But it didn’t escape either of you that there was still one thing left hanging in the air. Are you staying this time?

You opened your mouth to ask the question that had been burning in the back of your throat since the moment he walked through your door.

But before the words could find a way out, Dean was already moving. He finished buckling his belt with a soft metallic clink, fingers a little slower than usual, like the effort had finally caught up with him. Then he dropped down beside you on the couch with a satisfied grunt, legs spread, one arm slung across the back behind you.

He was quiet for a second, eyes on the ceiling. Then he reached over without looking and handed you your underwear, dangling them from two fingers like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Here. Your dignity”, he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You took them, lips quirking into a tired smile, and started to sit up, still sore and loose-limbed and very aware of how thoroughly ruined you were. But the question was still there, heavy in your chest.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, leaned his head back, and then turned toward you.

“You hungry?”, he asked suddenly, eyes softer than they’d been all night. “I’m starving. Could go for, like… six slices of pizza and a beer. Or whatever’s in that drawer you pretend is a pantry”.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Not just by the question, but by how he asked it. Like it meant more than just food. Like he wasn’t thinking about his boots or his keys or the next town.

He tilted his head toward you, watching your expression. “What?”, he said, a little more careful now. “Can’t a guy want carbs after blowing your mind?”.

You bit your lip. “Are you… staying?”.

Dean didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you. Really looked at you. Then he nodded once, slow. Not dramatic. Not some big romantic declaration. “Yeah”, he said simply. “Think I am”.

And just like that—without a speech, without a promise—he leaned forward, grabbed your TV remote, and added, “Hope you’ve still got that dumb baking show saved. I need background noise while I inhale half your fridge”.

And somehow, that meant more than any “I missed you” ever could.

Somewhere between slice five and six of what was technically a “large” pizza (but was clearly not large enough for Dean Winchester), he’d finally leaned back, stomach full, eyes on the TV as some overly enthusiastic British baker explained the difference between genoise and sponge.

You hadn’t even realized his arm had slipped around your shoulders until you shifted slightly and felt the warmth of him tucked there, casual, natural, like he belonged.

And for once, he hadn’t bolted. Hadn’t made a joke about needing to hit the road or hinted at unfinished business back in some random motel three states away.

He was still here.

You were full, warm, and… content. Which was dangerous. You knew that. Dean Winchester wasn’t built for comfort or consistency. He was fire and highway dust and a thousand sharp edges. But tonight? He was also the guy sitting beside you on your couch, stealing your slices from the pizza box and watching your dumb show like it was a out of space experience.

Your phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down and there it was.

Dean: dywmtcoaeyptycomf

You stared at it. Then looked up at him.

Dean was already grinning like the absolute little shit he was, the same grin that got him out of trouble and into your bed far too often. He didn’t even pretend to be innocent, just lifted one eyebrow and wiggled the phone

“Really?”, you said, deadpan, holding up your phone like evidence in a trial. “That’s what you’re doing now?”.

Dean just grinned wider, the very picture of smug satisfaction. “Hey, you started it. I’m just committing to the bit”.

You opened your mouth to fire back something sarcastic, but before the words even formed, Dean was already moving.

“Okay, come on”, he said, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with zero grace and slipping his arms beneath your thighs and back in one fluid motion.

“Dean—what the hell are you—Dean!”.

Too late. He hoisted you up effortlessly, ignoring your squirming as he walked down the hall like a man on a mission.

“Gotta make good on the acronym, sweetheart”, he said, mouth by your ear, voice full of teasing heat. “Wouldn’t want you going to bed without a proper send-off”.

“You are impossible”, you groaned, clinging to his shoulders, half-laughing despite yourself.

“Yeah”, he said, nudging the door to your room open with his foot. “But you love it”.

He laid you down on the bed, slow and deliberate, hovering over you with that damn smirk softening into something else, something quieter.

And then, with the kind of wicked promise only Dean Winchester could pull off, he added, “That exam tomorrow? You're not waking up for it”.

You should have pushed him off. Should have told him how mad you’d be when your alarm came and went unanswered. But instead, you pulled him down with you.

Because tonight, he stayed. And somehow, that meant everything.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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#jensen ackles #deanwinchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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lambcultist · 2 months ago

Text

in bloom. 𝐸.𝒲.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ ellie is struggling to come to terms with the reality of her immunity, and you are struggling with heeding everyone's warnings about her.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ MINORS DNI ( 18+ ) mean!jackson!ellie x shy!sweetheart!reader. ellie is the local bitch in town, reader the sweetheart. canon divergence. ellie is struggling a lot with depression, insecurity, worthlessness, panic attack. mentions of reckless behaviour due to said mental health issues. heavy mention of ellie's difficulty regarding her and joel's relationship. reader is extremely shy. awkward x awkward tbh. probably lots of secondhand embarrassment. lots of pining, slow burn. hurt / comfort. some angst. explicit death, infection, killing, etc. tooth-rotting fluff and some cliche. lots of canon elements skewed and played with to fit the mean trope, though she's barely even 'mean', she's just misunderstood. follows ellie's pov more. protective + jealous ellie... cat mentioned. dina and jesse are dating. ellie has pollen allergies. pet names (baby girl, kitten, darling). sex — dom!ellie, sub!reader. virginity loss. oral + fingering (r), tribbing. reader cums prematurely and is insecure/embarrassed. lots of praise.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ omg !! i've been working on this for so long. i'm so happy with how she's turned out. it's a long one, so, strap in. there's a bit of a bigger focus on exploring ellie's point of view as i wanted to focus on her emotional state. all in all, i feel so sad for my girl, like, she feels worthless and that's not okay. so i wanted to write about her realising she means something to someone. you can also read on ao3.

　　　　m.list　wc — 18.4k　mdni, please ♡

　　　　　　　　　WINTER.

"aww, grumpy decided to show face."

with a soft rolling of her eyes, ellie purses her lips and lets out a sigh. she could recognise the voice anywhere, jesse's remarks so typical and yet never any less annoying.

"yeah, well i'm regretting it," ellie replies, glancing up at her friend. "i hate these things."

"that would be because you're a lonely sack of shit," jesse points out.

to that, ellie just scoffs and looks into her half-empty glass, the amber liquid swirling as her thoughts often do. the string lights above twinkle like stars, and the room is alive, so alive, with laughter and love. it's all what ellie wishes she had, along with the ability to forget about life's burdens for even a few hours. she fucking wishes it were possible for her.

from the children outside pretending to be the most gruesome and unsightly monsters in games of tag, to the elders and adults with a buzz warming their aching bones, everyone in jackson seems comfortable enough to make some light of the world outside the walls. it seems that easy for them to leave behind the troubles faced.

"come on," jesse relents, firmly patting her shoulder. ellie's silence speaks more than her voice, and if there's anyone who knows it, it's him. "i'm glad you showed up for once. i worry. so does dina. and joel."

"yep." for a moment she allows her face to soften, though her eyes narrow at the last addition: joel. "he's talking to you about me? again?"

"just the usual," jesse admits. "patrol. he suddenly gets a lot more involved in the planning process when it comes to your patrols."

"well he's going to stop it soon, i promise you that."

jesse chuckles quietly and shakes his head. "no need. i understand."

"no, he'll stop bothering you about it," ellie assures. "i'll talk to him."

it's deeper than bothering jesse. it boils down to ellie wishing for some more control. joel is more than just a thief to her life's purpose. his protection is unwarranted, his attempts at repairing what's lost simply a waste of time in ellie's eyes. there is no fix.

"so, dina's talking to your little friend over there," jesse says gruffly, nodding his head across the room to where you and dina rest at a table. you look meek, and dina acting of her usual high enthusiasm—if a little more intense than usual, thanks to the alcohol. she's ranting and raving, and you're nodding along. a change of subject was needed.

"she's not my friend," ellie mutters, doing her best to avoid looking, or at the very least, making it obvious that she is looking. her eyes steal fleeting glances every so often.

"i'm not sure how you managed this, but she is your friend," jesse says. "whether you like it or not, she sees you as a friend. that would be because you don't act like a dick around her. almost as though you might be... trying to impress her?"

"you're unbelievable." ellie shakes her head and her fingers tighten around her glass for a moment. "she's just.. not... she doesn't deserve me being a dick. she's the only person around here who's nice to me.. it doesn't mean anything."

"hey guys, are we having fun being antisocial wallflowers over here?"

dina suddenly appears in front of jesse and ellie, you attached to her arm like a kitten held by the scruff. immediately, ellie straightens her posture, downing the last of her whiskey. as it burns her throat, she fixes her collar, fumbling with the blue flannel before finally looking at you.

all the laziness leaves her body when you're around. maybe jesse is right. jesus, she actually wants to impress you.

the band strikes up another song and lightning fast, dina takes jesse by the arm. "it's our song! come on stupid."

that goddamn wink and smirk as she guides him away, leaving her alone with you, makes ellie feel a pit in her stomach. fuck, those idiots planned this. was dina giving you a goddamn pep talk before?

"hi."

"hey," ellie murmurs, eyes shifting from your face, to your dress, and to the stack of small papers in your hands. odd, but you're full of odd behaviours and quirks that make her smile. almost. "how's your night?"

"i— huh? oh— that's not—" you stare at your cards, your own handwriting seemingly illegible at this moment. it's worse with your hands trembling, and you sift through the cards, only to come up with nothing. you didn't plan a response for that. "you went off script. don't do that."

"off script?" a beat passes before ellie laughs a little bit, abruptly stopping when she realises it's upsetting you. you're actually stressed, clearly with something to say and not the guts to speak up. "sorry, i'm not laughing at you. sorry, sorry. i'll... stay on script this time."

oh shit. is this what i think it is?

ellie's heart is pounding. she knows what's coming. the inevitable confession she never wants to hear, especially not from you. don't. i'll only get you hurt.

"okay," you reply. you heave a breath before beginning to read your cards. "um, i hope you're doing good and that i'm not bothering you too much right now—"

"why would you bother me?"

"don't interrupt me, that's not in the script."

"sorry." she clears her throat, nods solemnly and stares over you.

internally, she's begging for this not to happen—because what is she to do? hurt your feelings and say no? or give in to selfish desires, only to hurt you deeply somewhere down the line? it's a lose-lose.

you resume; "i hope i'm not bothering you by saying this, but— oh fuck, no, wait."

you drop your script, papers falling to the floor like a house of cards. you crouch down to try and retrieve every piece but everything is out of order. your hands dig frantically around ellie's shoes for your cards, your senses only brought back once her hand takes your wrist.

reassurance is on the tip of her tongue and yet fails to make a sound. ellie just crouches in front of you and picks a card up from the floor, skimming the words on it.

thank god, it's not at all what she thought. such a simple, sweet request.

"you want to dance?"

"i, uh.." your eyes open wide and panicked. but looking at ellie's warm, flushed cheeks and what seems to be openness on her features, you'll happily go along with it. "yeah."

"we can do that," ellie replies. it feels wrong, unfamiliar, to smile in a public place, but she cracks the corners of her lips up and pulls you to stand. she is relieved that perhaps she was wrong, this wasn't a confession. she can indulge in this one moment and dance with you, but you'll be safe from her in the future. "you won't be needing these anymore."

you can't protest before ellie snatches your cards and pockets them. she pulls you up alongside her. the world spins around you, a dreamlike feeling casting over you. warmth in your cheeks and a tingle in your toes as she guides you further from the bar and into the crowd of dancing couples. teens leaving room for jesus, elders grateful to spend yet another night with their beloved after decades of survival without hope, and now, you and ellie, fill the space.

maybe it's the whiskey, but ellie's muscles are lax and she's content with your arms encircling her shoulders. she considers pulling you closer, but people are already staring. so, her hands settle for your waist and she glares at the floor, the tips of her ears a blazing red.

ellie should not be anywhere near you. the resident sweetheart of jackson hole, wrapped up in delicate fabrics and scuffed mary janes, should not be concerned with ellie williams. your big eyes and timid smile, the kind that both comforts and petrifies her, it's magnetic in a sense.

she doesn't even pick up on your worried look, she doesn't realise that her own expression has turned grim. her eyes widen, your fingers tuck a strand of her behind her ear. that puppy-like head tilt and the slow sway of your hips...

she's a goner.

and everyone in this fucking room is staring at you—probably wondering what the hell has gotten into you. even ellie wonders.

the fear of looking like a threat is getting to her; maybe her attempts not to look like a threat are making her look all the more suspicious right now.

the entire night plays back like a movie in her head.

ellie's garage is cold. even with the heater on and her mountainous piles of blankets, she cannot shake the blues away. she felt a girl's love for a few minutes—of course, these minutes felt like a century in her mind—and once the ballad had come to a close, she forced herself to step away. one three minute song is all she will allow.

her journal learns all about it. the memory is fixed in messy handwriting and scribbles of your face. she cannot capture the look the way that she wishes to. every time that she tries, ellie is reminded of the fact that you were the only person in that space to look at her so fondly.

she jots down the lyrics to the song that played. she attempts to write exactly what your little 'script' had said, and that's when it hits—she pocketed them. ellie has a physical keepsake.

she fishes through her pockets and pulls out the pile of cards. she shuffles through for your invitation to dance. the important part, that is. your handwriting is rather pleasant, she thinks, a smile on her face. it's not like her own.

a card drops onto the journal spread and ellie sighs, lithe fingers reaching for it—her heart stops.

'i really like you, and i wanted to ask if you would be interested in spending some more time together. and not really in a friendly way.'

"oh fuck." ellie's throat feels so tight, as though choking on air. fuck, this can't be. her eyes scan the cards for any other possible intention. she reorders them, rereads it until she has the entire speech locked in her mind.

there is no other possible meaning to this.

you were shy, you were nervous, and giggling, and trembling, and stuttering, all because of her.

"not happening," ellie mutters, abruptly leaving her desk. "stay away from me."

the cards lay sprawled across her journal, lamp light cast over it.

the sun rarely shines as bright as this in jackson's colder months, and although today the sky is muted, the snow-covered ground is glistening beneath the early morning sun, pristine white.

you are not invincible against the cold biting at your skin, nor the way your eyes wish to rest a few more minutes. but if there is anyone in this town who will happily ignore it, it is you. up bright and early day in and day out to assist in the daycare, greeting others with smiles or compliments to ease the burden of the morning on them.

only today it is intolerable. your night continued into rather late hours at home, teardrops falling into your hands over the mere fact that your plan to confess was foiled. the world keeps spinning and after all, there are positives to the situation. you held yourself as you slept, hand on your hip in just the same way that ellie's had been there hours prior—you swore you could still feel her warmth.

your embarrassment could be easier to deal with if it weren't for the public opinion. quite shocking that ellie has such a reputation. her name circles town daily, and now, you are being told about her in quite egregious detail by whoever you stumble upon; you're being warned about her.

she looks like she's hiding. streaks of auburn darting down the street, jesse in tow. she takes the long way to the stables, you guess, and makes a wide birth around the daycare. it stings. what the hell happened? did you mess up this bad?

clammy little hands wrap around your legs and your attention is taken to chubby red cheeks, young oscar all smiles to see his favourite daycare attendant this morning.

"hey buddy," you murmur. the sudden feeling that you are being watched makes you look up, and it's then that you meet a flash of thyme green eyes; ellie. unfortunately she disappears quicker than she had appeared.

"are you okay?" oscar's mother is a short woman, often as flushed in the face as her boy. she looks over you pointedly, your confusion evident. "i suggest you don't get involved with that girl. she's trouble. that's all. we all make mistakes at your age."

"oh, i..." your brows crease at the notion of ellie being troublesome, when you've known her to be anything but. you have heard their reasoning and nothing quite stood out to you. "i think i'll be all right, thank you dawn."

she parrots just about every other person you've seen today.

"don't thank me, just listen. stay away from her."

bizarre.

"so, last night... you were getting pretty cozy with—"

"no, i was not."

jesse and dina's efforts to find out what happened last night are all but successful. ellie has shut down any mention of it as soon as the words leave their mouths. jesse accepted that ellie was too cranky and sleepy this morning to kindly explain why she's the talk of the town again. dina isn't having much luck either.

"listen, it's just— it's no big deal," ellie says, resigning herself to the topic. "town's just making something outta nothing. like they always do."

"yuh-huh, seems people are pretty crazy over their darling," dina comments. she falls back so that her horse can trot in pace with ellie and shimmer, looking over curiously. "but tell me about... last night. what happened?"

"nothing." ellie's blunt response makes even shimmer huff, the horse shuffling through piles of wet snow. "she asked me to dance."

"with or without the palm cards?"

ellie snorts, shaking her head slowly. "you helped her."

there's a beat of silence, maybe hesitance, before dina nods. "i did. she's a sweet girl, y'know, i think she's good for you."

"are we going the right way?" ellie interrupts. the creek ends just nigh of where the two ride, no lookout in sight. she feels a challenge in leadership when taking an unfamiliar route on patrol, and this conversation is bound to give her a headache.

"yes, we are. the lookout's just over that hill." dina pauses again. "did she say anything else last night?"

ah. great. "no. she dropped the cards and gave up on whatever they said." ellie clears her throat, looking away. "i kept them, and i read them when i got home."

"right." dina lets out a sigh, now trying to gauge ellie's opinion. she doesn't sound too positive or too negative. "so you're avoiding her now? because that's what i've gathered. what's the deal surrounding—"

"i'm not.. avoiding her, i'm just playing it safe. not going to say anything about it, not gonna embarrass her. there. is that what you're interested in hearing?"

"ellie," dina scolds, "what's your goal here? eternal loneliness? is this about cat?"

ellie comes to a screeching halt at that, shimmer whinnying. "what? fuck no. i was over her before it ended."

"yeah, figured. i never really thought she was your style... too abrasive, you guys kinda clashed a little, you know, she's not like—"

"dina."

and there she goes; dina lists off your many qualities, every one oh so perfect. a list of every reason ellie wants you, and they are all reasons why she should not dare touch you.

"can't you see it? i see the potential for something great," dina boasts. "she's real into you. you're so nice to her."

"that's, like, the bare minimum."

"for you, though, it means a lot."

finally the lookout comes into view. ellie braces herself to make an abrupt end to this conversation, she's ready for this to stop.

"lookout's just ahead, we can tie the girls up here and head inside," dina confirms, sliding off her horse and watching as ellie does the same. "i'm serious, though. jesse and i worry about you and, i mean, what is it that's stopping you from asking her out?"

"dina, listen." ellie makes a serious effort to avert eye contact, to hide her expression, and even the ache in her voice. "you seen her? she's like those little fuzzy flowers that even the wind can blow away. she'd wither away if she spoke to me for more than a second. i kinda have to be nice to her."

"damn," dina says, humming softly. "that's a lot of words that sound like nothing to me. you're lying to me and you're lying to yourself. you tell little kids to fuck off, but you can't resist smiling at this girl?"

ellie's biting the inside of her cheek, following dina into the lookout. she is being sincere. it's just that dina doesn't quite know the depth of ellie's misery. she is a mystery.

ellie does not believe for a second that she will not hurt you. she is the strike of fire, an unstoppable force that can only destroy. too easily, her rage is a blaze that burns all in its path. she's sickening. she'll poison you, you'll spit her out and leave like all the others do.

"i don't know what she sees in me," ellie admits after a moment of ponder. "i'm just some asshole."

"that you are, but i think she sees what me, jesse, and even joel, see in you. you don't let anyone else in, ellie. don't you dare ice her out too."

you're like her shadow. you are just unavoidable, either by thoughts of you creeping into the corners of her mind, or just by coincidence. on days where nobody has uttered even a word to her, you never fail to wish her a good afternoon or ask how she's doing. she keeps it brief, despite her yearning to know you better.

it takes a great deal of self discipline. ellie must control herself around you. your stupid palm cards weigh on her mind all the time, those feelings you've been resigned to keeping to yourself without knowing that she knows. if ellie weren't such a goddamn coward, she could pounce. you'd be hers.

"good morning, ellie," you call, and it's early enough for ellie to internally groan but your voice is like that of a bird's aubade. "do you have a minute?"

"hm? suppose," ellie murmurs, shoes shuffling against the floor of the tipsy bison awkwardly. she's regretting her choice of converse this morning—hopefully you'll make this quick and she can run back to grab some boots before patrol. screw breakfast. "what's up?"

part of her hopes that you take as long as you like. she'd like to lose herself in your kindness before she heads out into the mountains on this brutally cold day. actually, she would like to lose herself in your kindness forever; you make ellie want to be kind, but it feels as though she lost that part of herself many years ago. she doesn't know how to be like that anymore.

she should be staying away from you. none of this hopeless searching for a piece of her old self in you.

"well, i have some questions and figured you'd be the right one to ask."

"oh? me? i'm... i mean, yeah, sure," ellie says, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. "what's it about?"

"well, you're into dinosaurs and stuff, right? what's the word again? paleon..."

"paleontology," ellie corrects, nodding her head. "who told you i'm into that?"

"uh... dina."

of course. ellie refrains from shaking her head in annoyance and lets you continue, although she is a little in her head at the moment.

"there's a couple kids showing interest in all that stuff at the moment," you say, "i was wondering if you could give me a lesson? or some reading material, if you've got any? i want to plan some activities for them."

"oh, uh, yes, uh, sure, i guess. yeah." ellie responds with a lame shrugging of her shoulders and picks at some skin around her fingernails, holding her breath as to not completely fucking freak out. this is such a dumb thing to get worked up over. your hopeful smile is everything right now. "i mean, not to brag but i've got a pretty neat collection of stuff."

seriously? way to go. ellie's aware she sounds nothing short of embarrassing right now, she's unable to resist the pull towards dumping all of her knowledge onto you. i sound sooo tough right now.

"oh, really? well i'm interested in seeing it then," you reply, giggling. "when's a good time for you to show me?"

and, just like at the dance, it feels as though everyone in this diner is staring at ellie. she knows she shouldn't be talking to you. she forgot for a moment. she forgot that she's a danger to you.

the cutting, unforgiving stare of frail mrs. brown has ellie lower her gaze, shifting on her feet again. "mm, maybe tomorrow," she mutters. "i've got patrol. i.. should probably get going. i'm gonna be late again."

"oh." you pause, somewhat puzzled by ellie's sudden nerves, how eager she is to get going. was that your fault? maybe she doesn't want to spend time together after all.

"see you later." it's offhanded and with little caution. ellie tries her damndest not to look back at you, and also to avoid eye contact with the others in the diner.

a sudden outburst directs your attention to ellie again, with her way out blocked by a self righteous mrs. brown.

"you leave that poor thing alone."

ah?

"mrs. brown, please, ellie means no harm," you say assuringly, although there is a twinge of something in your voice. something mrs. brown cannot grasp. you're not sure where this bite to your voice came from.

but it has something to do with the way ellie doesn't even look twice at you. she just slips out the door and hurries away.

"watch yourself around her, sweetpea," the older woman says to you. "she's not the kind of person to be hanging around the likes of you. not sure whether she was raised in a barn or if she's just born wrong."

"nobody is born wrong," you say. "that's horrible. you've misjudged her."

"you're naïve," mrs. brown replies sincerely. it seems like she is trying to be sincere at least—it only makes you feel small.

nobody is born wrong. nobody is bad. ellie is not bad. and nobody shall ever be able to tell you otherwise. it simply isn't true.

"we got reports of infected out west of jackson. there's a few places out there we haven't searched in a long time, maria wants it done."

jesse is already addressing the group by the time ellie rocks up, attempting to sneak in undetected with shimmer in tow, but unfortunately for her, she's served a disappointed look and handed a bolt action. he doesn't pause his speech, and honestly, it's more humiliating that way. ellie partly wishes there was some sort of remark made.

"stay with your groups, don't be an idiot, if there's anything you can't handle you come back to base. these places could be rife with infected, so be careful. are we clear?"

ellie's still rubbing sleep out of her eyes and blinking at the ground, her mind is somewhere else. you stood up for her. you did that, and she still feels so warm. you should not be wasting your time with her. she will never understand why you do.

"ellie—"

"huh?" she looks up, gaze flicking between jesse and the others around her. you've gotta be shitting me. half of these people are new to patrols. if she's got to babysit newbies this morning, she's—

"you and i are taking max, amelia, and jacob out to that great big music store by the lodge. might dig into the motel if we've got time."

"seriously? that motel's fucked. joel and i went like, what, two years ago? can't see the music store being any better," ellie protests. "why are we taking new recruits out to these shitty areas? you think they're not gonna shit their pants if they encounter a bloater?"

"ellie, calm, will you? maria wants this done, we've held off on clearing these places for a little too long. we drag our feet and eventually it will have consequences. so, we're getting it done," jesse says. he notices the others share bristling looks amongst each other and grunts. "there will not be a bloater out there. ellie's overreacting."

"oh yeah, not like joel and i killed one last time we visited the motel."

"oh good. so like i said, there won't be any bloaters out there, thanks to ellie and her old man's efforts." jesse shoots ellie one final glance of warning before readdressing the group. "are we ready to leave?"

"i'll hang back, make sure nobody's gettin' lost," ellie says. she's a lot more reserved now, the telltale sign to jesse something is truly off about his friend this morning. because ellie typically rejects any and all authority, even jesse. even joel, nowadays.

shortly after, jesse kicks off and the group follows. ellie rides behind them. shimmer gallops over yards of snow, the wind blowing back wayward strands of ellie's hair and chilling the hot blush on her cheeks. today is turning out to be a pretty shit one, but at least she has this. riding on the back of her horse will never not be soothing to her tortured soul.

as the motel comes into view, ellie lets out a sigh. as picturesque a view it is, shrouded by thick pines and sitting in solace, it leaves ellie so conflicted. it looks worse in the cold, the dilapidated building left for dead and covered in a blanket of white. whatever horrors have crept into it since her last visit, she doesn't want to know.

ellie doesn't want to visit the music store. she never got to see what was in there with joel. even thinking about it makes her stomach lurch, and if it weren't for her skipping breakfast earlier, she would be struggling to keep it in. fucking joel.

this place is a myriad of discomforting memories.

"ellie, is it really true that you and joel found a bloater in that motel?"

jacob has slowed his pace to match her, looking on with a glimmer of what looks like excitement in his eyes—ellie hopes it's not excitement. else this kid's looking to get killed.

"yes," she mutters, brows knit and eyes narrowed into slits. "we dealt with it. these things are rare, y'know, and there's nothing to be excited about. unless you want your head ripped off."

"holy shit." he giggles through the curse, his enthusiasm unmatched by amelia and max's unbridled terror. "sounds gnarly."

"sure." ellie scoffs, looking away. can't stand to watch this kid act so stupidly, can't even stand to bitch at him for it.

if only she weren't so privy to the grim sights of this world. must be nice.

jesse comes to an abrupt stop, looking back at the group. "you hear that?"

from a small cluster of retail stores, a nefarious rattling echoes the courtyard. ellie meets jesse's eyes and nods. "clicker."

"how many? we should probably clear this place out, right?" jacob cuts in, his boisterous voice startling the whole group.

"will you shut the fuck up?" ellie glares at jacob.

"there might be some supplies inside," amelia suggests, and she does not want to run the risk of pissing ellie off either, so she keeps her voice down.

"sounds like it's not too hectic. we'll take a look," jesse decides, steering the group towards the stores, where they all get down and begin to scope out the area.

ellie is eternally thankful to have a slow start to patrol today. two clickers, one runner, and a group of four on patrol with her—that's nothing special to start with. the threat is eliminated in no time, and now's only a matter of looking for supplies or interesting items to take back.

nothing is of much interest to ellie. it's an odd combination of stores; some kind of boutique, an overgrown flower shop, and a pet store.

ellie cannot help but think of you when her eyes first take in the flower shop. sage vines covering the walls, inside and out, the flowers rotted. it's all dead, which gives her a little jolt and she makes a quiet but self deprecating remark about how much of an idiot she is—such a romantic, huh?

but that's it, isn't it? she can't resist any longer. this place would be utterly bewitching in the springtime. she knows without a doubt in her mind you would love to see it. she remembers that you once said you've not left jackson's walls since you arrived some years ago.

now she feels this devastating pull towards taking you here one day. perhaps when the weather's warmer, she'll ask. you would like that. she might need some liquid courage to do so, if the dance last week says anything about how suave ellie can be.

"i'm such a fucking loser." ellie does her best to shake the thoughts of you away. but one step inside the boutique and new thoughts flood in. many of the pieces in here are barely intact, barely any of it to her personal tastes. but she knows someone who would love it.

a shade of baby pink catches her eye and she reaches out to look at the sundress, fingers travelling down the side seam. it's in the clearance section, a ripped up sign reading, 'end of summer sale' above the hanger. she snorts, yet pulls away from it like it's stung her, or as though she fears she's tarnished the dress somehow.

"what an ugly piece of fashion," she murmurs, laughing shakily as if her face is not blooming the same colour as the dress; leaving it behind as if she didn't just picture you wearing it.

when she walks out of the boutique ellie hears amelia ask jesse if they're ready to head to the music store finally. she sighs heavily and climbs onto shimmer's back, staring ahead blankly as they set off once more.

this is when things become troublesome, she already knows it. the music store creaks and rickets by just the breeze hitting it, and she can already hear the strangled cries of runners and clickers hanging out inside.

"there's a mighty old checkpoint in that cabin to the right," jesse comments, sliding off his horse and looking to the group. "ellie, can you take someone to sign us in?"

"yeah. sure. whoever's coming, i don't care, just follow me."

jesse scowls as she simply starts riding to the cabin. he calls after her quickly, "join back as soon as possible. amelia's coming."

that was, at least, the best option out of the three. amelia isn't insufferable. she seems to handle patrol with the level of sensibility it requires.

"so did you and joel clear the music store too, or just the motel?" amelia asks, watching ellie dust off the logbook.

"nah, just the motel. we were trying to get here, didn't make it. found some bodies, went straight home."

ellie cringes, quite visibly at that, remembering the day in such detail. her heart ached as though she was burning alive. she knew he was lying.

"oh, right, i remember that," amelia says. "that was tragic."

ellie doesn't say anything. the room falls silent as she signs the logbook, once again tripping over the never ending trails of thought that appear in her mind. if only they were immune, right?

it's significantly more troubling to cope with these thoughts in her head because nobody else even knows. nobody gets it. there's no other person on earth with the same questions as ellie, and the only person who could answer some of her questions dismisses them within an instant.

she can't help but feel hate for joel for what he did. he took away her birthright; he ruined the sole meaning of her life, and she'll never quite understand why.

ellie wanted to save people. she is beyond just worthless now that joel has taken this from her—she's a ticking time bomb. she hurts people, she hurts herself. with less than ten percent of jackson's population actually willing to befriend her, ellie does the most that she can to protect them now.

it's why she throws herself into the most unsavoury, unsafe situations on patrol.

she can't help but wonder what the lives of everyone she knows would be like if she had been given her choice.

"hey you." jesse's waiting by the door of the music store when ellie and amelia arrive back.

"what's the situation?" ellie asks immediately upon catching her friend's worried look, the way that he stands with his back straight and shoulders tense.

"runners and stalkers around every goddamn corner. we were waiting for you two to come back so we can take care of it. we're debating whether or not to call for backup. i heard some clickers, it just might be too intense for these guys alone."

"ah." she takes note of max and jacob, conspiring something quietly together (rather, jacob elbowing max, and max replying in anxious whispers). "hey, the fuck's your deal?"

"someone's scared," jacob teases, giving max an aggressive noogie on the head. "i think we should just go deal with it. it's not a big deal. max is too much of a pussy."

"jacob, stop it man," jesse mutters, his eyes reading of warning.

"it'll be much quicker if we just handle it now," he replies errantly. "let's go."

"no, let's—"

without waiting, jacob drags a thrashing max past the doorway and into the shop. instantly the screams of infected sound like an alarm and the group is forced into action, ellie throwing herself in first.

violence consumes the area in sound, in sights, in the adrenaline that courses through ellie's veins. not only is it a handful of rogue runners and stalkers, but the familiar, uncouth screeching of a clicker grows closer. her ears ring, gunshots bouncing off the walls, her heart pounds, each step forward thudding against bloodstained hardwood.

"over here! help!"

ellie's eyes dart across the room and max is struggling against a runner, too busy fighting the crazed monster to reach for his gun.

when ellie reaches the boy, she yanks the runner and the barrel of her pistol meets his head. everything in the room is eerily silent now, nothing but panting breaths, and max falling on the floor in front of ellie.

"all quiet," jesse says with a sigh. he's wiping blood off his face and checking with amelia and jacob before they hear a gun cocking, a sudden commotion.

"no, no, please!"

it's max, scrambling away from ellie, whose gun is pointed at his face. the reason why she is doing this is bleeding. jesse can see it too, on max's hand; bright red puncture wounds, dripping onto the floor.

he's bit.

and he's begging.

"woah, woah, woah, let's handle this appropriately—"

the boy begins to cry. max is cowering. if only he were immune, right?

if only.

it's too much for her. ellie looks away, and she pulls the trigger. she grimaces as the cries silence on instant, nothing but a vile gurgling echoing. she doesn't dare to look down at him, she doesn't want to see his brain matter against the drum set behind him, nor the way his blood oozes out and seeps into the floorboards.

she's not even brave enough to look at the rest of the group—the living ones—she's done this in front of them. this boy didn't get to go out with dignity, she took out her own fury on him. he doesn't deserve that.

"fuck, i—"

"it's okay, ellie, look at me," jesse coaches, slowly stepping closer. he takes the pistol from her. it's not okay.

"what the fuck is wrong with you man?" jacob storms over, a mask of anger in his narrowed eyes, but he's shaking too. everyone's fucking scared of her. she fucked up. "you don't get to—"

instead of succumbing to letting this teenager scream at her, ellie defies him, jabbing a finger in his direction immediately. "don't you take that tone with me. if you never pushed him in here, he'd still be here."

"hey, hey! calm. everyone. let's just go back. we'll take max home."

ellie wonders if jesse likes her a little less now. he's never seen her do something so cruel. she barely listens to him speak. she feels such a failure.

amelia won't look at her. jacob looks as though the scene has aged him years.

god, ellie thinks, i fucked up.

ellie gets home. she stands in front of the medicine cabinet, swiping a damp cloth over her cheek. she watches the blood spray disappear from her skin, and she can't look herself in the eye.

she may be immune, but she's still infected. where is her humanity? why was it her? at this rate, what is she here for? what makes her any different from the infection that would have claimed max? ellie was supposed to save people. she was supposed to be different. but she feels the same as them—everywhere she turns, someone is hurt or killed, it often tends to be at her own hand.

she is a monster.

she doesn't hear the door creak open, so the call of her name surprises her quite suddenly. it's a voice she has no interest in hearing from right now—it's southern, gravelly, and low.

"so i heard about what happened, and uh... had to come check on ya."

"i'm fine, joel." he gives her that look she is, unfortunately, used to seeing from him. the honest disbelief. so ellie opens her mouth again and this time it's with a little more sternness. "seriously."

god, she's sick of the pity. joel suffocates her. however well he means, ellie can't trust him anymore. she can't just forget, and this is the first time he has ever disrespected the space she's put between them. "well, i just... carryin' out an execution... it's hard. i know. and however the town may try to spin it, it don't mean—"

"joel, i need you to stop," ellie warns. she turns away but she still sees him in the mirror. she still sees herself in the mirror. her brows carve a nasty, cold look into her gaze, her lips almost snarling.

that boy was going to die whether or not ellie had interfered. but what messes with her mind the most is how indecently she did it. he was crying. she didn't let him say goodbye, nor write sentiments to his family. she shot him like a dog. she killed him as though he had already turned.

"you are awfully quiet these days ellie, i'm just worried about you and—"

"i'm supposed to be dead, joel," ellie growls. her hands grip either side of the sink and she leans against it, looking at the discarded face towel. "this would've never happened if you never— if you never—"

"but you're not dead, now don't you talk like that." joel's voice is getting harder and he's leaning against the doorway now, suddenly closer than ellie thought. "none of this is on you. it was never on you. this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose. these things, they happen to everyone. it is not on you."

"no," ellie whispers. "it's on you now. you fucking— you did this. he would be cured if you left me in that stupid hospital."

joel stares at the side of ellie's face. he catches the way her lips quiver and she's shut her eyes now. he sighs very softly, almost as if he doesn't want to upset her any further, and then looks at his shoes.

"i'm not gonna go over this again," ellie says, standing straight again. "i never wanna talk to you. we're done."

joel pauses, opening and closing his mouth. there is so much to say. when you have spent two years like him, thinking, wondering what he could even say to make her feel better, there is a lot on the tip of your tongue. but she doesn't want to hear it, and joel knows that. so he nods.

"all right."

the snow around ellie's garage is tracked with large footprints. your gaze follows them to mr. miller's porch across the yard and your brows raise as you realise he's sat there with his legs kicked up and a warm drink in hand, a misty cloud of steam billowing out of the mug. he nods in acknowledgement of your presence, and you respond with a friendly smile, before taking a small breath and knocking on ellie's door.

"ellie?" you call hesitantly. finally you hear some noise from inside, as if she'd been holding breath and trying to pretend she wasn't there in the first place.

the door pulls back and ellie looks at you unsurely. she looks tired. sheepish.

"hi, are you doing okay?" truth be told, the news of what happened on ellie's patrol today has shaken you. it's spread around town like fire, and the story seems to be getting more and more hyperbolic along the way. so, you've come to the source. "i heard about what happened, and—"

the frigid wind creeps into ellie's place and a shiver runs down her spine. she crosses her arms to preserve her own warmth, observing you and your persistent trembling, along with joel on his porch. she grunts, taking you by the arm and pulling you inside.

"it's, y'know, cold out there," she mutters, closing the door behind you and sighing. "just, uh, sit down."

your eyes follow ellie's hand, gesturing to the tattered grey loveseat, close to her heater and looking pretty cozy. you sit, and ellie stares at your poor choice of attire—it looks like you did nothing but layer a pink parka over your pyjamas. she's running on fumes but still makes quick work of grabbing a blanket. she doesn't want to startle you with it, and instead keeps her hands as light as possible when covering your legs with it.

"it's pretty cold, huh?" she murmurs.

it's nice. you want to put your hand on her wrist and bring her closer, to offer something sweet, but she looks so discontented. uncomfortable.

"are you doing okay?" you ask again. no matter how hard you try to catch her earthy eyes with yours, she dodges. she's shifty. "um, about what happened on your patrol... i don't really know the full story, or if what everyone says is even true... but i don't like to let what other people say impact my judgement of someone's character."

"it's not— i mean, i— you know, everyone's right. i'm an asshole," ellie mumbles, crossing her arms again, but this time it's a more desperate grabbing of her hoodie, as though comforting herself. or attempting to.

because you're so close, but she feels like you are just out of reach. she can't seek comfort in you. she wants to. but her mind tells her that is not a good idea.

"oh, ellie... no," you whisper. "you're not."

"you don't know me," she replies. perhaps if she is earnest about who she is to you, it will scare you away. it might save you. no more pretending to be nice just to keep you.

"i know more than any of those people who spread rumours about you." you stand up and the blanket falls forgotten on the ground. her eyes widen as you come closer, and she takes a step back. "but you hide yourself, that's why nobody sees how great you are. even me, i.. wish i could know you better."

what ellie wants to say, is no, you don't want to know me better. you shouldn't. there is no greatness, only fragmented pieces of what once was someone bright and empathic, someone who still had hope. maybe she didn't turn in the physical sense when she was infected. but her life went through a turning of its own, her mind suffering the worst of it.

maybe the only difference between her and those things outside is that she doesn't sprout colourful tendrils. she's as dangerous and as deadly as they are. she bites, too; her words hurt, and she has become apathetic.

and the reason she can't let you in—well, she won't be able to let go of you once she gets her hands on you. she'll eat you up and what she fears the most is that you'll run away hurting. you'll leave her, and she'll have maimed you.

and to be the one to have maimed you will be the worst of it all. ellie is still feeling every ache from her past, and she finds you so refreshing. you're a clean slate, like fresh soil in early spring, untainted and full of potential. she doesn't want to turn you into her.

she might not be contagious, but the chaos that surrounds her is. at the softest, your reputation will be destroyed by her mere presence, and at the strongest, you will be wilted.

"i take it that maybe you've been hurting before," you say, filling the silence she had contemplated through. "i don't want to overstep. i just wanna be there for you. like— y'know, like, you don't have to talk about it. but you have me."

after a beat, ellie quickly responds, nodding, but staring at the floor. "thanks."

"and about today; it doesn't change my opinion of you. these things happen. it's sad. i knew him... but i know he would've rathered you do what you did, than turn into one of those things." you nod back, very affirmatively, and try a small smile, even if she won't see. "going on patrol is a great service to our community. it's really great that you do. it's one of the hardest jobs and it puts you in situations that require quick decision-making. people focus on the negatives all the time, like what happened today—but they don't focus on the fact that you're protecting us all the time."

when ellie glances up, mainly out of some surprise, she finds that your smile matches the sweetness of your words exactly. it's... puzzling. it challenges the chill in the garage, because ellie can feel her cheeks getting warm. and she absolutely fucking hates that.

blushing in front of you. blushing because of you. the more she thinks about it, the more she's probably reddening. like a rose.

"thanks, again, i, uh..." she trails off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. she sniffles awkwardly and then coughs to attempt at covering it up. she feels juvenile like this. "anyway... so, how about... i give you a crash course on dinosaurs?"

caught off-guard, only to remember early in the morning when you had asked ellie to indulge in a tutorial on paleontology so you could better interact with the little ones in the daycare. "yes! yeah, of course."

she chuckles lowly, rubbing her eye quickly as if trying to regain her stoicism. "cool, let's—"

you couldn't help it. you know when someone needs a hug, and you feel ellie needs one more than anyone else. especially in this moment. so you rushed forward, and now your arms are around her shoulders, and your head on her shoulder. she's like a statue, her hands raised with hesitance. they twitch. it's with the need to grab your waist, but the fear of letting herself get too addicted.

she gives in. maybe it would hurt you more if she didn't, than if she did. is she a monster for it if you were the one to initiate it?

her nose rests in your hair, her arms squeeze you tight. she doesn't let it go on for too long, patting the curve of your lower back gently and pulling back to grab some of her dinosaur books.

the hour that follows is the easiest and fastest of her entire life. you look at ellie like she hung the stars in the sky. she likes that you listen, and that you ask clarifying questions, and that your thighs are touching hers. she makes you laugh, and she can't stop, because she likes it.

when ellie climbs into her bed after walking you back home, she finds herself surprised, and maybe a little hot on the temper. joel's voice plays like a tape on repeat. irritating. and starting to make sense.

"this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose."

　　　　　　　　　SPRING.

birds chatter in the sky. it's warm out. the kind of warm that is just right, where the sun highlights the shapes of the trees and shines through the leaves. it's only early in the season, still breezy most days, but the snow has melted, and the flora is beginning to maintain itself again, colour crawling back into jackson.

this is so fucking stupid.

"ellie! hi!" the familiar chirp of your voice brings heat to ellie's face, even in the dying chill. you have such a pleasant, polite lilt, it's no wonder you are beloved around here. "...you're loitering."

"what? oh. uh— yeah. sorta." she needs to be more careful, too much staring and not enough vigilance. ellie realises she looks odd standing outside the kindergarten house. "i just.. do you have a minute?"

"me? of course."

and ellie doesn't hear you, but she gets the point anyway. she is really too busy eyeing your lips and the small smile on them as you lead her to a blind spot.

"how's your day?"

is she really doing this right now? like, really? does she need to? the town notice board suddenly feels a lot more interesting now that you're in front of her. that, or the fresh leaves hanging by threads on the trees nearby. ellie has a deep appreciation for the new colours that bloom during springtime and—

"ellie? i asked how you're doing. are you okay?"

she's stalling this conversation.

"oh. oh! yeah, it's uh, it's alright." she scoffs awkwardly and rubs the back of her neck. "i just... well, i made something for you, thought you'd like it. i hope you like it."

"wait, really?" your eyes light up like a sky full of stars, but ellie thinks they're even prettier than that. "that's so sweet of you. can i see?"

sweet. you think she's sweet. shit. "yeah, yea, here."

without wasting more time fumbling over words (in reality, ellie forgot the speech she made up for this occasion—maybe she could've used your scripting idea right now) she hands over the gift, free hand rubbing the back of her neck as she pretends to nonchalantly stare elsewhere, yet her eyes flick towards you obsessively. please like it.

it's a watercolour piece. the colours are subtle, muted greens and browns, the rest varying shades of white, grey, and black, plus a pop of pink. depicted is a lush garden, pink flowers dotted between weaves of grass, and in the centre, two rabbits.

it isn't her usual style. ellie's appreciated landscapes before, but something so simple, so clean and contained, she's never been into. but she wanted to give you something she knew you'd love.

your brows raise and you cover your mouth, letting out a gasp. your eyes don't leave the paper, staring at every detail. you couldn't find an imperfection even if you tried.

"this is beautiful."

"yeah..?"

"i love it." your lips curl upwards and you're pretty much bouncing up and down on your heels. "it's so cute! i love the colours, and the flowers too! i love flowers. did you know there's a whole flower language?"

"uh, no," ellie murmurs, "what's that about? how does one talk through flowers?"

the word cute runs through her mind. of course you'd know about a 'flower language'.

"well, each flower has symbolism tied to it. even the different colours—a pink rose means something different to a white rose, for example," you explain. "my grandma taught me when i was younger. she gave me a book about it."

all this talk about flowers reminds ellie of the overgrown shop she saw on patrol a few months back. the day was dark, but you made it better. even the few moments she had thought about you were memorable.

like that sundress. in fact, she still thinks of it often.

"huh. sounds interesting," ellie replies.

"most red or pink flowers symbolise some kind of love. roses are the most romantic of all."

oh. ellie glances down to the paper in your hand, at the pink flowers she had so carefully dabbled into the picture. she hopes you won't read into that too much.

"thank you for this," you say, interrupting her mini-panic. "this painting is so pretty. you're a talented artist."

"ah, it's nothing," ellie says softly back.

"hey, i remembered your birthday's coming up soon. you don't have any plans, or..? any presents you'd like to receive?" you ask. "i love that you're a spring baby. that's so cute."

what? ellie chokes a little, for no reason other than lame shock, and shrugs her shoulders. "ah, i dunno, not really. i never do anything. don't care about gifts."

"reaaaally?" you ask, huffing in disappointment. although, an idea is beginning to thread itself together.

"yeah, i'm not really big on that stuff anymore," ellie says, waving off your concern. "anyway, ah, i should let you get back to the kiddies."

"yeah, of course."

you look like you're going to come close, and ellie's started to recognise when you're wanting to hug her now. she lets it happen. she actively ensures that you know it's okay to do that. as long as there's nobody around to see.

and right now, just as you pull her close, the moment coincides with the children being let out to the playground for recess. fucking goddamnit. she flushes instantly and almost pushes you away.

when she dares to open her eyes, the attendant on the duty of watching the kids is watching you more than them. it's disconcerting. but it has an adverse effect on her. she squeezes you tighter, and closes her eyes.

she's becoming what she feared. she wants you, and she's letting herself indulge. she's gluttonous. or is she? for no longer denying herself the pleasure in holding you for a few moments longer than usual?

"you made her so happy yesterday."

"huh?"

"dina and i heard all about it."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," jesse answers, a smug grin on his face. ellie's only filled with dread.

her hackles are raised, she's rushing to defend herself. such a strong reaction, and it leaves jesse with more questions than answers, but answers are rare with ellie in the first place. "yeah, so what, i drew something, and i gave it to my friend. you can't give me shit about that."

he nods his head to ellie's place at her desk, where she has an art book open and a few discarded sketches strewn about that clearly she deemed unworthy of your viewing.

jesse snorts. "i'm not giving you shit about it. i'm just saying"—he elbows ellie lightly—"that it made her really happy. and it looks like... you're making her another one."

she rubs her side, frowning, and tilting her head. "it wasn't too intense? didn't freak her out?"

"giving a girl you like a painting is the least intense move you could possibly make."

"i do not like her like that," ellie mutters, scowling. "don't you have something better to do than to harass me?"

looks can betray words sometimes. that is exactly what is happening here; ellie's freckles are dusted pink, the colour blooming all the way towards the tips of her ears.

"you like her," jesse insists. "you know, when you're so deadpan about everything it makes it all the more obvious you've got a crush. you didn't even act this way around cat."

"because i barely liked her," ellie mutters bluntly, "we dated out of convenience."

"and now..." jesse continues, leaving room for ellie to fill in the blank, but she rolls her eyes and he chuckles before finishing the sentence himself. "you've got a crush on the little ol' sweetheart of jackson."

"okay, and what am i supposed to do when everyone tells me to stay back? i'm not right for her," ellie replies. her voice is subdued in such a way jesse's never heard before. it's so honest. ellie realises it too. she's being open, for once.

"you care too much what others think," jesse says. he leans against the desk, arms crossed. "if their opinions mattered, she would've taken their advice and avoided you like the plague."

"i think the girl's fucking insane, personally." ellie clicks her tongue, dropping her pencil reluctantly. she knows why you don't listen to anyone else. you've told her many times, yet she still thinks you're a little crazy for that. stubborn, at the very least.

"what's this?" jesse asks, picking up a forgotten sketch by ellie's arm. "this is... not your style."

ellie glances up, and grunts softly. "no, you remember the dress store out by the motel? i saw this dress there. i think it would look real nice on her."

"oh... yeah? yeah i can see that," he comments, looking at the sketch. "what do you say we go back there and get it?"

"i don't want to go back there."

"not even for something you know she'd really love? come on... we won't take a group this time, it'll be you and me. we'll grab the dress and come back," jesse says. "i'll rearrange the roster tonight and have us take that route in the morning."

"you are shit at persuasion," ellie grumbles, "you're just forcing me."

"it's for a good cause," he replies, patting her on the shoulder quite firmly. "head to bed now, we're up early tomorrow mornin' so get some rest."

ellie sighs deeply, not bothering to look back as the door closes. "dick," she murmurs, yet her eyes fall back to the paper jesse had left on the desk.

she imagines it again; the pink sundress, flattering your body, how your eyes would twinkle and face would glow in it, and how the skirt would flow if you twirled. unfortunately, it's not a want anymore; it's a need.

she's admitting things now. ellie likes that you are open. she'd like to let herself be vulnerable like you.

"are you sure she's going to like it?"

dina scoffs at the question, an incredulous look in her eyes as they meet yours. "are you serious? of course she will. you've overanalysed this so much that there is no room for improvement."

your shoulders drop and you remind yourself to unclench your jaw, take a deep breath. "i know, but i just want to be sure. what if she doesn't want to be taken by surprise?"

"she likes surprises. used to, anyway. i doubt that has changed," dina says coolly. "last time she ever had a birthday she really enjoyed was her sixteenth. joel took her to this sick museum outside of town."

you nod along. "yeah, i know. she told me about it. a few times, actually. i don't want anything too big and crazy because it might overwhelm her, but i— i can't just let her do nothing on her birthday."

"and you've achieving that perfectly," dina reminds you. "it's low-key. it's at her place. you're making her a cake. you've invited... who? me, jesse, and yourself?"

"well, i was thinking about inviting joel." you bite your lip, wringing your hands together. "is that a bad idea?"

dina doesn't seem to hear you. she's messing with her beat up record player, groaning and muttering curses over the fact that it won't work.

so much of your attention since yesterday has been held by this idea. you quickly asked dina and jesse their thoughts, assuming they know the girl better than you do at this point. every aspect of your plan was approved of. because the plan is derived from every little thing you have learned and internalised about ellie.

she's quiet, she's private, and not interested in doing much. therefore, something small at her garage will do. she's into action movies, so a movie marathon is perfect. you're going to craft some paper crowns with dina as she mentioned that was a win on one of ellie's previous birthdays, although you initially wanted to make her a flower crown.

when you aren't spending exhausting hours with small children at the daycare, all you really have left to do in your life is think. it's so quiet.

ellie gives you a lot to think about. when you bake a new recipe, you wonder if she'll like it. when you ever feel a little lonely, you wonder if ellie would let you hug her for as long as you needed.

they say a friend to all is a friend to none, and you feel it's true. are you interesting enough? are you too soft, too tame for anyone to befriend? what started a simple crush—thinking she's pretty, wanting to learn everything about her—snowballed. ellie's the closest thing you have to what you need. she fills a hole that was dug years ago. you feel it has potential. it's like a rich soil, seedlings sown, and desperate to be watered. you know the finest rose garden could grow from it in the colour of blush.

wanting to give her a good birthday is a no-brainer.

on your way back home, a bag full of crafting materials and some flour and butter you picked up from the twin sisters grocer to bake the cake with, you take in a breath of spring air. it's fresh. excitement buzzes in your bones. you want to see her smile.

you stumble upon joel as you make your way down your street, lugging a backpack with him, and you think that perhaps he just got back from patrol. that means ellie might be back, too. it's late afternoon, but the sun hasn't set yet—days are starting to grow longer again.

"mr. miller! how are you?" you ask, stopping before him.

"not too bad," joel replies. "feelin' my age after patrol, you know how it is... and how are you?"

"i'm good," you say, nodding.

"and ellie? you two are friends and i ain't seen her much lately, so i, ah... had to ask."

a more reserved smile falls on your lips and you nod again. of the many mysteries you still haven't been able to sleuth out about ellie, the one that puzzles you most is joel. is it overstepping to tell joel how she's doing right now? is it an even bigger mistake to invite him to her birthday..?

he cares so deeply about her.

"she's doing alright," you say. "about that, i'm planning a little surprise get-together for her birthday, only a few of us are going, and you could come too, if you'd like?"

"ah, no, no, that's okay." joel shakes his head and looks down at you. he couldn't be more satisfied with anyone storming their way into ellie's life than you. "you kids have fun, i'm not sure it's my place to go."

you blink, but nod. "of course. it would still be fun if you came along! but it's up to you."

"yeah, i'll think about it. uh... you take care of her for me, okay?"

this time, you nod firmly. "i will."

going back to the boutique felt like closure.

ellie had tossed and turned all night, memories of death and infection filing in with unstoppable force. she worried something could go wrong again. she worried her mind wouldn't be in the right place to be on patrol. but numbers of infected always seem to dwindle in warmer months, and these buildings were cleared months ago now. all she and jesse had to handle today were two runners.

it was relaxing, actually. it was slow. ellie packed the dress carefully into her bag, made sure nothing could soil it or tear it, not even her own fingerprints, as she had made sure to clean them before touching it.

and she was right, the flower shop in spring was blossoming with colour. it solidified a goal in her mind—she will make sure that you see it before the season ends.

this is the difficult part. the hardest part of the entire day, to be honest; giving you the dress.

"i hope that this isn't too weird," ellie mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. her sheepish face tints red, and she chuckles awkwardly. "i found this on patrol and i thought you would really like it. i thought you'd look.. pretty.. in it."

the second she hands it to you, you gasp. it's just like with the painting—good signs immediately. and ellie almost doesn't want to let go of the dress, but she lets you take it from her.

"ellie! this is gorgeous! thank you, thank you, thank you—" you're hugging the goddamn dress, and she laughs a little, only to be hugged with such force it feels like more of a tackle. "i've never seen anything like it!"

she knows you. that's the real gift. she knew you'd love it. she gave you a painting she knew you would like. she looks for things you'll like. you hope that she'll understand the thought behind her party tomorrow the same way you understand the thought behind her small gifts, too.

ellie buries her smile into your hair, holding you close. "i'm glad you like it."

"you're acting so weird today," ellie says, narrowing her eyes at jesse. "by the way, have you seen—"

"no idea where she's at," jesse mumbles, yet the dumb smile in his voice reveals more than intended.

"you're up to something weird," ellie says with a scoff.

"i am not, how dare you suggest that?" jesse gasps melodramatically, pushing ellie along the sidewalk. "come on stupid."

ellie doesn't look forward to her birthday so much anymore. it's the same every year now. but she can't lie and say she wasn't looking forward to seeing you today, knowing you'd sweeten it.

but she hasn't seen you all day, that's the thing—ellie hasn't made it this long without talking to you for a long time. even in the mornings before her longer, more strenuous patrols, she passes by the kindergarten house to see you.

she's almost feeling a withdrawal right now.

"we're watching every curtis and viper movie in chronological order," ellie declares as they reach joel's backyard, mere feet away from the garage. "hey, is dina coming too? i haven't seen her either. everyone's... quiet."

"i don't know."

"you're— she's your fucking girlfriend, buster, how do you not know where she is?" ellie pokes jesse's shoulder and he snorts.

"i don't know."

"you won't know anything anymore once i punch you in the face," she mutters. "you're not slick. you're up to something."

jesse chuckles again and shoves ellie up to her door. "hurry up. maybe you're about to find all the answers to your questions."

ellie pushes jesse back—because she needs the last laugh in every encounter—and then finally grasps her doorknob. she all but charges in, then stops in her tracks.

forget dina, forget the cake, forget the awkwardly cheered 'happy birthday', her eyes are on you immediately.

in the dress she gifted you.

the fabric cascades down to your ankles, the milkmaid bodice laced tight. ellie's never seen this style of dress around jackson before. it's something unique, something rare.

you look even more delicious than that cake. she's hot under the collar, rolling up the sleeves of her flannel and smiling shyly.

"hey, guys... what the fuck?"

"surprise?" you say, giggling a bit. and never does ellie want to act like this in front of jesse and dina, but it's her damn birthday, so she'll let herself have this—she rushes forward to hold you close. it makes you giggle even more. she giggles too.

dina approaches with two of the paper crowns, already wearing one herself, and places one atop your head, and hands you the other when ellie finally lets you go. you're quick to crown ellie, pushing some hair out of her face.

she can't remember a time she grinned or laughed as much in a long time. it feels like her heart is swelling in her chest, and it's a little sickening. the heavy ebb almost distracts her, but she doesn't get too lost before you're handing her a knife and leading her to the cake.

"cake and a movie marathon sound good?"

even looking at the cake makes ellie feel full. it's a simple spongecake with a jam and cream filling, some white icing over the top with a heart painted on top out of jam.

"you made this?" she clarifies. when you nod, she does the same. "fuck yeah. you're the best baker i know."

"thank you," you mumble. "hurry; make a wish. i'm gonna light a candle."

ellie watches you dig a little candle into the centre. you can feel her, those leafy eyes boring into your figure as you take a lighter to the wick. you hope she makes a wish as she closes her eyes and blows softly.

ellie, jesse, and dina sit on the bed with a plate of cake each. you haven't got yourself a slice yet or even sat down, busy doting on them and putting on the first movie.

you take jesse and dina's empty plates back to the sink, washing them hastily before coming back to see if ellie's finished yet. instead, she pats the spot on the bed beside her. her slice is half-finished.

"come here and relax," she murmurs. "off your feet."

you shrug your shoulders and sit on the edge of the bed. there's this sudden shyness, and ellie realises you've been on your feet tending to everyone's needs because you physically can't help yourself from it.

she's right on the money. there's some anxiety in not being able to satisfy everyone.

"you've done enough." ellie takes your arm and pulls you closer, then takes her spoon and scoops up a bit of cake for you. "here."

you snort softly, parting your lips. she feeds it to you with gentleness, a focus more on you than the movie. and she can't help shivering at your frosting-covered lips or the way you look in that dress. like a rose, radiant and well cared for.

ellie sets the empty plate on her nightstand when she's done feeding you, and she strategically wraps her arm around you so that you won't get up again. it's quite funny how the action makes you sink into her chest. she hopes that you can't hear how fast her heart is beating.

ellie hopes for a lot of things lately, and it's all to do with you.

"you're cuddly," she whispers. "like a little kitten."

you let out a quiet chuckle in response to that, nuzzling closer. ellie's so warm. her hands are warm, thankfully not clammy, though. her breath on the top of your head is warm. her damn face is hot again. flushed.

she hasn't thought about her immunity at all since the party started. you make her feel normal.

the sun bleeds through the trees that line the park, a slight warmth cutting into the crisp air that you wish you could bathe in until the end of time. ellie stands a hairsbreadth away from you, walking side by side in slowness and silence.

after five lame eighties action movies, dina and jesse decided to head off on their own late into the night. they had left you with ellie, who couldn't keep the smile off her face when you said you wouldn't mind watching one more for her.

life in jackson is busier than it looks and you as well as ellie are accustomed to waking quite early. she needed to clear her head, and you invited her along on a morning walk. ellie said yes, and now realises that she severely underestimated how hard it would be to stop herself from holding your hand.

you spent time on her. effort. it was small, but more than she anticipated, and she can't help but think, why? why would you waste your time like this? on her?

"are you okay?" you ask, breaking the quiet with a light voice, but a heavy question. "did you like the party thing? i wasn't sure..."

"oh, you're kidding? i loved it, kitten. i promise." kitten. it's a thing now, ellie announced it when you woke. she smiles your way, stopping so you can catch up to her.

you let out the breath you're holding, nodding. your expression feels flatter than usual, noticeable enough for ellie to pick up on, and she moves closer. she's never seen you down. maybe down isn't the right word—what ellie grasps is some kind of insecurity.

"hey, what's wrong?"

her arm passes over your shoulder and she tugs you into her side. it's so gentle, like you're being wrapped up in a blanket. that's how she makes you feel sometimes. ellie's like a fire, the comforting crackling and passionate heat that makes you feel safe in the winter. she's like a bed, cozy and protecting—maybe a fort is a better analogy. she's built these unbreakable walls around her that block others out, and confuse you, but she's opened the stronghold to you.

"it's okay," you say, leaning closer into her arms. your hand squeezes her bicep, and in turn she holds you tighter. she cups the back of your head in her palm. "you're really quiet all the time, you know..."

"oh," ellie murmurs. as much as she loves this—listening to you, holding you, thinking of you—she's on the lookout for prying eyes. it isn't because she hates to be seen this way, not anymore. it's because she can't. she can't bear to let another person see her with you anymore. they think she's hurting you, and she'd like to believe she isn't, but she's not sure anymore. "uh... i- i just... don't know what to say."

"i like it when you tell me what's on your mind," you say. it's just quietly whispered against her ear, it tickles her neck. your nose rubs against the bristling skin, and she feels how you inhale her scent. "can you do that for me?"

ellie feels her heart stutter. you feel it too, and feel the most minuscule pang of regret for asking something like that of her. of course you know it's hard for ellie to do. but that doesn't put your mind at ease.

"do you.. wanna sit down? there's a bench... just over there, let's go sit down." ellie rushes you to the park bench, sitting beside you. she runs a hand through her hair, opening and closing her mouth a few times. she knows you're waiting for something. anything. "you know, maybe i'm just not used to people wasting their time for me the way you do... and you keep ignoring every warning. maybe i shouldn't have let you get close."

you were going to let her speak. you honestly did want to hear whatever she has to say—but this?

"that's dumb," you mutter. "those people don't know you. i mean— they don't know me either."

"but they know that i'm an asshole," she counters. "and you're not. i'm... i'm sorry, okay?"

"for what, ellie?" you ask softly. you tilt your head to catch her gaze when she lowers her head to the ground. "there is nothing to be sorry for. those people don't know anything about either of us. it's not their place to decide if you're allowed to touch me. god, they act like you're— you're sick, or something. infected."

"yeah," she sighs. she glances up at you again, shrugging her shoulders. "i guess i'm worried that i'm hurting you somehow. that i might, in the future, hurt you."

"i don't think you're capable."

ellie sighs again. she looks at you, the stubborn knit of your brows close together, the small frown on your lips. "i don't want to hurt you."

"that's all i care about," you reply. "i know you don't want to. i know you. and i want to know more. but i can only know as much as you'll let me. i want you to tell me what's on your mind. to just— try. please?"

she nods. "okay."

there's so much that ellie wishes she could tell you.

she clears her throat again, vision focusing on your fidgeting hand. she thoughtlessly covers your hand with her own to stop you, her thumb rubbing over your cool skin. "i don't mean to make you confused. it's just that i'm, you know, confused? my head doesn't make a lot of sense. i write it down, sometimes that helps."

you nod. "yeah... you do a lot more than just confuse me. you make me feel all the feelings."

"all of them?"

"all of them." the corners of your mouth tilt up and you look across the park. there's nobody around at dawn. it's you and ellie, alone, with the birds, the trees, the grass, the feelings. "but i never feel hurt. i feel very safe. i've never had someone like you before. it feels like you understand that there's more to me than what other people see."

ellie exhales, a long and deep breath. she turns to you, brows upturned and a blush painting over her face. "yeah, well... i do my best to keep you comfortable."

"that makes me happy," you say. "and you..? do you feel..?"

"oh," ellie lets out a breathy laugh. "me... i feel good."

the word's on the tip of her tongue. but she doesn't say it. she doesn't even want to accept it; ellie feels purposeful around you. she's a protector. she's... not a lover, but surely something like that. she makes you feel happy. comfortable. safe. like watering a garden of roses.

ellie's voice gets raspy as she continues. "i feel seen."

"i'm really, really glad," you reply. she looks at you and smiles a bit, biting the inside of her cheek. there's a heat flowing through your body. you guess ellie feels the same, because her face is reddening more and more.

"so, kitty... should we get back soon?" ellie asks, looking around again—as if to play off the nickname. the shape of it in her mouth still feels a little weird, but she can't think of anything better. when you asked why, all she said was that sometimes, she swears you might start purring when she hugs you.

"yeah," you murmur distractedly. she looks back at you with concern, and your eyes are on her lips.

oh.

she doesn't feel scared. not exactly the way that she thought. she's not contagious. her burdens are not something she can share to you. you told her so, be it indirectly of course, but you still told ellie she couldn't hurt you by existing. you're comfortable; comfortable enough to want to kiss her.

so when you lean in, ellie does too.

your lips, plush, sweet, shy, meet hers. she is as shy, but quickly succumbs to the feeling. it's pleasant. she rubs her hand over your arm in a light motion, a full grin softening her face.

she'd like to do it again. ellie would love that, actually. sometimes when she thinks about you for too long, she starts to think about all those things you can do to a girlfriend. fuck. she's being selfish again. she's being crude.

"hey, so..." ellie sighs, leaning against the back of the bench and rubbing the back of her neck. "i know a spot just outside of jackson. it's real pretty out there. i can ask maria to let us out for a day? i'll take you there."

you hold fistfuls of the sides of ellie's shirt, holding on tight as she steers shimmer up a hill. she wants to, but she's barely paying attention to your murmured comments of amazement at how beautiful the woods are at this time of year. she's nervous. really.

"we're almost there," ellie announces. "you okay back there baby girl?"

"mm-hmm." you hum, leaning your head against the back of her shoulder, hiding your burning hot face. these little nicknames knock you pretty hard, and the moment ellie discovered so, she wouldn't let up.

"good," she whispers, biting back a smile at your bashfulness. "we're almost there. close your eyes, maybe. don't look until i tell you to. it'll be worth it! i promise."

"i trust you," you reply, laughing quietly and letting your eyes flutter closed.

it smells fresh outside of jackson. a light rainfall had occurred overnight, not only is there an earthy scent left behind—you can smell wet bark and leafy grass—but shimmer's hooves crunch mud and twigs, the sound crisp. the sky is clear of clouds, it's bright and balmy.

shimmer comes to a halt and ellie slides to the ground, catching your hands. she discretely checks the area for any infected as she talks. "alright darlin'. down we get. and no peeking."

"i'm not gonna peek," you giggle, stepping down with some help from ellie.

she slowly guides you forward, one hand over your eyes to really make sure you won't cheat, and the other on your waist.

"okay... are you ready?" ellie asks, removing her hand from your face finally. "you can look."

you blink, readjusting to the light around you, and once your vision clears you are met with what you could only describe as some kind of fairytale hideout—a charming little building, overgrown and yet it's aglow with colour. lush, emerald ivy crawls up the walls, wild and untamed. the flowering plant covers the faded awning, the walls, the broken window. a rusted gold bell hangs over the door, glinting in the sunlight. the dilapidated sign on the wall reads 'marybeth's flowers, est. 2006'.

"oh.. my..." you take a shallow breath before running up to the shop, mary janes squelching wet grass under them. ellie chuckles before chasing you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

"careful, baby. i'm ninety percent sure a patrol came through this morning so there should be no danger but we don't know for sure. don't run from me, okay?"

she's not surprised when her warning gets aired.

"this is beautiful," you say, looking around awe-struck. "you know, sometimes life feels so bleak because of the infected. but things like this make you realise... it's not so bad."

"yeah," ellie murmurs. she follows your gaze to the streaks of light glaring into the flower shop. another small victory for ellie—she knew you'd love this. while she was never one to appreciate the silence of abandoned buildings, succumbed to nature, she knows you fall the opposite way. likely because you seldom see sights like this after settling in jackson. all she ever wanted was to restore society. but your fresh eyes make the gears in her brain turn a different direction every now and then.

but she can't celebrate her success yet. she got you excitedly wandering the shop, a smile on your face. she still has another goal to complete today. and she shall stall it for as long as she can.

"these flowers! they're so happy, look at them," you chirp, dragging ellie through the shop. her nose tickles at the scent of strong pollen, but she tries to ignore it. and the watering of her eyes. what a dumb idea, bringing you here when she has allergies? somehow it hadn't even crossed her mind in the months she'd dreamed of this day. maybe it was a subconscious thing. she's willing to bear it just for you.

"happy flowers..?" she mutters. "i like you."

you stop by a pocket of pristine daisies and tilt your head, taking a soft inhale of the flowers. almost comically, ellie sneezes into her elbow, shaking her head.

"fuck, these things mess with my nose."

"aren't they pretty, though?" you ask, looking back at she who looks away in embarrassment. "they're said to represent new beginnings and love."

"yep. yeah, that's— cute." ellie nods, covering her nose. hopefully later on, she can get more than a word out without sneezing. she has something very important to ask. "i'm fucking dying."

"the hydrangeas! look at these," you gasp, rushing over to the bursts of coloured flowers. "they smell divine."

"what do these ones mean?" ellie asks, rubbing her nose with her free hand. the hydrangeas don't irritate her as much. thank god.

"well, the blue ones symbolise forgiveness and regret, or an apology to someone. the pink are about love. and white is purity," you explain. you don't see ellie nodding along behind you. "i've never seen so many of them. it's so tame in the greenhouses at home—these different species look like they're just.. fighting for space."

ellie's eyes land on a rose bush crawling up the wall. she lets out a puff of air before attempting to pluck one off the vine. a thorn pricks her thumb and she utters a curse before taking her knife to the stem. she feels weird holding it.

she catches your attention by clearing her throat, and holds it out to you on a whim. "these mean love too, don't they?"

you turn your head and, as your eyes lay upon the delicate pink hue of the rose in her hand, you draw your lip between your teeth and take it from her. "yeah. they do. i might take this home with us and press it."

"oh, yeah? that'll be nice," she replies.

"yeah, i think so," you say. it's almost a question. ellie just looks like she has something to say. but she won't say it. in turn, it makes you nervous as well.

ellie looks down and laughs breathlessly, her hand reaching towards her back pocket to pull out a few small cards. you recognise it, it's similar to your method at the winter dance.

"so... we both know i'm not the best at talking about my feelings," she starts. "so i stole your idea about the palm cards. y'know. hopefully i don't drop my shit on the floor like you did."

"hey—"

her voice is shaking. an undeniable waver, that makes your stomach flip with worry. "i appreciate you a lot. i've struggled with, um— i mean, fuck. this is stupid, i'm sorry, i'm just gonna freestyle this."

you giggle, tenderly touching ellie's forearm with the hope of relaxing her. "take your time, els."

"i've felt stranded since getting to jackson." ellie rubs her nose again with her sleeve, and then looks at the rose hanging candidly in your hand. "i really appreciate you for seeing me, and... believing me. nobody else really does. i just— can i... call you my girlfriend?"

you face splits into a wide smile, though she doesn't see. she's holding her breath, staring at the rose, when your pillow-soft palm cups her cheek.

"i would love that," you whisper, finally leaning in. you kiss her slowly, and ellie reciprocates immediately, hands grabbing at your body to pull you closer. sometimes she feels she can't get you close enough.

there's that selfishness again. but if you're her girlfriend, she can be as selfish as she likes.

she doesn't regret it. it's not regret. it's something cold. this pit in her stomach.

she's keeping you warm, got you tucked under the comforter and your face buried against her chest. ellie's fingers scratch softly at your scalp, and she watches your closed eyes flutter with dream, a calm look on your face.

maybe she shouldn't have asked.

you're hers now. she's over the moon, no doubt about that. maybe right now it's your quiet breathing as you sleep in her arms, the trees outside the garage that whisper in the wind, and, of course, her restless thoughts, that allow for ellie to question herself.

she hasn't had thoughts like this in a few days, though. she was running on the high of your affections, and now she's got this downtime to think about the week she's had.

you sleep so prettily. ellie maintains a steady, slow breathing pattern as if afraid she'd startle you otherwise. she watches you stir. you roll even closer to her and she bites her lip, wrapping you up as tight as can be. all this fear of harming you—this is what it stems from. ellie looks at you and she thinks about what a perfect girl this is. something about you stops her dead in her tracks, makes her change her tune.

and she tries not to care about what others think of her. ellie accepted that she is, inherently, the cause of catastrophe for many people. she even played into it.

ellie's lost so many loved ones. she swore she wouldn't lose you, because if she never had you to begin with, there was nothing to lose.

she fucked up.

she's at war with what she wants and what she fears most. how can that be? where has her self control gone? because the side of her that is wanting is starting to win.

she awkwardly swallows back a cough, burying your face into your hair, salt soaking into the strands. she slides her hand to the small of your back and pushes you closer, as though your warmth will ease the strain on her heart. she squeezes tight, starting to tremble. illness ravages her body.

you whimper out into the silence, tugging on the fabric of her hoodie.

"i know kitten," she whispers, "go back to sleep, i'm here."

"there. are you comfy?" ellie asks, rubbing circles into your skin beneath your shirt. she's got you sat on her lap beneath a tree in the park, having fussed about how you were getting your clothes all dirty by sitting on your own.

"yes. very." you nod firmly and lean against her, closing your eyes. the sun weaves between the leaves of the trees and hits your face just right, warmth coating your features.

ellie, on the other hand, is busy fixing you up. she wipes the grass off your knees and pulls your socks over your calves after sensing they'd fallen. she's got into this habit of silently tending to your appearance, be it tightening the ribbon in your hair or pulling your skirt down if it rides up too high. it's just an excuse to touch. to keep you in good condition.

these are the things nobody else sees or notices. ellie tends to you like you're a garden of rich flowers, the minute she sees any sign of wilting she must fix it. she also, recently, has taken it upon herself to protect you from parasitic public opinion. gossiping swirling around town in storms, which had been a fear of hers by touching you—she does everything possible to shield you.

"some privacy, how 'bout that?" she mutters, petting your arm. "nobody around to judge."

"yeah," you say. you pull ellie's other arm over your waist to anchor yourself against her body. "you didn't have to make such a big deal earlier, though."

"i absolutely did," she says, laughing. the noise vibrates in her chest. it's a soothing feeling. "look, i don't care what people think of me, but you? they're not allowed to talk shit about you because you're with me. and if anyone says shit like that to you, you tell them to fuck off, or you tell me, and i'll tell them to fuck off for you."

"well... i dunno," you reply, nudging ellie. "i can handle it. because i know that what they say isn't true. why would i value the opinions of people who change their tune depending on who i spend my time with?"

ellie scoffs softly and rests her face atop your head, lips against your crown. "i don't deserve you."

she's not sure what led her to saying that. it is how she feels inside, but she's been hellbent on keeping that from you. she's found that she talks a lot more freely these days. it's partly to compensate for the guilt she feels in what she can't say—like telling you she's immune, or that she wished she was dead for a very long time—lately, she hasn't thought about those things as much. she can see herself, one day, telling you about her immunity. she'd like for you to feel a sense of comfort in it.

"don't say that stuff," you scold gently, squishing ellie's wrist in your hand. your fingers slide down the pale skin to her knuckles, red-raw and bruised from an altercation. "maybe those people shouldn't try to provoke you, and they'd be a lot happier minding their own."

"i lost my temper and punched someone," ellie says, "it's embarrassing."

"well... i agree that you didn't really need to do that," you say sheepishly. "but you were defending yourself. you fuck around and you find out, you know? jacob was being nasty on purpose."

she snorts, shrugging her shoulders and squeezing your waist. "yeah, i guess. it was only when he brought you into it that i got mad, okay? i'm trying to handle my emotions better. and he just gets on my nerves because he's such a little dick."

"well, i'm glad you stood up for me, either way," you say. "thank you, els. i'm not good at that stuff. people hurt my feelings all the time without realising it and i don't do anything about it."

"yeah. i promise he was just talking out of his ass, baby, please, don't take what he said seriously."

ellie knows you; she knows you're capable of handling yourself, but you are also a highly sensitive person, who has only ever known how it feels to be on people's good sides. being compared to a doormat, a lamb to the slaughter, or as jacob called it today, you being 'walked like a dog' by ellie, it must hurt. there must be doubt somewhere in your mind.

"it's okay," you say hesitantly. "i'm not."

"he doesn't know us," she murmurs against your ear. she moves her lips to your temple, rubbing down your side with her hand. "and he was so wrong, anyway. you're my kitten."

"were you still wanting to hang out with jesse and dina later? we can get ready and go soon," you say quietly, glancing over your shoulder at ellie as you reach for your shoes. she's still sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard casually. that's a no.

"i just... after today, wanna be with my girl, okay?" ellie murmurs. she shifts her eyes away immediately after telling you this, like she's embarrassed—and you laughing doesn't make it better. "i doubt those two feel like doing shit right now anyway. and you look exhausted, so..."

"okay miss suave," you tease, raising your eyebrows at her tough act. "what are you doing?"

"trying to be a good girlfriend," ellie says back. she opens her hands in an encouraging fashion, as if to beckon you to her lap.

lips parted in bewilderment and words escaping you for a moment, your body still seems to move with its own mind and you're soon perched on ellie's thigh, facing her. her hand finds home on your waist, the other on your knee. "you already are a good girlfriend, silly."

"yeah, well— i just think i wanna appreciate you a little more, kitten. some proper alone time, you know? just us. and our feelings. and..." ellie can't even look at you. it's strange, because for the first time, she isn't afraid of making a move. she's just unfamiliar with it. "i— maybe, you know... i can just show you what i mean. if you trust me."

you take a pause at that. you tilt your head and catch her gaze, stammering slightly. "hm?"

"do you trust me?"

"yeah," you reply, the breathless word pleasing ellie more than you could imagine. "can you be a little more direct, please?"

ellie swallows thickly, looking you in the eyes with a fiery certainty. "i want to touch you. are you ready for something like that?"

you weren't sure at first if you had read the situation wrong, but you're right. and whilst nervous, you're so, so ready.

"yeah, please." your insistence causes ellie to grow in confidence, a hand slowly snaking from thigh to your cheek.

"okay," ellie says. "it's your first time, yeah?"

"yes."

you avoid her gaze this time. ellie's not used to this anymore. you haven't been so shy since the first few times you roped your way into speaking to her. she was always so endeared by your shyness. right now, it's just what she needed. ellie wants you to be the nervous one more often. she likes it. feeling like a protector.

"don't be scared, kitten." ellie gives you a reassuring smile, her thumb rubbing over your lower lip. "it's only me, you know? i'll take care of you."

your stomach feels tight suddenly, a rush of warmth between your legs. it is just the thought of what she'll do, how you know ellie will take care of you. it has you worked up. already.

ellie's free hand roams up and down your back, the one cupping your cheek now bringing you closer and closer. you brace yourself by basing your hands on her shoulders, certainty in both of your nearing smiles—her lips are on yours in seconds, and as fast as they had met, the passion increases.

silence and heavy breath. your lower lip between her teeth. ellie's hand pushing you closer by the ass. she touches you with far less of the hesitance you find yourself with, letting out a quiet and pleased hum against her mouth as you find the courage to palm her chest.

your hips rolling into her is what pulls her away for a soft laugh, fingers languidly messing with the hem of your top. "you're okay? you cool if I take this off'a you now?"

you lean forward to give her another kiss, over-eager and making her chuckle again. she takes that as a yes and begins to pull your top up, focused on you as the fabric is discarded somewhere on the floor.

the goosebumps beginning to prick up along your tummy and arms sweeten the sight even more, her hands sliding up your sides and holding you firmly. she almost doesn't know how to proceed, heat building in her boxers and gaze frantic—where to look, where to look? your stomach, or your bra, and the way it hugs your tits?

nimble fingers graze the cups of your bra, a slight touch just to test the waters.

"shit, you are so perfect." ellie whispers it like she can't even believe the beauty sitting in her lap right now, her already pink cheeks turning darker. crimson billowing up her neck, settling beneath smatterings of freckles.

while she moves toward the clasp of your bra, she leans forward to kiss you again, tongue pressing into yours. ellie snaps your bra open and you let it slither down your arms, baring your chest. the air has a bite to it, but ellie takes hearty, warm handfuls of your tits, watching you shiver.

she now trails her lips down, down, down. neck, collarbone, tits. she has half a mind to tease you, avoid where you want her most, but she can't bring herself to.

too happily, ellie swallows up your stiff peak, and you arch your back into her. She fondles you with gentleness, lips switching between both sides and wrapping around your nipples. her free hand strokes up your spine, every action unscripted but full of intention.

hearing your tiny coos and panting gets ellie pent up. the upturning of your brows and how you draw your lip between your teeth to muffle the pleasure in your voice, your hips rolling and squirming, hands fidgeting, it's a masterpiece. ellie has got to draw you like this—she will, if she can even remember it later.

finally, ellie's fingers nudge at the fly of your shorts, her forehead resting against yours. "lay down baby girl, i got you."

"mhm."

you shimmy out of your shorts quickly, crawling onto ellie's bed. it feels unfamiliar and yet comforting to gather pillows and place them against the headboard, resting back on them.

ellie helps you shortly, then starts to throw off her own clothes; shirt and jeans off, and only her boxers and bra on. you want to stop and stare but she's throwing instructions at you before you get the chance to.

"lift your hips up babe, let me put this down."

you feel soft.

ellie had, of course, taken note of your smooth skin, pillowy lips. in the physical sense, you are so soft. but on the inside, you're melting over her. softening and shying away over the reassurances slipping into conversation, the fact that her callouses feel so much fainter thanks to her light grip.

it makes you feel somewhat lightheaded. head in the clouds.

ellie quickly crawls over you, pressing a firm, steady line of kisses all the way from your jaw to your tummy, occasionally nipping flesh between her teeth.

"and are you gonna let me take these off?" ellie asks, rubbing circles over your hips where pink cotton covers you.

"yeah," you murmur, laughing quietly, looking down and matching ellie's small smile with one of your own. "please.."

she takes her time as she slides the fabric down your legs. she can feel your nervousness, and attempts to drown out the silence in the room by cooing at the sight between your legs.

"wow, look at you… all wet for me, hm?"

ellie parts your legs with her hands and lies on her stomach, eyes closing as she leans down and tenderly kisses your clit; your jolt makes her stop and grin upwards, hand splaying over your pelvis. her thumb rubs slow, languid circles on the thumping bundle of nerves, the other hand demanding your legs to remain open.

tremors run through your thighs. ellie feels them against her, and she likens them to adorable electric shocks. your chest heaves. she's barely touched you yet.

"so beautiful," ellie whispers. she's looking more at the folds of your cunt than she is at you just now, struggling to believe she is the only person to see you like this, let alone touch you like this. what'd she even do to deserve this? gorgeous skin glistening, musky scent hitting her nose…

it's all hers. how did she get so goddamn lucky?

your hips buck into her hand. frankly, ellie cannot hold back anymore, itching for a taste, and of course in a kinder sense—she doesn't want to keep you waiting too long.

it starts in long, deliberate strokes of her tongue. up and down, from hole to clit. a whiny sound falls from her lips as she finally learns your flavour.

but you sound perfect. your voice strained, noises slipping out of your lips free of intention. ellie listens to it all. she smiles when the sounds change, when her tongue focuses precisely on your swollen clit. it's slow, sensual, but fervent. it's almost torturous for your sensitivity, the newness of it all leaving you with difficulty focusing on anything at all.

you hold yourself together so well, and ellie's never seen you truly fall apart like this.

your body is fighting itself. leaning into ellie's mouth, then trying to move away—which she doesn't let happen—and you tense up, squeezing a pillow tightly over your chest.

"mmh— ellie! it's too much."

"shh, i got you baby girl. look at me," ellie whispers, plump lips shining with your essence over them.

you open your eyes a smidge and look down, almost mortified by the lewdness of her between your legs. as she distracts you with a gentle flick of her tongue, you feel a slow but pleasant burning sensation, the insertion of her finger—that's when too much becomes too much.

your entire body is startled by a wave of shock, breathy whines falling out of you without control. ellie has to fight to keep your squirming body still, though she squeezes her own thighs together at the scene. the feeling of you clenching so tight on her finger, and your clit twitching under her tongue...

"aw, baby girl, what happened?" she teases, looking up through half-lidded eyes. "do i have a magic touch or something, huh?"

"you are so mean," you whine.

"mean? i can get meaner if you want me to," she whispers, finger starting to pump in and out at a slow pace. "don't be embarrassed. i did the same thing my first time."

when her finger begins to move, you bite back a light whimper and squeeze the pillow harder in your hands. "no you didn't. and don't be meaner."

"i didn't," ellie concedes, laughing softly. "i'm just trying to make you feel better. there's nothing to be embarrassed for. that was the prettiest thing."

ellie slides her finger out of you and leans over to give you a soft peck on the lips, not before sucking her finger clean of course.

"you're so lucky i can't be mean to you, because you taste so good i wanna stay down there forever."

you huff softly, pushing frizzy hairs out of ellie's face. "did i ruin it?"

"no." ellie scoffs at this, leaning lower to bite at your neck like it's some kind of reprimand. "that was beautiful, and i'm not done, anyway. just letting you recover a little right now."

she doesn't feel bad this time around for being greedy. she licks the spot she bit, only to make another attack on your neck, sucking the skin between her teeth. ellie's being so selfish, she's eating you up and putting her hands all over you and it's disgusting, and you like it. it's making you feel good. she's not afraid that she might hurt you. she feels so much control over herself right now, so comfortable in your presence.

ellie pulls her boxers down quickly and tosses them to the floor. this time it's your turn to not know where to look—the trail of dark red hairs that lead from her navel to her mound, or the small, perky tits that she uncovers finally.

"don't," she whispers, grabbing your wrists and pinning them by your sides the moment you try to reach out. "just spread your legs for me."

you give a sort of choked moan in response, opening your legs. ellie bites her lip and moves slowly without wanting to overwhelm you, but sits so that your legs are interlocked, her cunt right on top of yours. you both moan, ellie a little quieter than you, as she starts to move.

and it's not slow. her clit kisses yours over, and over, and over, her clammy knuckles whiting as she holds your hands into the bed. she uses it as leverage to move herself over you, panting heavily over your face. everything's slippery, sweaty, hot, as though you're running a fever.

"you take it so, so well, kitten," ellie says lowly, forcing her eyes open to watch your wrecked expression. "so good for me, my one and only."

"mmh, els, i love you," you whimper. you recognise the buildup to your orgasm this time, it's still quick but it doesn't take you by surprise so much like earlier. between shrieks of delight and your hips bucking into hers, you chant a mantra. "i love you, i love you."

"i love you too— i really do," ellie rushes out. she's overwhelmed with it, and never has she come so quickly before, but your needy cries satisfy her more than anything. she could honestly get off to just that sound.

"shh, shh, you're okay," she whispers after collapsing over you. she's shaking hard, blistering skin burning yours, but in a sensitive way; it's almost addictive. she cups your cheek to lift your face, almost like she has to check that you're still functioning. it's the slightest worry she might have broken you—not that that would be a bad thing anymore. not like this. "look at me, pretty girl. there she is. hi."

"hi," you reply, still breathing heavily, but managing a light smile. ellie grins back, leaving a kiss on those soft lips before rolling over to hold you in her arms.

"did you get what i was wanting to show you? i think you did," she says.

you nod, pressing your mouth against her collarbone, the skin hot and moist. "i love you, and you love me."

"clever kitten," ellie murmurs, rubbing the back of your head. "you get me like nobody else."

she has succeeded. she makes you feel safe. she's good for that—protecting. she was used to treating her immunity as a superpower of sorts, to throw herself recklessly into patrols to guard jackson. things are simpler now; ellie is more responsible now, she wants to return home safely for your sake. if she were gone, you'd be hurting.

it's something ellie resigned herself to thinking she'd never have. you trust her. she knows you. she knows nearly everything there is to know. she never thought herself to be anything but destructive, but she's grown under your wing. her fire is contained to that which emits smoke into a chimney on a rainy day, keeping you warm.

she's attached herself to you; she's the thorns on your stem, the water that keeps you happy, and the sun that nourishes you all at once.

ellie has a new purpose.

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @emmap3rkins @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @marieeeluvsyou @losing-it-lately (if you aren't usually on my tag list but got tagged, it's because you showed some interest in the fic and it really motivated me to keep going ♡) thank you for reading ♡♡ btw i have headcanons + spin-off content planned for this au so be on the lookout !!

#.ellie #mean!ellie #sweetheart!reader #mean!jackson!ellie #ellie willams x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #femme!reader #.in bloom #mar's stories †#.tlou

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