sugxto

[sugxto]

power play - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: Eddie only has one rule: no fucking in the bar. And of course, he finds you and Volt breaking it. He can't have that.

⋆wc: 3.3k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, light dom/sub undertones, erotic electrostimulation, mentions of alcohol consumption, blowjobs, finger fucking.

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, mention of breasts, terms used include hole, entrance, cunt and clit. no spoilers for any of the routes, I suppose, but it is a more established relationship. the first 65% of this is volt/reader, with eddie/volt/reader in the later half.

⋆snippet:

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Eddie’s voice is harsh, methodical, but level. He usually only sounds like this when he’s kicking out Kristof for starting a fight, or when he notices you doing something even mildly off-kilter when fixing up the club. It’s a dangerous tone.

Neither of you speak immediately. You can't even bring yourself to meet Volt’s eyes; you’re focused solely on Eddie, and how still, how charged he is.

“Are either of you going to fucking say anything?” His grip tightens on Volt’s hair, and Volt nearly stumbles back.

power play

“Does he have to perform every night, though?”

You’re wiping down the bar, Volt expertly throwing a shaker around before grabbing two glasses for the concoction he’s crafting. The liquid fills the tumblers, and he starts to pluck out some cherries from a bowl.

“We have an open-mic policy, darling,” Volt says as he pushes a glass in your direction. Nevermind that it pulls a few drops of spilled whiskey over where you’d just run your rag over.

You sigh, eyeing Volt with annoyance, but he ignores you in favor of having a long sip from his glass. “But it’s almost like you need a sign for him,” you say as you round the bar to sit. You punctuate your words with a wave of the hand, like you’re envisioning a marquee. “Johnny Splash: The Breaker Box Residency.”

Volt downs the whiskey sour, and you can’t help but catch a glance at how his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “After that disaster of his American Maestro audition,” he says, popping another cherry in his mouth, “I think he ought to still have somewhere he can feel comfortable performing, don’t you think?”

You nod, stealing a taste of your drink. “I just hope he’s not taking space from anyone else wanting to perform, is all.”

“Aww, spark,” Volt hums, shrugging off his overcoat and pushing his sleeves up like Eddie does for work. “What a darling thing you are.” He props his arms up against the bar, leaning towards you, mischief crackling in his white eyes.

You shrug as you swallow the cherry from your drink. “Don’t worry, I’m not going soft on you two.”

“I perish the thought.” He grins like a cat who’s finally cornered the canary. “I adore when you crackle around the edges like we do.”

You bite back a grin, and reach out to the bowl of cherries for another, when your hand is smacked away.

“Hey! I was -”

“I know, darling,” he breathes, impatience on his lips. You watch his long, silver fingers procure a cherry, and red juice drips down his thumb. “Allow me.”

His lightning brows quirk expectantly, and you fight back an eye roll as you open your mouth, protrude your tongue only a hint. When he places the cherry on your tongue, your lips wrap around his fingers, tingling your mouth. Daring a glance at his eyes, you run the tip of your tongue over his thumb, ensuring no juice is wasted, before pulling away with a lick of your lips.

The ends of Volt’s hair buzz and spark, and his eyes glisten.

(You’ve noticed, between your partners, their similarities and differences - where Eddie’s steel eyes will darken with want, Volt’s dial up their shine, like a lamp when you remove its shade. It’s noticeable enough even to an untrained, unknowing eye.)

“Enjoy that, live wire?” He rubs the pads of his thumb and finger together, making the smallest of sparks.

You say nothing, just take another sip without breaking his gaze.

“Hm,” he muses, standing upright again. “Shall I make you another cocktail?”

You blink in confusion, glancing down at the half-finished tumbler. “I haven’t finished yet.”

“No matter.”

His voice tells it is most certainly some sort of matter. “Volt -”

He turns, rummaging at a few bottles before deciding on a few, putting them to the side. When you finally catch a glimpse of his profile behind his shock of hair, his smile is saccharine.

“Yes, here we go,” he mutters to himself as bottles of simple syrup, bourbon, and lemon juice appear in front of you. No shakers, no strainers, just a grin that sends a shiver down your spine.

You gulp. You know that grin. You say again, a little harsher, “Volt -”

“Now now, live wire, no need for that. I’m just going to make you a cocktail, hm?” Volt cocks his head like he’s explaining a trick to a dog, trying as he might to play innocent.

“Yes but what do -”

Your voice stops with a gasp as, quick as lightning, Volt’s fingers find your jaw and press down on your cheeks to force your mouth open. The pressure is harsh, almost bordering on painful, and Volt’s palm rests fittingly under your chin. You find, almost instantly, your breath comes easier through your nose, and it’s unsteady when it comes out.

His hair is alive, bursts of light sparking close to your skin, and his eyes are wild. “Fear not, spark.” You see him reach for a bottle, his eyes not leaving your face. “I’m just making a cocktail.”

The tip of a bottle is cool on your lips, and sweetness flows into your mouth - but not too much, no no, just enough to cover your tongue.

“Very good, darling.” Volt coos, placing the bottle back on the bar and deftly grabbing the next. This one’s bourbon, you think, and the unmistakable scent wafts to your nostrils. It mixes with the syrup on your tongue, and this time, a few drops escape from the corners of your lips. You feel them, slowly, casually, journey down your chin, your neck, down the center of your chest and between your breasts, leaving a cool streak in their wake.

Volt chuckles approvingly as he allows a few drops of lemon juice to enter your mouth, resulting in even more spillover, and you moan, pleadingly, as your jaw starts to ache.

“Impatient, are we?” He licks his lips, leans forward across the bar so there’s only a hair of space between your lips and his. “You, live wire, look delectable.”

He cuts off your moan with his tongue, intruding on your rigidly held mouth, swiping long, hungry licks over the roof of your mouth, your tongue, lapping at the mixture of liquids he poured like a man parched. You whine, you moan, you plead with the only small sounds you can make. The taste is overwhelming, the liquid dribbles out of you rapidly now, and the combination of the droplets’ wet streaks and nearby electricity elicit goosebumps along your skin.

Volt’s fingers relax as he pulls away, releasing your jaw from his grip but keeping his hand on you (always on you). He sucks at your bottom lip, and you finally have enough control to swallow the remnants of the drink Volt missed. You whine again, still physically prevented from forming words.

He stops, and you swear you can hear the buzz of his charged eyes when they meet yours, white hot with lust. His thumb pets your chin, the tips of your noses kissing. “Did you want something, darling?”

Fuck this man.

Fuck this man.

Hm. That sounds like a good idea, actually.

You lunge forward, your whiskey-laced lips starving for Volt’s, and you grab at his vest with white-knuckled fists. He lets out a growl, a sound of pure want, and you feel his arms snake around you, encircle your waist, and you’re being hoisted forwards across the bar. The stool you sat in clatters to the ground, and you allow Volt to settle your ass on the bar, you lips never separating more than a breath.

Volt’s large hands singe at your waist, a delicious burn as he grips you tightly. You loosen your grip on his vest and wrap your arms around his neck at the same moment your legs lock around his hips, pressing his warm body to you. He rocks his hips between your thighs, and you gasp at how hard he already is, straining against his slacks.

“Fuck, Volt,” you sigh when his tongue journeys down your chin, your neck, licking up the trail of his “cocktail.” Your nails claw at the back of his neck, needing purchase wherever possible. He sucks at a spot at the base of your neck, and a shock surges from your spine straight to your clit. “Oh, oh, fuck…”

His voice reverberates in your neck when he hums in satisfaction. “Live wire,” he says, strained with lust, “I have to have you. Now.” As he says it, his hands deftly find the button of your pants and tug, and they’re gone in a lightning flash, your bare skin hitting the cold wood.

Yes, yes of course, who were you to say no to such need? You need him, needed this, right now, right here on the -

Bar.

Oh no.

You two were breaking Eddie’s one rule.

Your eyes fly open, and you try, feebly, to push Volt away. “Volt. Volt, the bar, Eddie -”

“Fuck Eddie.”

You groan, and you both love and hate that his voice makes you wetter. “He says no sex at the bar -”

“Last time I checked,” Volt’s hands palm the flesh of your thighs around his waist, sparks igniting at every inch they move, “this is our bar. And you, little spark, are ours as well. So, why shouldn’t I enjoy my share, hm?”

You weren’t going to win, you knew that, you rarely ever did with Volt, and the rational part of your brain had clocked out when you locked up after Johnny left. Because yeah, the boys were yours, and they always said the bar was just as much yours now too, so…

You’d just have to be extra attentive when you cleaned up, was all.

You swallow, trying to find whatever liquid courage might remain in your mouth, and start to grab at Volt’s belt. “Fuck it.”

Volt’s grin is tiger-like as he helps you free himself, and you unconsciously lick your lips at the sight of his cock, long and curved with the faintest tinge of blue. Amps sake, how lucky were you that both of your boyfriends had such pretty, pretty cocks?

You trail your fingers along his length, watching as a droplet of pre forms at the tip. Volt hisses, and he grabs your wrist suddenly, and you look up at his white eyes, scared you’ve done something wrong.

But no anger or hurt is evident on his face, just that familiar mischief. He pulls your wrist and hand close to your face, and looks expectantly at your open palm. “Spit.”

Your hole clenches at the word, and you fight back a whimper. You gather the spit in your mouth, letting the glob drop onto your hand.

“Again.”

You don’t think twice.

Satisfied, Volt leads your hand back to his cock, and you wrap your grip around him, glazing your spit over the hot skin, coating him as best you’re able as he maneuvers your wrist. He makes a hum of content after a moment, and you rest your hand on your waist when he releases you.

There’s hardly anymore preamble before the head of his cock is pressing at your entrance, but you know Volt, and you know -

Your jaw falls open in a silent cry as Volt enters you, white hot and slick and everything you need. He gives you a moment, just a moment, to relax into the fullness, before his hips snap, and he thrusts.

So. Fucking. Lucky.

Strings of moans, strings of “yes, yes, yes, fuck yes” fall from your lips each time Volt bottoms out, and you bury your face into his shoulder, the burning heat of his skin and the cool wood a beautiful contrast.

You can hear the sparks of Volt’s hair, feel the puffs of his breath, and you hang on to every curse, every “my spark, fuck, good little spark,” that he groans.

It’s maddening, almost, just how good he makes you feel, how they make you feel. You moan something incomprehensible when he bites your neck and lick the marks. “Volt, volt, yes -“

There’s a surge, a flicker, and you’re empty, and Volt’s weight is missing.

You open your eyes, suddenly terrified from the loss, and you think to scream -

But the sight that greets you isn’t one that’s… entirely unwelcome.

Eddie’s hand has a death grip on the currents of Volt’s hair, tugging hard enough to keep Volt’s chin tilted back, unmoving.

(You think, in the recesses of your fucked our mind, that you wish you could do that, but it seemed to be a skill reserved for literal electrical conduits personified.)

You blink, aligning yourself to this new situation, to this unexpected twist, because when did Eddie -

Eddie.

Eddie.

Uh oh.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Eddie’s voice is harsh, methodical, but level. He usually only sounds like this when he’s kicking out Kristof for starting a fight, or when he notices you doing something even mildly off-kilter when fixing up the club. It’s a dangerous tone.

Neither of you speak immediately. You can't even bring yourself to meet Volt’s eyes; you’re focused solely on Eddie, and how still, how charged he is.

“Are either of you going to fucking say anything?” His grip tightens on Volt’s hair, and Volt nearly stumbles back.

“Eddie, my darling,” Volt finally offers, trying the voice he uses to introduce the next act. The listen-to-what-I’m-about-to-say voice. “My, did we miss you -”

“Volt,” his voice is clipped, and Volt doesn’t try again. “I have one fucking rule. And you know that.”

You haven’t seen the ice that’s in Eddie’s eyes in weeks, and now it’s your turn to try. “Eddie, it was my -”

“Absolutely not.” Titanium eyes stop your words in your throat, and Eddie points a finger at you. “You are not in a position where you wanna lie to me.”

He’s right, and you know it, and you close your legs in an effort to take up less space on the bar.

Eddie turns his attention back to Volt, flexing his grip and pulling his partner’s head closer to him, turning him so their eyes meet. You feel the hum, the charge in the air that flows between them. “No. Sex. In the bar, Volt.” Eddie cocks his head, studying Volt’s strained white gaze. “Or did you not learn the last time when I caught you with Amir?”

Volt’s laugh is shakey, raising his hands in surrender. “It was only a broken mirror, Eddie, and look at me now! We’re being very careful to -”

Eddie cuts him off with a kiss you can only describe as forceful, teeth tugging at Volt’s lips, and keeping him in place as he twists his hand in Volt’s hair. You swear you hear a growl from Eddie’s throat when he harshly tugs Volt away again, and there’s a flash of something in his steely gaze as you watch his free hand start to fumble with his pants zipper.

Sometimes, you’re almost certain there are times that Volt and Eddie don’t communicate with words, that there’s something deeper between them that lets them move in a singular, tandem pace, synchronized. As Eddie unzips, and Volt placidly drops to his knees before him, you think this is one of those times.

“You,” Eddie groans, when Volt, unprompted, places a chaste, quick kiss to Eddie’s thick, angry cock, “need to shut. up.”

He says nothing more, but on instinct, Volt’s jaw goes slack, and nearly his entire cock slips into Volt’s mouth with practiced ease.

Your body tremors as you watch them, notice with interest how a small fuck falls from Eddie’s lip, and he throws his head back, steeling his jaw with bared teeth. He’s so still, letting Volt do the work on his cock, and - and you can’t help it, your thighs press together, and your nails scrap along the wood as your hands turn to firsts.

Eddie notices.

Eddie always notices.

Eddie’s eyes are nearly black with lust, hunger, and barely controlled rage. “You,” he says, voice rough in his throat. “Open your legs.”

You do, and the air is cold where your slick hasn’t dried.

Eddie reaches out his hand, extends his ring and middle finger, and lays them at the very edge of the bar. Still. Waiting.

You blink, unsure, but you’re not sure if you’re allowed to speak.

“Fuck yourself or don’t, live wire, I don’t care,” he says. “He’s - fuck - in more trouble than you. He’s not getting off tonight.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky, your mind chants, and your heart might just explode from electrocution if you’re not careful.

You scoot yourself to the edge of the bar, position your legs under you, line your entrance over where his fingers are raised and waiting. You grip the curve of the wood to steady yourself, and lower yourself down onto Eddie’s fingers, as far as you can, and your mouth falls open in a curse at the feeling of fullness finally returned to you.

Eddie only watches, his fingers knotting in Volt’s hair, trying with his entire willpower not to fuck all his fingers into your cunt. You feel so hot, so slick, and the currents racing through his cock are already dangerously close to shorting if Volt keeps his pace. He knows if he so much as catches a glimpse of those white eyes that he’ll blow like a fuse. So, he watches you, bouncing up and down as best you can, trying to grind your clit on his thumb. Angry as he is at catching you two in the one place you shouldn’t be, he has to admit, he thrives off the power you and Volt are feeding him.

You’re close, so close, and you moan Eddie’s name in want and frustration. He makes no sound, but Volt hums around Eddie’s cock, and you can’t tell whose slick, depraved sounds are whose.

Volt moans again, his grip tighter on Eddie’s hips, and you somehow know he’s warning you that Eddie won’t last long. You quicken your place, angling to find how Eddie’s thumb hits your clit. It’s just right, and you close your eyes, white bolts of lightning behind your eyelids as you climb, higher, higher -

“Yes, yes, Eddie Eddie, fuck, Eddie!” You cry as your orgasm hits like a surge, tingling and coursing through all your limbs, and your legs quiver as you force yourself to slow.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, knowing he has only seconds, and Volt only speeds up. “Fuck,” he grunts, and finally flicks his eyes down to watch Volt work, if only for a moment, but the second those knowing, loving, burning eyes meet his -

He short circuits.

Volt sucks him dry as Eddie groans, curses through his climax, even swallows him down with his nose pressed to the coils above Eddie’s shaft. Doesn’t let a single drop spill, Volt, and Eddie loves him for it.

You all are finally, somehow, able to relax, as you extricate yourselves from your slightly incoherent, slightly precarious positions. Volt, back on his feet, pulls you into his arms, hoists you up as you wrap you legs around them - none of you trust them to hold you up.

Eddie rubs his hand over your back, presses adoring kisses to your shoulder. “You alright, little wire?” He asks, in the softest voice you’ve heard him use all night.

You nod, turning your head to find his face. “Of course, Eddie. Always.”

A corner of his lip tugs up into a smile. “Good.” He plants a warm kiss on your cheek and tucks a hair behind your ear. “Like I said, you’re not in trouble. I know how dangerous Volt’s tongue can be.”

“Hey,” Volt quips, his fingers pressing into your thighs. “A moment ago you liked my dangerous tongue.”

Eddie pays the jest no mind, but still looks up at him. “You’re on close for a week. Alone. And - nope - don’t you ‘Eddie’ me. Alone. One week.”

Volt groans, and you don’t have to see his face to know he rolled his eyes too. “You already didn't let me cum, so I get the message." He, too, presses a small kiss to the top of your head. "But who’s going to keep our spark busy then, hm?”

Eddie smiles, seeing the mischievous glint that just appeared in your gaze. “Well, luckily, they have more than one option, don’t they?”

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

[sugxto]

brutalizer(s) - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: You decide to "challengers" your new boyfriends. It, uh, doesn't go as planned.

⋆wc: 3.3k

⋆cw: m/m/f threesome, light dom/sub undertones, erotic electrostimulation, some very very minor dacryphilia, spit sharing, choking.

⋆notes: takes place immediately after the love route, but can be read independently. g/n pronouns for reader, called "good girl" and afab genitalia.

⋆snippet:

“Thought you did something there, huh?” Eddie’s voice is low, it hits you somewhere deeper in your belly than it has before. The whiskey sours earlier certainly aren’t helping. “It’s cute, but, come on.”

Volt chuckles, his lips against Eddie’s cheek, and his white hot stare locks on to you too. “Very cute, indeed. Really, spark,” his lips curl into what you can only describe as something dastardly, “did you honestly think I don’t already know his lips better than my own?”

“We could do a Volt and Eddie sandwich.”

The corner of Volt’s smile twitches, and he turns to Eddie with raised brows, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. Eddie’s face is uncharacteristically pink, and he casts a knowing glance at Volt, and pushes himself off the bar. 

“Well, seeing as how we’re… closed for the evening,” Volt starts, his eyes traveling back to yours, “I think, something to that effect, can be arranged. Eddie?”

The ice that you’ve come to know in Eddie’s stare is gone, the new spark glittering in it instead. He looks more lively, more excited, more… confident?

“I… wouldn’t be opposed.” His eyes rake over your body, as if finally allowing himself to fully drink you in the same way he drinks his whiskey sours. “It’s been a while since I’ve been up to… enjoying myself.”

Oh, they’re serious. 

I mean, you were serious too, but, right now? Right after they’ve just, essentially, come back to life?

But, who were you to turn down a good time?

You clear your throat. “Uh, here? In the club?”

Eddie scoffs, because you already knew the answer. “Absolutely not. No sex in the bar, that’s the one rule.”

“It’s not really a rule -”

“Volt.”

“Fine, fine, not here. Not tonight, at least.”

“Volt -”

“We live upstairs, a flat sort of thing.” Volt holds out his hand to you, want apparent in his gaze. “Shall I lead us there?”

You take his hand, that same spark from the first night surging up your arm, and you feel a second hand, strong and rough, at the small of your back as you head up the stairs. 

You realize, when you get to the bedroom, that you’ve… never done this before. Two. At once? Separately? How… exactly does this work. 

A thought sparks in your memory, of a movie you watched with Sam, where a girl swindled the two boys interested in her to kiss each other, and ya know, that’s something you might be interested in seeing. 

You’re all in the bedroom now, both of them eyeing you, expectantly, though not hurriedly. You giggle nervously, holding your hands to your heart. 

“I’ve uh, never done this before,” you admit. “Maybe, can I kiss you? And we can go from there?”

“Of course, darling. Whatever you want,” Volt cocks his head in Eddie’s direction. “I’ve already had the pleasure, so why not give Eddie a taste, hm?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs. “Ignore him, he can’t help it.” He holds out his hand, and pulls you closer when you take it. “But, I wouldn’t say no.”

Eddie’s lips are different from Volt’s, more hesitant, but soft, and gentle as he learns your pace and the shape of your mouth. He tastes like a whiskey sour, and you just want to drink him down. 

Volt’s lips find your neck, and you notice he’s slipped off his shirt, and the air hums with the charge emanating off him. You lean into him, his strong arms, and Eddie pulls away to take off his own shirt as Volt smoothly whips off your dress. Eddie takes his turn at your neck, and the double dose of pleasure pulses like a current under your skin. 

You raise your hands, find their cheeks, and gently, oh so gently, you bring their lips towards each other, hoping they don’t notice it’s no longer you. You’ll only watch for a moment, you tell yourself, before you insert yourself back in. No one will be the wiser. As their lips touch, their eyes stay closed, and you step back to quietly sit on the edge of the bed. 

You watch their lips met with rapt attention, the ends of Volt’s hair sparking with each swipe of tongue you catch. Eddie’s teeth find the softness of Volt’s bottom lip, and a small sound escapes the back of your throat at the sight. 

You expected them to pull apart at the unexpected sound, to open their eyes and realize what they’d done (and, not a small part of you hoped, punish you for it).

So it’s a bit odd, you think, when their kiss deepens. When Volt’s large hand, his silver nails, find Eddie’s jaw, and swipe acros his stubble. When Eddie, in turn, half opens his eye, and a titanium stare finds you past Volt’s cheekbone.

Your heart hammers in your chest. This is either going to go better than you expected, or much, much worse for you.

You’re not sure which you’re hoping for more. 

Volt’s lips move to Eddie’s cheek, his jaw, exposing more of Eddie’s face to you - both his eyes, boring into yours. He’s barely hiding a smirk. 

“Thought you did something there, huh?” Eddie’s voice is low, it hits you somewhere deeper in your belly than it has before. The whiskey sours earlier certainly aren’t helping. “It’s cute, but, come on.”

Volt chuckles, his lips against Eddie’s cheek, and his white hot stare locks on to you too. “Very cute, indeed. Really, spark,” his lips curl into what you can only describe as something dastardly, “did you honestly think I don’t already know his lips better than my own?”

Oh.

Oh for amps sake. 

Because, actually, no. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. Why hadn’t that thought occurred to you? I mean, come on, there’s only one bed!

Your mouth goes dry, your jaw goes slack, your eyes zinging back and forth between pure white and pure steel. You’re caught. You’re so caught. 

“I, uh,” you start, but you’ve lost that bravado. “I never want to assume.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, Volt’s thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. He pecks it softly. “Right. How thoughtful.”

“This is what you were wanting, though, was it not, live wire?” Volt purrs as he extricates himself from Eddie’s side, taking a step towards you in a way that reminds of that tiger feeding you once saw at the zoo. Like a predator. Stalking. Possessive. 

Oh fuck, you think. You’ve just fed yourself to the tigers. 

Volt’s hands are on either side of the bed next to your hips. Caging you. You can feel the sparks from his hair, the charge in his skin. “You wanted all three of us to enjoy ourselves, yes?”

You nod, and you see a flash of his canine teeth as he smiles.

“Exactly. And we most certainly will. But,” his jagged eyebrows lift, “you thought you could have an upper hand. And, it absolutely delights me to say, you won’t be having that.”

Rough hands are on your shoulders, and you’re shoved down onto the bed, Eddie’s unruly coils dangling over you. 

“Eddie, where did you -” you breathe, but one of those calloused hands is on your throat, squeezing just enough to silence you. Eddie’s grey eyes have darkened. Hunger, you think, he’s hungry.

Familiar sparks singe your inner thighs, but you can't lift your head to see what else Volt is doing - you can only feel the currents under your skin as his fingers find the crotch of your panties, pulling them only a little. Eddie only watches your face, how your brows furrow at the teasing, your eyes pleading for something he can’t give. Your hand comes to his wrist, not pushing him away, but needing to touch him more. 

“Eddie,” you breathe, feeling the weight of his hand on your neck. “Eddie please -”

“Do I look like the one you should be talkin to?” His brows lift, his stare curious. “Ya know, I don’t even really think you’re in a position to be talkin, period. Volt?”

You feel the man in question hum over the cloth of your panties, already hot, and the literal electricity isn’t helping. “I think I can occupy them, if you can keep them quiet.”

Keep them quiet?? Your eyes widen, but Eddie only chuckles. “My pleasure.”

With limited movement, you’re only acutely aware of what Eddie does with his other hand, until you hear the zip of his fly, the rustle of fabric, and -

Oh, fuck. 

Eddie’s cock is gorgeous, veiny in a way that reminds you of the wires he adorns, the head already leaking with pre. You lick your lips, staring at just a few inches over your face, and god, Eddie’s not the only hungry one. 

“Fuuuck, Eddie,” you moan, bringing your hand up to try and touch it, but the hand around your throat moves faster, leaving its mark to grab at your wrist this time. 

Eddie tsks his tongue. “Not so fast, live wire. Volt wants me to keep you quiet.” His other hand finds your cheek, stroking softly. “So, open your mouth, hm?”

The heat between your legs is getting unbearable, and you whimper when you feel Volt move the scrap of fabric to the side. “Yes, Eddie,” you manage, opening wide and offering your tongue. 

His cock is so hot as it finds your mouth, the soft tip and drops of pre languishing over your tongue, you can’t stop your lips from wrapping around his length as he presses in further, further -

A zap to your clitoris makes your hips buck in surprise, and your eyes shoot open - you see nothing save Eddie’s balls above your nose, and another zap elicits a squeak from your full mouth. 

Volt’s laugh is feral, his breath burning on your thighs. “Liked that, my little spark? Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of charge for us.” His thumb presses almost delicately to your bud, making the smallest of circles, testing, learning. “Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” His thumb dips lower, finding your entrance already wet, waiting. “I simply must have a taste.”

His tongue is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before - Ben-Hwa’s vibrations are incomparable to the literal electricity that is swiping over your lips, your hole, your clit - it’s mind-blowing. It’s explosive. Volt works you almost too expertly to be believed, and your brain short circuits when a finger slips inside. 

Eddie groans as he feels you moan around him, your hips wanting to buck, but one of Volt’s forearms keeps your hips pressed to the bed. You’re pinned, caged, at the whims of these two men, and it’s making you ache. 

Faster than you can remember happening before, your belly coils with tension, your climax growing completely outside your control. Volt feels it too, he must, because he devours you with fervor, two fingers moving at an impossible pace inside you. It builds and builds and -

You see sparks as you cum, as your hips fight against Volt’s hold, as you struggle for something solid to hold to. Your skin tingles, you’re absolutely buzzing, you’re a -

“Mm, live wire,” you hear Volt’s smile as he says it, and he presses a kiss to your clit - it makes your leg shake unconsciously. “You are just too fun.”

You whimper, your body jello, your focus on keeping Eddie’s cock inside your mouth, but you feel him retreat, and whimper again at the loss. 

Eddie strokes your cheek again, and you feel Volt climb onto the bed, sitting by your side. His touch slinks up your torso, the side of your breast, your bicep, trailing sparks the whole way. 

He hums contentedly. “Good girl for taking Eddie so well, he says, and you flush, and watch him glance up at Eddie, who's sitting back on his knees. “And good boy keeping them quiet, Eddie.”

Eddie’s sigh sounds a bit amused. “You haven’t said that shit in a while.”

“Well, I mean it.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie’s hands reach for the back of Volt’s neck, pulling him closer. “Lemme taste, yeah?”

Volt’s chuckle is cut off by Eddie’s tongue swiping over his lips before pushing inside his mouth, and god, what a sight for sore eyes. The men pull at each other, teeth clashing, and in your blissed out state, you can’t stop the moan that leaves your lips. 

Two sets of eyes stare down at you, two sets of lips curling into grins. “Oh, darling,” Volt purrs, “you want a taste too?”

You can only nod, and you will your body to lift yourself onto your elbows to meet them halfway. You watch them share a look, and your arms tremble. 

“Open, then.”

You cock your head. “What?”

“Open. Your mouth,” Volt repeats, and you do, tentatively. 

“Very good.” Volt turns back to Eddie, pulling his jaw with his thumb, and Eddie’s mouth drops for him. Volt positions his lips above him, and a line of spit trails from his lips onto Eddie’s waiting tongue. 

These men. These men were going to kill you. 

Eddie hums, and as he bends down to you, his hand trails down Volt’s stomach. You press your legs together, the anticipation sparking back inside you. Your nails claw at the sheets when Eddie hovers a few inches above your head, and you press your tongue even further out. The spit travels from his lips and lands, cold, on your tongue, and your legs twitch, your fists clench.

“Swallow,” Eddie says, voice thick and gruff with lust. 

You do. 

And they pounce. 

You’re dragged up the bed, two sets of hands pulling and pawing. Somehow your bra is off, your panties are gone, you hear their pants hit the floor, and the temperature raises as more skin is exposed. You find yourself propped against the pillows, your back against Eddie’s stomach, Volt stomachs against yours, utterly pressed between them. 

“Feel good, spark?” Volt says, his hand at your waist. “Your sandwich living up to expectations?”

You giggle, realizing this was, in fact, exactly what you’d asked for. “Absolutely.”

“Good,” Eddie grunts, his lips on your earlobe. 

“We do aim to please.” Volt squeezes your side, grinding his hips against you, his length hard, pressing insistently at where your thighs press together. 

“I’ll make sure to leave a -“ you gasp when Eddie’s teeth graze your neck, “a, fuck, glowing Breaker Box review.”

Volt’s grin is back to dastardly, and he grinds his hips harder against you. “Let’s ensure five stars, shall we?” 

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, a spark running down your leg as he lifts it and throws it over his thigh. His cock is pressed against your stomach, and another pair of hands reach around to cup your breasts, and now Eddie’s cock slots between your cheeks. 

“Now, spark,” Volt’s voice is low, honeyed, and Eddie’s bites to your neck aren’t helping the buzz in your head. “Who do you want first?”

Best sandwich you’ve ever had. 

“I, I have to choose?” You mumble out, barely able to form a sentence as Volt’s eyes study your face. Eddie groans, pinching your nipple to elicit a gasp from your lips. 

“Mm, darling, we’ll work our way to not having to.” His fingers dance along your thigh, and Eddie’s cock slides along your skin. “Patience, for now, however. We wouldn’t want to break you on our first outing.”

Oh, but maybe you did. 

You swallow, the wires of your mind completely disconnected. “Volt, I, I can’t. I can’t choose.” How could you? Between two perfect, adoring, electrifying men, that wanted you more than the currents in their bodies? It wasn’t fair, surely. They were one, they were yours, but you couldn’t choose.

Volt’s lips turn to a pout, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Oh, poor wire. Feeling frayed?” He tsks his tongue when you nod. “Alright, no more choosing tonight. Let us take care of you, hm? Just close your eyes.”

You do, and he again lifts your leg, granting full access to anyone wanting your hole. You ache, the air charged and your lips dripping with want. You feel both of them pull away from you slightly, no longer able to feel their lengths, and you whimper from the loss of -

An intrusion of your entrance makes you cry out in surprise, and slowly, terribly, intensely, you’re being filled, and it’s like a fire has been lit inside your cunt, under your skin, in your heart. It burns, deliciously, beautifully. You eyelids flutter when the cock bottoms out, and a familiar, rough hand is suddenly covering your eyes. 

“You,” Eddie groans in your ear, “you, fuck me, feel perfect, spark.” His breath is ragged, and you curse when he thrusts, once, twice. “Oh fuck, oh, baby.” He says it reverently, lovingly. Your heart is going to burst out of your chest. 

A new hand finds your nipple, a zap bringing it to attention. “How does he feel, our spark? Doesn't his cock feel like it’s going to split you in two?”

In another state of mind, you might want to linger on the implications of that question. But yes, in fact, as Eddie’s thrusts became more frantic, the possibility of you splitting at the center did seem more likely. If Volt holding up your leg was the only thing centering yourself. 

Just as soon as you feel your climax building inside you, you’re empty, Eddie sliding out of you, and you grip around nothing, moaning at the emptiness. 

“No, no, Eddie, please!” You manage out before the hand on your eyes slips down to cover your mouth. The callouses on his hands are harsh against your lips, and you barely manage out a moan of protest before something new slips inside you, long and hot and slipping in so nicely. Moans of protest quickly turn to acceptance, and Volt’s cock is just so easy to accept. 

“Oh sweet amp.” Volt’s usually collected voice is shaky as he works his way inside you, taking his time much to your distress. “Live wire, I - we -”

“You,” Eddie breathes in your ear, “you might’ve been made for us.”

Ah. 

That’ll do it, then. 

You hardly even feel the build up, the spiringing coil, all you know if you’re cumming, you’re gushing without abandon on Volt’s cock, and tears spring to your eyes when they both curse, and Volt’s pace quickens. Eddie’s hand leaves your mouth, finding your neck again, controlling your air like he controls the very power of your home. Your body is slack, offering neither of them resistance, given over to the fire inside your belly, the weight of their hands, their control of your cunt. 

You feel Volt slip out, and now Eddie is back inside you. The tears spill over your cheeks, and an electric tongue licks them up. Almost as quickly as you adjust to Eddie, he’s gone, and Volt is back, then Eddie, then Volt, until you’re no longer cognizant of the difference. 

Eddie’s breath is erratic. “I’m, fuck, I -”

“Me too, darling,” Volt huffs. “Where -”

“S, stomach,” you moan. “Both, both, please.”

You’re on your back, your body liquid, but you open your eyes enough to watch their hands find each other’s lengths, pump once, twice, and then groan together as their cum lands on your skin, singeing like the flame of a candle. 

It’s a haze, what comes after. They’re kissing your cheeks, tucking your hair, singing what you guess are your praises in your ear. Volt’s voice is distant, but you hear how he calls you a good girl, while Eddie wipes away their spend with a towel from his discarded pants. 

You’re between them again when you return to earth, kisses peppered on your shoulder, tingles along your arms. It’s better than any dream, but somehow, you know it won’t disappear. 

“Back with us, spark?” Eddie whispers when your eyes flutter open. 

You smile softly, hum contentedly. “Always.”

“Very good,” Volt’s lips press to your collarbone. “You took everything beautifully, live wire. Our good girl. Our spark.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back, and find their cheeks with your hands. “You boys,” you smile, gaze flicking between them. “I love you.”

Steel meets white, then both meet you. “We love you too, little wire.”

[sugxto]

late night talking

⋆syn: The first time was an accident, the second time a mix-up. The twelfth time was intentional. The hundred and seventh time was a fight, and the three hundred and sixty-first time was the beginning of the end. Counting all the times Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru find their vulnerability and connection together - sometimes in a bed, sometimes elsewhere - during their time at Jujutsu High.

⋆wc: 5.1k

⋆cw: vague mentions of a first time, kissing, canon compliant, mentioned character death.

The first time was an accident, fueled by six straight hours of the PS2 they kept in Geto’s room. They hadn’t even realized it was after three AM until Satoru yawned loud enough for them to check the clock - they laughed, realizing they’d broken their previous streak of four and half hours. It only took Suguru a minute or two to shut down the game and put away the controllers, but by the time he turned around, he found Satoru slumped over on one of his pillows, his dark glasses shifted up to reveal him already sound asleep. Geto sighed, but his body felt so immensely heavy, that waking his friend seemed like a task he couldn’t bring himself to take on. Instead, he grabbed a free pillow, set it on the end of the bed that Gojo hadn’t occupied, and relaxed there as best he could. When he woke the next morning, he found that his friend had slipped out at some point in the night.

The second time was a mix-up. On an overnight mission, they arrived to find their hotel room had been booked with only one bed. Suguru was the first to offer to sleep on the floor, but Satoru called him an idiot. They slept as close to the edges as they could, with pillows in between their bodies.

The third time was a bit of deja vu. After a long night of studying on Satoru’s bed, this time it was Geto whose eyes and body first became too heavy to move when the clock turned to the late hours. When he woke at four am, startled by the unfamiliar sound of someone snoring, he was relieved that the foot on his lap belonged to his best friend. He didn’t bother to move it, and settled back against the wall. He could have left, he thought to himself later that day, but didn’t, and wasn’t quite sure why.

The eighth time wasn’t a bed, but a picnic blanket, after enjoying an impromptu lunch they’d packed after deciding to cut class on a sunny Tuesday. When they woke, Gojo’s arm was around Geto’s shoulder, and Geto’s hand on the other boy’s stomach. Sorrys and ‘s okays were exchanged, before returning to campus for training. 

The twelfth time was intentional. Their mission earlier in the day had been surprisingly fraught, the curses catching both of them off guard with abilities beyond which they’d been briefed on. When they had finally been exorcized, the boys were sat on the ground, catching their breath, adrenaline pumping in their veins, laughing in relief and in tandem and -

and then they were kissing. Down the line, neither of them would be able to recall who reached for who first. Suguru’s hand on the back of Satoru’s neck, and Satoru’s on the small of Suguru’s back, pulling him closer. When they finally separated, their breath ragged, Satoru found his friend’s gaze to be a bit too much to bear, and he cast his blue eyes to the ground, where his nails had dug into the dirt. 

“What’s wrong?” Suguru whispered, his heart pounding so loudly he hardly heard himself ask the question.

Satoru swallowed, his pulse jumping when Suguru’s thumb moved on his neck. His cheeks felt hot “I, um… I’m sorry.” He tried to chuckle, but it sounded like a sigh. “I guess that was adrenaline.”

He didn’t mean it, not a word.

Suguru brought his other hand to the boy’s cheek, bringing his faraway gaze back to him, back to them. “Satoru…” he whispered again, a small smile on his lips. “I don’t think either of us are sorry for this.”

The journey back to Jujutsu High was quiet, night had fallen, and they already had another mission assigned for the following day. At the dorms, where they usually parted, Suguru gave a quiet, “goodnight,” but a hand on his arm stopped him as he took his next step. 

Suguru thought, as he turned back to Satoru, that he’d never seen his friend with such plain vulnerability in his expression. He wondered if his own face had mirrored such a look when their lips had parted earlier. 

“Stay,” Satoru said, in a tone so hushed, Suguru would have missed it if he’d not been studying his face. 

The other boy’s brow arched. “Satoru-”

“Not, not like that,” he gulped. “Let’s just, stay, together. But properly, for once.” He dropped his hand down his friend's arm, letting it stop in his hand, curling his fingers around his, and both pairs of eyes looked down to where they had connected. “As cheesy as it is, I seem to sleep better when you’re around.”

Suguru let out a small laugh, one of disbelief, of wonder, at his best friend’s hand in his own. The beating of his heart, which had only just gone back to a normal rhythm, was once again hammering rapidly in his chest. He didn’t know when he’d realized it, but nights were easier when the two of them were together. “We have to be up early, Satoru.”

The blue-eyed sorcerer grinned. “I think we can manage.”

They shared the blanket that night, no pillows between them, and when Suguru woke to Gojo’s alarm clock, he hummed in contentment at finding Satoru’s head nestled against his shoulder. Thinking back on it, neither could remember a morning they felt more rested.

The twenty-third time wasn’t planned, but was filled with, “are you sure?” “is this okay?” and their names, said with bated breath. 

The hundred and seventh time was emotional, filled with a fight that wasn’t about technique disadvantages or Yaga’s assignments or how a critique from Mei Mei had bruised Gojo’s ego. A fight brought about from, of all people, Shoko, and one she had no idea she had started.

Earlier, after lunch, she’d asked them while they practiced on the track, “So are you two official yet?”

The two boys had stilled, the curse manipulator losing track of the flying curse he had been wrangling, as both of them looked to Shoko, to each other, and back to Shoko.

Regaining himself, snapping the curse out of the sky, Suguru had smiled. “Official? What do you mean?”

“Officially the strongest?!” Gojo said excitedly, standing up straighter and touching his glasses. “Course we are!”

Shoko had sighed. “You know that’s not it, you idiots. The walls are thin, you know. And some of you -” she eyed Satoru, “don’t always check the hallway is clear when you leave in the mornings.”

Which led them to the fight on this night, in Satoru’s room, where the white-haired sorcerer sat at his desk, sulking with his head in his hands, while Suguru paced the small carpet.

“If she’s noticed,” Suguru was saying, his thumb pressed against his forehead, “then our senseis are bound to notice, and that’s where -”

“But there’s nothing to notice, Suguru!”

He stopped, his dark eyes immediately finding blue ones. “What does that mean?”

Satoru sighed, leaning back in the desk chair. “It means there’s nothing to notice, if we are official.”

Suguru sighed, a sigh of sadness, of frustration, of tenderness, of… and he pressed his thumb harder between his eyes, lest a migraine start to take form. “Satoru,” he said, as gently as he could muster, as he had found it took a certain cadence for the other man to receive unhappy news, “we can’t.”

“Why not?”

The sincerity of the question surprised Suguru. “Why not? Well, not everyone’s like Shoko - ambivalent, for one. We’ll have new first years soon, who knows what they’ll be like? And what about Yaga, Gakuganji?”

Satoru groaned and rolled his eyes. “Why should what a bunch of old farts think matter to me? It’s my life, my choices.”

“It could be your career, Satoru.”

He scoffed. “Well, I love you, so. I don’t care about them, or my career.”

Gojo said it so casually, so softly, it took Suguru longer than he would have liked for him to register it. He dropped his hand from his head. “What?”

Satoru felt himself blush, and he looked at the ground, just like he had when they first kissed. “It doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks, I guess, cuz I love you.”

“Satoru…” Geto dropped to his knees on the carpet, finding shy eyes cast downward, and brought his hands to cup Satoru’s face. His thumbs ran over his cheekbones, warm from their blush. “Satoru, do you mean it?”

Blue eyes flashed dark, a storm looming. “Huh?! Of course I mean it! And I’ll prove it, if that’s what it takes, to you, to them, I’ll kill them if they -”

“Satoru, Satoru.” He kept up the ministrations of his thumbs on Gojo’s cheeks, soothing the fear, the uncertainty that was arising, without ever raising his voice. “You foolish man. I love you, too.”

They slept with their hands intertwined, a silent promise.

The two-hundred seventy-first time, they were in Okinawa, and it was a couch, Riko and Kuroi in the adjoining suite. Suguru had asked, almost begged, Satoru to sleep just for a little bit, and he reassured the dark-haired sorcerer that he would try. Instead, he remained alert through the late hours, running his hand over Suguru’s legs draped over his lap.

The two-hundred seventy-fourth time, they were different.

Suguru stood outside his partner’s door, and knocked - he hadn’t knocked in almost a year, but they hadn’t seen each other since bringing Riko’s body to the school’s morgue, each spending most of their days giving their reports to the higher-ups, and getting more check-ups from Shoko. Knocking seemed necessary given all they had been through.

The door opened, and a wet-haired Gojo seemed surprised to see the curse manipulator. “Suguru?”

“Hi.” He swallowed, and put his hands in his pockets. “Can I come in?”

Satoru’s brow came together, confused. “Of course.” Suguru hadn’t asked that in… months.

Suguru sat at the end of Gojo’s bed, finding himself riding a line between strain and relief in the sorcerer’s presence. He’d hardly recognized the Satoru that had been carrying Riki’s body, that had asked Suguru if they should kill the Star Religious followers, that had (he’d been briefed on later that night) blown the limbs off Toji Fushiguro with a flick of his finger.

“How are you?” he asked.

Satoru shrugged and flopped his long frame onto the bed next to him. “Eh, don’t know really. The higher ups are driving me insane, yada yada this, yada yada that, wanting to know how my technique works now, and why I didn’t do certain things at the barrier, but -”

“Satoru,” Suguru stopped him, a hand on his leg. “Come on.”

The white haired man sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow. “You mean Riko.”

“I do.”

“What do you want me to say, Suguru?” He sat up, turning away from Geto, hoping any lingering shadows of shame on his face weren’t visible to the man who knew him best.

“That you’ll mourn for her, with me,” murmured Geto. He brought a hand to Satoru’s chin, gently willing him to meet his gaze. “She trusted us, until the end. Trusted you. And I don’t want us to forget her.”

Satoru tsked. “Forget her?” He sighed, a weight leaving his lungs. “I don’t see that happening, Suguru.” 

He turned his body towards him, and it was then Suguru finally saw the large, nearly faded pink mark on the right side of Satoru’s neck, extending out of sight past the collar of his tshirt. Suguru gasped, his stomach knotting, only now remembering another part of what he’d been briefed on - revolving around Toji Fushiguro’s Inverted Spear of Heaven.

Without thinking, the fingers that were on Satoru’s chin moved southward to gingerly touch the marks. In the chaos of the last few days - the briefings, interrogations, check ins, disciplines - Suguru had hardly had a moment to remember those few hours where a world without Satoru had been his new reality. 

Why am I here? Oh, because I killed Gojo Satoru.

It was like he heard the voice for the first time again as he touched Satoru’s skin, felt the hot anger, the hatred, the loss, all over again, somehow compounded in on itself.

“Satoru…” he managed out, and although he’d said his lover’s name thousands of times before, he wasn’t sure what this time meant.

But Satoru knew. 

“Ah, yeah, Shoko says it will be gone soon, but I think it looks kinda badass.” Satoru brought his hand to Suguru’s, bringing the fingers away from the wound and up to his lips, kissing them quickly and smirking as he did so. “I think I might look cool with a scar or two.”

Suguru tried to smile and relaxed into the feel of the small kisses. “I wouldn’t object.” He swallowed a lump in his throat before whispering, “Satoru, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Lost me? Come on,” Satoru grinned. “Aren’t we the strongest?”

They slept extra close, with a window open, Suguru weary of the long, pale mark down the side of Satoru’s body.

The three hundred and sixty-first time was the beginning of the end. When Satoru had been assigned his first solo mission, ignoring Suguru’s concerns (selfish they may have been) that he wasn’t ready yet, still not yet perfected Red. They stood in Suguru’s room, Satoru calling him boring, Suguru calling cocky, until they grew tired of being annoyed with each other. They swore that Gojo would talk to Yaga, that they’d train together more, that their trust would remain. 

Suguru didn’t sleep well, and was awake before the alarm. 

Just before Satoru left, after they shared a kiss goodbye, he pressed his lips to the top of Geto’s dark head, and whispered, “I’ll be back, Suguru.” A spoken promise, shared for the first time, that they both held to, during the nights when the other side of the bed was empty.

The four hundred and second time was a treat, occurring four months after Satoru’s first solo mission. After that, the missions had never stopped, for either of them, and nights together had become few and far between as the two sorcerers spent more time outside of school than in it. 

This mission, however, was the first in months that had requested both special grade men, on an overnight to Osaka. They exorcized the problems they came for in record time, and wasted no time returning to the hotel. 

Laying together, twirling a section of Geto’s thick black hair that fell across his stomach, Satoru sighed casually. “I missed you.”

“Hm,” Suguru hummed, his eyes remaining closed, “I missed you, Satoru.” It was his turn to sigh. “I’m sorry they have you doing so much.”

“Ah, it’s not worth talking about.” He wrapped black hair around two of his fingers. “I’m figuring it out.”

Suguru reached a hand up to grab his wrist. “I know. I just, I don’t want you to just become a cog in their machine. You’re better than that.”

This turn of phrase surprised Satoru, and he chuckled. “Course I am.” He kissed the top of Suguru’s head. “Don’t worry about me, yeah?”

Suguru chuckled too, but it didn’t come quite as naturally for him. “I love you, Satoru.”

Geto heard a contented hum from Gojo’s chest before he answered, “And I love you, Suguru.”

Gojo reported to the assistant managers that they needed some more time for the curses, and stayed an additional two nights.

The four hundred and forty-ninth time was hot. Four months after Osaka, their nights were even more infrequent. Summer was here, the sound of cicadas were ever present in their ears even during classes, but they did nothing to drown out the memories of applause that plagued Suguru all hours of the day. He found it loudest in his bed, alone, but now, as Satoru had officially been declared the strongest sorcerer, it was even harder to ignore in the daytime.

Suguru found himself slipping somewhere unknown. Stolen kisses in the gym were sometimes all that kept him afloat. 

“Seriously, Suguru, have you lost weight?” Satoru asked when Geto came out of the shower, putting his hair in a bun.

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “You asked me that earlier.”

“I was sorta joking, but now I’m looking at you…” Suguru heard a shuffle, and then a hand was on his arm. “Hey, what’s up?”

There was concern on his face, and Suguru saw Gojo’s blue, bright eyes searching for something out of place. How would he receive Geto’s worries, he wondered? As his lover? Or as the strongest? 

Did he hear it too? Even now, even here?

He kept the smile on his face. “I’m fine, Satoru. Just haven’t had time to do some strength training in a while.”

It was so hot, so sticky that night, they barely touched at all.

The four hundred and fiftieth time was a disaster. Yuki Tsukumo had visited earlier that week, sealing that whatever Suguru path had been wandering down, there was no return from how far he had gone. 

He laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to determine what it might mean: a world without non-sorcerers. Without the weak masses they had spent the last three years protecting. Without Toji Fushiguros. Without such threats to Satoru, to their future.

The doorknob rattled, and Gojo tiptoed in with the faint light. 

He sat up, not expecting to see him for a few more days. “Satoru?”

“Ah, shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said, putting a bag down and tugging off his shirt. 

“No,” he rubbed his eyes, “I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“Ha,” Suguru could hear the smile in his voice, “I can see that. No offense.”

Suguru smiled back. “It’s fine.” He hummed happily, momentarily forgetting Yuki and the monkeys and everything else, as Satoru pulled at the blanket next to him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Satoru sighed, meeting Geto’s lips and letting his shoulders relax from the day’s work. “I got asked if I wanted to stay the night, but I said I’d rather be here if I could. Maybe now we’ll both sleep better.”

And they did, for three hours, until a banging on the door at 4:17am made them wake with a start. 

Suguru opened the door to Yaga, a distressed look on his weathered face, and he froze.

“We need Satoru, Suguru,” the older man said, detachment creeping into his voice.

Suguru kept still. “I, I would check -“

“This isn’t the time to play dumb, no one is in trouble, Suguru, but he has a mission.”

Suguru gripped the door, and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed Satoru slip out of bed and reach for the shirt he’d cast onto the floor. 

It was happening, a cog in the machine. To his best friend, his love, his everything -

“Yaga, he just got back, he’s barely slept -”

“I appreciate that, but this can’t wait.”

“What can’t possibly wait for him to get just a few more hours of sleep?”

Yaga sighed, deeply. “Haibara has been killed.”

Suguru felt his mouth fall open, his tongue suddenly hit with the taste of something akin to a curse. Wretched. Awful. Sickening.

He felt a presence at his side, a hand on the small of his back. He turned his head to see Satoru’s eyes, almost grey, his white hair disorderly, his jaw clenched. 

“How?” Suguru heard him ask, but his voice was miles away, buried under the rapturous roar in his ears, the cicadas from the window, the drum of his heart.

“Nanami is still giving us the details, but it appears to have been misgraded. They couldn’t manage.”

Gojo sighed and muttered a curse under his breath, before fumbling around to grab the bag he had previously dropped by the door. He exhaled, pulling the bag onto his shoulder, and casting a knowing glance at Suguru. “I’ll be back.”

That wasn’t enough for Geto.

“Let me go, too,” he said, turning to Yaga. He had no idea what his own face looked like, but Yaga’s expression softened, seemingly knowing that his request held more than what he let on. “Yaga, I should go too.”

“Suguru, it’s not necessary -”

“This curse has just killed our junior!” he snapped back, indignation creeping into his tone. “How can you say it’s not necessary?”

Yaga shook his head. “We believe that Satoru can -”

“Of course Satoru can,” he spit, and he was only vaguely aware of a hand gripping his shoulder, “but should he do it alone? Or do you just like seeing how much your new pawn can take on, all by himself? How much pain he can -”

“Suguru.” 

It was a gentle voice that said his name - a lover’s voice, a friend’s. Satoru’s. It stilled him, made the thunder in his head quiet to a gentle rain, brought him back to his body, where Satoru’s thumb was making circles on his collarbone. 

Yaga cleared his throat. “I’ll be at the cars,” he said, shuffling down the hall. 

Satoru brought his free hand to Suguru’s that was still clutching the door, pulling it free and letting it rest in his grasp. “Suguru, I’ll be back.”

“You shouldn’t even have to go.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like this,” Satoru sighed, tucking an errant black hair behind Suguru’s ear. “You said it yourself, it’s killed our junior. I do have to go.”

Brown eyes met blue, and they recognized, without words, a feeling they rarely saw in each other’s expression - 

Fear. 

Fear, from Satoru, that Suguru was falling somewhere he wouldn’t be able to catch him. 

Fear, from Suguru, that Satoru was becoming something Geto wouldn’t be strong enough to protect. 

Unless…

A kiss to Suguru’s forehead. One more whispered promise of I’ll be back. Another sleepless night for Suguru, wondering if that was true.

The four hundred and fifty-fourth time, neither of them could have known. Three weeks since Haibara’s death, Suguru seemed to only find the solace of sleep when Gojo was in his bed, for however many hours he could have him. He’d been home for two nights in a row, a rare instance these past summer months, and Geto marveled at the feel of white locks between his fingers and they talked late into the night.

“Have you seen Nanami yet?” he finally asked Satoru, after Gojo had regaled him of a new sweet he’d tried while away. He’d not even returned to the school after Haibara’s mission had been completed before being sent away again.

Satoru’s chest rose and fell. “I did today.” He thought for a moment, feeling Suguru’s fingers on his forehead. “He seems… incredibly dejected.”

Suguru’s brow furrowed. “His friend was just killed, Satoru. Our friend.”

“I know, shit, I know, just,” he sighed again, “dejected at it all. Like he couldn’t give a shit about being a sorcerer anymore.”

The dark haired man shrugged. “I can understand that.”

“How?”

“How? I mean, wouldn’t you be if you were powerless to stop the death of someone you cared about?” He watched Satoru’s eyes, curious about their reaction.

Gojo pondered for a moment, calculating on the ceiling. “I think it would push me to get stronger.”

Suguru’s fingers fell from white hair, and he rolled over onto his back. “Of course it would.”

He didn’t see Satoru’s brows raise at the muttered remark, but he felt the man prop himself up on his elbow to look down at him. “What does that mean?” A beat, and then, “is this about Riko?”

It wasn’t originally, but now that he mentioned it - “No, no, Satoru, I just,” Suguru found himself unable to meet his partners eyes, the eyes that were now constantly searching, always seeing more than should be allowed. “Seeing Haibara, torn open, it reminded me of what he stabbed you, and I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t… I can understand how Nanami feels, because if it’s just going to keep happening, then why keep going? Why keep giving our all to something that isn’t changing?”

A quiet moment, the sounds of the night outside, the rustling of sheets as Satoru shifted his weight. “Suguru, this doesn’t sound like you.”

Didn’t it? Hadn’t these thoughts been clouding his mind, his perception, for months now? Affected how he spoke to Shoko, performed in training sessions? Had they really had so few nights together, that this was the first Satoru had noticed?

He met Gojo’s gaze, the corners of his lips trying to create a semblance of assurance in his smile. “I’m just tired, ‘s all.” He joined Satoru on his elbow, and rested his forehead on his partner’s. “I don’t really sleep when you’re not here, Satoru.”

The sigh that escaped Satoru seemed to be one of relief, and lips found each other in the dark. When they parted, he whispered against Suguru’s mouth, “it’s the same for me.”

They held each other, grasping the familiar, staving off the unknown, if only from the confines of Satoru’s dormitory, if only for the hours when the sun had disappeared.

At eight AM, Suguru rose quietly, dressed, and packed a small bag for a mission to look into the decapitation of a man at a remote village with a long history of disappearances. He glanced at the mess of white hair propped up against two pillows, and wished they were leaving together.

Leaving all of it together.

He gave Satoru’s cheek the softest kiss goodbye, barely getting a hum of acknowledgement back, but he didn’t want to disturb him further, not on one of his scarce days off. Gentler than a whisper, he promised against his skin, I’ll be back, Satoru.

When Satoru allows himself to remember that morning, he hears the remnants of the words, the feel of Suguru’s hair on his cheek that never made it to the bun -

and then he closes his eyes, and tries again to forget.

The first night after the broken promise, Satoru replayed it all. Every mission. Every class. Every kiss. Every curse. Every night. Every touch. 

He cursed his Six Eyes for not seeing the path Suguru had found himself on, for not being strong enough to pull him back. He cursed Fushiguro, Yaga, all of them, everyone who had made them spend a second apart from each other. From what had actually mattered.

Sleep didn’t find him, and when the sun crept in over the horizon and into his room, he wiped tears from his white lashes, and reached for his glasses.

The fourth night after the broken promise was an early one, at the insistence of Shoko, because he had punched Nanami. He hadn’t seen his junior much over the last few days, but as the three of them walked through the courtyard on the way to dinner, Nanami had sighed as Shoko caught him up on Geto’s defection.

“I can’t say I blame him,” the boy grumbled, and the words had barely left his mouth before a fist connected with his nose, knocking him against the wall.

Satoru had used his forearm to press the underclassman against the stone, teeth grit, jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you mean by that?!” He barely felt Shoko’s hand on the back of his jacket, feebly trying to pull him away.

Nanami sighed, wiping a trickle of blood away from his nose. “I don’t blame him for walking away, is all, Gojo.” He’d let his weight fall against the wall, shifting his feet. “I don’t think you can either.”

“I can blame him for murdering a whole fucking village! His fucking parents!!” Spit flew out of his mouth as his rage grew, landing on Nanami’s jacket. “I can blame him for saying he’ll rid the world of non-sorcerers! For fucking, fucking leaving without…” his vision went blurry, and the arm on Nanami’s chest fell away, and the floor fell out from under him - 

Shoko succeeded in pulling him back by the tail of his jacket, and let his weight fall against her frame.

Lashes dotted with tears, Satoru had resigned to let her lead him back to the dorms. 

As Shoko was making her way out, after she’d gotten him settled into his bed that he no longer felt comfortable in, he mumbled, “He promised he’d be back, Shoko.”

The girl sighed, and Satoru could smell the lingering smoke on her breath. (He could smell practically everything now - he could smell shampoo that wasn't his, lingering on the towel by his bed, sweat that didn't belong to him sticking to his sheets. It made him nauseous. It made him ache.) She straightened the pairs of shoes next to his door, not meeting his eyes as she asked, “Do you want to go look for him?”

He’d considered it more than once, wondered if he tried hard enough, he could go back to that sidewalk and follow whatever faint path of residuals he could to wherever the curse user had gone. He thought he’d go back to the village if he had to, start the path from there.

But then he’d remember that Surguru broke his promise. For reasons he couldn’t yet grasp.

If you want to kill me, then kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.

Had there been meaning in them?

He didn’t answer Shoko, and he didn’t sleep, either. That wasn’t a luxury he seemed to have anymore.

The three thousandth, seven hundredth, forty-second night after the broken promise, was spent in the snow. Freshly fallen snow, off a pathway they had found on a bike ride the spring of their first year, and next to a tree where Satoru had carved a small “G.S.” at the base during their second year. Suguru had laughed, joked that it needed a heart around it, but stopped Gojo when he’d seriously started to add it.

Satoru had promised Shoko he would bury Suguru’s body somewhere remote, as quickly and quietly as he could, and somewhere unmarked.

But to him, to them, at least, the tree had significance.

The body - Suguru - in the ground, the dirt laid back over him, Satoru allowed himself to collapse to his knees next to the grave, and place his hand on the mound. “I’m sorry, Suguru.” His breath was visible in the early morning hours, the sky turning a light purple as the sun started to peek through the trees. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed the palm of his left hand and laid it next to his right, on the dirt above where Suguru’s heart rested, as snowflakes fell around his Infinity. Before he rose and made his way back to the school, he whispered one last promise into the morning air:

I’ll be back, Suguru.

[sugxto]

JUSTIN H. MIN GQ — ph. June Kim (2020)

[sugxto]

LOGAN DELOS in Westworld: Season 1 Episode 4

[sugxto]

2020 Books. ⋙ From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“You are so incredibly violent.” He dipped his chin and whispered, “It still turns me on.” A scream of fury tore out of me as I jabbed my elbow out and up, snapping Hawke’s head back. “Dammit,” he said, coughing—no, laughing. He was laughing. “Didn’t change what I just said.”

[sugxto]

make me choose →  asked by @cordeliaburkle ↳buffy the vampire slayer or supernatural?  

[sugxto]

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Alina.” He said. “You and I are going to change the world.”

[sugxto]

Favorite film shots:

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) dir. Alfonso Cuarón

[sugxto]

there are more inportant things! 

[sugxto]

“My story begins in London. Not so very long ago and yet so much has happened since then that it seems more like an eternity. At that time, I lived with my pet in a Bachelor flat just off Regent’s Park. It was a beautiful Spring day, tedious time of the year for bachelors…”

Endless list of favourite films:

→ 101 Dalmatians, 1961.

[sugxto]

Grace Kelly in Rear Window (1954) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

Costume design by Edith Head

[sugxto]

People Matching Artworks: An Unusual Photo Series By Stefan Draschan

People Matching Artworks: An Unusual Photo Series By Stefan Draschan More info: Website | Instagram…

[sugxto]

– HARRY POTTER –

“there are all kinds of courage,” said dumbledore, smiling. “it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”

[sugxto]

[sugxto]

2018 Broadway revival + original script of the musical

[sugxto]

harry potter and the sorcerer’s stone (2001) 

“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”