#what’s 20 points between friends huh

[heavenbarnes]

I think I’m finally on the Damian McKenzie train - I hate the brumbies and your man is killing them atm

YEAH BABY 🤪 absolutely spaaaanked the brumbies last night

[letteremi]

Just like Chet

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru and you have been friends since high school, and boy, it's been tough being his friend. can't he just see that you've been here all along?

cw: suggestive themes (16+), alcohol, and swearing

genre/tropes/etc: friends to lovers (are they lovers? no, worse), university au, unrequited love (idiots), mutual pining, golden boy! satoru, sukuna as plot device (soz), angst, angst no comfort, alcohol!, will they-won't they, miscommunication (sorryyyyyyy), in denial, suguru and shoko and gojo and friend group yippee

wc: 5.8 k

an: not proofread xx running on 2 hrs of sleep and redbull my head IS going to explode but that's okay! I kinda wanted to make it longer actually.

Hope you enjoyy!!

Credit goes to @bronzewasp for the divider!

You weren’t that girl — the kind who pouted, sulked, or let her stomach twist just because a boy didn’t look her way. Not in a million years, or so you told yourself. You didn’t get jealous. Especially not because of Gojo Satoru.

Not even when fangirls swarm him the second he passes the gates of your university. Not when they easily pried you away from him — a manicured hand yanking you back, saccharinely sweet perfume like poison in your throat. 

“I’ll see you after lectures,” you’d say, but you’d always avert his gaze, and he’d flash a grin your way, and then you would part ways. You would keep your head straight, and your eyes forward, refusing to look back at him.  

You’d meet up with him later, by the basketball courts. You always got there first, and you’d always set your backpack down at the uppermost left corner. 

He’d swagger in ten minutes late, backpack slung on his left shoulder like clockwork, Suguru drifting behind with his hands in his pockets.

He’d hop up to where you were, chat your ear off for 20 minutes, with Suguru’s interjections — ‘and then Yaga actually threw his bag at me’ — ‘well, can you blame him?’ 

The hollering whoops and ‘hey man’ of the rest of the basketball team would echo into the gym, signalling the end of your conversation. Without a second look, Gojo would jump up from his squeaky seat, shoes creaking underneath him as he launched onto the wax-coated floors. 

“You always come early, huh?” Suguru would murmur. Not teasing. Just observing. Then he would turn, waving a casual goodbye, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. You never responded. Didn’t trust your voice to come out steady. If you had looked a little closer into his eyes, maybe you’d see the pity in them too. 

When they both left you, you’d turn to your laptop. You’d type furiously — not an essay, not anything — just noise to drown out Suguru’s voice replaying in your mind. He had said what was so obvious, but what Satoru had always failed to notice. Or maybe he had — and just didn’t care. Didn’t want to trespass into the unspoken. 

You envied him — Satoru. The heights in which he soared, the freedom he had to act so natural, to just float between people. Jealousy always creeps in like a cat amongst the shadows. A bitter little voice reminding you that he could turn to anyone, while you only ever turned to him. He belonged to the world, while you stayed in the outskirts. It was fine, really. You didn’t need the spotlight, you were happy without the attention. The twinge of envy calls you a liar. 

He was someone who called the shots, took control of his own future. And you were always just someone waiting in the stands. 

Sometimes you’d turn your gaze towards the court — watching the motions of the players, awed by their fluidity and speed. And sometimes, when you found them, Satoru’s gaze would already be fixed upon you — blue eyes pinned you in place, shameless, electric, like he wanted to be caught staring. 

Your fingers would still, a light pink dusted your cheeks. He’d wink as he scored another point, stuck his tongue out for good measure. 

He’d jog up the stands, his hair damp with sweat, curling at his temples, and snatch your water bottle. After he drank all your water — ‘there are perfectly working water taps just outside the gym, idiot’, exasperated and teasing, Satoru would laugh and recount the game, animatedly gesturing, while you listened attentively. 

And without fail, you had to always bite your tongue. Always had to physically stop yourself from saying the words that came to you as easy as breathing. It was easy to love Satoru Gojo. 

Too easy. 

- 

The carpeted floor of the library is shaking, thundering even. The scratching of pen on paper ceases, the staccato of keyboards stops. People are looking up from their work — some startled, some annoyed. Stomach dropping to your toes, you grimace. There could only be one person coming your way. These days, you don't really want to see him. Too consumed with the thought of studying (and him), or whatnot. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t like thinking about Satoru. Just, that he sprung into your mind uninvited. Going to study today? I should probably invite Satoru… Walking past a store, and seeing a mug with a digimon on it? Satoru would love that for his birthday…Passing couples on the street? Your heart clenches, saying the thoughts that you didn’t want to think.

Shaking your head, you pull your laptop closer like it’s a shield from the Satoru-shaped distraction. Crossing your legs, you sip some matcha before diving straight back into trying to get through slope stability analysis. Why, oh why did you choose to study civil engineering?

A large palm slams onto the table, scattering your pens and sending your papers flying. Craning your neck, you find yourself face to face with the one and only Satoru. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, a playful pout on his lips. Lips pursed, your gut twists. Guilty. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, the picture of innocence. “You’re imagining things.” 

“Ah! She’s manipulative, too!” He gasps dramatically, the back of his hand flying to his forehead. Just as quickly, he drops his palm and surges forward like an overeager dog. 

You could catch the flecks of midnight blue in his eyes. Could see the light freckles scattered across his face. Shoes digging into the carpet, you try to scooch backwards. Unfortunately, your chair doesn’t glide gently across the floor as you had hoped, sticking to the carpet like glue. Instead, it just tilts on its back legs. Awkward.  

Okay, new plan. Arms stretched overhead, you yawn, back curving like a cat’s. A smooth move (not) to put some distance between your faces. The side-eye he gave you let you know he saw right through you, the playful pout of his lips said something else.  

A dramatic sigh fills the air. “Well… I’ll forgive you for being the worst friend ever if you go out with me tonight,” he says. 

With him? 

You stare back at him, confused.  

“Suguru and Shoko said that they wouldn’t come if you didn’t either,” Satoru hums, “Besides, I miss you—”

What? 

“ —no one else can keep up with me on the dance floor,” exasperation and defeat in his voice, though the teasing lilt never leaves.  

“I don’t really have a choice then, do I?” You breathe out, not even realising you had stopped. 

His eyebrows knit together as he leans in again — ever invasive, eyes sparkling. “I’m glad you see things my way,” laughing, “Stay at least this far—” Satoru gestures with both hands, “ — away from me though, so you don’t scare away any cute girls.”

“Ew I’d be standing way further back than that,” you retort. Lie. 

With a roll of his eyes, he’s off like a gust of wind. As soon as he had come, Satoru was gone. The only indication that he had been there was the lingering scent of his citrus cologne. And you, with your ears hot and pink. 

-

Your vanity is a warzone, your foundation brush teeters precariously on its edge, mascara wand missing its tube and drying out by the second, and three half-used highlighters glittering like cute little bombs. Where is that lip gloss? Did you leave it in the last purse, or was it hiding in one of those drawers….

Grumbling, you settle for a lip tint that makes your eyes pop. Your room matches your table, clothes littered on the floor and on the bed — messes made, casualties of indecision, torn between loose, flowy, or short, and form-fitting. 

Your reflection stares back at you as you step back from your mirror — makeup done. Fingers raking against the smooth material clinging to your skin, you gnaw at your lip. Maybe it’s not too late to change into something more casual…

You take one last glance in the mirror. Lip tint, lashes, dress that may or may not be a mistake. It’ll do. It has to. Time is running out, starting over would be pointless.

He picks you up at eight fifteen. Well, technically, Suguru picks you up at eight fifteen. Satoru is the one hollering your name and heralding your arrival, his head jutting out the backseat window with glee. 

The setting sun paints his face in a wash of warm oranges and pinks, and his dark sunglasses sit perfectly upon his nose — completing his party outfit, if you could call it that. As you make your way to the car, you clock his shirt — unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscles like he’s modelling for Vogue. What a whore, you think affectionately, giggling to yourself. 

As you draw closer, Shoko pops up behind Satoru’s massive head, from the far right of the backseat. “Who’s this babe, and can she give me her number?” she wolf whistles, clapping like you’re walking a runway. 

You do a little spin in your tight dress that hugs you in all the right places, heels clacking against the cement. Eyes rolling affectionately, you blow a kiss to the brunette. She catches it, shooting you a lascivious wink in return. 

“You can have my number, and anything else you want,” you flirt back, pulling the door open with a grin. 

“Isn’t Sugu so mean? He wouldn’t let me be passenger princess,” Satoru whines as you settle into the front seat. “Said I’d make him crash! Unbelievable…”

“That’s because you keep messing up his console, idiot,” Shoko sighs, “How can anyone drive when you’re being annoying?”

“Are we ready to go?” Suguru finally speaks up from the driver’s seat, while adjusting the radio. 

You grin, “I’m six strawberry shots in,” Satoru laughs at your admission, “Let’s do this — before I start regretting this dress. And everything else.”

-

Giggling like madmen, like co-conspirators, you and Satoru had long abandoned your friends for a corner of the bar. The blunt edge of the bar counter dug into your back, but your three? five? eight? Shots dulled the pain. Loud and exhilarating, the heavy beat of the song echoed with your rhythmic heartbeat. Though, with the way Satoru was caging you with his body, toned arms pressing onto either side of yours, you couldn’t be sure which was louder. 

“Toru, you don’t have to do that, you know,” you whisper-shout in his ear. It was the only way he’d be able to hear you over the party-goers. 

“What? And have the crowd sweep you away? Who else is going to laugh at my jokes, huh?” he shoots back. A thrill raced through your body, electrifying. He means he wants you with him then, right?

“Fine. Better you feeling all those sweaty bodies than me,” you tease. Your lips were beginning to ache from how much you’d been smiling. His body heat radiates onto you, soaking you with his warmth, your face so, so red. Here, you could pretend that he was yours. You could blame your feather light touches on the alcohol. You figure that someone like him, so endlessly touchy, wouldn’t mind. It was all in good fun.

You sweep your eyes around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Shoko’s shiny bracelets, or Suguru’s silver piercings. A pair of red eyes — sharp, hungry —- catches yours several times, your heartbeat stutters each time. Shaking your head, you turn back to Satoru, teasing him. 

Mid-laugh, Satoru lazily turns around, glancing over his shoulder, breaking eye contact. He stills — you feel it, painfully close to you — his laugh dies down, his mouth hangs open. 

“Hey.” A pretty girl with glossy eyes, glossier cherry lips, and long, silky hair had her pointer finger still raised trepidatiously above his broad, angular shoulder. She looks exactly like one of the models he’s always gushing about. 

With a jolt, his back straightens up, like someone had electrocuted him into having good posture. It’s like he’s tingling with a nervous excitement. You watch as his calloused fingers rake through his snowy hair, breathing life into his messy looks. Like he’s trying to impress her. His warmth dissipates from your side. 

He is beautiful. So beautiful. Fuck. 

You should leave. Just because he was a friend you maybe didn’t think of like a friend, didn’t mean you had to also rob him of this opportunity. 

“You’re handsome,” she drags a manicured finger down his chest, leaving rippled fabric in its wake. “Buy me a drink?”

Ahem. You awkwardly clear your throat. Surprise flits across her features, as if she just realised that you were there. I mean, fair, you were standing next to the Gojo Satoru.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, are you together?” Her hands flew to her face, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’, distress present in her pretty eyes. 

“No, no,” your laugh comes out strained. “We’re just friends. He’s all yours.”

As you glance up at him, you swear you see a flash of hurt in his eyes, the slightest twitch of his lips. Just as quickly, he beams back at you, all smiles. Were you imagining things? No, probably just wishful thinking.  

“Yeah,” Satoru affirms, “I’m all yours.” He locks eyes with her, cocking his head flirtatiously. You swear you hear your heart break. 

You need to go. And you need another drink. 

You excuse yourself, mumbling something about going to the bathroom. A pair of eyes, hot and heavy, follow you through the sea of bodies as you push through. Your heart sank with every step, twisting into something so, so ugly. You didn’t have any right to him. You didn’t have any right to feel this way. So why did you?. 

You were right, it was sticky and sweaty. But it was sure as hell better than watching your best friend put the moves on another girl. 

You whip your head back to look at them, hair flying, earrings stinging. The warm, overheard lights cast a reverent glow on them. The angular lines of his face were soft, and his ears were pink. Intense concentration etched in his beautiful eyes, something that you’ve only ever seen when you glance at him during physics lectures. But it was directed to her. It was clear. He was captivated. 

“Owch,” A voice rips you out of your thoughts. You turn back, tearing your eyes away from them. Oh. The crimson gaze from before. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Your hair, uh,” he points to the right side of his face, rubs his jaw a little with a small pout.  

Guilt courses through your veins. Frantic, you grab his left shoulder (it was a lot firmer than you expected), “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear...” Your gaze drifts down to his arm, following the dark ink spiralling along down to his wrist. 

The corners of his lips tug into a shit-eating smirk, exposing fanged canines that bit against the plush of his lips. 

“You’re not forgiven, doll. Unless…” He leans in, voice husky and low, “You let me buy you a drink.” 

Well. You are at a club. And, he is hot. And you did not want to think about Satoru right now. 

“Make that seven, and we have a deal,” you purr. Screw Satoru, screw feelings. You squeeze his firm shoulder, your other hand reaching to brush the side of his thigh. 

His smirk grows wider, and his hand finds its way to the small of your back. 

“Sukuna’s got you,” he whispers, with a nip of your ear.

-

You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had. 

At some point, the alcohol stopped feeling like devastation, and more so like liquid melatonin. Satoru hadn’t looked at you all night. Still enraptured with his nice, new girl — all cherry lips and no history. You, on the other hand, are a loser. Fifty seven times. Fifty seven times that you stole a glance at him, and fifty seven times he didn’t look back. It was like you didn’t exist in his world, invisible to the one person you thought saw you most. You felt like a sulky bobblehead, and the lights spun with each movement you made. You shifted slightly, turning your heavy head towards the bartender. One more drink couldn’t hurt. 

“It’ll definitely hurt, missy.” Sukuna laughed, the sound dying as his drink reached his lips. Had you said that aloud? 

A low grumble left your lips, and you turned to pout at the man. He’d had as many drinks as you had, but with the easy way he made conversation with the bartender, and the effortless way in which he’d just said anemone (how does that come up in conversation anyway?), you’d never have guessed. 

Sukuna’s easy grin never faltered. He carried himself like a man who knew the world would bend to his every command. His comfort was all shadows — dark, fleeting, yet, it shielded you from the worst of your ache. 

“You sure you want to keep going?” Low, dangerous. 

Your stomach tightened, too willing to just let go. 

Though your head was heavy, your feet felt as light as air. Floating your way to the lounge, you collapsed on the couch.  

You feel so dizzy, your eyelids fluttering shut. You just want to go to sleep. At home. Crawl into bed. Disappear for a while. 

A large hand wraps around your shoulders, pulling your head onto his chest with little resistance while supporting your back. Sukuna strokes your hair, and you feel the faint pressure of his rings against your scalp. Even the booming techno music isn’t enough to wake you up, you’re just so done. You snuggle into Sukuna’s chest; in your defence, it’s the best pillow you have right now. The tacky leather of the couch sticks to the back of your thighs, your dress riding dangerously high. Your eyes flutter shut, and Sukuna’s coarse fingers trail to your mid-thigh, drawing comforting circles — grounding you. You shiver. Sukuna watches you carefully, stilling his fingers and pulling back. You should let him, but you wrap a hand around his, tugging him back to your thigh. 

Self-hatred devours you. You hate yourself for being so easy to comfort. For reaching for the nearest warmth when the one you really want doesn’t even care if you’re by his side. For all your pride, you’re really nothing without his attention. 

The smell of Satoru’s cologne lingers on you. But the smell is fading, replaced by the smell of nicotine and sin. 

Maybe you just need someone to want you right now. 

Maybe you just want Satoru to look this way, just once.  

Guilt coils in your gut, but you’re too tired to fight it. 

All you know right now is that your head is throbbing. That his hands are warm. And that in this moment, you can pretend it’s him. Pretend you’re wanted. 

The comforting motion begins once again, and you let out a pretty sigh. Sukuna smirks. 

-

Across the bar, Satoru Gojo is seething. If he were a cartoon, steam would be shooting from his ears. His narrowed eyes are locked onto your form, cuddled into some guy’s side. Did you like him? Was that your type? Should he get tattoos? Would that make you finally see him? You nuzzle closer, and his heart twists. Wait, is that his hand on your thigh? His jaw locks so tightly he wonders if he’ll still have teeth by the end of the night. 

Did you even know this guy? Were you safe? It didn’t seem like he was trying to pull anything — not yet, anyway. Satoru closes his eyes. Reminds himself to drop his shoulders. Reminds himself to unclench his jaw. Tells himself to shrug it off. Relax, she knows how to take care of herself. It’s not the first time you had gone out drinking, and it’s not the first time he’s seen you shamelessly batting your eyelashes at a hottie to get a free drink. He thinks it's resourceful, actually, and it’s so funny to watch you swindle them when he’s the one pulling you into the taxi at the end of the night. 

This time is different though. He’s never seen you cling onto someone like this before, with your cheeks flushed, your delicate hands sprawled across both your laps. It hits him like a well aimed punch of betrayal, but he knows that’s not fair. 

He was the one who abandoned you first, choosing to talk to that girl, and not you. He knew it was wrong, it felt like it was against his very being. Satoru just wanted to see how you’d react. He hoped you’d pull him closer, claiming your spot next to him. Needed to hear jealousy oozing from your words. Was desperate for an indication, any sign, that your heart raced as traitorously as his did when he was next to you. 

He thought he could keep you at arm’s length. Indulge in the brightness of your laughter, your sass as you teased him relentlessly, admire your thoughtfulness. Flirt with you, because you both knew it was a joke (it wasn’t for him. It was never a joke for him). Pull you close, like proximity could make up for his refusal to admit to his feelings. And now some knock-off delinquent with discount tattoos and an unoriginal smirk was putting the moves on the girl he wants so badly.

Your jewelry catches the emerald hued light of the dance floor, glinting at him from across the room. You’ve opened your eyes, and you’re scanning the room like you’re mentally parting the sea of people to find him. Satoru adjusts his posture, rolling his shoulders back, tilting his chin slightly upwards — can’t blame a man for knowing his angles; can’t blame a man for needing to look irresistible. Just before your eyes land on his, the man you’re with lifts your chin, saying something low against your ear. Your eyes widen. That’s it, he’s coming over. 

His heart is already halfway across the room; his body just follows. 

-

Sukuna’s telling you that someone is staring daggers at him right now. That they kind of look like they want to obliterate him on the spot for being with you. 

Bitterness in your throat, it’s like the tiredness in your eyes has been replaced with venom. There is no one in this room that feels that way about you. 

You wished otherwise. But that was the truth, a bitter pill you had been trying to swallow all night. It’s cruel, you think. How he keeps giving you hope. Taking it away the next second. Or maybe you’re just angry that you believe him every single time. 

You’re trying to glare down at him through your lower lashes — which proves difficult when you’re practically slumped onto his body. With a huff, you rise to your (wobbly) feet. 

Much better — now you can scold him for playing with your sad, tired heart. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you lean down to really give him a piece of your mind. 

Heels and alcohol don’t mix though. Your balance tips all at once. Head lurches past your feet. Fuck.

Your hands fly out in front of you. Muscles tense in anticipation, you’re waiting for the thud, to feel Sukuna’s body under yours (but not in the way he expected tonight to go..). It never comes. 

A warm arm wraps itself around your waist. Strong, familiar. 

“Hey Princess, don’t you go falling for someone that’s not me.” Oh. You knew that teasing tone. Could pick it out of a room of overlapping conversations easily. Your body begs to melt into the sharp outline of his, but you’re still feeling petty, so you stay stiff, resisting the pull that is him.

“Hey,” Satoru calls your name again, low and coaxing, “It’s hometime.” 

You tilt your head sideways, quizzical, looking up through your eyelashes at the white haired man. “Oh. Gojo.” 

The name is foreign, tastes wrong on your tongue. Too distant. 

“Gojo?” 

Satoru’s voice comes out strangled. He hasn’t been Gojo to you since before high school. Short, and sharp, his breaths are haggard against your ear. The thud of his racing heartbeat against your back. The ever tightening grip of his soft hands, hard on your skin. His forearm gently pulls your body closer. It's still not close enough. 

“It’s Satoru to you,”  he murmurs. 

Scrunching your nose, “Okay fine,” you sigh, clearly not budging, “I want to stay with Kuna though. Kuna’s comfy…you’re exhausting.” You’re aiming to kill. 

Sukuna raises a brow, dimples showing, and the corner of his mouth twitching as if to say try me. But he lounges back on the leather like it's his throne, challenging Satoru to challenge your drunken rambling. 

Words cannot describe the sheer disbelief on Satoru’s face. His beautiful features are contorted dramatically — eyebrows shooting into his messy fringe, mouth partially open like he wants to say ew, and he’s no longer breathing.

“Um no you don’t and no he isn’t,” He’s gentle, but there’s no mistaking the sharpness of his tone. His hands are trembling, like he’s one second away from breaking. “Come on, you’re wasted. We’re going home. Now.” He wraps a hand around your forearm and puppets it into a limp wave. “Bye, Kuna. Thanks for your…help.” Satoru’s clipped tone isn’t fooling anyone. 

It’s automatic, it’s out of your control, the way you immediately slump against his frame. And Satoru can’t help the way he feels when you finally surrender to him. 

-

Satoru has to drag you into the taxi. Click goes the seatbelt, as Satoru nimbly belts you up — his silky hair brushing against your face like a feather duster. The muscle of his arm contracts, moves against your waist, your stomach, as he shoves you inside— you can’t help it, it tickles, and giggles bubble up your throat, filling the silence of the cab. 

Wait. 

You’re supposed to be wallowing in your self pity right now. And ignoring him. 

You cross your legs towards the window (decidedly away from Satoru), and you whip your face in the same direction. 

Huff. 

Petulant? Yes. Did you care? No. You wanted so desperately to make him feel like he was losing you, just this once. 

Just like you’ve always felt. 

His stare bores into the back of your head, the whole ride back to your apartment. 

You stomp ahead of him, heels clacking loudly as you ascend the stairs, pushing open the front door with force — leaving it unlocked for him, you know he’s following anyway. You hope he’s following. 

Satoru trails behind you, arms crossed, tense, footsteps silent. Ears pick up on his fumbling with his keyring, finding the vibrant, hot pink spare you gave him, and locking the door with a click. A chord of shame, guilt, satisfaction, rips through you. You’re ashamed that you want him here, after the show you put on in the club. Sheepish, that you acted in that way. You didn’t even want Sukuna that bad anyway. Satisfied, that in spite of that, he’s here. He’s here. 

You’ve moved into the bathroom, sighing into your reflection, as you lean onto the sink. You pump oil cleanser onto your palm, rubbing furiously into your skin, like it’d scrub tonight’s events from your memory. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Foundation-tinted water spirals down the sink. Still, you reach for the makeup remover—like it could erase the night.

“Hey, can I come in?”

Satoru. 

A sigh. “Sure.”

His figure moves into your peripheral vision, a hand holding scrunched up silky pajamas, the other tucked into his pants pocket. He’s half-hidden by the wooden door frame, like he doesn’t want to be seen by your anger-clouded stare. He’s looking downwards, to the side, eyelids lowered. 

He walks over, sets the pajamas by the sink. His eyes follow the way you rub at your eyelids, makeup remover soaked cotton pad in one hand. The mascara just won’t lift.

Satoru grabs the cotton, pries the makeup remover from your hands. “Just let me help,” voice low, and soft, “Promise it won’t hurt.” 

He’s already taken the remover. You sigh, stilling. “Fine.” The hum of the bathroom fans permeates the silence. You close your eyes, letting him press the liquid soaked material against your eyelashes. 

You let your eyes flutter open when he finally pulls back, the cotton pad now darkened with the last of your stubborn mascara. He holds it up like a trophy, grinning at first — until he sees your face, properly sees it, like the act of cleaning away the makeup stripped away your armour too.

You're bare now. In more ways than one. And he knows it.

“I’ll go warm up your bed,” he mumbles, like it’s something casual. Like the weight in his gaze didn’t make your knees want to give out.

You nod, wordless.

When you step into your room, it’s dimly lit — just the soft golden hue of your bedside lamp casting shadows along the walls. The sheets are pulled back on your side. And Satoru’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his back to you, elbows resting on his thighs like the weight of the day has finally gotten to him too.

The door creaks behind you as you step inside, slowly. Your legs feel heavy. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the ache of everything you’ve left unsaid.

You get in bed without a word. Pull the blankets up to your chest. Big hands tug at the corners of your blankets, tucking them under the mattress. The silence thickens.

It’s like he’s wrapping a towel around a feisty cat, with how hard he's tucked you into your sheets. Featherlight, his palm cups your jaw as his thumb brushes at the corner of your lower lashes. It lingers for a touch too long, like he’s savouring being so close, so intimate. You both feel it, the line he’s toeing. Your pulse stutters, leaning into his touch before he removes his hand, brandishing a smudge of black on his fingertip. 

“Leftover eyeliner.” Satoru says, voice casual, and distant. But you catch how his hand flexes, twitches. He stands back up, eyes darting to the corner of your room, averting eye contact. Oh, right. You’re reading too much into his actions. He didn’t like you. Any decent person would do this for you, for anyone. You weren’t special. 

Warm tears pool in your eyes, and silent rivers run down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, pretty girl, why are you crying?” He says, voice laced with panic, movements frantic above you. Thud. He drops to his knees, cupping your alcohol-flushed face with both frigid palms. His silver eyebrows draw together, skin creasing in the middle. 

You bring your own hand to his face, pressing firmly between his eyebrows, smoothing out the furrow. “It’s nothing. ‘s not like you care.”

“I care about you,” Satoru mumbles, looking deep into your eyes, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”  

“Do…you like me?”

“You’re really doing this?” He questions, fingers carding through his hair — like he was annoyed, frustrated, at you even, for disrupting the illusion of friendship you had. The expression melts off his face, when he notices the trembling of your lips, the springing of fresh tears. 

His hands reach for you, but you’re flinching away like he’s just struck you. 

“Right. Of course.” You flick your eyes from his stunned face — mouth still agape, like he’s still processing — to the alarm clock by your bedside.  

Satoru got you the alarm clock on your bedside table, after your phone alarm failed one too many times. He had complained that he looked like a loser in Calculus III; sitting all by his lonesome, looking like an abandoned puppy with how he turned to look at each person who entered the lecture room. 

Don’t ever leave me alone again, he’d pouted, smacking the air out of your lungs. 

The memories run rampantly through your mind as you silently grieved the loss of your relationship, fists clenched, fingernails digging into your palm — desperately trying to replace the ache in your heart with the physical sting. They clung to you like a second-skin, every detail vivid, bright, in the quiet darkness of your room. 

You blinked, head roughly tossing from side to side, like you could physically catapult the memories, the experiences, Satoru, from your mind — desperate to halt the flood of emotions threatening to drown you. 

You were done. You had to be done. 

The boy next to you is a statue, head hung low, like he wants to say something, anything, but can’t. 

You turn toward him, your heart pounding as you break the silence. Hands trembling, shaking. “We can’t be friends anymore,” breath hitching, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, faltering at the edges with hurt, as your voice wavered. 

Your lungs felt like they were being crushed, your mind reeling, but it was too late to take it back. You had drawn the line, and you weren’t going to cross it ever again. For your sake. 

“Wait what–” Satoru starts, but you press a finger against his lips, “Just…can you kiss me? Then you can go.” 

He’s kissed plenty, only to ghost them the next day. The least he could do was offer you the same kindness, no?

His brain is short-circuiting, his mouth agape. Something wild flares in his widened eyes. His gaze flickers to yours, like he was trying to piece it out, but the puzzle didn’t make sense no matter how he arranged the parts. 

You’re rolling over, hands reaching out to his face. Tender, and soft, you thumb at the sharpness of his jaw. He shudders at the feeling, muscles relaxing, leaning into your touch. His breath hitches as you draw impossibly closer. 

“You’re drunk, we can’t–,” his breath ghosts over your own, puffy lips. Hesitation heavy in his voice. 

You don’t give him the chance to finish, edging closer, lips hovering just shy of his. Breaths mingling, noses tilting, heartbeat thundering. Every part of you aching for something that you couldn’t have, would never have. 

You pull back, just a fraction. Meeting his eyes — radiantly sapphire, an abyss you’d gladly fall into over and over again — filled with so many unsaid words.

“Right.” You draw in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” voice barely a whisper. The weight of his rejection hanging in the air between you, the hurt searing your soul.

You slump back to your pillow, and you turn away from him. You let him go. 

You hear the creaking of the floorboards, the rustle of his clothes, as he rises from beside you. Each movement is so slow, so painfully slow. Leave already, you want to scream. 

The door doesn’t close right away. You can hear him standing in the hallway — a breath held, a presence refusing to vanish. And then, finally, the soft click. Silence.

Cause that’s what he’s always done. Leave. 

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[chrisspirategirl]

Cologne.

જ⁀➴ Matthew Sturniolo

“Am I attractive? Tell me am I good enough?”

SUMMARY: you’ve been feeling insecure as of lately, not really knowing why since you’re known for your burst of confidence. But when your.. “fuck buddy” Matt finds out theres a sudden shift between the relationship.

You were and could proudly claim, the baddest bitch everyone knew. Always confident, sexy, seductive, a bitch, a sweetheart, everything in the book at this point. You always had on the most cuntiest outfits never ashamed to show off the body you were blessed with. But as of recently a sudden shift in your perspective changed. It was one of those days where you get hit with sudden depression and go through a whole crisis of anxiety, grief, and anger.

You were unhappy with how you looked for the first time which was a shock because hello? You’re stunning! But even people who seem to be absolutely flawless can still have some insecurities about themselves.

Your phone goes off, a message from Matt.

Matt 🤓: can I come over?

Matt and you were.. an interesting pair. Both constantly yelling at each other at the top of your lungs. You wouldn’t label Matt as your enemy because that was just corny to you. You both were just the same person in a different font and hated how similar you both acted. But over 6 months ago what started as a heated argument about some stupid movie turned into a night of raw, rough passionate sex. And since then you both agreed to be not so much as friends but definitely with benefits, fuck benefits if you will.

Something about him being so angry and pounding inside of you made your organs rearrange. Hate sex was definitely a new favorite for you. And Matt could definitely say the same. You both promised to keep this sex secret to yourselves because people were too nosy. And if ANYONE even found out about you and Matt secretly having sex the world would probably stop spinning.

You were hesitant to say yes to Matt’s message but you said yes regardless which you immediately regretted but he had already read the message so there was no doubt he was on his way. With a soft sigh you toss your phone to the side. You really weren’t in the mood for sex but you convinced yourself it was what you needed and definitely NOT someone to talk to.. yeah.

Roughly 20 minutes go by there’s a knock already knowing who you stand up from the couch opening the door to see Matt in a black hoodie and some jeans, “you look rough” he commented playfully like he always did but you weren’t in the mood to hit him with a comeback, “thanks.” You responded nonchalantly as you moved aside to let him in.

The blank response catches him off guard, “are you okay?” He asked slightly worried but tried to make it seem like he didn’t care, “I’m fine.” You said stuffing your hands into your black sweatpants.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re ‘fine’” he says with an eyebrow arched. “I said I’m fine okay?” You responded sharply, God, you really were a bitch huh?

“Okay sorry then geez.. what’s up your ass lately?” The last sentence he mumbled under his breath but you were able to pick up on it “you don’t have to be here you know?” You snapped at him.

“First off chill the fuck out. Second you said I could come if you didn’t want me here you could have said no.”

“Well.. I change my mind then get the fuck out.”

“What?”

“Get out Matt!”

“Y/n what is wrong with you?! Why are you crashing out like this?”

“I said I’m fucking fine! Are you stupid?!”

Matt strides towards you pinning you against the front door, “why the fuck are you being so aggressive for?” He asks roughly, not tolerating your bitchy attitude.

“Get off of me Matt!” You replied trying to squirm out of his grasp, his grip tightens on your hips not too hard but good enough to keep you from slipping away. “What’s wrong with you, you’re not being yourself” he asks again firmly

“Why do you even care.” You say desperately trying to stop yourself from crying in front of him.

“I’m asking you. What. Is. Wrong.” He repeats looking directly into your soul.

“I- I don’t know okay? I feel gross. I feel unhappy about everything, about myself.” Your words were choppy, barely able to speak as you managed to choke up a sort response.

Matt stands there holding you firmly looking at you like he was examining your emotions that were clearly visible, “what do you mean..” he says softly

“You don’t understand.”

“I want to, y/n. Talk to me.”

“It’s not so easy for me to just open up. I don’t even know how to explain what I’ve gone through.” You explained with tears that you refused to let run down your cheeks, but Matt was no idiot. He knew you were trying to act tough like nothing was bothering you but he could see it through your downturned eyes that used to stare up at him with lust now filled with tears and a calling to be cared for.

“Shhh” he coos, “you can let it out, I’m here.”

His hand gently wipes across your cheek and suddenly you’re balling your eyes out in his arms, you were definitely mentally kicking yourself for showing such a weak side to someone you’re not even supposed to be emotionally connected to but the feeling of Matt’s arms wrapped around you like he actually cared had you refusing to even push him away.

The smell of his cologne, an earthy soft wood fragrance filled your nostrils. The familiar scent you grew to secretly love brought a sense of comfort.

“Listen, kid” he begins softly whispering just above your ear, “I know we’re not on the same page most of the time, but I promise you you’re going to get through this. You’re enough, you matter, not just to me but to everyone who admires you. I’ll always be here for you even when you can’t force yourself to seek for help.” His words sink into your mind, the slight flutter in your stomach makes you almost sick but you can’t push him away nor did you really want to. He was the only one who showed a bit of affection rather than saying some crappy ‘aww I’m sorry’ and then leaving you alone.

You gently pull away from his embrace, “thanks Matt..” you say softly barely even putting any effort to talk but he’s able to hear you perfectly fine. He wipes the tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb. Leaning in to press his lips against yours gently rather than roughly like he always did.

He pulls away after a few seconds holding your pretty face in his hand, “God even when you’re upset you’re still so beautiful.”

Chat I love love LOVE cologne so fucking much it’s my most repeated song. It’s such a fucking banger I literally cannot. And I get to see beabadoobee this month I’m so excited :33

ALSO! This post isn’t made to offend anyone, if this topic came off as triggering I do apologize!! The fanfic is based off on what the song is about but again I apologize!!

Besos a mis amores!

↳ @chrisspirategirl 💘

Dividers —> @bernardsbendystraws

[homunculus-argument]

I know it would probably be a logistical nightmare to also make this accessible to the actual people represented, but I think it would be cool to have a game where the whole point is that every character has different limitations, that make it impossible or at least incredibly difficult to get past the whole game without switching them every once in a while, and the way you switch is by going to another character and asking their help with something.

Like you start out the game with one character and go "oh huh, the colour sceme of this game is really cool, really interesting use of such a limited palette", play through the puzzles for a while, and then encounter something where you're supposed to arrange some slightly differently coloured puzzle pieces to the right order by shade or something, and it's goddamn impossible. No matter how many methods you try, it's just not clicking, no matter how logical your solutions seem, no matter how clearly they can't be arranged in any other way that'd make more sense.

And maybe you go online to ask people "hey I'm stuck in the colour puzzle, what the hell am I supposed to do to get past this?" and someone tells you to go find one of the other playable characters and ask for their help. Which sounds patronising and stupid but you're stuck so you might as well give it a try. You go to one of the other characters, choosing the dialogue option to go "hey I need a hand with something, I can't do this on my own", and when they go "sure, let's go", your controls now switch to the other character.

And the colour scheme switches immediately. The aesthetic limited palette has changed to a far wider range, there's details in the environment that you hadn't noticed, like the muted faint flowers on the ground are actually bright red, the greyish shirt that your first character was wearing is actually striped with orange and green. The first POV character is colourblind, this whole time you haven't been able to perceive the difference between green and red. Solving the colour arranging puzzle with the other character is a breeze.

And this is the repeating theme of the game - every character has their own limitations, and while none of the puzzles are easy, you learn to think "maybe I should ask someone to help me with this" whenever you've been stuck for an unreasonable amount of time. You need to grab a buddy along for the quests, or you'll need to go back to get one eventually, and the way the game is structured somehow ensures that you can't just tactically dodge the limitation puzzles beforehand. Deaf character's POV doesn't have the audio clues that different pieces of the same puzzle make a different clicking sound, the puzzle with garbled numbers on it stops being garbled when you're not playing the character with dyscalculia.

You slowly get to know the whole cast, and occasionally help them out with things, too. You know which character could probably help with something you're stuck with, but while they'd be glad to come help, they're unfortunately stuck doing some task that could take you 20 minutes but is going to take them all afternoon, and you can offer help. Sometimes the helping-a-buddy-out minigames don't come with any direct transactional reward, you can just help a friend with something just because you can.

And the game's whole goal isn't to just illustrate how different people have different strengths, and sometimes things that are easy for you are hard for someone else, and vice versa, but to condition the player to think "maybe I should just ask someone to help, instead of wasting time struggling on my own."

[lvnleah]

gender reveal fails | no more secrets.

find the no more secrets masterlist here!

20 weeks pregnant | March 6th 2025. 

Letting Kyra be involved in making your gender reveal cake had been Alessia’s first mistake.

Agreeing to host the baking session at her flat, where she’d have to deal with the aftermath, had been her second.

Now, standing in the middle of her kitchen, staring at the absolute disaster zone they’d created, she was questioning every decision that had led her to this moment.

“Kyra,” she said slowly, watching as her best friend aggressively mixed the cake batter with a wooden spoon, flour covering her shirt and some inexplicably in her hair. “Why are there bits of eggshell on my ceiling?”

Kyra barely looked up, shrugging. “Dunno. You cracked ‘em.”

Alessia’s jaw dropped. “You’re the one who threw the shell across the room! Why would you even do that?!”

Kyra snorted. “I was aiming for the bin! I Missed.”

Alessia groaned, rubbing her temples. “This was supposed to be easy.”

“Aww nothings easy when you’re baking with me, Lessi,” Kyra said, grinning as she flicked a bit of flour at her.

Alessia swatted at the air, scowling. “Focus! The batter’s brown, Kyra. Why is it brown?”

Kyra finally looked into the bowl and hummed. “Oh yeah! Huh, that’s not right is it?”

“No Kyra, no it’s not.”

“Maybe it’s fine, though,” Kyra said, lifting the spoon to let some batter drip back into the bowl. It was… thicker than it should have been. 

Almost gloopy.

Alessia narrowed her eyes. “Did you measure everything properly?”

Kyra gasped, “I think you’ll find I’m a fabulous chef and followed everything perfectly!”

Alessia folded her arms.

Kyra shyly grinned. “Okay, maybe I added a bit more flour ‘cause it looked too wet… and maybe some extra sugar. Maybe an extra egg—”

“Oh my god,” Alessia groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

“It’s fine!” Kyra insisted, shoving the bowl toward her. “Try it.”

Alessia eyed the spoon warily. Then, with a sigh, she dipped her finger in and tasted it.

She gagged. “Kyra, oh my god it’s disgusting!”

Kyra winced. “Yeah, okay, maybe we should start over.”

Alessia took a deep breath. “You think?”

It took three attempts before they finally managed a batter that didn’t taste like regret. By the time the cake was in the oven, both of them were covered in flour, icing sugar, and possibly a little bit of food dye from Kyra’s failed attempt at getting the right color for the reveal.

While they waited for it to bake, they slumped against the counter, exhausted.

Kyra turned her head lazily toward Alessia. “We’re so good at this.”

Alessia let out a breathless laugh. “This cake better be edible, or Hayds is never trusting us to bake again let alone babysit.”

“Hey!” Kyra mumbled, “We’ll be great babysitters…”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to trust them with something so important, but by the time you’d asked, they’d both looked so excited about it. 

Now, as you sat in the canteen at training the next morning, sipping your tea and waiting for them to arrive with the cake, you had a bad feeling about it.

“They’re late,” Beth pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Very late,” Steph added. “I bet Kyra’s done something.”

Leah smirked. “That can’t be a good sign.”

Just as she finished speaking, the doors to the canteen flew open, revealing a disheveled-looking Alessia and Kyra, both grinning like idiots as they carried a white cake box between them.

“We did it!” Kyra announced proudly. “We’re professional bakers!”

Alessia beamed. “It took hours, but we actually made a cake.”

“More like professional idiots…” Leah mumbled, “So then, what’s the cake like?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I feel like there’s something coming?”

Kyra scoffed, feigning offense. “No faith in us at all, Hayds. That’s so rude!”

Alessia, still holding her side of the box, shuffled forward with Kyra. “Okay, we just have to put it on the table, and then you can cut it and—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence because, in the next second, her foot caught on the floor, and time seemed to slow.

You gasped. Kyra yelped. Alessia’s eyes widened in horror as the cake box flew out of her hands.

And then splat. 

Cake. Everywhere.

Bright red icing splattered across the floor, the remains of what was supposed to be your gender reveal cake now a sad, crumbled mess.

There was a long, stunned silence.

Then you bursted out crying.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to contain yourself, but it was useless. The whole thing was just so ridiculous that you couldn’t stop.

The rest of the team, however, didn’t quite pick up that you were crying with laughter not sad tears.

“Oh, Hayds,” Leah cooed sympathetically, rubbing your back. “It’s okay.”

“You can still find out another way,” Kim added, “Well done for making the pregnant lady cry!”

Alessia, who looked devastated, rushed forward. “I’m so, so sorry! It was an accident, I swear—”

Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she looked like she might start crying too.

“No, Less,” you wheezed between laughter, “I’m not sad! It’s just—” You wiped a tear from your cheek, trying to breathe. “Why is the icing red?”

The whole room fell silent.

All eyes turned to Kyra, who rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Uh… surprise? It’s a… gooner?”

A chorus of groans and laughter erupted from the team.

Kim buried her face in her hands. “How did this even happen, you two idiots?”

Kyra shrugged, still grinning. “It said 23 drops on the bottle!”

Leah groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Two to three drops, Kyra! Two to three!”

You burst into another round of laughter as the entire team lost it. 

Alessia stepped back, looking at the mess in disbelief. “This is a disaster,” she muttered under her breath. “A complete disaster.”

“I mean,” Kyra said, “it was kind of a disaster before we even dropped it.” She looked down at the red icing seeping into the carpet and then at Alessia’s mortified face. “At least now it’s really a disaster.”

You wiped your eyes, still chuckling as you tried to compose yourself. “I guess it’s a Gooner cake, then?” you said, the words slipping out between fits of laughter. “Red icing and all.”

Alessia, looking genuinely heartbroken, knelt down and began scooping up the pieces of cake, as if trying to salvage what remained of their very questionable masterpiece. 

“I’m so sorry, Hayds. This is all my fault.” She looked at Kyra. “And yours, obviously.”

“Hey!” Kyra protested, hands on her hips. “I’m not the one who tripped! I said we should’ve just done something simple!”

“You also said you could bake a cake,” Leah added. “And look how that turned out.”

“I can bake!” Kyra shot back, “Just really bad with the colouring…”

“No shit, Sherlock!” Beth added from beside you, “I guess the babies gonna be a gooner.”

Still giggling, you wiped at your cheeks, shaking your head. “Honestly, I should’ve known something like this would happen.”

Kyra gasped dramatically. “Hayds, have some faith in us!”

“You just dropped my gender reveal cake on the floor!” you shot back, still laughing. “And it was the wrong color!”

Alessia groaned, giving up on salvaging the mess and sitting back on her heels. “We were doing so well,” she mumbled.

Beth smirked. “Less, be honest, was it ever actually going well?”

Alessia hesitated. Kyra, however, was quick to shake her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay,” Kim cut in, rubbing her temples. “Can we all just accept that the cake is ruined and move on? How are we actually going to find out the gender now?”

You hummed, glancing at Alessia and Kyra, who both looked guilty but also mildly proud of themselves. “I mean… we could try to cut into the cake anyway,” you joked.

Leah sighed, “We’ll find a way. We need to head out to training.”

After the absolute disaster that was supposed to be your gender reveal, training felt like a much-needed distraction. That didn’t mean, however, that your teammates were going to let it go anytime soon.

As soon as you stepped onto the pitch, Beth nudged you with a smirk. “So, Gooner Baby, huh?”

You groaned. “Please don’t start.”

Leah jogged past, already stretching. “To be fair, Hayds, the kid was never gonna have a choice anyway.”

“Exactly!” Kyra added proudly. “I just… made it official early.”

Alessia, still looking mildly traumatized from the cake disaster, rolled her eyes. “We could have made it official without setting my kitchen on fire, covering my flat in flour, and traumatizing ourselves in the process.”

“You set the kitchen on fire?!” Kim cut in, stopping mid-warmup.

“It was a tiny fire,” Kyra defended quickly. “Barely even a fire.”

Alessia shot her a glare. “Kyra, we had to use the fire extinguisher!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a big fire extinguisher.”

Beth groaned, shaking her head as Renée walked onto the pitch. “If you two don’t shut up about this, she’s gonna start asking questions, and I really don’t think I can deal with that conversation today.”

Kyra smirked. “What, you don’t want to explain to our Renée why Hayds unborn child is already an honorary Arsenal player?”

Beth shot her a warning look. “I will tackle you in training.”

“Aww you  can try but you won’t catch me, Beffy!” Kyra shot back, grinning as she jogged onto the pitch.

“Oh my god,” Beth groaned, “Can you keep your pest in control please?”

“She’s not my pest or my issue!” You said, “She’s Steffy’s!”

Eventually, though, Kyra and Alessia found a way to make it up to you. Later that day, after training, everyone gathered in the canteen. The media team was there, ready and waiting to film the team's reactions once again. 

You hadn’t announced your pregnancy to the world yet and you weren’t sure when you would. Your bump was still small and able to hide and as far as anyone knew, you had an injury that would have you sidelined for a while. 

Kyra nudged Alessia. “You tell her, I’ll do it wrong.”

Alessia sighed, shoving the envelope into your hands, grinning. “Alright, alright. Hayds, you’re having a… baby girl.”

Your breath caught.

“A girl?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Are you sure? Like a hundred perfect positive, sure?”

Alessia nodded, grinning. “One hundred percent. The envelope doesn’t lie.”

For a second, you just stared at the paper in your hands, your heart pounding in your chest. A girl. You were having a daughter.

Your daughter.

And then, before you could stop it, a wide smile spread across your face as pure joy took over.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, covering your mouth. “A girl.”

The room erupted. Cheers, applause, and laughter filled the canteen as your teammates surrounded you in excitement. Beth was grinning ear to ear, Leah clapped you on the back, and Katie lifted you clean off your feet in a hug.

“Yer’ gonna have a little baller!” Katie beamed. “A tiny Hayden flinging herself into tackles.”

“Oh god,” Kim groaned playfully. “It’s gonna be hell.”

“Oi!” you shot back, still laughing. “She’ll be an angel.”

Leah snorted. “Yeah, sure. With you and Kyra as influences? No chance.”

“I said it was a girl all along,” Kyra added, “Hey it’s like a sixth sense of mine!”

“Your sixth sense was making the cake red,” Steph pointed out dryly.

Kyra gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse you, that was a creative choice.”

“Creative disaster,” Beth corrected, smirking.

Despite the teasing, the moment was filled with love.

Alessia wrapped an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you gently. “I know it didn’t go exactly as planned,” she said softly, “but… are you happy?”

You turned to her, your heart so full it could burst. “Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back happy tears. “I really, really am.”

Kyra threw her arms around both of you, nearly knocking you over. “Hell yeah! Baby girl Hayds! I cannot wait to be the cool aunt.”

You groaned, pushing her off playfully. “I’m gonna have to keep my daughter far away from you.”

“No chance,” Kyra grinned. “We’re gonna be besties.”

The room filled with laughter again, and as you looked around at your teammates—your family—you knew that no matter what, your daughter was already surrounded by so much love.

And, despite the chaos, you wouldn’t change a single thing.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 9

Summary: Your sunny vacation takes a turn when Jungkook notices a few extra eyes on you... Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 2.8k~ (This one kinda had a mind of it's own 😅) Warning: Sumttttttttt a/n: Not edited like at all towards the ends so yeahhh...enjoy haha Requested by an anon 💜 Start from the beginning

"Bunny?" Jungkook calls out to me from our bedroom at the beach house he rented. "Just a minute!" I say, checking myself out from each angle, trying to decide if I made the right decision in buying this swim suit let alone wearing it here.

After thinking and over thinking it for way too long I just huff and grab my towel before leaving the bathroom where I'm met with Jungkook sitting at the end of the bed, his leg spread with one hand balancing his weight on the bed while the other is occupied with his phone.

The next second though he's looking up at me, his usual cool, calm and collected demeanor exchanged with one of surprise, a pleasant one by the looks of it when his eyes go from shocked to dark, drinking in my figure, clearly holding himself back from pouncing on me.

"Is it too much?" I ask after he's shamelessly undressed me with his eyes although there's not much left to the imagination at this point. "Come here" he says, his voice an octave or two lower leaving me tempted to drop to my knees for him.

I do as he ask, walking over slowly, the anticipation of what he might do to me leaving me biting my bottom lip out of pure nerves which he's sure to pull out once I get closer to him, rubbing along it and teasing me as though he wanted me to take his thumb into my mouth and make a mess of it like I always do.

"You look beautiful Darling" he says, placing a kiss on my sternum, breathing in my scent, his warm breath making me shudder with anticipation. "Did you get this just for me?" he asks, his hands shamelessly going from my hips to my ass before pulling me in by my thighs, making me straddle him.

I nod my head and admit that I got this to tease him a but also because I thought it would make me feel sexy, and indeed it does.

"My sexy wife is just screaming for attention huh? Teasing me with a swimsuit like this and expecting me to let her go swimming in it for all to see?" he says, pulling me closer to him and making me feel how hard he's gotten just from the sight of me in this.

"The beach is private though so I thought..." I trail off, looking anywhere but his eyes as he quite literally has me sitting on his dick.

"A private beach doesn't mean no one can see you Bunny. You should know better than that" he says, his condescending tone making me needier.

I'm very well aware he's doing it to make me feel just as affected by him as he is by me but when he slides me off his lap I can't help but frown, questioning his motives.

"Don't give me that face. You said you wanted to go swimming right?" he says, squeezing my pouted lips to make them even poutier making me push his hand away. "Yeah but-" "No buts" he says and stands up, placing a kiss on my forehead before choosing to whisper this last part in my ear.

"Don't act like I won't take care of you later" he peppers a few kisses on my neck just enough to get me feeling dizzy before pulling away and patting my ass, walking away and telling me he'll meet me outside.

I huff at that, shaking off the feelings he was able to conjure up in me so quickly and ignore the wetness in between my legs in favor of submerging myself in the salty oceanic waters instead.

Like he said...he'll take care of me later.

~~~~~

Jungkook gets in the water first, diving down deep before popping up moments later, running his fingers through his hair to brush it back, catching his breath making his abs and pecs contract leaving me forgetting what I was doing before he beckons me over.

"You gonna ogle me all day or are you gonna come in?" he pokes fun leaving me rolling my eyes before walking in and taking his outstretched hand with him using it to pull me closer.

"Hi" I say, admiring his beautiful face with the sun kissing his skin, a few stray droplets running down his cheeks. "Hi darling" he chuckles and before I can say anything else he's tightening his hold on me and dunking us both under.

"Jungkook!" I call out once we resurface, upset he would do that without warning me with my reward being his mischievous laugh mocking me. "Aw come on Bunny you were gonna get under eventually" he justifies, trying to pull me close again but I swim away and dodge his efforts.

"You said you wanted to swim right?" he chuckles and lunges for me, leaving me trying to get away from him again but I'm unsuccessful this time leaving him pulling me under again. "Stop!" I say once I come up and he holds his hands up in surrender.

"Alright alright, I'll stop" he chuckles and backs away leaving me huffing and swimming towards the shoreline to get into shallower water to catch my breath, making sure to kick my feet a bit harder that necessary to splash him.

Serves him right.

I decide to wade in the shallow waters for a while and watch as Jungkook swims around in the deeper ones, laughing when he tries to hold his breath underwater to "impress me" when in all actuality his gracious resurfacing results in his coughing up the water he ended up swallowing on his way back up.

"What you laughing at cutie?" I hear a voice suddenly say on my right making me turn towards him. A guy no doubt near my age if not a little bit older, checking me out since the waters I'm wading in are only waste deep now, the sexier cut of my swimsuit making me feel a little more naked than it had moments ago with these unwelcome eyes.

"I was just laughing at..." I start but Jungkook is no where to be seen, having dove underwater again for who knows how long.

"You looking for someone?" he continues to ask, and when I look over at him again I notice there are a few more guys heading over, all of their eyes trained on me, pushing each other playfully to see who else is gonna try to no doubt shoot their shot.

"Yeah my husband" I say and the guy immediately goes to look at my left hand. "I don't see a ring" he says, trying to call me out for it but I roll my eyes, "I don't swim with it on".

He hums at that and tries to make his way into the water with me but soon I feel a hand on my waist, pulling me against his chest.

"You boys lost?" Jungkook's deep voice says, making me relax in his arms. "No sir, we were just talking" the unnamed boy says and I roll my eyes again.

"Well this is private property so I suggest you leave" he says making the guy and his friends take a couple of steps back. "We were just cutting across, didn't think it would be that big of a deal" he says now holding his hands up.

When I turn back to look at Jungkook I see the glare he's giving these boys as a response and when I face forward to see their reaction they're already speed walking away to get to the public beach, Jungkook chuckling behind me.

"You really made them tuck their tails and run huh?" I giggle and turn back to face him, his glare still trained on them before I place my hand on his cheek to bring his eyes back over to me.

"Hi" I say softly, our conversation twinning our earlier one, caressing his cheek and making his hard expression soften. "Hi Bunny" he sighs and pulls me closer wading us back into deeper waters, just enough to cover my scantily clad chest.

"You okay?" I ask and he nods and smiles, placing a kiss on the inside of my palm. "I'm good, just didn't like the way they were looking at you" he says softly and I hum but after a few minutes of him holding me close I notice something in his shorts making me blush.

"Jungkook!" I scold him and he chuckles, knowing exactly what I'm talking about.

"You're the one wearing that thing" he shrugs and pulls me in by my hips, already grinding me against him, the added buoyancy from the water making it easy to do so.

"Jungkook let's go inside" I whine to hide my gasp but he shakes his head. "I can't wait that long" he says and drags me out of the water and pulls me over to the open air patio that hardly has any privacy from prying eyes.

"Jungkook please" I whine again but don't make moves to run away, the thought of doing this here making me wet...well more wet.

"You just gotta be quiet" he coaxes, guiding me to the sofa they have by the pool...yes there's a pool that overlooks the ocean here.

He sits himself down, making me straddle him and before I can protest again he's already tugging at the strings to my bikini top making me place my hand over my chest to make sure the tiny triangles of fabric don't fall.

"Jungkook!" I scold again but all he does is smile wickedly and moves one of my hands away making my breast exposed to him and whoever dares to walk past but soon the hand that was cupping it is replaced by his lips, sucking the hardened bud into his mouth making me moan, forgetting my protests making him pull back and chuckle.

"What happened to being quiet Bunny?"

When I open my mouth to scold him though I'm cut off with a mewl when he pushes my bikini to the side, running a single finger through my folds making my grip on my other breast tighten in response while my other hand grips onto his shoulder to keep my balance.

"What was that? Couldn't make that one out" he taunts, leaning forward to swirl his tongue around my nipple again before tugging it with his teeth.

"Oh fuck" I shudder when he dips a finger inside, and then two, things progressing so much faster than usual.

"What are yo-?" "Did you want me to take my time and show everyone what a pretty little toy you are?" he cuts me off, my mouth shutting immediately to which he smirks.

"That's what I thought" he chuckles darkly before he sends my world spinning and has my back against the sofa, crawling over me seconds later.

"You really thought you could wear that and not have to deal with me fucking you like this? Expected me to wait until we walked all the way back into the house? Until you were nice and cozy after taking a hot shower? Didn't think I would cart your ass over to the first flat surface I could find?" he says making me gulp.

"I would've fucked you right on that beach but I figured I'd let you be a little more comfortable because I'm a gentleman" he continues with his condescending tone making my eyes never stray from his.

He slaps the side of my thigh and and tells me to lift my hips which I do instantly leaving him slipping off my bottoms completely and tossing my top to the side as well, seemingly forgotten anyways once my back hit the cushions.

"Be as loud as you want Bunny. I'm not gonna scold you and tell you to be quiet because the embarrassment alone of anyone hearing you is punishment enough" he says and slides down his shorts just enough to pull himself out and line up with me dragging his tip through my folds, gathering up my slick that's still dripping, embarrassment mixed with arousal making everything so much more intense.

He lines up and looks at me as he pushes in, my eyes squeezing shut, trying to breathe through it, the burn from the stretch evident since he had barely prepped me at all but I don't care, wanting him inside of me immediately and that's exactly what I got.

"I fucked you this morning. How are you still this tight?" he groans, easing himself in inch by inch but his only response is a clench around him making his fingers search for my sensitive bud, circling around it to help me let up.

After he's bottomed out he gives me a second to breathe through it...literally a second before he starts thrusting, catching me off guard and making my hands immediately go to his back, trying to grab ahold of him but all I manage to do is drag my nails along his back making him hiss, his thrusts never stopping.

"You like this don't you? Like the thought of someone finding us like this? Someone watching me fuck this pretty little cunt? Seeing the way I make you fall apart" he growls in my ear, my noises reduced to choked back whimpers.

"Come on Bunny, I know you wanna let all those guys earlier hear how good I'm fucking you don't you? Prove to them that your husband does it better than them. Show them what they'll never be able to get their hands on. You want that don't you?" he continues, my breathing ragged and my brain fogging up, my inhibitions soon slipping to nothing with ever sharp thrust.

Soon my gasps and moans are anything but quiet, falling from me freely to the point where I feel him smiling against my skin. 

"That's it pretty, let them hear how good I make you feel" he taunts, soon his breathing though is shuddering, his words soon escaping himself as he's brought closer to the edge with every clench around him.

My eyes start rolling back and my nails claw at his skin when I'm seconds away from cumming and he can tell leaving him toying with my clit to finally push me off that edge. His name falling from my lips amidst profanities is music to his ears, him soon cumming inside of me after watching me cum.

"Fuck you're so pretty" he pants, kissing me senseless which is very easy to accomplish in my post orgasmic glow, leaving my kisses lazy and uncoordinated, him chuckling against my lips in response. 

"Did so good for me" he says, brushing a tear off my face that I hadn't realized I shed, his rough nature replaced with my attentive husband making me smile. 

"Didn't know you were like that when you're jealous" I rasp out, my throat dry after all the noises he thrust out of me...literally.

"You underestimate me" he chuckles and pulls out with a hiss, pulling his shorts up before picking me up and taking me inside, not even bothering to try and cover up my body making me scold him with a scowl. 

"What happened to that pretty little face you made?" he taunts, always so obsessed with my expressions during sex. "Stop pissing me off and maybe I'll make them more often" I grumble leaving him laughing and sitting me down on the bathroom counter, me hissing when my bare heat presses against the cool marble. 

"Sorry Bun" he says and picks me up off of it and helps me into the tub that he's already stared to fill with warm water and the bubble bath he bought me, sliding in seconds later behind me.

"You know I don't want anyone else right?" I finally say after a while of us sitting in silence and he hums in response, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder. "I know, I just can't help but think of you sometimes with guys your own age and I kinda let it get to me. I didn't hurt you did I?" he asks, running his hands along my body but I shake my head and turn to him. 

"I don't care about guys my age, or even older men. What I care about is you and nothing's ever gonna change that" I say and caress his face, taking in his features before kissing him softly. 

"I love you" I mumble against his lips making him smile against mine. "I love you, so so much" he says and twists my whole body and makes me straddle him. 

"Seriously?" I chuckle when I notice that he's hard again. "You didn't think I was actually done with you right?" he chuckles and pulls me closer, his tongue swirling around one of my nipples that's gone hard at the feeling of the cool air now hitting my bare skin again.

"You're insatiable" I shudder and a chuckle is his only response before he pushes back in.

Let's just say he never left my side again for the rest of that trip.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in the comments 💜

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

[jordanli-dribbles]

Play Date

Jordan Li x Fem!Reader | 3.8k words

A smutty one-shot about Jordan crashing your COD play 'date'.

Tags: Situationship, includes both of Jordan's forms

(I haven't written in months, and thought I would try something new. Story is written with mixed pronouns: He/She/They)

It was Friday night, and you and your friend Aiden sat cross legged on the floor your backs resting against the couch playing video games. You were sitting shoulder to shoulder laughing loudly as you played Call of Duty.

“Bastard, you shot me!” You yelled, your elbow digging into their ribs. “I’m on your team, fucker!” He just laughs and shrugs as you adjust your headset waiting for the next round. You grab your control ready for the next round, exclaiming “Game on, jerk!”

Just as the round was about to start the door to your dorm swings open harshly. The door knob smacking against the wall loudly. Jordan storming into the room, her curled bob bouncing with every angry step.

“What the fuck, Jordan!” You exclaim, quickly taking off your headset to glare at them from the floor, watching as they walked towards you.

They paused mid-stride when they noticed you weren’t alone. “Who’s this?” they asked harshly, pointing at Aiden, who was still playing next to you, oblivious to Jordan’s angry glare and harsh tone.

“Aiden, Jordan.” you say, pointing between them both. “Jordan, Aidan.” you finish, pointing in the opposite direction.

Aiden places his controller on the floor next to him, taking his headset off turning to face you with an amused raise eyebrow. You smile at him apologetically. While Jordan starts to walk towards you both slowly, shifting to their larger form. You rolled your eyes, they had a habit of shifting to their male form when trying to get their point across. Which you found idiotic as they were much more intimidating in their 5’2” form.

“And why is he here?” Jordan says harshly, glaring at Aiden. You shrug, picking up your controller to log off the game.

“What’s with the 20 questions?” you say, with a raised eyebrow. You're being a brat on purpose, trying to see how much you can rile them up as your eyes stay locked on the TV.

Jordan huffs, brushing their fingers through their hair. “You weren’t answering your phone,” he says pointing at the your phone on your floor with his chin, “or the fucking door.” Jordan continues glaring at you now.

“Oh,” you say nonchalantly, picking up your phone from the floor. Well, look at that… you had several messages and missed calls from Jordan. Karma is a bitch, the asshole had been ignoring you whole week.

“Huh…guess I missed them,” you say casually, still staring at your phone. “We were kinda busy.” Aiden snickers besides you, a small smirk on their lips as he looks from you to a very angry Jordan.

“Busy with what?” Jordan says through clench teeth. You turn towards Aidan, giving him a small smile before turning towards Jordan whose burning glare could freeze hell. Fuck, you love their sexy glare. You lean back against the couch, crossing your arms with a mischievous grin.

“See...I would tell you, but I don’t really wanted too.” You say with a playful pout. Aiden’s soft chuckles the only sound in the room. You were enjoying this too much, ridding Jordan up was one of your favorite past times, especially after they ignored you all week.

Jordan glare turns murderous as their eyes trail down your exposed legs. You had a habit of kicking off your jeans as soon as you entered your dorm. Walking around in just a loose shirt and panties. Their eyes linger on your exposed thighs for a moment, you shift to cross your legs feeling a blush spread on your cheeks, your nipples hardening under their heated gaze as you gripped the hem of your shirt lower down your thighs.

Fuck, they were so hot. Their death glare doing nothing but turn you on more. You bit your lower lip, watching their eyes snap up to your face, their darken eyes burning into yours.

Fuck, you love how intense and possessive they are, it made you fucking hot.

See, Aidan had dropped by earlier to return a textbook. You met him a few weeks ago in an art history course you were taking as an elective. He was super sweet and you both shared the same humor and love for video games. He also had absolutely no interest in you as you did not have the right body part, if you get the meaning so when he dropped by earlier you didn't even try to put pants on.

You were in the middle of an epic game session, when Jordan bursted in. Aidan, knew about your complicated relationship with Jordan. He found the entire thing hilarious, he was currently having a blast seeing the famous Jordan Li so fired up. They didn't run in the same circles as Aidan was in Performance Arts and the only person Jordan knew from that school was Emma.

You both glare at each other in silence, while Aidan sat quietly next to you smirking. The tension between the two of you was so thick, that it would have taken a chainsaw to cut through.

Jordan took a deep breath rubbing their hand down their face and releasing a heavy sigh before shifting back to their female form, the change was instantaneous. It was the one thing that always threw you, how fucking quick they could shift. If you blinked you would of messed it, it was amazing.

They stalked towards you, their eyes never leaving yours. They grab your wrist, pulling you up, a yelp of surprise leaves your mouth. You turn to stare at Aidan, who rolled his eyes at the dramatics. You were about to open your mouth to say something to him. But Jordan had other plans, as soon as you stood up, she pulled you towards her and kiss you deeply.

You let out a small yelp in surprise, before kissing her back. She wraps an arm around your waist pulling you closer. Her kiss is rough, demanding, as she bites down on your lower lip. You gasp, allowing her tongue to slid into your mouth. Her hand gripping your ass, your shirt riding up from their grip. You moan, pressing yourself closer against her chest.

You could feel them smirk against your lips, as you melted in their embrace. Your hand tangling itself in their hair, as you deepen the kiss completely forgetting that Aiden was still there as Jordan claimed your mouth and soul.

Jordan rips their lips from yours in a loud smack. Her lips kiss swollen and her eyes burning with a dark need. She turns to Aiden, who still sitting on the floor.

“Fuck off." Jordan said with a glare, her eyes narrowing and jaw clenching in frustration. Aiden laughed, the sound echoing around the room, and stood up with his hands raised in a gesture of mock surrender as he walked towards the door.

"Well this was fun," Aidan jokes, "I'll call you later, darling." he said giving you a wink before leaving closing the door quietly behind him.

"Darling?" Jordan hissed, their fingers digging deeper into your ass.

You roll your eyes, "Jealous?" you tease with a smile.

Jordan's response was to throw you onto the bed, your body bouncing on the mattress. In an instant, Jordan was straddling you, pinning you to the bed. Their dark brown hair falling into her face, the way the light was hitting their eyes made them seem lighter than usual.

"Do I need to fucking remind you that your mine," Jordan says in a growl, their lips capturing yours in a brutal kiss. She sucks on your bottom lip, pulling it into their mouth before letting it go. Your fingers tangling themselves in their hair again, pushing their lips closer. Your hips grinding into theirs, your right leg hooking around their waist to bring them closer.

“Yes,” you murmur into their mouth. You weren't sure if their question was hypothetical, but you loved pushing their buttons.

"Fuckin’ brat," Jordan groans into your mouth, their hands grabbing onto the hem of your shirt, pulling it up. You lifted your arms, as they pull it off. You reach for the hem of their shirt, but they swat your hand away.

"No," Jordan says with a smirk. You pouted, as their mouth attached itself to your neck. Biting, sucking, and licking the skin there. You groan, grinding your hips against their, their left hand moving from your hip to the bed beside your head, as they ground their hips against yours.

"Fuck," you hiss, as Jordan nips at your pulse point.

"Mine." Jordan growls, their right hand moving to squeeze your breast. Their fingers tweaking your nipple, you buck into their hand.

"Yet...you..ignored me all week," You say through gasps as their mouth sucks and licks at your right nipple, their hand still fondling the left. Your back arching off the bed.

Jordan chuckles, "So that why you're being a brat?" they say, as their mouth moves down your body. Nipping, and licking at the your skin on the way.

"Mm," you hum, as they plant wet kisses on your hips. Their hands pulling your panties slowly down your legs as their mouth continues to place kisses and bites on your legs and thighs. They drop on their knees by the bed, pulling your body towards them as they hook you leg over their shoulder. You raise yourself on your elbows wanting to look at them. Your eyes connect as you stare at each other. Both you breathing heavily as you laid fully naked on your bed, your legs open wide while their remain fully clothes.

They cock their eyebrow at you, giving you a mischievous smirk before saying, "Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna fuck the brat out of you." You didn't have time to process their words before their mouth was on your pussy, sucking your clit hard.

"Oh, fuck." you gasp, dropping onto the bed as they continue their assault on your clit. Sucking, and flicking their tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You grab onto the bed sheet, throwing your head back. You could feel them chuckle, their fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. They bite down on your clit, and you gasp. Your hand shooting towards their hair, your fingers tangling themselves in their curls as their tongue pushes past your folds and inside you.

"Oh, god....yes!" you whimper, grinding your pussy against their mouth. They moan, their fingers digging into your thighs as their tongue thrust in and out of your pussy. Your back arching off the bed, your hands tightening around their hair as their tongue curls inside you.

"Jordan," you whimper, "Please." Your hips bucking against their face, your grip on their hair tightening as they continue to fuck you with their tongue. Jordan chuckles, their tongue pushing further into your pussy. You whined, their fingers digging into your thighs and you know that you'll have bruises later.

"Please, fuck, Jordan." You moan loudly.

They suck on your clit, their eyes never leaving yours as they continue to fuck you with their tongue. "Fuck, I missed your taste." Jordan says, as their tongue plunged in and out of your cunt. Their voice muffled against your pussy. They breathing harshly against your skin. The sound of them, eating you out loud and obscene and it just turns you on even more.

"You are such a brat," Jordan says through licks, "And I fucking love it." They thrust two fingers inside of you harshly, as your mouth falls open from the intrusion. "Means, I get to punish you." They groan as your walls clenched around their fingers, your hips rolling with each thrust.

"My fucking brat." Jordan groans, their tongue moving along the folds of your cunt, as their fingers moved in and out of your slick entrance.

"Fuck, Jordan!" You cry out, as their fingers curl and twist inside of you. Their tongue lapping at your clit. You grind against their fingers, the pressure building up inside you. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, desperate to fall over.

"That's it, baby. Ride my fingers." Jordan says, their mouth sucking on your clit. Their eyes boring into yours, "You look so fucking beautiful, baby. Your tight little pussy, riding my fingers like my dirty little slut."

"Fuck, I'm close." You whimper, your hips rocking faster. You could feel their eyes on you, as their tongue flick at your clit.

"Scream my name, darling," they say with a sarcastic tone, watching as you fucked yourself against their hand. Their mouth sucking on your clit, as their fingers curl and twist inside you hitting all the right places.

"Oh, fuck!" You cried, as the pleasure builds. "Jordan!" You scream, as their mouth closes around your clit and sucks hard. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, and you see white stars as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your thighs clenching, your body shaking as Jordan continues to lick and suck at your clit, drawing your orgasm out your body jerking from each flick of their tongue.

"Good girl." Jordan say, giving your clit a long lick, "You taste fucking delicious." They give you a shit eating grin, licking their lips. You gasping for air, your legs trembling the pleasure rolling through your body. Jordan slowly pulls their fingers out of your pussy, their tongue following suit. Licking their fingers clean before giving your thigh a soft kiss over the bruises their fingers left behind. They stand up, their eyes meeting yours as they lick their lips slowly. You watch as they pull their shirt off, tossing it to the side, their shorts and boxers following after as they climb up your body. Their naked form crushing yours, their mouth attaching itself to your throat, biting and licking at the sensitive skin, marking you. You release a soft whimper as they bite down hard, sucking the tender skin, before pulling away to stare down at you.

You lift your hand, brushing a piece of her hair behind their ear as they start down on you.

"Darling?" You say with a teasing grin. They can be so petty sometimes.

Jordan scuffs, ignoring your comment leaning down to kiss you instead. Their mouth covering yours, their tongue pushing past your lips. You moan into the kiss, your hand tightening in their hair, while the other wraps around their shoulders pulling them closer. Your hips grinding against theirs.

Jordan chuckles, the noise getting swallowed up by your mouth, as they rock their hips against yours. Their lips trail down your jaw, as they continue to move their hips. Shifting, instantly to their male form. Their rock hard cock, grinding against your dripping wet cunt.

"Jordan," you moan, as their hips rut against yours. You can feel the tip of their cock rubbing against your swollen clit, the sensation driving your overstimulated body insane.

"You want my cock baby," Jordan says, his teeth biting down on your shoulder. "Want me to stretch your pretty little pussy?" Jordan asks, their fingers brushing the hair off your forehead, as his hips thrust against yours, the crown of their dick pushing past your folds, teasing your entrance.

"Fuck," you groan, their hands cupping your breasts. His thumb circling your nipples as their mouth continues to bite and suck at the skin of your neck. You were getting stimulation from all sides, their fingers, their mouth, their dick.

"This what you want, baby." Jordan teases, as their cock pushes past your folds, their crown stretching your entrance before entering you inch by inch. They thrust their hips forward, sheathing their cock completely inside you in a sudden deep thrust.

"Mm fuck," you whimper, as their thick cock stretches and fills your begging cunt. Their hips, rolling slowly as he bottoms out. They still for a moment, allowing you time to adjust, your head tilting up at the full sensation. Your lips parts, eyes close as Jordan rolls their hip, their mouth latching onto the base of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

"God, your so fucking hot," Jordan says, as their hands grab at your thighs, wrapping your legs around their waist. You wrap your arms around their neck, as they begin to rock their hips. They push their cock deep into your pussy, rolling their hips before drag their cock out and thrusting it back in. Their movements slow and steady, oh so very deep.

"Oh god," you moan, as their cock hits every nerve inside of you, their lips still attached to the base of your throat. They bite down on the spot, hard, a deep thrust of their hips as their teeth sink into your skin.

"Fuck, Jordan," you moan, your hand tangling itself in their short brown hair. "Please, Jordan, I need...I need." Your words gargled with each thrust of their hips.

Jordan chuckles, the low rumbled sending shivers down your spine. "What do you need, baby?" they ask, their voice raspy and deep. Their hands tighten on your hips, the thrusting of their cock, slow and deep.

"More," you moan, your eyes close as Jordan buries their dick deep inside your pussy rolling their hips making you feel every inch of him.

"Yeah, baby. You want me to fuck you?" Jordan says, as their hips pull back and snap roughly, back into you. "Want me to fucking own you?" They growl into your ear, as their thrusting become deeper and rougher.

"Yes...fuck, yes" You gasp, as they begin to fuck you harder and faster, their hips slapping against yours, the sound loud and lewd. Their hand coming up to wrap around your throat. Their thumb resting on your quickening pulse, squeezing lightly.

"Eyes on me, baby." Jordan orders, their hips slamming against yours. You force your eyes open, your gaze locking onto Jordan's, their pupils dilated. Their hips still, before thrusting themselves deep into your aching pussy. You gasp, your eyes rolling back, but they tighten their grip around your neck.

"Eyes." They growl, and you whimper. Your hand grabbing onto the one wrapped around your neck, your eyes locking back onto theirs.

"Eyes on me when I fuck you!" They growl, their hips snapping roughly. You whimper, nodding desperately.

"Fuck," Jordan groans as your pussy clenches tightly.

"So fucking perfect." They say, sucking your bottom lip into their mouth as their cock pounds into your pulsing pussy. Your hand tightens in their hair, pulling their lips against yours, your tongue plunging into their mouth.

"Mine," they growl, and you moan into their mouth. "All fucking mine." They snarl, their lips pressing against yours in a rough kiss. Their teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

"Yes…Jordan." You whimper, their thrust becoming more frantic. "Yours, only yours." Jordan groans as you clench around them, their thrust slowing down but deepening with every thrust.

"Fuck…" You cry out, the pressure inside of you building, "Fuck, yes. Yours, baby." You whimper, and they groan. Their hand tightening on your throat, their hips snapping into yours.

"Your going to come for me baby?" Jordan says, as their hips roll against yours, your swollen clit rubbing against their pubic bone. "Come for me, baby. I'm so close." They groan, and you whimper.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful." Jordan says, their hips moving faster, their thrust becoming harder and deeper. Their hand still around your throat as their lips capture yours in a rough kiss. You arch your back, moaning into their mouth as their hips pound against yours.

You cry into their mouth, as your orgasm crashes into you. Your legs shaking, their hips continue to snap against yours, their cock hitting all the right places, driving you wild.

"Fucking beautiful." Jordan moans, their hips slapping against yours as you clench and quiver around their cock. “Fucking, mine!” They say, your body shaking, their hips never stopping, they continue to slam their hips against yours chasing their own release.

"Fuck baby," Jordan groans, their cock twitching inside of you. You whimper, clenching tightly around their cock, milking them. Jordan lets out a loud grunt, as their hips snap one last time before spilling inside of you, their hot cum shooting deep inside you as their mouth desperately presses against yours, your tongues twisting together in a sloppy kiss.

Their hips stuttering, as they fill you. You whimper, your body still trembling, as their hips slow. You could feel their cock twitching, as they continued to spill inside you. Your messy kiss slowly coming to a halt, as their lips leave yours, their forehead leaning against yours.

"Wow," you whisper, and Jordan chuckles softly.

"Yeah," They agree, their hands gently caressing your skin, their fingers tracing over the bite marks and bruises they left behind.

"Sorry," they murmur, placing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

"Its okay," you say, placing a soft kiss to their lips, "You're hot when your jealous."

Jordan scuffs, but gives you a small smile. They place a soft kiss to the base of your throat, their body dropping more against yours as they nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around their shoulders, holding them close, your hands gently stroking their back.

"I missed you." Jordan whispers, their lips ghosting across your neck.

"And whose fault is that, dumbass." you say with a sarcastic scoff, "You're the one who's been ignoring me all week."

"I know." Jordan sighs, their body weight shifting as they raise their head to meet your eyes. "Just, things got super busy this week and I couldn't focus, you're too much of a distraction sometimes." They say sincerely, their fingers brushing across your cheek. You roll your eyes dramatically, but say nothing as you sometimes feel the same way about them, needing a break to focus on school and other shit but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss them either.

Jordan gives you a shy smile, before placing a firm kiss on your swollen lips. Their head dropping back into the crook of your neck. You sigh happily as your finger go back to gently stroke their back, lightly scratching their back with your nails, drawing soft sighs from their lips.

"We should probably shower," Jordan says softly, after a moment.

"Mmm, in a bit." you murmur your fingers continuing to trail patterns on their naked back. Jordan chuckles, shifting to their smaller form as they nuzzle their face deeper into your neck, their hand gripping your hip, holding you impossibly close to their body.

"Whatever you say, baby." they say, their voice muffled as they burry their face into the space between your breasts. You chuckle, before releasing a content sigh, holding them closer, your eyes closing as sleep slowly begins to claim you both.

[fuctacles]

join the Stranger Things Events community

<< 18 | 0 | 20 >>

"What, you're not going to hug me?" Robin raises an eyebrow at Steve, who's still shifted and waggling his tail in an almost oblivious, dog fashion.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, hands clenching at his biceps where he's crossed his arms. 

"You can hug him yourself, Buckley, it's still Steve. Just lacking some motor skills."

Steve sends him a side eye, to which he only shrugs his shoulders. To him, Steve is Steve, no matter what form he takes. Sue him for getting annoyed when the rest of their friends don't get it. 

Thankfully, Robin is Steve's closest friend—a platonic soulmate, as they say—so she kneels down to squeeze him so hard he whines.

"Oh, don't be a pussy, Harrington," she snickers, before releasing him. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"

Steve barks an affirmation. 

"And you," Robin points at Eddie. "Take care of my brother while I'm not here, okay?" She points from her eyes to him in an 'I'm watching you' gesture.

"Yes, sir!" Eddie salutes her before, he corrects himself: "Yes, ma'am! No harm will happen to him on my watch." 

She finally grins at him and it feels like he's just got a blessing to take her daughter's hand. 

"I damn fucking hope so, or your death will be painful. See you!" She waves at them both before disappearing in Argyle's van. The car peels off as soon as the doors are closed, since the other two have already said their goodbyes. 

Now, in the dreadful silence, it's just Eddie and the dog next to him. When he turns his head, Steve is already looking up at him with his big brown eyes, and his tail is twitching against the stone pathway. 

"Bath time?"

Steve barks excitedly, and doesn't waste any time before running back inside. 

Eddie follows him slowly, since he has half the legs and all the opposable thumbs to actually lock the door behind them. Besides, he knows where he'll find him—inside his bathroom, looking wistfully at the tub. 

"Do you need help?" he asks, but Steve throws him a determined look, and backs away. Eddie frowns. "Are you sure—?"

Steve is already jumping. 

He makes a lot of noise, but doesn't seem like has taken any damage himself. Only knocked down all of the bottles standing on the lip of the bathtub. 

"Now I have to pick those up, huh?" Eddie sighs as he's looking his nose over for any injuries.

Steve does a dog equivalent of a frown, and then yanks his head out of Eddie's hands, determinedly ducking for the scattered bottles to pick them up between his teeth and put back up. Eddie watches him struggle for a minute, bending his neck left and right and failing to set them upright, before he offers a teamwork solution—Steve hands him the bottles and he puts them in place. 

"Can we just use human shampoo?" he asks, inspecting one of the labels as if the ingredients meant anything to him. Even if they had Chemistry this advanced in Hawkins, a. he would fail it, and b. he wouldn't know if it's safe for dogs anyway.

Steve pushes one of the bottles with his nose, causing it to clatter back down the slope of the bathtub. With a sigh, Eddie puts away what he had in hand and grabs that one. 

"Baby shampoo?" he reads the label. "Why do you have baby shampoo?" 

Since Steve, obviously, can't speak, he's just sitting motionless and staring at Eddie.

"Uh, I'm guessing it's better for dog hair?" Eddie muses. 

Steve gives him a sideways nod of his head, partially confirmation, partially a 'well, I hope it is'.

"Okay, we need to get you wet first, let me just..." he trails off, disappearing briefly in the bedroom only to come back tying up his hair with a bandana. "I hope you don't suddenly find out you hate water."

Steve huffs at him like he's insinuating something ridiculous, and steps closer to the shower head. Eddie snorts.

"Can I take of my shirt too, actually?" he asks as he's rolling up his sleeves. Washing a dog sounds like a messy activity, even if the dog has a human brain inside. Especially, if that human brain is not above getting him wet on purpose.

At that, Steve's ears perk up and he turns to have a better view of Eddie. He raises his dog eyebrow as if asking him what he's waiting for. 

It's absurd to be ogled by a dog, but Eddie suddenly feels the need to cover himself up, despite the t-shirt he's still wearing. 

"On second thought, you're not getting a free nipple show, fuck off."

Steve huffs loudly through his nose, looking genuinely dejected. Eddie flips him off for good measure and hopes to anything that's listening, that he won't blush in front of a fucking dog. 

He turns on the water, testing the temperature on his hand, before aiming the stream at Steve. Wary at first, he quickly relaxes when Eddie starts scratching his fur to get it all thoroughly wet. The shampoo smells similar to baby powder, but not bad overall.

"You're going to smell like a wet dog anyway," Eddie jokes. 

Steve is too blissed out to react, eyes closed as Eddie rubs the shampoo around his ears. He's a big dog, so it takes quite a while to lather him all up. By the time Eddie's done, the front of his shirt is all soaked, as he expected, and Steve's head is resting on the edge of the tub. 

"Hey." Eddie scratches gently between his ears. "Don't fall asleep, it's time to rinse."

This part is less enjoyable for both parties. Getting all the foam out takes forever and Steve almost hits him with his forehead when water gets into his eyes. 

It reminds Eddie of this morning's happenings and he suddenly wishes he had two more dogs to rub clean. As it is, Steve is thoroughly rinsed far too soon and looking wet and miserable in the middle of the bathtub. Eddie immediately brightens up. 

"Aw, look at this sad, wet dog," he coos with a mean smile. Steve stands up. "Wait. Steve, no—!"

He only has enough time to shield his eyes before Steve shakes himself violently, sending water flying all over the bathroom.

"Oh, fuck you," Eddie groans, grabbing the nearest towel to wipe himself off. "See if I help you with drying now."

Steve's face, smug and proud of himself milliseconds ago, falls so quickly it feels like a slapstick comedy sketch.

His threats have no substance behind them, because he's feeling miserable in just his wet shirt, so he can only imagine how bad it must feel when your whole body is covered in wet fur. Not to mention the pleading look Steve is giving him while water drips from his ears. With a deep, pained sigh, Eddie reaches for the fluffiest towel he could find. 

"Come here." He gives in.

Drying a dog proves more difficult than he thought. They soak up two thick towels and Steve is still damp and visibly uncomfortable. 

"Uh, maybe you could air dry?" Eddie thinks out loud, still rubbing the towel around his neck and ears. He's sitting on the floor, Steve between his legs and the wet towels lying pathetically around them. "It's hot outside, so it should be okay." He cocks his head. "I don't think you would get sick, even all wet like this," he adds, though unsure. 

The idea is enough to have Steve up and running to get outside. Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Sure, leave me with the mess, why won't you," he mutters, getting up from the floor to grab the soaked towels and clean up the mess they've made.

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

steddie masterpost • ko-fi

[owlwithanapple]

Eternal Engagement

Chapter 01

An unexpected new life?

Y/N Kent, daughter of Superman Clark Kent and twin sister of Superboy Jonathan Kent. You thought you were born with innate powers and talents, but you haven't awakened any superhuman powers since birth. Not to mention flying, you don't even have the strength to break a piece of iron rod. Your mother Lois Lane once doubted whether you were incapable and born mortal?

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Superman and Batman, Guardian and Dark Knight, are also the best of friends. Their relationship is complicated, characterized by mutual respect and protection for each other. The relationship between the two occasionally causes tension due to their different approaches to the arts heroism.

Being in harmony is a good thing, but unexpectedly...your father and Bruce Wayne made a marriage engagement for their children when they were young, that is, you and Damian Wayne. Until you were an adult and just turned 20, you learned the truth of this matter. Your first reaction was of course anger. Don’t know how many arguments you had with your father, but in the end, it ended in failure.

Metropolis, a certain cafe -

As usual, you spent your time at work, a black luxurious car stopped at the main entrance. An ominous premonition came up, a familiar figure walked out of the car. The man in a black suit, he opened the door and walked in, stealing the attention of many women. When his emerald eyes met yours, you suddenly realized who he was, Damian Wayne.

You avoided his gaze and walked behind the counter, facing away from him, silently wiping the cup with a piece of cloth. At the same time, an enthusiastic female colleague came forward to take his order. He raised his index finger pointed at your back, revealing a hint of arrogance and a demanding attitude in his tone, "Black coffee, I want Kent to make it."

"Huh? Oh...Kent, are you available now?" Your colleague approached and asked.

You stopped the work in your hands and nodded helplessly. You used the coffee machine to brew, the aroma of the rich coffee came out, and every drop of coffee dripped into the mug. You brought the brewed coffee to him, his emerald eyes slowly moved from your face to hands and then to the cup of coffee.

"Sir, your black coffee, please enjoy it." You nodded and returned to your post.

"It's Damian, your fiancé's name." He answered after sipping his coffee.

You were helpless and annoyed, wondering why your father wanted you to marry this arrogant and ruthless man, even uncle Bruce agreed. Really don't understand what they’re thinking. You put down the tray, "I don't want to hear the word fiancé."

"Facts are facts after all. Kent, who has no talent." His tone was biased.

You put your hands on hips and retorted to him, "Gene mutation, there's nothing can do about it."

You always felt inferior because no talent, it hurts your scars exposed by him. After the quarrel, you feel relieved and continue to work. His eyes locked on you, and you avoid him several times and continue to ignore him. He taps the counter with finger to attract your attention, as if he is ordering you.

You approach him and ask nicely, "Sir, what else would you like to order?"

"Where's the engagement ring?" He takes a sip of coffee and glances at you, focusing on your finger.

This question makes you feel very embarrassed. Last month, your father suddenly brought a black exquisite ring box from Gotham, which contained an engagement ring. You dare not wear it at all, "It will affect my work and hinder me."

"Terrible excuse." His tone was arrogant. He finished the remaining coffee. Before leaving, he took out a few bills and put them next to the cup. You were surprised that the hand he stretched out was wearing your engagement ring.

You were silent, hating this inexplicable feeling. It's not a relationship between lovers, which makes you feel very heavy. He and your brother are partners, the Super Sons are the duo of Damian Wayne, the Robin, and Jonathan Kent, the Superboy. But you are just a superfluous Kent, with no talent, no strength, and no ability to help others, proving that you are a mortal.

"Fuck..." You clenched your fists and gritted teeth.

Kent Farm, Smallville —

You went home, and held the doorknob still struggled with heart. You smelled the aroma of food coming from the house, almost dinner time. You adjusted your emotions , opened the door and stepped into the house, you sat in the entrance and untied your shoelaces. You were shrouded by a shadow, and you turned around and saw that it was Damian.

"You... why are you here? Didn't you go back to Gotham City?" You stood up immediately in surprise, you thought he only came to your workplace, but he even came to visit your home.

"Little princess, welcome home. Damian is staying at our house tonight, he will sleep in Jon’s room." Lois smiled and poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Huh?! This guy sleeps in Jon's room?! Jon's bed is very hard!" You told Lois in confusion, but you heard your mother's happy laughter.

"Hahaha, indeed. Or do you want to sleep with your fiancé?" Your mother laughed after hearing your words and couldn't help but want to tease you.

Your mom's words made you feel extremely embarrassed. Even if you two are engaged, actually have no relationship. It's purely because of the relationship between the two families. You glared at Damian and walked past him to upstairs. "No way!!"

Damian watched you leave and sighed helplessly. Seeing that his figure did not seem as arrogant as usual, Lois took the initiative to step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "My little princess is a little stubborn, but not bad."

"TT. The only shortcoming is that she has no superpowers." The cold response from Damian hit Lois's pain point. Lois took her hand back. Damian sat on the sofa and browsed his phone, his eyes occasionally peeking at the stairwell.

You turned on the desk lamp. You opened the drawer to take out a book but saw the ring box placed inside. Your mind was in a mess. Why is your life so unsatisfactory? You took out the ring box and opened it. Inside was an exquisite engagement ring with the words of eternal love of Y/N & Damian engraved on it.

"He doesn't know the size of my finger..." You put the ring on, but it unexpectedly fit the size of your finger. You were surprised. How did he know your size?

When you wanted to remove the ring, found that it was stuck and couldn't pull it off no matter how hard you tried. You carefully looked at the details, felt that it was so expensive. Wayne's family has money. The engagement rings were made by experts. You touched it lightly, thinking how valuable it is.

"Little princess! Come down for dinner!" You pulled out the ring with all your strength, but nothing happened until you heard Daddy's voice coming from downstairs, and Jon's laughter came too. The two of them finally finished saving the world.

You left the room and went downstairs, and saw Mommy and Daddy bringing food to the table. Jon and Damian were discussing what happened today, such as aliens invading the earth. You seemed out of place without a common topic.

You went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mommy noticed your emotions change, and what Damian just said made her care more about your feelings. She took the initiative to ask you, "Little princess, did your work go well today?"

You held the cup felt a little sad. You pretended to be strong and nodded, "Yes, I was so busy, almost forgot to get off work."

At this time, Daddy walked in. His super hearing heard your heartbeat and was very flustered. He realized your mood change, he first gave you a hug, patted your back gently and comforted you, "Little princess, what's wrong? Tell Daddy?"

"I... I'm fine. Just a little tired." You answered vaguely.

"Little princess, don't be like this. I'm worried. Don't suppress yourself." Daddy said after loosening the hug and holding your shoulders, his face full of worry.

"I'm really just tired." You left the kitchen and walked to the dining table to sit down. Lois and Clark looked at each other and guessed your thoughts.

"I'm telling you! Today, Superboy and Superman are teaming up together - puff!" Before Jon could finish his words, Damian threw a pillow on his face.

Jon was confused, Damian ignored him and walked to the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat next to you. You avoided him, but his eyes stayed on you. He was surprised to notice your emotions and expression changes, and to notice that you were wearing the engagement ring.

"Why are you wearing a ring?" His tone was like an accusation.

As expected, he found out. You put your hand under the dining table awkwardly and trying pulled out the ring. "Just try it on. I didn't expect the size to be so perfect. Now I can't pull it out."

"Haha, your knowledge is really low. We were taught in elementary school that you can take it out by applying soap on hands. You not only have no talent, but also no knowledge." His tone was humiliating and sarcastic, as if he was accusing you.

At first Jon thought it was just a bickering, until he realized something was wrong, and immediately rushed forward to stop Damian's bad behavior. He held Damian's shoulders and said, "Hey, buddy, don't say that. She is a girl after all, and also your fiancée, be gentle."

"It's the truth, she knows it best. It's a pity that Superman's daughter has no superpowers. Ah, no, it's so pitiful." Suddenly you felt like the sky was falling. You couldn't refute his bad words. What he said was... the truth.

Everyone knows Damian's character. He is a proud and self-centered person. He always spits out some facts when he speaks. Mommy approached Damian and flicked his forehead with her index finger, leaving a red mark. "Damian Wayne, we agreed to marry our little princess to Wayne family because of trust, not to humiliate and belittle her. This is not what a future husband should do."

Daddy came forward and ruffled Damian's hair, with a smile and tenderness on his face. He once said that Damian's personality is exactly the same as Bruce's. He always speaks harshly, but still very gentle in his heart. "Damian, treat her well. When she is frustrated, you should encourage her instead of mocking her."

"She should thank me. If our two families were not good friends, who would want to get engaged to this untalented idiot." He emphasized made his words more unpleasant.

"Damian, you-" Just as Jon was irritated, you stood up from the dining chair.

Except for Damian's expression, which was equally annoying, everyone else was worried. You wanted to scold him but you didn't have any advantage over him. He was an experienced Robin. He struggled to this day with his own efforts and perseverance. He is a very brilliant person. But you have no talent at all, unlike Jon who is strong and reliable.

"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to my room." You walked away silently. Dad followed you but you stopped him. You wanted to stay quiet didn't want to hear any more sounds.

"Buddy, what are you doing? You know my sister-" After you left, Jon glared at Damian in front of Clark and Lois, his eyes glowing red as if he was going to shoot a laser at him.

At this time, you were in the bathroom. You applied soap to hands to wash them as Damian said. Just as he said, the ring was successfully taken out because of the moistness of the soap. You put the ring back in the box and closed the drawer, drew a cross pattern on the calendar to indicate that no signs of awakening.

"Maybe I have no hope..." You fell on the bed, looking at the ceiling and sighed silently.

Knock Knock—

There was a knock on the door, you got out and opened it. As soon as you saw Damian's face, you slammed the door and locked it, venting your anger on the door. Damian outside the door did not feel disgusted with your behavior. He knocked on the door again, but you did not respond and curled up in bed.

"I'll leave the food outside, don't starve." You heard his voice fade away, and out of curiosity, you opened the door to peek. He really brought dinner, you were stubborn and didn't want him to meddle in other people's business, which would give him the opportunity to feel superior. But in the end, you were defeated by hunger, you compromised and brought the food into the room to eat.

"Help—I can't swim—" Suddenly you heard a strange noise, like a cry for help. You thought it was an illusion, maybe someone downstairs was watching a TV series, until you heard "Superman—Anyone—save me—"

"Help?" you murmured.

You didn't even touch the food, pricked up your ears to listen carefully. The painful cry for help, the sound of water rising and falling in the waves circled intermittently. You ran downstairs in a panic and saw Daddy washing dishes in the kitchen and Mommy tidying up the dishes. Life was just like usual. Jon and Damian put on their hero suits and were discussing today's patrol work and adjusting the route.

"Um... Daddy, Jon. Did you hear a girl's cry for help?" Your voice trembled, but your question instantly attracted everyone's attention.

"Little princess, what did you just say?" Mommy asked with a puzzled look, and Daddy, who was standing behind her, noticed your abnormality and wanted to get closer to you.

"Help me—I can't breathe—" The cry for help came again.

"Again! I heard it again—" Just as you panicked and tried to prove that you were hallucinating, Jon and Dad heard it later than you. Two red lights flew out from in front of you with lightning speed, the impact of the wind made your hair messy as if you were hit by a tornado.

"Super hearing..." Damian murmured, he stood by and stared at you with his cold emerald eyes like a knife.

"Little princess, how long have you heard it?" Mommy put her arm around your shoulders and let you sit down.

"About... a few seconds ago. I thought it was a hallucination, so I didn't pay too much attention to it." You tidied up your messy hair and looked directly at your mommy to answer the question.

"Several seconds faster than Superman and Superboy, should we say they were stupid enough to ignore the cry for help or it was just a coincidence..." Damian deduced the result from your answer.

"Little princess!" Daddy's voice came, a gust of wind blew and messed up your hair again. Daddy rushed back home and appeared in front of you at the speed of lightning.

"Buddy! Someone almost died just now!" Jon rushed into the house and rushed towards Damian, muttering non-stop, so fast that his cloak blew on Damian's face.

"TT, shut up, you're making so much noise." Damian slapped Jon in the face impatiently and pushed him away, then approached you and Superman.

Daddy didn't even change out of Superman costume before he immediately knelt on one knee in front of you and held your shaking hands tightly, with a serious and shocked expression, "Little princess, what you just heard was not an illusion, someone really was drowning."

"So it's not an illusion... Wait, why can I hear it?!" You were shocked.

"Idiot, one of Superman's powers is super hearing. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe the awakening period has come, after all, it's just a short reaction." Damian intervened between the two of you, his words were as harsh as usual.

"Little princess, try to concentrate and see if you can hear mommy's heartbeat." Daddy was a little nervous, his palms were sweating.

You nodded and tried it as he said, looking in the direction of your mommy, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. After waiting for several moments, you could only hear your own heartbeat and everyone's breathing. You opened eyes and looked at your daddy, sighing and shaking your head to indicate no, it was just a coincidence.

"I didn't hear any sound..." You muttered in frustration.

"Oh... But little princess, thanks to your reminder, Jon and I were able to save people in time. Thank you." He hugged you in his arms and stroked your head.

Damian stroked his chin gently, his eyes focused on you. For a moment he guessed that you were about to wake up, just like a caterpillar showing signs of growth. An idea came to him, he took out a piece of Kryptonite from his utility belt to do an experiment, but Jon quickly stood in front of him to stop him.

"What are you doing?! Using that thing to murder your fiancée?!" Jon panicked.

"It's an experiment. If she really has a part of superhuman genes, then this thing will definitely weaken her if it touches her." Damian said to Jon expressionlessly.

"That doesn't mean you have to use this-" Jon grabbed Damian's arm.

"Damian, try touching her with Kryptonite. I want to see what changes will happen to her body." Superman was worried but moved away from you.

"That's-" Before you could even finish your words, Damian put the Kryptonite on your arm, suddenly you felt a wave of weakness and anxiety. You were about to fall dizzy, Damian came forward to catch you.

"Sure enough, she is not an ordinary person, there is a superhuman part in her body." Damian muttered.

"Damian, she is temporarily in a coma, take her back to the room and let her rest. I will contact Bruce and then decide how to deal with this matter." You can't feel any strength in your body, as if you have been completely hollowed out, but you can hear the conversation between Daddy and Damian.

"Wait, Damian. You will take good care of her, right?" Mommy pointed at Damian's chest and angrily like warning him, because he was not gentle to you at all, even said something sarcastic to his own fiancée.

Damian ignored Lois's words, easily picked you up and went upstairs with his hands. Jon and Lois were worried and wanted to follow, but they were stopped by Clark. He shook his head to signal them not to worry and said, "Don't worry, let Damian take care of her. They will be husband and wife in the future, and the little princess' husband should take care of her."

"Hubby, you just heard what he said to your daughter—" Lois was dissatisfied.

"I know your concerns, but always protecting her is equivalent to alienating the distance between the two of them. Damian and little princess need each other, believe them." Clark put his hand on Lois's shoulder and comforted her gently.

Damian carefully put you on the bed, covered with a quilt, then pulled a chair to sit beside the bed. He took off the Robin mask, crossed his arms under chest and quietly stood by you. Thinking about the possibilities and changes that will happen next, he raised his head looked at the ceiling to deflate.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-Damian took out his phone and browsed the chat interface.

Dick: Hi~ are you getting along with your fiancée?

Damian: Something happened.

Jason: You abused her?

Tim: Didn’t Dick tell you to be gentle with her?

Damian: No, you guys should stop meddling in other people’s business.

Bruce: Clark contacted me just now, and I think I know what happened.

Dick: Damian didn’t abuse her, right?!

Damian: I’m not that shameless.

He logged off and closed the chat room, scratching his cheek. He stared at your sleeping face, quietly approaching your bedside to avoid waking you up, his index finger gently brushed your forehead, he leaned down and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Lois was still worried even if Clark trusted Damian, she came to your room, quietly turned the doorknob and peeked in through the crack, she found out what Damian did to you, she was shocked but still chose to leave and let him take care of you.

READ IT ON AO3 owlwithanapple

Like and Repost to motivate me!

Tag : @chibiduck

[traincat]

what's the unreleased uncanny avengers fic 👀 (I love when you do fic that's set at a very specific point in canon, I'm always dying for more of that in comics fandom)

So I have four different Uncanny Avengers fic in this folder, and upon investigation two of these I finished and posted:

Echoes, which takes place immediately post Uncanny Avengers #12, which is the end of its Hanktron plot.

He was having a time.

Keep the Fire Burning, which takes place after Uncanny Avengers #20, where the Red Skull mindcontrolled Johnny and Peter reacted. Strongly.

[Sunset Boulevard voice] We had comics, then.

The other two are also in the Uncanny Avengers #19-22 time frame, because there was just a lot going on. Under the cut! Johnny having a Bad Time, Generally.

Uncanny Avengers #19 fixit fic, based on the fact that the Red Skull makes Johnny hallucinate his family's return and then imagine himself burning them alive. We have fun here. This one was intended to be a get together, but then I think Uncanny Avengers #20 came out and I was like well I have other things to focus on.

***

“It’s that farkakteh team you’re on, running around, getting abducted by psychic Red Skull,” Peter said, pacing the floor in front of Johnny, waving his hands about. “Back in my day we settled for the regular model and we were happy about it.”

Johnny didn’t say anything. Peter sighed, stopping in front of him and dropping his hands to his sides.

“Torch,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Johnny shook his head, the briefest of motions. Peter dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward a little, until their knees were almost brushing.

"Don't touch me."

It was the only Peter could get him to say, ever since he’d insisted they cut out on the clean-up. He’d swung them both to his apartments in the Baxter Building, Johnny silent and unresisting, clinging to Peter’s shoulders. Peter almost missed that – at least that was contact. Now Johnny sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders all hunched up and said "don't touch me" every time Peter so much as thought about reaching out.

It was horrible. All Peter wanted to do was hold him.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice coaxing. He wanted to fix it – wanted to take Johnny out, somewhere high up. Wanted to wrap Johnny up in blankets and keep him indoors. All his attempts at affection always felt so clumsy where Johnny was involved, like it was never what Johnny really needed.

“Don’t touch me,” Johnny repeated.

“C’mon,” Peter said, aware his tone is getting a little tetchy. He knew wasn’t the world’s most patient man at the best of times, and besides, words were cheap, easy, a dime a dozen where he was concerned. He’d always communicated best with Johnny through touch. How could he help if Johnny wouldn’t let him smooth a hand over his back or throw an arm around his shoulders?

Johnny had never shied away from touch before, not once in the fifteen years Peter had known him.

“What’s a little mind control between friends, huh?” Peter joked, inching a little closer, on the edge of his own seat so he could sway a little into Johnny’s space. “We’ve been here before.”

Johnny shook his head slowly. Peter dipped his head, but he couldn’t see his expression. He sighed, restless.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta talk to me here. You’re scaring me a little…” he said, dropping a hand to Johnny’s knee.

He yanked it back before he could make real contact, spider-sense buzzing like he just tried to touch a hot stove. Johnny was blazing -- it wasn’t noticeable, except for a sheer scant inch from his body.

Peter had never really marveled over his control before. “Johnny?”

“You can’t,” Johnny said, voice hitching, “touch me, okay, Peter?”

“Johnny,” Peter said, gentling his voice again. He got up and moved to Johnny’s couch instead, leaving enough space between them that he couldn’t feel the heat Johnny’s putting out. “Hot stuff – literally. What’s going on?”

All he wanted to do was put his arms around Johnny, and Johnny wouldn’t let him.

Johnny just breathed for a few long moments, ragged. Peter had already tried to ply him with water, with coffee, with that one bottle of very old-looking scotch someone else must have put in his kitchen. Johnny didn’t seem to want anything.

“Pretty boy,” Peter cajoled, the old nickname that never failed to get him a pleased smile. “What’s so different about this time?”

“My family came back,” Johnny said, and Peter’s whole being lurched.

“What?” he said. It wasn’t possible – if the Fantastic Four were back, he’d know, surely. And if the Fantastic Four were back, why would Johnny be curled in on himself like this, hiding out on Peter’s couch?

“My family came back,” Johnny repeated, voice a little steadier. He pulled his hands away from his face – his fingers trembled – and slid them through his hair. His eyes were red. He was white as a sheet. “And I lost all control of my powers, and I burned them to death. My family.”

Peter worked his jaw for a minute, speechless. Johnny finally looked at him, eyes all damp. Peter couldn’t stop staring at the dark gold sweep of his lashes, his wet cheeks.

“That’s what the Red Skull made me see, anyway,” he said with a watery, fake smile. It was like a bucket of ice water down Peter’s back. The arm of his chair gave way under his fist, viciously, and Johnny almost jumped.

He reigned his own anger in for Johnny’s sake, buried it deep down where he kept every other injustice he couldn’t do anything about, all the unfair things. He breathed out, slow.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Johnny, still wide-eyed at Peter’s outburst, said, “I know.”

“It wasn’t real,” Peter pressed on, inching closer. His hand hovered above Johnny’s knee, but still there was that blazing heat. It hurt, that Johnny wouldn’t let him hold him. “It didn’t really happen.”

“I know,” Johnny repeated, miserably. Peter hadn’t thought his heart could break for him anymore than it already had.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, desperate to take Johnny’s hand in his own. Johnny would never forgive him if he burned himself on him. Peter would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. “It wasn’t real, Johnny.”

(...)

“Hey,” Peter said, inching closer. He can stand the heat, at least for a few minutes. “Lower the thermostat.”

“What?” Johnny said, looking up at him.

Peter made a loose hand motion, rolling his wrist. “An expression, Torch. Johnny, hot stuff – turn it down.”

Johnny shook his head, stubborn. He was tired, Peter could see that now. He needed rest, food – and he wasn’t letting himself have anything, because of something that had never even happened.

Peter knew that feeling.

“I promise you,” Peter said, “you want to turn down the body heat for this one. Johnny, trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

After a second, Johnny nodded.

It wasn’t how he had wanted to do this. He’d wanted to wait, to do it right – take Johnny out someplace nice, someplace romantic. Let him catch on little by little. He’d wanted to kiss Johnny for the first time with the skyline at their backs, underneath the stars.

On his couch with all the blinds drawn and Johnny so miserable Peter felt like crying too was what it was going to have to be, though. Peter couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’re either going to love this, or I’ve been reading everything wrong,” Peter said, softly. He touched his fingertips beneath Johnny’s chin to hold him steady. “In which case you’re going to have the time of your life laughing at me.”

Johnny’s soft inhale was all the go-ahead Peter needed. The first brush of their lips was quick, testing – Johnny’s lips were soft and full. Peter wondered if he tasted slightly ashen all the time, or only after he’d spent most of the day flamed on. Maybe only when he was sad.

“Peter,” Johnny said, sliding one hand along Peter’s neck. His eyes were closed.

“Yeah?” Peter teased a little, lips just brushing Johnny’s.

“I’m not laughing,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Peter said. He hummed and kissed the highest point of Johnny’s cheek, nosed at him softly. “I guess I need to try harder.”

Johnny nodded, tilting his head. Peter kissed him again, and again, and again, until Johnny’s mouth opened under his and Peter was licking into it and Johnny was making soft little sounds that had nothing to do with being sad at all.

“Is this okay?” Peter asked when they broke apart. Johnny was breathing hard, looking a little dazed. Peter reached up very carefully to brush his hair back.

***

And the Uncanny Avengers post-#21-22 fic, which was established relationship:

Johnny was in his bed again, on his side facing away from the door. Peter sighed fondly, shoulder meeting the doorframe as he leaned in it for a long moment, tracing the way the moonlight illuminated Johnny’s form.

He hit the light and Johnny groaned, dragging a pillow over his head.

“You’re not naked,” he said, climbing onto the bed and palming Johnny’s hip, right over the yellow patch. “<i>Before</i> we got together, I got you naked.”

“You didn’t get me anything,” Johnny mumbled, voice thick. “I got myself naked and you screamed.”

“I didn’t scream, I yelled,” Peter corrected, rubbing little circles, stroking his way down Johnny’s thigh and back up again. He counted out the panels on the yellow patches, walking his fingers up and down. “It was extremely masculine and not a pitch only dogs could hear at all.”

Johnny snorted, grip on the pillow loosening. Peter gave him another moment before he rolled him over, bracing himself over him on one hand.

“Hey, hon,” he said, tracing the dried tear tracks on Johnny’s cheeks. His eyes were still a little red. “Rough day at the office?”

Johnny snorted, reaching up to fidget with Peter’s collar. “Something like that.”

“But everything’s peachy-keen now?” Peter asked. “All Red Skulls safely off the streets?”

Johnny nodded, face pensive. (...)

“The fist bump?” Peter said, sounding amused. “Really?”

“I was trying to play it cool,” Johnny said. “Casual, you know.”

“I have never,” Peter said, kissing Johnny once, twice, three times, “ever bumped your fist before. Not one time.”

"Liar."

[aaesuki]

i think we can make it, i hope that i'm right

part 1 | part 2

pairing: atsumu x reader

cw/tw: fluff to light angst to fluff, exes to lovers, miya twins

wc: 3.5k

summary: although the hyogo night market is filled with cheers of excitement and laughter, your heart is filled with fear and apprehension standing next to the man you've loved for years.

a/n: i think this could've been better but i am basing it off my own experience so. i swear it's a lot more painful experiencing it irl lmfao.

The Hyogo night market happens on the second Friday of each month and Osamu has never been more confused with the number of familiar people he’s bumped into while running his Miya Onigiri stand.

First, it was Suna along with a pair he vaguely remembered as Sakusa and Motoya from Itachiyama (quite an odd trio). Then, it was Kita and Aran (a less odd pair). Next, it was Akaashi and Bokuto from Fukurodani (standard). Somehow, the entire Karasuno team also made an appearance. Finally, the strangest combination of all, you and Atsumu.

He hadn’t seen you since high school but he never forget the mark you left on his brother. Though Atsumu put on a brave face in front of their friends, Osamu knew he would practice late into the night, channeling all his frustrations into a volleyball. When he was feeling especially lonely, Atsumu would sheepishly knock on Osamu’s apartment door and ask him for a bowl of midnight ramen. With Osamu leaving volleyball and you leaving Atsumu, it didn’t come as a surprise that he took quite a while to get back on his feet.

So, when he sees Atsumu with you in tow, Osamu wonders if he’s finally gone insane from pulling too many all-nighters. Atsumu doesn’t miss the inquisitive look on his face but shakes his head vigorously to hint he’ll explain later.

“Two salmon, two kombu, and one char siu.”

“It’s great to see you too, ‘Tsumu. I’ve been doing amazin’. Thanks for askin’,” Osamu sarcastically drawls.

Next to Atsumu, you chuckle. “Long time no see, Osamu.”

He smiles at you, warm and easy. He never held any ill will towards you. With his own revelations about the future, he understood that you had your reasons for leaving and Atsumu had his reasons for not pursuing you after.

“Hey,” he simply replies and writes down Atsumu’s order. Atsumu, the little prick he is, exaggeratedly reaches for his wallet at a snail’s pace while holding Osamu’s unamused gaze. He would’ve liked to continue playing oblivious but as Atsumu’s obligated-by-blood wingman, he relents. He rolls his eyes as high as they’ll go. “Alright it’s on the house, but you owe me 20 hours of delivery service next week.”

“Huh?! Five onigiri ain’t worth 20 hours!” Atsumu objects.

“Inflation, ‘tsumu. Some of us have to work hard to earn a livable wage. Next!” The customer behind you confusedly recites their order as Atsumu leads you to the side of the stall, groaning and moaning about his swindler of a brother.

You grin at the familiar banter between the twins. The festival is in full swing by now and crowds of people line the streets. You had only been to the night market a handful of times despite being born and raised in Hyogo. Seeing Osamu operate his own stall in the streets he grew up on, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

“Your brother’s still funny as always,” you point out.

Atsumu scoffs and shoves his hands in his MSBY Black Jackals jacket. “Yeah, he’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Thanks for takin’ me out again, Miya. It’s a nice break from sittin’ in the office all day.”

“Yeah, no problem. I ain’t got much to do anyway,” he says shyly, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“I hope I’m not takin’ too much of your time.”

Atsumu shakes his head vigorously. “Nah, not at all. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out, too and I’ve been wantin’ to see what’s at the market anyway.”

“Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to see the openin’ of Osamu’s shop,” you suggest mischievously.

“Believe me. I got better things to be doin’ than keepin’ tabs on that scrub.”

Behind him, a Miya Onigiri employee calls out Atsumu’s name three times before he notices. He comes back with a plastic bag full of onigiri, stuttering and blushing when you laugh at him for his obliviousness.

He hands you your flavor of choice, unwraps his own, and promptly starts messily stuffing his face. You sigh goodheartedly, secretly glad Atsumu kept his boyish charm. Who would Miya Atsumu be without a little bit of immaturity?

The street lamps are decorated with yellow lights, outshining the night stars. To your left, stalls are selling taiyaki, tempura, daifuku, and various other foods. On the other side, children run around with goldfish in little plastic bags and comically large stuffed animals.

Though you’ve seen Atsumu a couple times since the ride from the book club, you still felt a bit uneasy. He may be here now, but he could leave at any moment and the anticipation for the other shoe to drop kept you from fully enjoying your time with him. You stomp down the heavy dread that begins to tingle up your spine and chew on your onigiri dejectedly. Still, you felt guilty for doubting his intentions. He had been a sweetheart towards you this whole time, yet you couldn’t let your walls down.

The thick summer heat concentrates the scent of the delicious treats and your stomach growls despite inhaling Osamu’s tasty onigiri. The scent of fresh Takoyaki stands out to you most, probably because your nose unconsciously led you right in front of the stand.

The old man at the stall smiles at you sweetly and asks if you want to try a sample before buying to which you, of course, nod. He hands you a toothpick with the large treat, the sauce and bonito flakes stirring a hunger you didn’t know you had. The ball is piping hot but you risk burning your tongue for the sweet and savory octopus flavor. Next to you, Atsumu grabs your toothpick while you’re busy enjoying the aftertaste of the chewy octopus.

“I wanna try one too, please.” His eyes gleam with the excitement of a child trying it for the first time. The takoyaki ball disappears into Atsumu’s mouth the second it leaves the old man’s hands. He yelps, opening and closing his mouth in a feeble attempt to cool it down and chew at the same time. When he eventually manages to swallow it with tears in his eyes, he asks for an order of takoyaki for the two of you to share. You take out your purse but Atsumu places his hand on yours. “It’s alright. I can take care of it.”

Your heart squeezes tightly at the sweet gesture. Memories of you and Atsumu going on dates, having fun, and not worrying about anything else float to the surface of your thoughts. The light squeeze tightens into a crushing grip. Was it better for the both of you to leave the past in the past?

“Thanks, Miya.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but the sentiment doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Once the takoyaki is ready, Atsumu finds a bench in front of an open space where kids are playing with their new toys. Some stare with watery mouths but when you ask if they want to try some, they run away. At least their parents taught them about stranger danger.

Eating has never stopped Atsumu from yapping and it still doesn’t. “D’you wanna try some of the games later?” he asks with an open mouth of food.

“That’s alright. My hand eye coordination ain’t the best.” You hand him a tissue with an amused chuckle. His cheeks puff out like a chipmunk when he’s eating.

“I’m pretty good at ‘em. Y’know, with the whole volleyball thing.”

“Up to you,” you muse. It’s all the same to you as long as you were spending time with him.

“One time, I won against Omi-omi in a shooting competition and he didn’t talk to me for a week. He’s such a sore loser.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh at Atsumu nickname for Sakusa or the fact that Sakusa was petty enough to commit to the bit. Or maybe it was because this was coming from one of the sorest losers you knew.

“Well, one time I beat you at Street Fighter and you refused to eat lunch with me for two weeks, so I’d say you beat him in that, too,” you smile.

Atsumu groans and rolls his eyes. “Hey, I’m a changed man now. I know how to handle defeat with grace and dignity.”

Despite saying he knew how to handle defeat with grace and dignity, he whined about losing a shooting game against a little kid just an hour later.

Your stomach hurt from laughing at his panic halfway through the game when he realized he was losing. “You were sayin’?”

“I let her have the win! Since she’s just a kid an all I thought I’d be a good person and let her experience the sweet taste of victory I already know all too well.”

“Right.”

Atsumu exaggeratedly gestures at a daifuku stand behind you. “Whoa! Those look real good! Don’t you wanna try some? Let’s try some!” You don’t point out his obvious play at distracting you to spare his pride.

After daifuku, it was taiyaki, then fruit jelly. Soon, you were just about ready to explode with the amount of sweets you stuffed into your mouth. You had enough sugar to last you the next month and a half. Atsumu, on the other hand, was still busy gobbling up your leftovers. It was a wonder how he kept his physique with the amount of desserts he ate, and he ate them every single day.

He notices your discomfort from the ridiculous amount of food you consumed and suggests taking a break on an old tree stump. You watch him eat his second serving of daifuku. A tension tugs in your head and throat. Your heart begins to thump quicker. Your hands are starting to sweat and you have trouble taking deep breaths. You ground your arms onto your knees, placing your hand over your mouth. It’s homesickness. It’s the way Atsumu still scarfs down his food, how he still curses his brother out, how even after all these years you could still imagine you and him in high school doing the exact same thing. Time is cruel for robbing those experiences from you, and now in your late twenties, you weren’t sure you’d ever get them back.

No doubt Atsumu spent those years honing his craft and making the most out of his opportunities. You were sure he didn’t have any regrets, unlike you. If you were able to do it all over again, you wouldn’t have left so early that morning. You would’ve told him that with enough love and devotion, it could’ve lasted. If you didn’t make the biggest mistake of your life, you could be at the alter saying yes to an eternity with Atsumu and pursuing whatever passion you chose. But there’s no point in sifting through what-ifs, you’ve learned. They only layer regret upon regret on your back until you’re too tired to move forward or turn around.

“You enjoyin’ yourself?” you ask, trying to shake off the negativity. He mumbles something you can’t quite make out but you nod and smile.

“You alright? The desserts take you out already?”

You nod once more, hoping he’ll stop asking so you don’t crack. Atsumu puts his plate down on his lap with a frown. He still has cream all over his mouth, which he doesn’t notice but you focus on the little white dollop to bring your attention away from the wedge in your throat.

“If there’s somethin’ wrong, could you tell me? Please?” You’re stunned by the sudden change of mood. The Miya Atsumu you knew would’ve been much more impatient and abrasive.

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Miya. I’m just feelin’ a little tired from the food is all.”

His sweet, brown eyes find yours, refusing to break away. “Why don’t you call me ‘Tsumu or even Atsumu? It’s always ‘Miya’ for me but not ‘Samu.” His big, bushy brows pinch together and the wedge rises higher.

Your mouth strains and twitches, trying to hold your neutral smile but you know you’ve been caught and you let it slide into a frown. “I’m sorry, I just—it’s all just too good to be true. I’m scared. I’m terrified. I lost you once and I don’t want to lose you again.”

Atsumu sighs, scoots closer, and wraps an arm around you, his hand moving up and down soothingly. “There wasn’t a single day I didn’t think of you. I still love you. I want to be with you because I love you.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“At first, I refused to reach out first out of pettiness. But then I thought I just wasn’t that important to you. I was just a fun time that was convenient to end once we graduated.”

You hum sadly. “Never meant to make you feel like that. You’re too good for me, always were. You made it all the way to the Olympics and I’m still barely scrapin’ by. I don’t even got enough time in a day to think about anythin’ other than the next meal. You’re amazin’ and you deserve nothing but the best.”

“I’m the only one who can decide what I deserve!” he retorted angrily before catching himself. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I would’ve stayed as long as it took for you to figure it all out.”

Now that you think about it and although you don’t want to admit it, what he said was true. Atsumu is nothing but loyal to the ones he loves. His desire to bring out the best in everyone extended past the volleyball net but you were dumb enough to believe he just didn’t love you enough when it couldn’t be further from the truth. Still, you were just a dumb kid at the time.

“What happens when you realize I’m not worth it? I’m not like you. I’m just a regular person. But you—you’re blessed. You got so many people rootin’ and cheerin’ for you. You’ve got so many people that love you.”

“Sure I do, but that’s not what matters to me. I ain’t playin’ volleyball for them. All those fans, they’re just a plus that comes with the game. I couldn’t care less if they stopped watchin’ as long as I get to keep playin’.”

At that, you couldn’t help but snort, reminded of the first time you saw Atsumu silence the Inarizaki cheering squad. It had been just a couple weeks since you started working on the project with him, and you wondered whether he was insane. Talented people tend to be insane.

You take a deep breath in. “When we first got together, I didn’t expect to fall so deep that it took years to recover and I still feel the pain when I wake up in the morning. I barely survived that. I don’t know if I have it in me to do it all over again.” Your eyes burn red hot from the strain of keeping the tears at bay that are teetering over the edge of your eyelids. You never told anyone what had happened and no one ever asked. Your spoken words solidify the hurt and you could feel the full force of the pain again since the first time that graduation morning.

“We’re not the same people we were nine years ago. It’d be real upsettin’ if we were 28 and didn’t know how to have serious conversations,” Atsumu laughs, breaking the tension in your shoulders that you didn’t notice until now. Compelled by his hearty laugh, you let out little teary huffs of your own. You took out a crumped Miya Onigiri napkin from your pocket and blew as hard as you could, resolving this to be the last time you’d cry about the past.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right for once,” you simpered, to which Atsumu let out a small squawk. “But it’ll take me some time to adjust, if you’re willing to wait for me.”

Atsumu grinned wide, cheeks pushing up to his eyes and says, “I’d wait nine more years for you.” He reaches for your hand, rough but warm, and pulls you up from the stump. This feeling is all too familiar. You didn’t realize how much you missed holding his hand until he gently intertwines his fingers with yours. “C’mon, I gotta explain this whole story to ‘Samu. Hopefully this juicy story will make him forget about the 20 delivery hours.”

Osamu did not forget about the twenty delivery hours. Or rather, Atsumu and his big mouth reminded him. If only he could’ve kept his mouth shut the month after the night market. Why in the world would he ask if he were exempt from delivering onigiri a month after? Sometimes, Atsumu’s mind couldn’t be explained by simple logic. You were sure Osamu made him do it just to see his twin whine, but you were also sure that Atsumu did it anyway out of love for his brother.

After his last batch of deliveries, Atsumu picks you up to enjoy “free onigiri” back at his house. When you ask if the “free onigiri” was from Osamu’s lunch box, Atsumu waves off the question and tells you to stop asking unnecessary questions.

“Your bed is irritatingly comfortable. Rich people really do live in a different world,” you chirp, looking around at the impressive displays of memorabilia.

He smirks, “That’s right, baby. Atsumu’s earnin’ the big bucks now.” You give him an incredulous look. “Please laugh. You’re lookin’ an awful lot like ‘Samu right now.”

“Anyway.” you snickered, “Where’s the onigiri? I’m gettin’ hungry.”

Atsumu puffs out his chest and pushes you to the dining table. After you take a seat, he brings out two plates of delicious looking food that certainly were not onigiri. “I hope you don’t mind eatin’ at my house,” he scratches his cheek bashfully.

“I’m more surprised that you know how to cook.”

“This ain’t Persona 5. We didn’t split so that he would get the cooking skills and I would get the volleyball skills even though I’m definitely better than him.”

“We’ll see about that.” To your amazement, Atsumu did know how to cook. You should’ve guessed since he’s an Olympic athlete and all, but you couldn’t wrap your head around it knowing that he was nowhere near as patient as his brother.

You spend the rest of the evening listening to Atsumu drone on about the happenings during training. You still haven’t met the rest of the team but they seemed to fit in perfectly with his personality. Rather than envy, you feel glad he was able to find people that could keep up with this incredible athletic ability, outside of Osamu.

After dinner, Atsumu washes the dishes while you take a long shower. You spend most of it figuring out how his complicated showerhead works, groaning all the while about it being above your income tax bracket. While Atsumu takes his turn to shower, you examine the trinkets he has in his room: photos, trophies, and posters. You realize he had decorated it similar to his childhood room so that hints of Osamu’s taste lingered despite him not being there.

Your eyes stop at what seems to be a letter on the wall right above his bed. You recognize your handwriting in the first few lines of it and realize it was the one you wrote to Atsumu for your first Valentine’s day. Reading it, you cringe at the cheesy lines but the love you felt all those years ago still burn bright. Before you can read on, Atsumu enters the room with his pajamas and a hot cup of water. He smiles, seeing the letter in your hands, but doesn’t comment. Regardless, you tape it back up on the wall and turn your attention to him.

You can feel the fatigue setting in after the hearty meal so you tuck yourself under his fluffy, blue blankets and watch him get ready for bed. Atsumu silently turns off the light on his nightstand, cup left on top of it, and crawls in next to you. His heat envelops your body and you hum when he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel a puff of air on your neck as he whispers. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, ‘Tsumu. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up to the peeks of sunlight through his shades. It must still be early morning by the way the sun has barely reached over the horizon. You groan and turn in Atsumu’s arms to face him.

Expectedly, his mouth is wide open, allowing his snores to reverberate even louder and you snort at the sight. His pale blonde hair stuck up in all different directions despite him not moving for the entire night. Despite it all, he was one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. You love him too much for your own good. He has your heart in the palm of his hand and it’s honestly petrifying how much power he has over you, but anyone in your position would understand. Miya Atsumu has many, many blessings, but he’s your blessing.

Love is strange and painful but it’s what keeps people going. You wouldn’t have this life if you didn’t love Atsumu or if he didn’t love you. Even with the heart wrenching pain in those nine years, you wouldn’t have it any other way. If that couldn’t stop Atsumu from still loving you, then nothing would and you’d never stop loving him. Never did.

Your eyes slowly blink close, heavy with sleep again. You’re taken by the sands of a dream, waiting to see Atsumu’s heartfelt grin when you awake again.

[partynextstarry]

20 something— j.jh fic teaser #2

⊹₊ ⋆ tags: smut, slight breeding kink, unprotected, inexperienced!him, angst, breakup,

“baby,” he whispered, like it was a prayer. “i needed this. needed you.”

you didn’t say anything. because what was there to say? you’d told him. so many times. you didn’t want to risk it. didn’t want a child. not now. not like this. and especially not with someone who couldn’t even meet you halfway when it mattered.

but he was already losing himself in it — too far gone, clinging to the idea of love like it could fix everything he’d broken.

“don’t cum in me,” you finally whispered, voice fragile. “please don’t.”

he paused, like he’d heard you. like maybe this time he’d actually listen.

and then he moved again. harder. deeper.

like your words were just noise.

your breath caught. not from pleasure. from panic.

“jaehyun—”

“i know. i know,” he breathed. “just— fuck, let me feel you.”

your hands trembled. your chest felt tight.

he’s not hearing me. he never does.

you stared at the wall, mind spinning. you thought about your future. your plans. your friends. the way you used to dream so big. and now— this? this was what your twenties were turning into?

“you’re being selfish,” you said quietly, barely able to hold back the crack in your voice.

he kissed your shoulder. “i just love you so much. you know that.”

no. you didn’t. not anymore.

because love didn’t sound like this. love didn’t feel like someone forcing permanence on you when you barely had space to breathe.

he came with a muffled moan, holding you tight like that made it okay. like you weren’t crying under him. soft, silent tears, soaking the pillow.

and when he whispered “mine” into your skin, you realized something that hurt more than anything else—

you hadn’t been yours in a long time.

the next morning felt too still. too quiet. the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just… hollow.

you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, just in your bra, blanket loosely around your hips. your stomach twisted, like your body was catching up to everything your brain hadn’t wanted to deal with last night. your thoughts were too loud for the silence.

he came in from the living room, rubbing at his eyes like he hadn’t slept either. “you tired, baby?” his voice was soft. casual. like nothing happened.

you turned, jaw tightening. “jaehyun. what is wrong with you?”

he blinked, expression unreadable. “huh?”

you ran a hand through your hair, exhaling slow. “you came in me yesterday. i told you not to.” your voice cracked, but you didn’t let yourself cry. not yet. “you know i’m on the pill, but that’s not the point. i said no.”

he scoffed—actually scoffed—and leaned against the wall like you were overreacting. “you act like it’s a big deal. it’s not. you’re being dramatic. it’s not like you’re pregnant.”

“jae.” you stared at him. “this isn’t about pregnancy. it’s about respect.”

his eyes narrowed. “so now i don’t respect you?”

you shook your head, voice quieter. “sometimes it feels like… the only time you actually love me is when you’re inside me. like that’s the only part of me you want.”

his face twitched, jaw clenching. “that’s not fair.”

“is it not?” you asked. “because when we fight, you shut down. when i’m upset, you say i’m sensitive. but the second you’re hard, it’s like i’m the love of your life again.”

he took a step closer, gaze sharp. “you think i don’t love you? after everything?” his voice dropped. “i’d do anything to keep you.”

you frowned. “anything shouldn’t mean ignoring me when i say no.”

he looked at you for a long moment, then laughed under his breath—low and bitter. “you think i’m trying to trap you?”

you didn’t answer, but your silence was loud.

he tilted his head, mouth curling into something between a smirk and a scowl. “maybe i should, then. maybe that’s the only way you’ll finally stop running. stop threatening to leave every time you get scared.”

your throat went dry. “that’s not love. that’s control.”

“you’re mine,” he said quietly. “you’ve always been mine.”

the room felt smaller. colder. you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “that’s exactly what I fucking mean. you’re scaring me.”

he hesitated—just for a second—but didn’t apologize. didn’t soften.

you looked down at your hands. “i just want to feel wanted outside of sex. i want to feel like you see me. not just my body.”

he didn’t answer.

and that said more than anything he could’ve said.

[valleyofthelilly]

Texts With Katsuki but You're An Exchange Student: Part 1

PREVIOUS

Tags: Exchange student!Reader x Katsuki, Female!Reader, Uncle Might, Bestie Izuku, SMAU, Traumatic childhood, University AU, characters are 20/21, war never happened for the sake of our happiness.

The walk to the training facility was quite peaceful. In the short time you'd known him, you'd noticed Midoriya was a talker. He was asking questions about your quirk, how you learned to use it given the circumstances of your childhood, millions of things.

Usually you'd feel inclined to tell someone to fuck all the way off upon being asked any of these questions. But the space between you and your new friend felt comfortable, which was something you couldn't say you'd experienced in a long time. If anything the tension in your life had been palpable the past few months, even if it was only between you and yourself.

When the two of you finally arrived at the training facility you were happy to find it empty with the exception of All Might. He was perched on the opposite side of the room, on what looked to be a spectators bench. He raised a hand high and waved both of you over.

"Young Midoriya, Young (y/n), lock the door behind you and come on over so I can explain today's exercise." He nodded in the direction of the door and Midoriya turned to lock it. You made for the side of the room All Might was sitting on with Midoriya a few steps behind.

While All Might explained what you'd be doing you took off your overcoat. You hadn't wanted it to be ridiculously obvious where you were going, especially not after blowing off your practical partner. So you'd opted to throw the biggest flannel known to man over your training suit.

The mock up of your current gear held up well enough for it to be a training suit, one comparable to the one you've used in combat. Though the gear itself was a little... ratty. It hadn't been updated in quite some time and would without a doubt benefit from some TLC. You made a mental note to visit the support department before All Might spoke.

"Alright, go ahead and show us what you can do kiddo." He nodded as he motioned for Midoriya to sit next to him.

You tilted your head in confusion.

"Huh? I thought we were supposed to-"

"Nope. If your enemy is to have a fair fight they need to understand the range of your abilities, and yours is quite wide. Regardless of strength, It would be both unfair and reckless to send Midoriya in blind, even in a sparring match."

"Fair point, but then what do you want me to do?"

"Simple, use your quirk in the best way you know how. Show off a little if that's what you want to do," All Might waved his hand flippantly, "I just want to see what you're capable of and where your limits are, so that you can surpass them. The last time I saw you use your quirk was years ago. I would imagine you've improved since then?" He quirked a brow. Midoriya sat beside him with a notebook in his lap, looking between the two of you.

"I have." You nodded curtly, beginning to understand what was being asked of you.

"Then the floor is yours Young (y/n)." All Might gestured to the expansive training room behind you. You turned towards the open space, calmly walked to the center of the room, and thought through your plan. If improvement was what was being asked of you, why not show just how many of your limits you've surpassed?

Overhead you counted six rows of ten high-powered lights, making for sixty total. With those, plus the air conditioning, plus the rest of the technology in here, you figured you should be set. Electrical energy seemed to be the safest route while still being impressive.

Taking a deep inhale you tightened your core, the very inside of your soul to be as hard as rock. "Siphon." You breathed out on the exhale, you made an effort to feel every molecule of electricity within your reach. The current expanse of your quirk was the training room. If necessary, you could triple your reach, but you didn't want to take power from any of the dorm buildings.

Push your energy out, grab more of it, pull, compress.

Push your energy out, grab more of it, pull, compress.

Push your energy out, grab more of it, pull, compress.

You could feel your insides burning, but not in a way that hurt. They burned in the way that let you know you were sucking up every volt of energy available to you. In such a way that you could feel the energy building on itself and multiplying.

You didn't notice the way the lights went out, or the way the AC stopped working, or the electrical lock on the door come undone. You only knew you'd taken all you could when the breaker popped, then exploded with a resounding clap.

The way that you looked during was unbeknownst to you. But if you had to guess by the, "Oh my, oh my, what?" that Midoriya breathed out with wide eyes, you'd say terrifying.

If the way that All Might was looking at you like a proud father was any indication, you'd say you did your job.

Smiling softly you looked down at your, now glowing, skin. Electricity danced across it softly until you allowed it to dissipate. Simply deactivating it and storing it as potential energy.

"When I told you to show me what you got, I didn't mean to cut the power out. Jeez kid, what have they been feeding you over there?" All Might joked with a smile, one you returned to him proudly.

an: if you read all of this thank you??? and let me know what you thought please, it's always appreciated sm, i love feedback. i'm sorry this was so long. the next parts won't be this beefy i swear (unless y'all want them to be, lmk). i just wanted to get a scene of reader's quirk use in even though the description kind of sucked?? any guesses on what our quirk is? also it will be much more katsuki heavy in the future. just needed to get the setup done!

[dadsbongos]

for honor. and duty.

3.2k words / warnings - forced breeding, injections, drugging, unhappy end, reader is written as a woman

summary - it's his job to carry on the bloodline, and its your job to love Satoru Gojo; thankless as both gigs are.

kinktober: day nine - breeding, aphrodisiac ~~~

Satoru was disinterested in fathering children. 

While he loved teaching, and teasing Megumi throughout the years was a joy, raising an entire person from scratch? An unnecessary addition to his plate he would rather be without. Besides, he was only scratching at his late 20s, why should he rush into having babies?

His feelings were not hidden, either. Everything about Satoru screamed childfree. Most respected the decision; for the Gojo clan to be written into history with Satoru as the cataclysmic final bang -- the sole pillar maintaining his clan’s status in the big three. It would be an honor and a pleasure, were he humble enough to silently accept both.

But Satoru loves whining.

“Too bad the Six Eyes and Limitless will be totally lost to time when I die…” he pouts every time he says it. Purely to gloat that not only does he have both, but he will be the last one in history, “If only someone could take them off my hands, huh?”

Maybe he should’ve just shut his mouth.

… 

“Why don’t you donate, then?” Shoko snarks one random Wednesday, finally fed up with Satoru’s haughty huffs this particular lunch break, “I’m sure your swimmers wouldn’t be unwelcome if they could make another special grade.”

“Gross, Sho,” you gag, then pointing at the man, “Don’t respond to that.”

Predictably, you’re ignored, “But who would be worthy, Shoko? Huh?” Satoru snickers when you gag even louder, “It’d have to be another sorcerer, you know? Can’t just put a super baby in any ole lady.”

“I’m sure you could find someone for a good price,” Shoko leans onto her palm, “Some high up clan girl. A Zen’in? It’d make her life better by getting out of that place, I bet.”

“Can we not talk about this while I’m eating, please?” you gesture to your lunch, though you hardly have the appetite for it now anyway. 

“You can say you’re jealous,” Satoru teases into your ear, laying his head on your shoulder. There’s no warmth of skin to feel, and if you closed your eyes the weight wouldn’t be reasonable for a human head either -- much lighter. Airier. As if he isn’t there at all.

“I’m not jealous of not being your incubator, Gojo.”

“Harsh!” he dramatically clutches over his heart, sucking in a breath like he’d been stabbed, “What happened to first name privileges?”

“Revoked,” you flick his head knowing it’ll never land. Knowing he’ll never feel you.

Shoko simpers, long nails tapping against the creaky break room table. When you shoot over a quizzical glance, those nails stretch over her lips; covering so you alone can make out what she mouths: ‘jealous’. 

You mimic the motion to mouth back: ‘fuck you’.

“Hey,” Satoru wraps both arms around you (no warmth, no weight), “Secrets among friends is asking for trouble.”

“Donating out soldier serum is asking for trouble,” Shoto snickers.

“You suggested it!” 

You roll your eyes at the pair, hoping this was the last you would hear of Satoru’s semen stumper, “Well, I’d love to stick around, but you two are disgusting.”

“Boo,” Shoko wads up the shrink of her microwave meal and tosses it at your head.

“Boo!” Satoru echoes the sentiments louder, fingers clinging to your uniform until his long arms can stretch no further.

“Yeah, whatever!” you holler back, “As if the higher ups will even let you just donate!”

Those traditional old heads will want a “proper” heir, and there is no way Satoru would get suckered into that.

It’s part of why loving him is so difficult.

Because loving Satoru means having to share him: always. He is overwhelmingly busy between his work as a sorcerer and his passion as a mentor. Your love for him will forever be yours to own, but Satoru himself could never be.

Perhaps that’s what Suguru realized when he tried years ago, when Satoru was always gone and the space between them only grew. Perhaps that’s why he decided to close Satoru out completely.

“You actually gonna donate sperm?” Shoko returns her tired gaze to her friend, quirking a brow when he laughs and shakes out his phone.

“Nah, the geezers just keep pestering me,” he mimics a flapping mouth with his hand, “Blah, blah spreading the genes- blah, blah good of the clan. As if they care about the good of the clan.”

“They might,” she snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to hide a grin.

Both of them know full well otherwise.

“I’m just gonna tell them,” he re-pockets his phone, purposefully ignoring the buzzing call of Gakuganji, “Face to face this time, so they can’t ignore it.”

“Ooh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What’re you gonna say, big man?”

Satoru smiles bright, all cocky and sure and cool, “‘There is no way that you bags of bones will ever convince me to have kids.’”

. . .

A cold, soaked cotton pad is swiped over the triangle of your inner elbow, disinfecting the area before introducing a syringe.

You once asked Satoru why he bothered remaining a sorcerer under Jujutsu Tech when he obviously hates the higher-ups. His response, of course, was lackluster and chock full of holes (“Nobody else can do what I do,” he rolls his hand laxly, “Also, it's the only thing that doesn’t make me so bored I contemplate blowing my brains out.”).

You remember rolling your eyes with a single word reply, deeply unimpressed with his typical lack of tact (“Inspiring.”). Similarly, you remember thinking that you wanted to stay by his side, despite his annoying insensitivity.

When you got the panicked call from Shoko, you considered it a test. The universe cruelly examining your dedication. Ever the fool, you sped for the address she spat over the phone to prove yourself.

Now, you can’t even have the shame of reconsideration.

The bedroom has a camera in the far right corner, on the wall opposite a large observation mirror. Men in white coats pace back and forth, scribbling notes and judging every exact twinge in Satoru’s muscles. Satoru is positioned on a king bed with white sheets, hands latched behind his back in solid shackles with a radiant lock.

“He’s not hurt, right?”

“No,” the lead man steadies a needle to the sterilized juncture, “We never want to hurt Gojo,” his eyes flick up to the pinch in your face as the needle punctures your skin, “Or you.”

“He looks miserable…”

Three doctors turn to you, glaring. The man administering a blue, gluey serum into your veins sighs loudly, “Yes, well… you will be, too…”

The doctor folding your discarded clothes on the left scoffs, shaking his head.

Sometimes you spend so much time with Satoru that you forget how mean men can be.

“It should begin taking effect in just minutes,” the man steps back, letting one of his many assistants undo your tethers, “Mostly an additive,” he clarifies, “You don’t really need it, your stamina doesn’t matter much to us here. You can head in for him now.”

Your stamina may not matter to them, but you’d personally like to be awake as long as possible for this.

“Did you tell him it was me?”

Your question is ignored. So you step through the men and creep into the other room. Casting a curious glance over your shoulder to confirm the study window only reflects yourself. And Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

The name is saccharine sweet in your mind. His head twists in your direction, blindfold gone and eyes comically wide. His eyes are dimmer than usual, though that isn’t very surprising when you were explicitly told the drug dampened cursed energy.

Your eyes rake over his body -- red and writhing and naked. Satoru’s gaze falls from your face to your chest to between your thighs, eyes widening further. You know he’s had partners before (lots of them, in fact), so the shock is unwarranted. Unless, of course, it’s because it’s you and not the random woman from a high up clan he assumed it’d be.

A stern voice breaks out from the far right corner of the room.

“He is willing.”

You gnaw your bottom lip anxiously, squinting through harsh overhead lights to the two-way mirror over your shoulder. Then, your eyes return to Satoru, knelt on the mattress and bare -sans the stocks cuffed around his wrist.

“Satoru…?” your face boils, gut fairing no better. Veins direct gutters for the goopy blue in your system, and it's pumping fast.

He copies your quiet, uttering your name through the still observation room, “You?”

“Is it…” you crawl onto the bed, convinced that his skin on yours could cure the overwhelming swelter in the room, “Am I okay?”

He nods limply, hair falling into crystalline eyes, “It’s you.”

Bright fluorescents dim to a more bearable, faint glow. Swallowing the last of your reservations with the swell in your throat, you turn your back to Satoru -- both knees firm on the plush mattress. 

Though his chest beats in sporadic, panicked breaths, Satoru’s lean hips are still -- perfect for reaching between your thighs and grasping his stood cock. He clenches his angel eyes shut to your flesh, but the waves and dips of your cursed energy stubbornly persist in his vision. He sees the wavering as your lust grows, he knows his is the same. Worse, even. So swallowed up in his belly by enforced desire that a stable flow is impossible to maintain.

Satoru is easy in your grasp, slipping inside you with whimpered pleas and huffs. You curve him into you, backing onto Satoru until your soft flesh is flush with his. Heat tickles up your spine, chilling at your neck and causing a rabid shiver all down your shoulders. 

Leaning forward onto your elbows, you slip over Satoru’s cock -- sliding along him with manufactured fervor (if you focus hard enough, you can still feel the needle incision stretch in your arm). 

The stocks rattle as Satoru jerks forward with a thick groan, hips now eager to pap, pap pap! onto yours. Bonds creak, splinters wailing in protest of his strength as he claws out to reach you. Satoru throws his head back, every sensitive nerve set ablaze just by the warmth and squeeze of your cunt.

His shortburst thrusts don’t dig far enough even though you’re kissing hips every time -- he feels overstimulated and yet unfulfilled. He needs to have both hands bound on your hips -squeezing the flesh on your bones and flipping and bending and making you keen under his lithe fingers.

He cannot discern if the need is driven by drooly chemical injection or longstanding affection, and he isn’t bothering himself with the question now. 

“Wanna touch,” he mumbles pathetically, red in the face and sweat beading down his forehead, white bangs slick to the skin, “Need it…” he gasps as you arch, stretching one of your legs to curl around his thigh, “Need to touch!"

As if spontaneously occurring to the crew that Satoru is pleading with them, the leading man jingles over with his key. He looks at the sedation team for extra assurance before unlocking Satoru’s stocks. 

Once the bonds clatter to the floor, Satoru is raking his nails across your body -- thighs, stomach, back, anywhere he can reach he’s eagerly clawing. Pulling and pushing before he collapses over you, his chest scorching your back. He stretches his neck to press his cheek to yours, lips loose and babbling,

“So good, so good, love how you feel -- wanna fuck you,” his brain must be falling through his lips because he seems to forget he’s already fucking you, “Wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you,” he lays sloppy kisses over your shoulder, teething at the sensitive bone, “Gonna let me cum in you, pretty girl? Yeah? Gonna make me a daddy, yeah?”

Hanging one arm below, he swirls the soft pads of his fingers over your clit -- soaked with the syrup his cock fucks free. His large hand expands over the pouch of your tummy to snugly press his thumb into your doughy skin; thumping where he’s battering your insides.

“Feel me there, mama? S’wet ‘n’ desperate, you want me bad,” he giggles deliriously, humping at your sex in plasticine frenzy before twitching to completion.

Satoru thinks he could go all day.

Thick arms tied around your waist, keeping your chest bare to his with both knees crimped over Satoru’s shoulders. His overconfidence proves itself as he thrusts up into you, lips pressing wetly onto yours while drooling out affectionate slurs,

“Best girl, pretty and hot and so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? You love me, sweet girl? I think you do- know you do.”

Satoru stills only when more cum is pumped into your womb, pitiful mewls bobbing the apple of his throat.

You’re nodding with a heavy crown, forehead thumping into his sweaty collarbones and biting cresents in his biceps with your nails, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh - love you, ‘Toru! Love you so much…!”

Nuzzling along your flaming cheek, Satoru wriggles you loose just to flip you around to kneel in the sheets.

“I’m tired,” he muses, fingers dancing in the baby hairs at the base of your neck, “How about you do something, princess?”

You groan and pout, but don’t disobey.

Your knees are tingling and arms shaking as you twist to nestle against Satoru. Stretching back, you splay your palms over his broad chest to balance over his standing cock; then reach between your spread legs to grasp his erection. Skin soft and warm in your palm, he whimpers at the contact and throws his head back into the plush white pillow. Snowy hair tousled against the case, hips twitching up in you.

His cock bumps against your clit in his desperation and the sensation makes you clamp your knees around his waist tighter. You’re all heavy breaths and whines by the time you finally sink base-down. His cock feels hot and thick inside you, you’re not sure if it's all the eyes or whatever they stuck in your arm or the fact you’re with Satoru but your entire body is simmering.

Satoru’s hands unwind from the sheets to cling around your hips, forcefully rocking you down on him: as if to grind both your bones into paste. Cool air catches in the back of his swollen throat, your cunt wet and swallowing him back in as he tries slipping out. He lifts his head -jaw limping open and drool pooling around his raw-bitten lips- just to watch as he lifts and drops you over his cock.

Clumsily, he jerks his knees up and feet flat on the bed as the lava scorching through his veins inspires him to fuck you faster. Sweat beading and swamping all along his hairline and joints, leaving his skin sticky and sucking against yours with every thrust. Satoru’s fingers squeeze harshly around the fat of your hips, marking the skin with plum stains in the shape of his hand. If a baby isn’t enough, then these bruises surely will be bountiful evidence of your tryst.

Suddenly, Satoru sits up fully, lips pressing into your shoulder before he stabs into bone and flesh with his teeth. His arms swiftly move to curl around your waist, flushing your back to his chest as he pumps into you. One of his hands finds your breast, squishing the swells by the handful, and the other hand swooping to toy with your clit. He works slow circles into quicker swishes, thrusts speeding as the heat climbs and climbs from where he’s inside you up to your necks. Suffocating. Enveloping. 

Ragged breaths pull with terrible effort from both you and Satoru. Wet slaps of skin and syrupy squelching echoing in the otherwise still room. Oddly, the sound is far from grotesque, instead spurring another sweetened gush around Satoru. The dirty, primal nature far overshadows the lurking men in white coats around the edges of the room.

You can almost pretend you’re wrapped around Satoru for real pleasure rather than duty.

Again, Satoru sloppily mouths at your skin, from the bend in your shoulder along your neck and unto the softness of your jaw. Arms clenching around your waist until you’re practically immobile in his embrace, bouncing along his cock only because he puppeteers you to do so. 

Satoru moans hotly against the slope of your neck, licking the sweat off your skin just because he can. You lean into the coolness of Satoru’s tongue as your gut swirls and tightens before you’re seizing in the man’s grasp. His gaping mouth is pressed against your collarbone, slobber inking across your tit and down your arm. He hugs you tighter and soaks in full the clench of your orgasm, continuing to lathe his fingers over your clit until you’re jerking and huffing in overstimulation.

You think you hear him muttering (you hope you hear him muttering), “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

The unbearable heat is replaced by normal, merely uncomfortable heat. Satoru cuddles you against him still as he plugs you with his cum.

Soft murmurs float back into your ears, men stretching necks to gaze at the both of you and whisper amongst themselves. Satoru lazily drags the sheets high over your chest and settles back against the steely headboard. 

He yelps, back arching and eyes wide, sitting upright from the board.

“What…?” you groan, exhaustion overtaking you -- limbs numb and strewn out uselessly.

“It’s cold,” he grumbles into your ear, yawning and laying against the metal headboard again (this time prepared for the stinging temperature change), “Be nice to me.”

Weakly, you make a sound of protest from the back of your throat. Brain too fried to form words.

Satoru caresses his fingers gently over your stomach, gaze fluttering to the labcoats stiffly remaining in the room. They put much effort into avoiding his stare, heads kept low and ducking behind their collars. Rolling onto his side, Satoru keeps you caged in his arms while shielding you from the mens’ stares. 

He soothes his nails along the bulb of your cheek, six eyes searing through every layer of skin and muscle down to the beating of your heart. He knows, of course, that it beats for him.

Which makes him feel sick, beneath exasperated euphoria, because he knows why you’re here.

He knows the only way to give it back is with a baby neither of you really want.

[mythicalninjas]

Not Just A Miner

Tf.One Orion Pax X Cog!Femme!Cybertronian!Reader

Author's note: I got inspired by a scene from an old brazilian movie called "Ó pai, Ó" (2007) in which the protagonist refutes racist remarks made by his friend. Click here to check it out (I couldn't find the english version, only in my native language). Also, I advise you to watch this movie if you have an opportunity.

Rate/Warnings: NSFW, prejudice, bullying, hate. | SFW, reader defends her friend.

Maybe it would be a good idea to be a prankster in the secret archives of Iacon instead of stealing useless material things. Not that young miner Orion Pax is one. He's just been searching for the truth ever since he became suspicious of the ancient and mysterious story of the 13 Primes. What happened to cause the great protectors of Cybertron to die in such mysterious ways? Why is Sentinel Prime's most beloved government hiding such information? Orion has searched countless files for cycles, and they all end with the same story.

Running from the two angry guards who are twice the size of the cogless miner, Orion's hope is to catch the fast approaching train at the nearest station, which is only 20 meters away from his position.

"Stop, miner!" Darkwing shouted from behind, pushing and dodging bots that were in his way.

KDQ-1, the other guard accompanying Darkwing, flies down from the air and lands directly in front of Orion, blocking his path. "Where do ya think ya're going, miner?" he asked threateningly.

Orion stopped abruptly and raised both arms in surrender. "Wow, hey!" He steps back, but feels Darkwing's sturdy body blocking his path. Their evil giggles make Orion feels shivers.

"So, Orion Pix." Darkwing said sarcastically, pushing Orion toward KDQ-1 "Where were we?".

KDQ-1 laughs. "What do you think, Darkwing? Should we pick him up and throw him from that top?" he pointed at a building next to them.

The brute guard disagrees. "Nah, it would be no fun, dull. Let's rip him apart right here." Both guards laugh.

Orion chuckles nervously. "You guys are creative, huh?"

KDQ-1 grabs the miners' left arm and pull him near. "So, miner. What do you prefer?".

Orion spots the train leaving. Now he's cooked.

Darkwing grabs the other arm. "Why do you want him to choose, KDQ-1? Miners don't have choices or opinion. They only obey." Both laughs again. "They are nothing but-"

"They're nothing but what?" You interjected suddenly, causing both guards to drop Orion in fright and backing off. You took it as oportunity to stand between your friend and the guards.

Orion moves quickly behind you as soon as notice it was you.

You could feel his hands gripping your right leg as if to make sure no one takes him away. How cog-bots can be so foolish to mistreat someone who can't even defend themselves? Even more so in public? Anger boils up your circuits.

"Come on, Darkwing. I want to hear it." you confront. "What were you going to say about him and other miners?"

The brute bot and his co-worker looked at each other. KDQ-1 was the first to speak. "We were just having a warm talk. No big deal."

"I don't think that bullying someone is no big deal." You reply calmly, but firmly.

"This is no of your business, Y/N." Darkwing shouted. "Leave us alone, now!"

"Out of question!" You answered. "You must have power over miners, but not over me. You cannot treat cogless-bots badly just because-"

The brute cut in. "Are you really want to teach me to how be a good chief?" he took a fews steps toward you, making Orion shudder. The young miner doesn't want a hand-to-hand fight to start. He doesn't want his friend to be hurt by the stubbornness of others. Thanks Primus that his brother-in-arms, D-16, is safe in the train going to mines right now.

"It seems you do need." You answered, not taking your eyes off him, ready to fight back.

KDQ-1, sensing that things aren't going well and knowing his co-worker actions, puts his hand on Darkwing's shoulder, trying to stop him, but the mean bot moves it away.

"Well, well. A "hero" protecting weaks bots?" he teased, stopping halfway.

"Don't forget that the weaks bots are those who keep our Energon reserves full. Don't forget you have Energon flowing through you because of them!"

"They are just miners. Damn miners! Nothing but dumb robots!"

"Yes, they are miners, but don't miners have eyes? Huh? Don't they have hands and heads and feelings? Don't they need the same Energon to live?" Your voice grows louder and louder. "Do they not suffer from the same diseases and need the same health care as we do?! When they feel exhausted after countless shifts, don't they need some rest just like us?! When you beat the shit out of them, don't they feel pain?! When they risk their lives down there in the mines, don't they die, too? You take advantage of them in everything because they are treated like slaves in our society, son of a bitch!"

An eerie silence fell over the open space. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind blowing off the huge buildings and the metallic sound of some construction machinery in the distance. Everyone who was passing by and paying attention to the small commotion now remained silent at Y/N's reaction, some jaw-dropped; even KDQ-1.

You were breathing heavily, as if your unimaginable reaction had been an impossible struggle to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And you are willing to continue this discussion if necessary.

Darkwing glared angrily at Orion, who was still behind you. "Good for you, no-cog." the brute commented, ominously. "If I find you in the archives again, you'll suffer. And so will your little gray friend."

Orion's bright blue optics grew wide by his words. No... He cannot endanger someone he admires the most, someone he considers a brother. Darkwing is far more evil than he could have imagined. Suddenly, he feels you moving and blocking the threatening eye-contact between him and Darkwing.

Darkwing lifted his face up toward you. "And it will be a moment you won't be there, Y/N". He, then, was led by his co-worker through the crowd, away from there. All the other cog-bots returned to their tasks, murmuring about what they had just witnessed.

You sighed with relief that the situation was over without developing into something worse. Turning around, you realize that Orion also feels the same way. "Are you okay, Orion?" You asked softly as crouch down. "Did they do something else to you?".

Orion rubs his arm left arm. "Just a bit sore. Nothing to worry about it."

You lift an "eyebrow". His expression of pain was evident on his face as he try to move his arm with difficulty. "They've made a mess right there. Come along. I'll take you to a doctor to fix it."

"Oh, no need for it. I'm ok-" he grows by pain.

You smiled down at him. "Orion, don't resist. Let's go. And also... Don't put yourself in danger ever again... You know what Darkwing is capable of. Don't underestimate him."

"Yeah, I'm sorry... But, you know why I still insist on it. Something isn't right about Cybertron's past before Sentinel Prime's reign".

"I understand you Orion, but it doesn't mean you have to be chased by the authorities all the time. I don't want to imagine what would happen if they get you in a wrong moment." You sighed and watch the giant concrete jungle landscape. "I won't always be there to protect you."

Orion remained silent for a few minutes while the two of them stared at the cityscape before them. The miner is indeed quite stubborn, and that has consequences, especially for those who are not to blame. Rules and protocols are not even close to something he would follow. Orion doesn't like that, and it is what makes him different. Something that makes him look beyond work.

"I promise." he finally speaks. "I promise to not get in trouble."

You knew that Orion would never stop his extreme adventures.

And that defines him.

Damn, he can't wait to meet up with D again and tell him everything that happened and how brave you were. They knew that you, their best friend, are a hero. Someone they could trust their life with.

☆☆☆☆☆

Reblog to support and let more people read my work 🫶🥰

[belovedivies]

along the wind (bodyguard!peter x f!reader)

・゜・summary: Peter has made his way to the top by defying the odds his whole life; barely anything fazes him at this point. Yet when a glimpse of normalcy comes into his life in the form of a girl whose presence he initially apathizes, the crack in the Apostle’s stoicism starts to show.゜・* ・゜・tags: reader-insert, pre-canon, pre-rejuvenated peter, slice of life, fluff, slow burn, eventual romance, (my poor) attempt at humor, friends to lovers, typical-canon violence (mostly referenced cuz i suck at writing fight scenes)゜・* ・゜・notes: this work has multiple chapters! also cross-posted on my ao3 <3 title is from a song called "fly away" by jang yoon ju.゜・*

chapter 1: white strawberry and mint. ・゜・chapter content: bashing/washing, brief mention of drug. ・゜・word count: 1,268 ♡masterlist♡

“Tch, stop squirming so much will you?”

"That's easy for you to say, you took my last xanax!"

Peter, very much irritated, decides to ignore those words as he drags the washcloth down your spine. You really thought Glory's greatest asset would want to be stuck here babysitting a grown-ass woman in her early 20s, huh? You'd better fucking think again; with how bizarre this unconventional live-in assignment has been and is still going, Peter's mental gymnastics constantly blow hot and cold between wanting to protect you and wanting to strangle you. Anything to make your perpetual complaining go away, honestly. But as nice as the thought of making you shut up for good, the Cathedral's order to keep you safe is final, and he is but loyal to the organization that made him the powerful man he is today.

So the Apostle sucks it up, a sigh leaving his lips as one big hand closes a little tighter around your waist.

"You're recovering," Peter continues, the authority colors his tone even as his touch on your soaked back is undeniably gentle, "and the last thing I need is another headache of you OD'ing over off-label pills."

You let out a sound that falls somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. "I'm not an addict, ok?" That half-assed excuse almost has Peter rolling his eyes in pure frustration, his displeasure threatening to bubble over when you flounder on his lap like a fish out of water. "They're just my sleeping aid-"

“Aid or not ,” he cuts you off mid-sentence, “it doesn’t change the fact that you pop three xans per meal and barely function without them.” The last of his impatient reprimand is accompanied by foam-covered linen spreading the Olay body wash over the skin of your belly. Peter’s nose crinkles slightly at the sickening sugary scents of white strawberry and mint that assault his nostrils, but the man decides to keep his mouth shut.

And much to his surprise, so do you.

He’s relieved at your lack of resistance, or at least no more bitter remark. A huff leaves your lips, then nothing. Good, the Apostle is sure if this goes on, he’ll be scrubbing your wrinkly skin raw. Peter sets the washcloth aside and grabs the shower head, aiming the lukewarm stream of water at your body and clearing away the bubbles and remaining grime.

The water sloshes underneath your body as you draw up your legs; the tub isn’t small by any means, but Peter is aware of his size and how his large stature might be a little suffocating to you in terms of space. His grasp on your waist loosens, wanting to speed things up so you both can get out of here quicker. Yet the second the soap on your skin is washed away, the guy can't help but let his eyes linger on the scar on your lower thigh.

"What?" Peter hears you huff again, sounding uncomfortable despite your nonchalant expression. One of your hands moves down to conceal the healing wound, even if through the little cracks between your fingers, he can still make out the pinkish scar tissue.

"How are you feeling?" It's a genuine concern on his part.

"Um," your hesitation doesn't escape his notice, even palpably so when you start shifting awkwardly between his legs. Peter just wants to make sure, but he has no problem with dropping the topic if it irks you. That is what he thinks, but you finish the sentence, "better?"

So it doesn't hurt anymore, at least not as badly as it used to. The man lets out a low hum, then turns his head to hang the showerhead into its wall-mount bracket.

"No hair wash?" Are you serious right now? Peter rolls his eyes for real—an act he's very much acquainted with in the past six weeks living here—before facing you.

"No hair wash," there you go again with that annoying pout. Really makes him wonder how the hell you two are the same age, "I won't have you lazing around in here for more than 30 minutes."

Sensing an upcoming brainless argument, the raven-haired assassin stands up and walks out of the bath, taking you with him. He promptly ignores the way you yelp when one right hand grazes a ticklish spot on your nape to keep you still, instead reaching for two towels sitting on the sink. Peter wraps one of them around his waist and focuses on patting you dry with the other. There's a bored look on his face while you just stand there, grumbling under your breath about how you can do this on your own. Brat.

"Put this on." He draps the towel over your shoulders and hands you a fresh set of clothes for the night. Only when you take them does he start putting on his own; a moment of silence follows, save for the rustling of fabric. It’s oddly calming, and even though he has used to going through days without a wink of sleep, Peter feels his eyes getting droopy as he puts on his grey hoodie; the day’s exhaustion finally catching up.

You let out a yawn, putting your hand on his shoulder for support while you slip on a pair of cotton slippers. Now he just has to wait for you to finish up.

“Hey, Peter…”

“Hm?”

The guy looks over his shoulder when you call out his name. This time, you don’t meet his gaze, instead staring down on the floor as you scrawl with one foot.

”Sorry for my mini tantrum earlier.” You gulp, and was that shame he just heard? ”You were just trying to do your job…”

Peter cocks an eyebrow. He isn’t mad at you, per se—the smirk on his lips giving away his rare playfulness—more like the usual light-hearted annoyance (that makes him want to choke you due to how stubborn you are sometimes, but that’s out of the question). You’re still 97% better than most people the Apostle had encountered in his line of work, and that is to say out of the other 3% he didn’t fumble (or kill), you’re the girl who happens to fit the closest to society’s definition of normal.

Not that he cares about what people think, anyway.

“A-And I acted out like a child…” He’s half-expecting another sorry, but you keep your head down in silence. You must be waiting for his answer then, so the guy decides to give you an easy way out; the further teasing comment that is about to leave his mouth can be saved for another time.

”Aside from the occasional migraines you gave me,” Peter smiles, putting a hand on your head as he starts ruffling your hair. "you're not too bad yourself. Apology accepted."

You mirror his mirth, though only for a brief second. Schooling your expression into a mask of faux frustration, you huff and try to pry his hand off. “Right right, now stop would ya? You’re gonna mess up my hair!”

Again, sleep comes first. As fun as it is to taunt you, Peter needs to get you to bed. Tuck you in… is that what it is called? The Apostle mentally cringes at the term; Father Gabriel really did land him into babysitting his niece.

“Right… let’s go.” He settles for giving your head one last pat before motioning you to walk towards the door connected to your bedroom. The distance is short, but Peter knows you’ll be there when he turns around.

Tomorrow will just be another day.