#and the boarding school friendships thing

[nocturnalnewsiestrash]

So do we think Charles got to see Dead Poets Society before he died or...

Cause I feel like the answer to this question influences a billion shrimp emotions I may or may not feel. Cause it came out in 1989 in June and I've seen people saying he died in December so it's possible

[prismatica-the-strange]

Nope, I'm still crying

[eliotquillon]

i reread stella and siena(aka 'boarding school girls'/'the temperley high series') by helen eve a few month ago and i cannot stop thinking abt them. stella having episodes of vertigo after siena killed herself and spending the rest of her life trying to recreate siena exactly so siena could live on through her only to die in the exact same clock tower.... syrena resorting to stealing all of stella's things because stella wanted to become siena and syrena wanted to keep her....the way siena told stella she should always have her hair down and in turn stella told syrena she should always be barefoot....the fact that jack desperately wanted to become his own person and wanted to go to university but ended up working for his dad anyway....these aren't perfect books by far but helen eve fucking cooked with the doomed narratives

[just-rogi]

The unexpected side effect of spending a week around other mature secure adults who have healthy boundaries and communication and have been hand picked by my closest friends to be the best and healthiest people they can be, all of whom genuinely like me and communicate their needs, is returning back to my apartment and realizing just how different shit is here…. Like damn I know I’m moving out in ten days and so so so happy but wow, it was fucking NIGHT and DAY seeing how people are supposed to act I didn’t realize how different my college friends were, it makes me so much more excited for this next leg of my life and my move!

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[neverendingford]

,

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: Love at first (club) Meeting.

Damian wants to make friends in school. He asked Colin what he should do to get this accomplishment after months of failure.

The friend recommended joining school clubs, affectionately telling him that he was in a sewing club at his own public school.

Damian didn't see how getting into an organization dedicated to some hobby was going to cause friendships, but Colin seemed to have a decent amount of friends when he wasn't running around as Abuse.

He went to check on the clubs available, but nothing really got his attention. There was the art club but only one meeting told him that it wasn't for him. The club was more for his classmates to stand around and chit chat.

None of them actually did any art, seeing as the ussually club advisor was away on maternity leave. The substitute is the baseball couch on off-season, and although he encouraged everyone to draw, it wasn't the same amount of fun as normal activities.

The other kids assured him that they would be painting and sculpting once Mrs. Flor came back, but Damian didn't want to wait.

So he leaves and tries to find a new one. The world history club bored him with useless trivia, and the chess club had no worthy challengers.

Damian decides to try one last time before giving up, when he encounters Daniel Fenton trying to get a second signature for his Ghost Hunting Club.

Fenton is from outside of Gotham. He moved here with his family after Father bought out his family business, having turned their research into defenses against aliens. Damian had seen him around school, but other than the occasional bully, no one paid too much attention to him.

Gotham Academy had four requirements for a student run club. There had to be two members to be officially started. They needed to keep a clear recap of their club minutes, a teacher had to sign as their advisor and, for the first two years, had to be without a bank account.

Fenton held up his pathetic sign-up sheet in front of passing students. He stammers, "Would like to join the Ghost hunter-um if I could bother you for a moment - are you interested in-excuse me"

Damian watches Fenton try over and over to ask for a second club memeber, but no one bothers to even hear his full question. They walk right by him as if though they could see through Fenton. He can't say why but that upsets him.

Before Damian knows what he's doing he finds his feet marching towards Fenton. The boy is staring down at his clipboard with a disheartened expression before he spots Damian.

Fenton's jaw drops, and his eyes grow impossiblely wide as Damian gets closer. He draws his clip board up to his chest, staring at the Wayne as if he was the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Surely Damian is not that different looking than any other human. Why is he acting like that?

"Good morning," He says when he finally stands in front of Fenton. The boy's face turns s red "I am Damian Wayne."

"Hi, I'm Danny, um Fenton, I'm Danny Fenton," the other rambles while nervously tapping his fingers on the back of the clipboard.

"Well, met Fenton. I overheard you are requesting signatures for a club?"

"Oh!" Fenton turns the clipboard but in his haste it slips from his hold, landing on the ground with loud thump. Damian raises a brow while Fenton breaks out into a sweat.

Damian leans down to grab the board at the same time, Fenton throws himself forward, and he sees the collusion before it happens, but Damian knows that a regular child wouldn't be able to dodge it without raising questions. He allows Fenton's forhead to slam against his with a hiss.

"I'm sorry!" Fenton gasps out, but Damian heeds him no mind, as he signs the form with a flourish. The harsh strokes of his pen echo in the hallway, informing Damian that he needs to head to class before the second bell.

"I shall see you after school. We can see the famous haunted bathroom in the gym. " He tells the fool, slapping the clipboard into the boy's hand. Damian twists on his heel, strutting away. He throws a hand over his shoulder, calling back. "Ta"

He misses the look of utter awe adoration aimed at his back or the rapid growing infatuation in his clubmates' eyes.

It's the start of Damian's very odd club because he finds he actually enjoys walking around the school trying to find readings for ghosts. He even enjoys following Fenton to abandon buildings, dark sewers and sitting around with childish recordings asking for any signs of the afterlife.

That's mostly due to how nervous Fenton was when wandering into haunted places. He finds great joy in watching Fenton try to put a brave face on despite shaking in his boots when a ghost might be around.

It may be cruel of Damian, but it's highly entertaining.

Danny is not scared of ghosts - that would be a bit counterproductive given his Halfa status. He is crushing hard on Damian Wayne, and when he has a crush, he gets ridiculous nervous around them that it's easier to blame the shaking, the sweating and shuttering on phasmophobia.

But could anyone blame him? Damian Wayne is a walking work of art, so much that when Danny first saw him in the hallway, he was half sure, the surroundings had dimmed.

He wasn't exaggerating when Danny thought Damian had stardust and white doves floating around his head at all times. He was that stunning.

And he had walked up to Danny to join his club, the one he had been trying for almost a week to get started because he was tired of being a friendless loser and took up Sam's advice in a desperate last ditch effort. He is so glad he had that video call with her because without it, he would never have gotten to speak to Damian.

They were in different classes, had different lunch periods, and frankly, Damian was the son of the richest man in the country. Danny was the random kid on scholarship with creepy ghost powers hunting other ghosts.

He wrote poems about Damian's eyes when flying over Gotham, sighing like a pathetic school boy. He also dodges a kuni shoot at him by Robin.

Ugh, he hates that guy. He's so rude and has been trying to hunt Danny down ever sense they arrived in Gotham. He was scary good at what he did, and the only reason Danny stayed free was Robin not understanding that he was after a ghost.

Robin thought he was a meta and had attack because of that. Which, racist much? Danny openly mocked him just to get on Robin's nerves.

Batman let Robin cause after the meta because he could tell from that little smile as he raced after the glowing figure that Damian found the other attractive. It reminds him of his early years chasing Catwoman across the rooftops.

Maybe Gotham wasn't so bad a move after all.

[theoldsports]

SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

[luveline]

I love your writings about the marauders, and I recently had a thought about the boys first coming in contact with a vibrator or any sex toy really. Not even a like smut thing but just then walking into a muggle sex shop or they made a friend with a muggle girl and they stumble upon in some way lol idk, just a funny thought that’s been making me giggle a bit. If you have any thoughts I guess?? Hope you have a good day :)

this isn’t smut but it is explicit - mdni please! fem, 1k

“What is that?” Sirius asks.

You get yanked back. “God, sorry,” James says, letting go of your hand. You’d been in a weird fugue state of joy with his fingers twined in yours; it’s the first time he’s held your hand. You can’t tell if it’s platonic or romantic, you can never tell with the boys. “Wait, what is that?” 

“What’s what?” you ask, trying to follow their gaze. You’re on a crowded high street divided by a two way road. It’s so loud you can’t hear yourself think, and stopping as you have has diverted foot traffic around you poorly. 

“There’s a cock in the window.” 

Remus yelps a laugh. You smile, befuzzled, as he takes your shoulders into his hand and turns you bodily to the right shop window. “Oh,” you say. “Oh! There really is.” 

There is a vast array of the aforementioned appendage in the window, and in a variety of sizes and colours. A mannequin in dark lingerie holds a fifty percent off sign to the left, while a poster brags a multitude of ‘stimulating pleasures’ to be found inside. 

“What am I looking at?” Sirius asks.

You forget sometimes how sheltered they all are. They’d gone to a rather elite boarding school, and they all lived in rural England and Wales for their summers. This is as city as they’ve ever been, and you’d thought they’d seen everything there is to see by now, but apparently not. 

How are you supposed to explain a sex shop? Better, why is fate making you? They all turn to you for an explanation. 

“Remus, you’re twenty three,” you say hopelessly. 

“We’ve only recently relocated,” Remus argues. 

“You’ve known me for six months. You’ve lived here for eight.” 

“And yet we’ve never seen that,” James says, pointing at the lingerie. “You’re such perverts in the city. Why are there rainbow cocks in the window?” 

“Can we stop saying that?” you ask. 

“Sorry,” James says quickly. “Lovely girl, why are the dicks in the window?” 

“They’re toys,” you say, feeling a little part of yourself shrivel away in shyness, their eyes like heat from your face and neck. 

“For kids?” Sirius asks, disgusted. 

“No! God, no, they’re for grown ups.” You shake your head uselessly. “Are you messing with me? You’ve really never seen them?” 

“We’ve seen some rather tasteful underwear in our time,” Sirius says, to James’ delight and Remus’ derision. 

“Stop,” Remus says. 

“We have to go in. I must understand these toys,” Sirius says, ignoring him with ease. There’s something to his usually nice smile you don’t know, some burning excitement that will likely end in innuendos and teasings galore for you. 

You make your way into the sex shop, shoes dragging, cheeks hot. James and Sirius seem as though they could burst into laughter at any second, but Remus is more understanding. He offers you his hand when he realises you’re behind them. You don’t have the strength to refuse him. 

They’re the weirdest friends you’ve ever had, but also the best ones. They love holding hands and crossing legs and laying half on top of each other when they come around to watch a film. You’re pretty sure you saw James and Remus kissing a few weeks ago, but they’ve yet to say anything about it to you, so what do you know? You’d been jealous, but each boy has continued to love on you just a little too much considering the parameters of your ‘friendship’. 

This lies firmly outside of your parameters, you decide. 

Sure, you’ve thought about them sometimes as more than friends, but they don’t know that. Can you be blamed? They’re all so handsome in awful ways —Remus classic, Sirius Grecian, and James devilish. James. You shake your head in an attempt to dispel thoughts of their good looks while in close proximity to lacy knickers, turning your attention to the ridiculous gasps of awe the two idiots are letting out. 

“What is that?” Sirius asks delightedly, knuckling at a row of plastic sex toys, all with different functions. 

“That’s a…” You blow a breath up your face in an attempt to cool down. “Read the label, Siri.” 

“Most of this stuff is for girls?” James asks you. 

“I guess so.” You poke at the pink packaging of a glass massage wand. “I mean, not always. I think anybody can use all this stuff too. Or most of it.”

“What about that?” 

James points at a vibrator in clear blister packaging. “A vibrator? What’s that do?” He turns to you with a surprisingly innocent curiosity. 

“It vibrates.” You don’t want to say anything else, but they’re your friends. They’re nice to you, and they respect you, so it’s not like you think telling them these things will put you in an uncomfortable position. “You know how girls have a harder time finishing sometimes?” 

If they’re surprised to hear you say it aloud, they don’t show it. “Not in my experience,” Sirius jokes. 

“So the vibration helps?” 

“It’s very intense. It makes the… climax come much quicker,” you say. 

Remus seems very grateful for the energy your explanation takes, giving you a caring smile. He’s about to say something when Sirius interrupts, and asks, “Do you have one?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Remus says, hitting Sirius in the arm. “She doesn’t have to answer that, don’t ask her stuff like that, it’s private.” 

Sirius’ eyes go wide. “I’m sorry,” he says to you, all joking gone from his face. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just forget sometimes that you have boundaries we don’t have.” 

You’re not expecting such a genuine and sudden apology, because maybe Sirius shouldn’t ask, but you totally understand what he means. You feel like you’ve known them all your life. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I know what you’re like.” 

“So it’s a good time, hypothetically,” James says. 

“What do you reckon that feels like?” Sirius asks, already moving on. 

“Sirius,” Remus pleads. 

“Sweetheart, can I ask you, hypothetically,” —Sirius taps his converse to yours, grinning— “what do you mean, it’s quicker? How does that even work?” 

You frown, “You don’t know how it works?” 

Remus and James laugh like bellows beside you. They laugh so much the woman behind the counter glares at you all, undoubtedly tired of people coming in here for a laugh. 

“Awful girl,” Sirius says, frowning. 

You smile back. “It just stimulates the nerves, Sirius. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it’s kinda like magic or something.” 

“Magic can’t do that,” James says. Remus elbows him hard, and you’ve no idea why. 

[transmascsteveharrington]

It’s the summer of ’85. The summer of chlorine-bleached hair and navy blue shorts. Of red felt tip against white board and molten ice cream on sticky hands. Of unexpected friendships and teenage sorrows, snug-in screenings and bumpy car rides. It’s a cruel summer. It’s the summer Eddie Munson climbs through Steve’s bedroom window. Repeatedly.

It all starts the day of graduation at someone's house. Everyone around Eddie is having the time of their life, getting wasted and high while Eddie throws himself a pity party. And judging by the figure hidden in the corner, arms crossed in front of his chest, pout on his lips Eddie isn't the only one. It's weird seeing King Steve, ruler of parties and champion of kegs stands, awkwardly stand on the sidelines of a party. But then again Steve Harrington hasn't been King Steve for a while. He may have won prom king (at least that's what Eddie has heard, he wouldn't be caught dead at prom) but it's been a hot minute since Steve held his head high, acting like his hair was a crown, his varsity jacket a fur coat and sports trophy his scepter. Not that Eddie has paid much attention to Steve Harrington over the years or anything. Eddie knows that curiosity killed the cat, but cats have nine lives and Eddie can definitely spare one, he thinks as he slowly crosses the room and approaches Steve.

"Penny for your thoughts, joint for your sorrows," Eddie asks and holds out a joint for Steve. Steve's eyes widen in confusion for a second, before the frown on his face turns into a soft smile that's going to haunt Eddie's dreams.

"This a pity smoke, Munson?" he says, nodding towards the joint in Eddie's palm.

"Charity actually," Eddie says, "Looks good on my tax return and all. You know the drill."

The soft smile turns into soft laughter and fuck abort mission, abort mission, Eddie thinks. Pretty boys shouldn't be allowed to laugh like that. But Steve does and it leads to smoking the joint in the back of Eddie's van which somehow leads to a far too vulnerable conversation about expectations and failure, about pressure and loneliness and about how Eddie is the prettiest thing Steve has ever seen. It leads to an unexpected kiss and another and another and another  that leads to an unexpected hook-up.

Eddie thinks Steve is gonna run the next day, act like it never happened, stay away from Eddie. He might not go to college after summer, but Steve is probably going to leave Hawkins sooner or later, so best for him to just forget everything about last night. Only that Steve apparently doesn't want to forget or to run. Instead, he shows up at Eddie's trailer the next day. For a second Eddie is afraid Steve is going to punch him, he doesn't expect to get pulled into another kiss.

It kinda becomes a regular thing during the first few weeks of summer after that. Steve drives to the trailer when Wayne is out and Eddie climbs through Steve's bedroom window regardless of whether Steve's parents are home or not. Just for the fun of it, the summer romance feeling of it, the drama of it all.

It also makes Steve roll his eyes with a fond smile when Eddie stumbles through his window. It's all fun and games until it starts to become a problem. Because Eddie already had harbored a small but not insignificant crush on Steve while they were still in school and Steve was  just the popular jock at the other end of the hallway. But having Steve like this, naked, stripped bare of his clothes and all the pretense he always wore at school like armor? It's life-ruining. Eddie already knows he is not going to start his third try at senior year with his  heart intact.

They are a couple of weeks into whatever this is, when Steve mentions his parents forcing him to get a job at the mall, says they'll have to meet up less, talks about the stupid costume with a dorky hat he has to wear, but says Eddie should come say hi, if he wants to. Steve can get him a free scoop or something.

"Ah yes the real benefit in friends with benefits," Eddie laughs, "free ice cream."

Only that friends with benefits isn't quite accurate. They aren't friends, they aren't dating, they are just repeat hook ups. Eddie tries not to be bitter about this, knows this is already more than he ever thought he could get. Despite his instincts telling him not to go see Steve at Scoops because obviously it was just a stupid joke, Eddie goes. He is glad he does because maybe god is real and the indecently short and tight sailor uniform shorts are his way of trying to make up for all the hardship he has made Eddie suffer through.

Steve is a vision in the uniform especially with the dorky hat he claims to hate so much. Steve beams at Eddie when he sees him.

“You came!” 

“And will several more times today now that I have seen you in those shorts,” Eddie whispers and leans on the counter. Steve rolls his eyes but blushes slightly. The same shade of red as the scribbles on the white board behind Steve. “What does the you rule you suck mean?” 

“That’s Harrington’s score board with our customers,” Steve’s coworker chimes in. Eddie hadn’t paid much attention to her until now. “As you can see he sucks quite a lot at scoring any phone numbers or dates.” 

“Oh,” is all Eddie can say. He is glad he hasn’t tried the ice cream yet because he is sure he is about to throw up. Of course Steve is trying to score. They never said they were exclusive and why would they. Why would Steve want to be with some trailer trash boy for anything more than a little fun. Eddie doesn’t know what’s going to happen first: crying or throwing up. All he knows is that he has to get out of here. But before Eddie can run and berate himself for being so fucking stupid, Steve’s hand closes around his wrist.

“I’m taking my break,” Steve announces loudly and pulls Eddie into the back room. 

“It’s not what you think,” Steve hurries to explain as soon as the door falls shut behind them. “It was Robin’s stupid idea. She thought my customer service voice was me trying to strike out. I just wanted to get a tip.” 

“So you’re not flirting with your customers?” 

“Only metalheads with curly hair and a beat up van,” Steve teases. “Robin just assumed because I got the reputation that I was striking out. And I didn’t bother to correct because it doesn’t really matter and it’s not like I can go around announcing that I have a boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” Eddie raises his eyebrows, heart beating in his chest, the word echoing in his mind. 

“Well I’d have to ask him first if he wants to be,” Steve grins and puts his hands on Eddie’s hips,  pulling him closer. “I had it all planned out. Romantic dinner, candlelight, Judas Priest playing. Might have to up that though since he apparently had no idea how serious I am about him.” 

“You know you could make him a pb&j and he would be wooed. He’d be stupid not to say yes to being your boyfriend,” Eddie says and leans in, lips only inches away from Steve. Even without touching he can feel Steve’s lips twist into a smile. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says before sealing his promise with a kiss. 

Maybe it’s not going to be a cruel summer after all. 

[hyperballart]

last nite

art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader !

art and patrick aren’t exactly subtle, and you are the push they didn’t know they needed.

(18+ pls!!)

author’s note: that one bitch (me) who doesn’t play about homoerotic friendships… this is mostly artrick but they all get nasty trust!

the swishing of the cheap beer from art’s mini fridge overlaps the song playing from the radio. it was something you recognized from this new york band you really liked—your friend had gifted you that record for your birthday a few years prior—you hummed out the tune as you sat on the desk chair of your friend’s dorm room, periodically lifting your gaze to the two boys also sharing the space.

you and patrick met at a local band’s show, that same night ended with you being pushed into the dark bathroom of the bar it was held at and you nearly swallowing each other’s tongues. he whispered into your ear about how good you tasted, how nice your ass felt in his hands, how fucking sexy you looked dancing out there. and after he bent you over the sink to get a taste of your sweet cunt and you returned the favor, the brunette gave you his number—it surprised you, that he wanted to continue seeing you and maybe take it further. it wasn’t until a couple hangouts that you met art.

he was by definition a good boy. always respectful and cordial around you, sweet, and even bashful at times. you coincidentally attended the same university—even shared common friends other than patrick. the three of you became well acquainted quickly. movie nights in art’s dorm when patrick came to visit, night drives to the beach, it was all simple and fun.

of course you and patrick hooked up whenever he came around, which seemed to frequent as he was on a month-long break from tour. on one of those particular nights, as you were riding him, somehow the topic of art came up.

“saw him at practice last week,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and slightly tug, “he’s really good.”

patrick stutters his hips and unwillingly twitches inside of you, as if images of his best friend playing flashed through his brain in those few seconds, “fuck, yeah he’s always been good.” his brain is too foggy to comprehend that he’s given away something you’ve been suspecting for a while—and you’ll keep digging to find what you really want.

you look down at him on the bed and notice how his mouth has dropped a bit further and his eyes become more slanted, you push your fingers into his mouth which he automatically starts to suck, and you ride him until he’s whimpering around them and filling you up. you’ll get something else out of him soon.

the next time happens to be the night right after, you’re at your favorite ice cream place and decide it’s the right time to keep prodding.

“you and art—you seem pretty close—how long have you known each other again?” you scrape the sides of your cup from the melted treat and look at him eating his.

“well, we went to boarding school together,” patrick speaks with some waffle cone bits crunching in his mouth—a horrible habit of his you have come to detest from the few months of knowing him—“we shared a room since we were 12, i think i’ve mentioned this,” he swallows everything in his mouth down and continues, “we are pretty close. we’d get teased for it a lot in school—i never really gave a fuck but you know art. he takes things to heart.”

“right, i can see that,” you didn’t exactly plan out how you were going to lead him to where you wanted but you get an idea, “i wanna know more. tell me some fun stories, i can imagine you two got up to a lot of trouble,” you fully turn to face him in your seat.

he racks his brain for a while and eventually, “one time i got caught with porno magazines under my bed and i blamed art. it was this whole thing—his grandma gave him an earful over the phone—god she was pissed,” a chuckle leaves him as he recalls the story, “anyway, we almost got kicked out and he didn’t speak to me for weeks. can’t remember how we made up or how i even got in possession of those magazines but we definitely learned our lesson.”

you’re giggling, “god you’re awful, what else have you put poor innocent art through?”

he turns to face you now, “i taught him everything he knows,” a smug smirk slowly takes over his expression, “ taught him how to kiss and how to jerk off. poor thing didn’t even know how to handle morning wood before i showed him.”

and there’s your chance, “so you two have like…”

he pauses and takes in your assumption, “oh god no, not like that,” a hand runs down his face quickly as a laugh of disbelief leaves him. “we’ve never—would never go there, you know? no shame to anyone who does we just—it was practice before we started dating and all that. was just helping him out.”

and well, that gave you enough of an incentive.

now you’re all in art’s dorm, a little buzzed from the alcohol and tired from a day at the beach. patrick sits on a small couch with his legs spread. both boys have decided to forgo their shirts, only in their swim trunks—patrick’s much shorter than the blonde’s. you still in your bikini top and tiny jean shorts.

“what about that girl you were seeing, what’s her name again?” patrick interrogates a clearly agitated art who sits on the floor rolling his eyes.

“i told you that’s over, she wasn’t looking for anything serious and i found out the hard way.”

“he means he saw her making out with one of his buddies at a frat party,” you add smirking over your bottle.

“okay, fuck off first of all—“

“hey, man calm down, look—“ patrick interjected, “there’s lots of chicks that would bang you, i’m sure a pretty boy like you has no problem getting laid. go charm up some nice girl that volunteers at the soup kitchen on her free time and—“

“fuck you patrick.” there’s no malice behind his words though—and you can spot the blush that takes over his pale complexion at the previous remark as he shakes his head. “it’s easy for you to say,” he looks up at you as he says it, “you guys fuck like rabbits any chance you get.”

“is that what it is then? you being pent up?” you cut in. “there’s lot of girls here who would love to fuck you, artie. you’re telling me none have caught your eye?”

art is silent, looking to see what patrick was thinking, but the latter simply looks curious—excited almost— and so he just sits picking at the hem of his shorts.

“oh i get it,” you continue, “you’re jealous. you think i’m taking your precious best friend away, don’t you?” you slide down from the chair to take a spot right next to him and whisper the next thing so only he hears, “you are jealous. don’t worry, we can share him.”

you pull back to see his pupils dilated and his mouth slightly parted, in shock and arousal—maybe even in acceptance. you can’t help the small grin as you look from him to the other still sitting on the couch, you can see his chest rising a bit heavier now.

you feel that as an agreement from both as you perch on the bed and call them both to follow at each of your sides. you can feel them eyeing you and for a split second, you see them staring at each other in a way that surpasses anything platonic they insist on having.

when you feel them both lean in to opposite sides of your neck you halt their movements. a look of confusion passes through their faces as they wait for you to explain.

“i think you guys have some making up to do,” the look on their faces creases further, “art, aren’t you curious to feel what his lips are like again? i have a feeling he has improved greatly since you were 13.”

art’s face falls, he looks at patrick in annoyance, “you said you would never tell, dude what the fuck.”

patrick just shrugs, still wanting to proceed. “i told you, that was only for practice. we’re grown now.”

“sure,” you pretend to let it go and you have on a stupid smile that he just wants to kiss off your face. you start leaning towards patrick and grant him that wish, using your hand on his jaw to give you access to his tongue. it quickly becomes heated, you land on his lap and grind yourself on the hard bulge in his trunks. his big hand gropes your ass and he moans greedily in your mouth. you pull away and let him suck and nip on the length of your neck before looking at art, who looks pitiful with his mouth hung open and his eyes lingering on the spot where patrick is occupied. a smirk returns to your swollen lips.

you tug on patricks hair and swivel even harder on his dick, leading to him groaning out a fuck me baby, and you swear you see art’s cock twitch under the layer of thin clothing. you leave patricks lap despite his efforts to keep you there, now sat on the pretty blonde who can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. you stop his stressing when you place both of his palms on your hips, trailing them up to your barely-covered tits where he gives a soft squeeze and lets out a little whine. you finally lean down to kiss him and it’s as you’d expect from him—tentative and soft. a kiss you’d get from a boyfriend after a nice dinner date—not from whatever this was.

he lets out hums and low moans, but you can tell he’s getting desperate. god knows how long it’s been since he’s fucked something other than his hand. you pull away and return to your spot between them. they instantly both try to catch your lips, it’s messy with all three of you licking and sucking and kissing. at this point no one knows whose mouth is whose, and it doesn’t even matter because suddenly you’re pulling off. you lean back to catch your breath and then you see them.

they lick into each other’s mouths, art is mewling and patrick grips his curls to hold him in place. they seem to catch on after a ridiculous amount of time but when they do, they stare at you while they’re heaving breaths.

“are you guys gonna take care of that?” you look down at their laps, both having matching leaks of pre bleeding through their shorts. “come on get them out, you’ve seen each other plenty before right? nothing to be shy of.”

they both listen, each erection slapping up and standing on its own. it’s obscene and you dont think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. art’s cock is so pretty—you think—pink and curved. he is smooth, you always had assumed he would be anyway. you can tell he takes good care of himself, his balls the same flushed pink he gets on his cheeks when you tease him. the tip of him is so red, a dribble of white streaming down when he notices your attention on his cock—you almost coo at it when it twitches.

then you look at patrick. that same cock you love and worship. he’s thicker in girth, your pussy pulsates when your mind trails to the stretch he gives you. his balls are heavy, and he doesn’t ever fully shave them. you like them like that—the musk and how they give friction to your clit when hes fucking you. he’s also drooling from his tip. you decide to start off slow.

you scoot forwards and extend your arms to their laps. each one of your hands holds them and at the contact, they can’t help but buck their hips. you think it’s adorable to see them synchronized like that.

“ah, shit!” patrick throws his head back and looks down at you jerking him off, then looks to his right at the other cock in your hand and shakes his head in disbelief, “i can’t—fuck—i can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“i see the way you look at him, pat,” you quicken the speed of your hands and both of them cry out, “i gave you both what you wanted, handed on a silver fucking platter. i think you should be a little more grateful. in fact, my hands are getting tired,” and with that, you cut all contact with them and you can quite literally see them wilt.

“wha- no, please,” art manages to get through a whine, “my hand doesn’t—it doesn’t feel as good i’m so hard it hurts, please—“

“who said anything about using your own hand?”you cut him off.

patrick hesitantly stretches his arm over his friend’s lap, “we’re just,” his fingers make contact with art’s dick and he almost drools, “helping each other out.” an experimental tug has his back arching and makes him shut his eyes tight.

“pat-patrick—oh fuck.”

one would think art already came by how much he’s wetting his friend’s hand, and patrick seems to be mesmerized by the sight. “holy fuck art, look at how much you’re spilling,” as if on cue, that makes him squirt out more. art is gripping his sheets and his eyes dart from the hand stroking him fast and the boy in front of him.

“i’m—don’t go so fucking fast,” art tries to get out, “it’s been a while if—nghh—if you don’t slow down i’m gonna—fuck!” patrick clearly enjoys this as he can’t help laughing at his state.

“don’t tell me you’re a virgin, artie,” he slows down but continues teasing, “thought i taught you how to hold off better than that.”

and while you’d love to keep watching art squirm under his torture, you stop him, “i got an idea.”

patrick reluctantly pulls away and they both now stare expectantly, “push both of your cocks together, here like this—“ you direct them to sit with their legs spread in front of each other, overlapping and then you position them how you want them.

they can’t even speak, they’re just panting and looking down at the contact until you continue, “come on pat, hold both of them together,” you watch as he does so and grimaces trying to hold off, “look at that, your tips are kissing—how cute.”

they both whine and patrick mutters a shut up under his breath.

after a minute of heavy breathing, patricks large hand slowly strokes down on both of their cocks. it’s so wet, the sound of the slicking lewdly filling up the room but the sound of their cries is almost enough to drown it out. art is almost sobbing at this point, you’ve never heard someone sound so desperate. they almost can’t bare the friction of each other, their tangled legs twitching and shaking.

you almost start to get annoyed at how slow patrick is going for the sake of making the feeling last, but in a way you think it’s sweet. the years they’ve held off on each other finally leading to this—they deserved it. you’re still annoyed tho.

“go faster,” as the words leave your mouth they both mewl and shake their heads, “you look so hot like this, i’m so wet. i’m thinking of letting you both fuck me—at the same time. just like this, both in my cunt,” patrick’s hand loosens his grip he is almost shivering now, he has to hold off, “why’d you let go, hm?” you pull his hand back on, “i want you both to imagine it, it’s gonna be a tighter fit than this,” you pull your hand over patrick’s and tighten the grip hard, “there you go.”

art can’t even make out words anymore, the second he heard you say you wanted them both at once, his ears started ringing. as if that wasn’t enough, the tightened grip made him moan out pleas over and over. when he looks down, he knows he can’t hold longer and he lets you both know, “i’m gonna, i can’t it’s too much, too much, too tight i—“

you take this as your chance to do what you wanted since you saw the tent in his shorts, you lean down to where they are connected and suckle on his tip and that does it. he sobs out a curse and starts twitching, he cums all over your lips and patrick, you can’t believe how much is coming out of him.

patrick just about loses his mind when he sees it all happen. it’s a miracle he lasted over two minutes like this and he’s about to pass out, “oh fuck me, yeah fucking soak that dick—oh god— you’re so wet—how do you get this fucking—“ he suddenly yanks art by his neck and fucks his tongue into his mouth again, and even tho he is still dizzy from his orgasm, he kisses back just as messily. that’s the final straw for patrick to cum all over them and squeeze their tips together for the last time that night.

you watch it all happen with a lazy smile. they both lay down, still out of it while you scratch their heads gently and murmur sweet affirmations to them. you’re between them and it feels just right. you don’t need to talk about what happened just yet. just sleepily kiss each other until you knock out.

they’ll make up not making you cum tomorrow, you can picture them both licking between your legs and when they take turns suckling your clit, you’ll pretend not to notice how they’re jerking each other off out of your sight <3

[soul-controller]

Tricked By His Tutor

As the sun finally began its descent one Friday afternoon, casting a warm, golden hue over a grand college campus, Nolan Campbell made his exit from the university’s gym. After finishing up a grueling wrestling practice in preparation for his team’s upcoming meet, it was safe to say that the blond-haired jock was eager to get home and relax. But no matter his desires, it seemed as though the universe was doing everything it could to prevent him from achieving that goal. Given the fact that the weekend was now officially beginning, the campus was abuzz as large crowds of students traversed the school quad with excited haste. Luckily though, Nolan was able to overcome the overbearing crowds due to not only his bulky muscular physique but also his tall 6’2” stature.

Then, while waiting for a bus to arrive to take him back to his apartment, Nolan found himself forced to endure the constant staring and flirting from a slew of college cheerleaders. Despite his best attempts to turn them down, the girls refused to give up in their quest to be with him. Although to be completely fair to them, their desire was warranted. Out of all of the men on campus, Nolan was by far the perfect package. On top of that muscular physique of his, the man was blessed with a handsome face and an incredibly charming smile that formed an adorable yet manly set of dimples.

Yet while everyone assumed him to be this absolute beast of a man who easily dominated life like he did on the wrestling mats, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. For some reason, Nolan had always felt extremely unsure of himself and lacked the innate confidence that could have easily been corrupted into an inflated ego. Although there was a general sense of being unsure of himself when it came to his future, the one thing he was absolutely positive about was his happiness that he hadn’t ended up one of those stereotypical jocks who just bullied pathetic nerds or objectified women nonstop. 

After finally getting the girls to leave him alone and set their sights on another nearby jock, the wrestler was able to board his bus and take the ten minute ride to his apartment. After checking his mailbox, Nolan then gave himself one final workout as he rushed up the five flights of stairs until he arrived at his doorstep… where he found a peculiar surprise waiting for him.

Rather than the appearance of some package on his doorstep, he found Arthur, his math tutor, just sitting down waiting for him. Looking him up and down, the jock noticed just how disheveled the usually put-together man appeared. Instead of his normally styled mop of hair, Arthur looked incredibly disheveled on top of tired, at least based on the dark circles that Nolan noticed behind the nerd’s gigantic thick-rimmed glasses. 

In the two years that the duo had been working together, it was safe to say that Nolan had come to view Arthur as a friend of sorts. Nolan would bring his math assignments and questions every week, and Arthur would patiently guide him through the problems, breaking down complex equations and concepts in the simplest way that Nolan could understand. It was clear that Arthur had a gift for teaching, as Nolan found himself suddenly making progress in his math classes and avoiding the threat of academic probation. 

As they spent more time together, an unlikely friendship began to form. Nolan, with his easygoing and friendly personality, found himself opening up to the introverted and slightly awkward Arthur. With the jock opting to be vulnerable with him, it seemed to unlock something within the nerd that encouraged him to finally open up and grow comfortable around him. Over time then, Nolan learned about Arthur's interests and his daily life. Hell, he had even begun to view the nerd as a friend that when he found out that one of his wrestling teammates had been secretly bullying the nerd, the jock immediately put a stop to it! 

So although Nolan would easily describe himself as friends with Arthur given their work together over the past two school years, there had never been an instance where the twig of a nerd had just randomly shown up on his doorstep. After checking his watch and verifying that their appointment wasn’t meant for today, the jock flashed a smile as he tried to figure out what’s going on. "Uh, hey there Arthur. Is everything ok? I thought our appointment wasn’t meant until Sunday night?” 

In response, Arthur began to stand up onto his feet, which caused him to quickly readjust his glasses as they began to slide down his nose. "Oh, hey there, Nolan. I was just in the area and I thought I'd stop by and say hello,” he said, flashing a soft smile towards his client. Ever perceptive, the nerd quickly picked up on the gym bag slung around his shoulder and noticed Nolan’s damp and sweaty body. “Did you have practice or something today?" 

Nolan instantly leaned against the wall, loosening the strap of his gym bag. "Yeah, practice was intense. Coach is being a total hardass about this upcoming meet because it’s one of those rival schools. I legit feel so dead right now,” he responded, offering up a slight chuckle to lighten the mood. “But, how about you? How are your classes and everything going?" 

“Eh, it’s alright. This new segment of my math course is pretty difficult, but I’m always down for a challenge,” he replied with a lighthearted laugh. “I was tired of doing nonstop readings so I decided to just take a walk to clear my head. Before I knew it, I was here on your doorstep.” 

After eliciting his own chuckle, Nolan made his way past Arthur as he finally slid his key into the apartment door and unlocked it. Upon looking back, the jock felt oddly sorry for the guy. For some reason the frail shaggy-haired man was always taking the hardest possible courses each semester, which meant that he was too busy to go out and be social. As a result, Nolan couldn’t help but feel as though he was the closest thing to a friend that Arthur had. 

Given the fact that he was planning on just sitting on his couch and relaxing all night anyway, the man realized what would be the problem in having company then? “Ah, I see. Well, I was thinking of getting some pizza and maybe just chilling and watching some TV for the rest of the night. You wanna come in and hang out for a bit?" 

Arthur rapidly blinked in surprise, apparently not expecting an invitation from the jock. "Um, sure, that would be great. I think some time away from the textbooks would probably be good for me. I can’t stop seeing equations whenever I close my eyes,” he chuckled, which caused Nolan to do the same as he finally opened the door and allowed the nerd to walk in first. 

Upon shutting the door behind him, Nolan slumped to the side and allowed his gym bag to fall off his shoulders and onto the floor with a heavy thud. With that weight literally lifted off his shoulders, the man looked down at himself and realized just how sweaty he was. “Uh hey, if you don’t mind, I’m going to shower real quick,” he began, leading Arthur further into the apartment until the duo were in his living room. After reaching out towards an end table and grabbing onto the remote, the jock began to hold it out towards the nerd. “You can just go ahead and sit down and watch some TV I guess. I promise it will only take a few minutes and then we’ll order some pizza and just relax for a bit!” But to the jock’s confusion, the nerd refused to take ahold of the remote. 

Turning away from the TV and sofa, Arthur looked around the man’s apartment before beginning to speak. “Uh, before you go, can I say something,” he asked, which resulted in Nolan nodding his head in approval. “Ok, well uh, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you Nolan. I know this probably doesn’t come as a surprise, but I don’t really have any friends here. These tutoring sessions have been genuinely quite rewarding because I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as perfect as you.” 

Upon hearing that last sentence, Nolan’s eyebrows raised as he tried to understand what that meant. Was Arthur just being sweet to him or was he trying to be vulnerable and reveal a new piece about himself in terms of his sexuality? Although Nolan was quite comfortable with his sexuality as a straight man, he wasn’t actively homophobic or anything so the concept of his friend being open like that was quite sweet in his eyes. 

But before he could even respond, Arthur continued to speak. “So uh yeah, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your friendship,” he said, punctuating his sentence by extending out an open hand for a handshake. 

Finally, Nolan was given the ability to respond and he tried his best to be comforting to the man. “Aw, it’s no problem at all man. You’re a pretty great guy yourself and I appreciate all of your help. You’ve truly saved my ass so many times over the years that I can’t repay you enough,” he exclaimed, softly chuckling as he began to also extend his hand out for the handshake. 

“Oh really? Well now that you mention it, I actually do have an idea of how you can make it up to me,” Arthur replied, his grin shifting into a smirk as he suddenly grabbed onto Nolan’s hand and wrapped it in a tight embrace. 

Immediately, Nolan’s grin faded and his eyes widened as he felt a sensation similar to electricity rushing through his body. Confused about what’s happening to him, the jock stared into Arthur’s eyes, which remained narrowed and instantly made Nolan feel uneasy. Although he could have continued staring for a while in search of answers, the wrestler was stunned to find a bright flash of light suddenly fill the room up. Worried about blinding the light was becoming, the man clenched his eyes shut and grit his teeth as a sudden pain overcame his body. As he continued to scream, he could have sworn that he felt as though his body was being completely torn apart. 

But as quickly as the light and pain had emerged, they faded just as fast and Nolan found himself struggling to catch his breath. With each deep inhale and exhale he took, he couldn’t help but notice how high-pitched and labored his breathing sounded. But as Nolan finally peeled apart his eyelids to look over at Arthur, a sudden gasp escaped from his throat. Rather than staring at his tutor, he instead found himself staring at his own body. 

Unnerved and with no other option coming to mind, the man looked down and revealed a terrifying sight. Rather than his thick and muscular body, his glance down revealed Arthur’s lanky arms while his sweat-stained tank top had been replaced with an oversized and more nerdy shirt. As he held out his hands and looked at just how pale and unimpressive they were, the young jock couldn’t help but scream as he realized that he was now in the body of a weak nerd! 

Despite the ear-piercing scream he made, Nolan found himself unable to produce any words or move no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow stuck by whatever had caused his body swap with Arthur or if he was so petrified and in shock that his body had no idea what to do. But as he looked back across the room at the nerd now occupying his body, it quickly became clear that the new jock had no problem moving around. 

As he observed how Arthur looked around and smirked, Nolan got to watch in horror as the nerd quickly looked down before using his new wide pair of hands to pull off the damp and sweaty tank top to reveal the jock’s ripped and fully shirtless torso. Upon tossing the clothing onto the floor just a few feet away from the discarded gym bag, the former nerd grabbed onto his plump pecs before eliciting a maniacal laugh. 

“You fucking idiot, I can’t believe you fell for that fake sympathy shit,” he bellowed, his tone drenched in a cocky and condescending tone. Once finished, the man then lifted up his arm and flexed a bicep, smirking as he gripped the rock hard muscle. “Fuck yeah!” 

Upon witnessing the nerd’s behavior, Nolan was understandably quite confused. In those two years of knowing him, he had never witnessed Arthur behave like this. To make matters worse, he was doing it in Nolan’s real body. Like, what the fuck did his so-called friend do to him?! 

Refusing to continue looking at the nerd flaunting and flexing those stolen muscles, Nolan forced himself to tilt his head down and observe his new body. After using his hands to rub his upper arms and feel no indication of any muscle, the man wasn’t shocked to lift up his shirt as well and find that there was no hint of muscle whatsoever. Instead, he only found pale skin with patchy chest hair and a slight sliver of fat around his stomach and hip area. Upon letting go of the shirt and allowing it to fall back down to cover his depressing new torso, the man’s new gangly fingers traversed up his neck, which ultimately led to an exploration of his new face. Allowing his fingers to graze along his bulbous new nose and bump into the thick pair of glasses that covered a good 30% of his face, the man was horrified by how peculiar and strange the entire experience was. Hoping that he was somehow having a post-workout nap, Nolan tried his best to wake himself up from this nightmare by pinching or slapping himself. But of course, that worked to no avail and only made it clear to him that this was all real and he had truly been betrayed by his friend. 

Speaking of this so-called friend, Nolan’s attention was once again caught by Arthur as the former jock watched the nerd lift up his new muscular arm and shove his angular nose deep into his ripe and sweaty armpit. “Fuck, you smell good,” he purred, allowing one hand to reach down and fondle the massive bulge that was now straining against the pair of athletic shorts Nolan had been wearing. “Well, I guess I should say I smell good now…”

Although watching such an obscene display was quite horrific to witness given the body swap element, Arthur’s behavior finally caused Nolan to break out of his stupor and demand answers. “What the fuck did you do to me dude,” he angrily asked, picking up but not acknowledging the higher-pitched and whiny tone he now spoke with. 

In response, Arthur allowed an oddly fitting dopey chuckle to escape from his lips as he turned his palm outwards and revealed a small little device that resembled one of those prank shock rings wrapped around his middle finger. “What do you think I did, dumbass? I stole that precious little body of yours and now there’s nothing you can do about it!” 

Immediately, the threat of forever being stuck in this body caused Nolan to jump into action as he reached out with haste to touch the device and cause the duo to swap back to their normal bodies. But unfortunately, the jock inherited the nerd’s poor hand-eye coordination and thus missed his foe’s hand entirely as he attempted to swipe it. 

“Damn, you suck ass now dude! I doubt you could even throw a football at this point with those twigs for arms,” Arthur cackled, smirking as he pulled the device off of his finger and held it up in the air. Before Nolan could attempt a second swipe at the device, the new nerd’s eyes widened as he watched the device get tossed down to the ground and a loud crack echo through the room. Just to rub in his defeat though, the new jock smirked before lifting up a foot and bringing it down hard on the device to shatter it into a million pieces. “Looks like those wrestling days of yours are far behind you now, huh?” 

Realizing that his chance of swapping back was now utterly destroyed, the former jock found himself suddenly breaking down in tears and falling to the ground as the gravity of the situation hit him. Rather than being a muscular jock who had the world at the palm of his hands and squandered it, now he’ll just be this average and meek nerd that has no friends and spends all of his free time studying textbooks! 

“Why?!” he blubbered in between intense sobs, “What have I ever done to you? I thought I was your friend!” 

In response, Arthur led out a loud guffaw as he leaned down to stare directly into Nolan’s eyes. Upon narrowing his eyes and finding himself staring intensely at his old body, a cheerful tone emerged in the new jock’s voice. “All of you muscular buffoons are all the same. Even if you didn’t fuck me like your teammates, you still refused to stand up to them! I’ve spent my entire life being ridiculed and tormented by asshole jocks and I finally had enough. I got one of my friends in the engineering department to help me build that prototype for me and now that it worked, I never have to worry about feeling worthless again!” 

Furious about how he had been grouped up with people he could agree were total assholes, Nolan immediately began to lash out in hopes of making sure that even if he was outpowered, he wasn’t outspoken. “You motherfucker,” he screamed, adopting the most aggressive tone he could manifest while rushing towards his friend-turned-enemy. “I’ll tell everyone what the fuck you did to me. You won’t get away with this, Arthur! Maybe you deserved to get your ass beat by those jocks all the time!” 

In response, the transformed nerd instantly reached out and grabbed the weakened jock by the throat. Hearing the man’s last sentence caused Arthur to snap as he instantly changed his plans about handling the body-swapped man. “You know that’s not my name anymore, Arthur… I was going to just let you go on and live your life without any interference, but fuck that. You’ve fucked with the right one nerd, and now you’ll be lucky if you don’t spend the next two years of your life getting tormented in the worst ways imaginable.” 

After holding onto the nerd and watching as his eyes began to bulge out, the new jock finally let go and pushed the man back until his light weight caused him to fly several feet before stumbling back even further until he slammed against the front door. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment before I beat your pathetic ass,” he warned, watching as the still-sobbing nerd instantly obeyed his order and fled as fast as his weak and frail body would allow.

“Fuck, that felt good,” the new Nolan moaned as he reached down and began to fondle his crotch once more. Although he knew getting revenge would be quite hot, he never realized just how hot it would be to humiliate and torment people in ways similar to what he experienced! Looking down and watching as a pre-cum stain began to emerge in the front of his shorts, the new jock smirked before turning and making his way towards his bathroom. Although he was eager to get started repeating the cycle of torment that he had endured, Nolan was more desperate to get acquainted with every part of his new and bigger body…

Eager to read more stories like this? Head over to my Patreon to discover tons of hot transformation fiction including stories like this one!

[rottiens]

are we havin' fun yet?┊ s. getō ft. s. gōjō

✫ word count. 5.1k

✫ summary. you get caught up in the unresolved argument and tension from years ago between two old best friends.

✫ tags. (18+) — explicit content. no curses au, bisexual panic and denial, female reader + afab (the reader wears painted nails and has somewhat long hair), mostly geto-centric narrative, objectification, praising, cucking.

✫ notes. ok this is born thanks to the idea of this ask, a drabble that i lost control of heh. there are many things i love about this piece and i hope you enjoy it kiss kiss. divider creds: cafekitsune.

From food and video games to shirts and colognes, Suguru and Satoru have always shared everything. It's adorable, to a certain extent, how close the two of them are and how others perceive them as brothers from the outside. It's an unbreakable friendship that was born spontaneously when they were both little. They met in elementary school, when Satoru decided to share his crayons so Suguru could color the house he had drawn, and since then, the affection that began then has only grown along with them.

The only time the two were apart was during their time at university where Satoru was inclined to study history while Suguru, with his tendencies towards human relations and his great empathy, decided to study social psychology. However, after graduating and starting work not far from the city center, they both decided it was time to live together again, at least for a while, with the intention of saving expenses.

Suguru has never minded sharing. His shampoo, his food, his bath gel. So it was only natural to expect his friend to do the same for him, to share everything, right? Just like back then.

That afternoon, Satoru was returning to the apartment after a long day at work. The backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder as his footsteps echoed in the hallway. He unlocked the door with his key, which turned with a familiar, comforting sound. Upon entering, he was greeted by the scent of the incense Suguru always lit to keep the atmosphere calm and cozy.

Suguru was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision and care. Hearing the door, he looked up to greet and greet him, as usual, only the greeting died on the tip of his tongue, turning into a long sigh.

“Oh.” Disappointment disguised in a subdued tone, so Suguru decides to add. “You bring company.”

Again. He wants to say, but he bites his tongue and harshly splits the onion in two. You're here. Again. The friend Satoru has been bringing home every weekend for a month now. Suguru thought it was going to be casual, like all the times before, something that would last a week or two at most, because Satoru isn't the type to have long-term relationships. But seeing you here after a full month surprises him, no, it bothers him, and he can't explain why.

Satoru smiles, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.

“'Hi, Suguru,” you greet him, accompanying your words with a nervous twitch that leads you to squeeze Satoru's intertwined fingers. You look adorable, and he avoids rolling his eyes. You're wearing a tight-fitting black knit-and-button blouse that highlights your figure, and a short black skirt that exposes your legs that he can't help but admire before focusing on his friend.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Suguru asks out of politeness and breaks eye contact with you to look at Satoru, who struggles to hold back a smile.

His fingers tighten around the knife just as a muscle in his jaw does.

“Later. We'll be in my room.”

Unable to add anything else, Satoru tugs your hand towards the hallway along with a slight nod that has you following him like a lost puppy. A few seconds later, the slam of the door rattles the walls and minutes later a pop song reaches the kitchen. It's the voice of a familiar artist, high and raspy, and Suguru wants to rip out his eardrums.

He plunges the knife down on the onion hard, hitting the board with a dull thud that gets louder and louder. Even over the noise of the knife, his thoughts, and the woman now singing another song from the same album, Suguru can hear it: those sounds Satoru tries to muffle with his hand, the breaths, the moans.

The hot oil bubbles in the pan rising with the anger cooking in the top of his stomach, the olive oil toasting the onions and garlic, while Suguru pretends he doesn't know what's going on a few feet away from him. He doesn't hate you, not really. You're sweet, you're kind, and he thinks that makes it worse. What really runs across his skin from the inside, like fingernails scratching a chalkboard, is the fact that Satoru doesn't talk about you. Of what he does, what he doesn't do, that he doesn't offer you as an offering from which he can take. Like one of his toys, like his shirts, like the other partners he's had before you.

It is the exclusivity with you that irritates him to such an extent that his thoughts corrupt him and make him completely forget about the garlic that is now dark and smells burnt.

“Fuck this,” he growls to himself, wrinkling his nose at the smell and the plume of smoke rising to the ceiling. Suguru scoops up the burnt ingredients with the spatula and pushes them into the trash can. He puts the pan back on the fire and grabs a new onion to chop. As he cuts, he hears your laughter, that bubbly, mischievous, genuine laughter that comes out of your belly and echoes throughout the apartment, as if Satoru is making you cry from the tickling. Suguru peels and chops the onion harder, throwing it into the pan once more, his eyes red and watery, his nose full of the peculiar stench of onion.

Satoru laughs, says something (perhaps in your ear, even against your thigh) that Suguru can't decipher. A door opens and closes. Then he hears the shower water, and the words of the song come through more clearly thanks to Satoru leaving the door open, as he always does. Suguru adds the ginger and concentrates on the curry, and on nothing else but cooking, showering and getting out of there. And that's what he does.

He waits for you to finish playing newlywed couple in the shower, takes off his clothes, ignores his erection and steps into the shower that still smells of you. To the shampoo you both share, to your perfume, to the minty toothpaste and- it's the first time it happens, as an irony of fate, as if life is mocking him, suguru finds your panties lying on the side of the shower, he is stepping on them and looking at them as if he has discovered something horrifying, they are soft, white and lacy around the edge and have a sticky, almost white he might say, fluid on them.

Suguru picks them up. He watches them a few feet away, he knows he shouldn't do it, he would never take anything his friend doesn't offer him first and he doesn't because his pride is stronger.

He throws them on the floor a little further away from where he picked them up, steps into the shower and cums silently in his clenched fist as he drowns in the smell of you.

Suguru wraps the towel around his waist when he's done, lets his hair cascade loose dripping droplets down his back and looks in the mirror to see his cheeks stained red and finally exits the bathroom.

You are with Satoru in the living room, apparently arguing about something, you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye entering the room and closing the door.

Suguru takes off his towel and looks at his hand. Okay, he did it. He tries to justify himself but there's no reason other than, he thinks he has the right to taste you, to smell you, to know what has satoru coming back to you, so he brings the used panties to his nose shyly at first, full of embarrassment, but when he spits on his hand and starts fucking his cock harder he realizes as he sniffs you like he's a stalker pervert, he notices there are no inhibitions now, it's just you, your panties, his hard cock and his imagination telling him the different poses he could take you in if satoru would let him.

He cums silently as he hears the front door close and the shame returns to him as if it has always belonged to him. Suguru hurries to clean up his mess with napkins he keeps hidden in the room and moves to stow your panties in one of the drawers where he keeps his underwear, way down low.

Suguru's face is hot and his chest tight. His naked body as an accusation reminds him of the crime he just committed, so he moves to pick up some shorts and slides them up his muscular legs until the heat in his chest is descending.

He lies down for a moment on the mattress that makes no noise when he moves and stares at the ceiling until his vision blurs and he stops thinking and, then, remembers the curry.

——

The second time it happens it's not even his fault.

This seemed like a joke of fate or some divine plan to punish him for being thirsty for water he can't drink.

You are sitting in front of him, on the floor, legs slightly spread while wearing a satoru t-shirt too big for you which helps him discover that you have nothing on underneath except for black panties. Suguru can see for a moment how your pussy lips swallow some of the material and thinks of the excuses he can come up with to justify if asked about the blush or the amount of sweat pearling his temples.

“ UNO!” Shouts satoru victoriously placing the last card in the center of the floor and you feign indignation as you tap him on the shoulder, moving into your space, and flashing him again your panties. “Are you okay, man?” asks Satoru still laughing, he has your wrists clutched against his chest to keep you from hitting him again as you accuse him of cheating.

He was. But Suguru didn't care to discuss that now.

“Suguru, say something to him!” You chuckle slowly as you do when he sucks too hard on your clit and he leaves you breathless. He knows because he saw you, a couple of weeks ago when satoru was eating your pussy on top of the counter when he thought suguru was asleep, you were right where he was preparing the curry just a couple of nights ago.

Suguru closes his eyes for a second erasing that mental image and gets up, before anyone notices what's going on and is grateful for the baggy t shirt he's wearing that hides his semi erection.

“Yeah; it's the curry… I think, I'll be back,” he excuses himself.

The third time it happens Suguru looks around the room for cameras. This had to be a joke.

A pair of black panties were attacked at the bottom of the washing machine, mixed in with his clothes, kept there since the last day you visited them. Suguru knows he must return them and he will…. soon.

He slips them into the back pocket and finishes placing the clothes he will wash that day inside the washing machine. Then he closes it harder than he should.

——

It's incredibly hot, so he's not wearing a shirt. You're close to Satoru, as usual, huddled a few feet away from Suguru as you watch the soccer game. The fan is barely enough for the three of you, but Suguru prefers to stay away from you for his own good.

The game's narrator announces halftime and Suguru takes the opportunity to blink and stretch his legs. He raises his arms above his head with a groan, and his shorts are pulled down a little, revealing the beginnings of the short hairs on his abdomen.

“Man, this is getting boring,” Satoru grunts with a yawn. You two look at him.

“What do you mean? The match is 2-4 right now…”

“You've really given up already?” Suguru frowns, looking at the back of your head but unable to see the expression with which you watch your boyfriend… or whatever you two are now.

“Huh?” he replies in confusion.

“I thought you wanted to fuck my girlfriend,” blurts out satoru, as casually as if he's talking about the weather, his eyes now on the commercials playing on TV.

Suguru thinks that if he were still drinking from the water bottle he'd be coughing right now. Instead, his eyes widen to such an extent that they could pop out of their sockets and roll on the floor, his throat goes dry, his heart leaks out of his chest and a whiplash hits his cock. Satoru laughs noting the expression he finds comical. “Funny you act so surprised when you've always been so easy to read,” he says.

“Babe, come on,” you murmur as you stroke Satoru's chest in circles, your short red nails contrasting with the Red Hot Chili Peppers tank top he's wearing.

Suguru turns on the couch to get a better look at you, his blue eyes locked on yours intimidating. They always have. However, with a deep breath you steel yourself not to break eye contact.

“Why didn't you say anything before?”

Satoru smiles sideways. Hearing him say this last, you turn to position yourself perfectly in the middle of the two of you, avoiding the gaze of either of them, and fixating on the commercial about the energy drink they're promoting now.

“I thought you were going to ask, as usual,” he says with a shrug, still talking as if you weren't present.

“I thought it was different now.”

“Well, are you going to ask?”

Suguru pushes his cheek with his tongue and his fingers gently grip the couch.

“Satoru…” you warn, averting your gaze to the floor. Suguru notices how fast your breathing has become, his friend's long fingers playing with the edge of your denim shorts, sometimes hiding under the fabric as they scratch the fat of your thigh from time to time.

“Say it,” Satoru encourages him gently, looking up at you through his eyelashes and with determined eyes that mimic those of an eagle.

Suguru bites his cheek gently, perhaps to make sure he's not dreaming. He has a slight feeling that this is a trap, that Satoru is leading him to a place he won't be able to get out of, and yet he decides to sink his feet into what is probably quicksand.

He's always wanted this, clearly, and to have it in front of him, being offered on a platter for him to take and satiate his hunger- there's very little a hungry man can take.

“I want to fuck her,” Suguru spits and his voice doesn't tremble. There's a slight frown on his forehead and the summer heat prevents him from breathing normally.

You bite your lip as you watch Suguru, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten as Satoru continues to tease you underneath the material of the shorts. Your eyes widen slightly and your cheeks heat up, anticipation and nervousness mingling in your expression.

“How badly you want it?” asks Satoru, his voice barely a whisper.

Suguru closes his eyes for a moment, his jaw tensing. “I'm dizzy just thinking about it,” he replies, opening his eyes slowly, his gaze fixed and determined on him. He hasn't even dared to look at you. “I want to fuck her so hard and deep, you have no idea.”

“Fuck,” Satoru's fangs are visible for just a second, a wolfish grin warning danger. “Atta boy…” he purrs, sliding his fingers over your jawline to force you to look at him. There's something about Satoru that has always made you feel intimidated. His blue eyes, as deep as the sea, and his cotton-white hair give him such a peculiar appearance, he almost looks like the divine character from some book you must adore. His touch is firm, but not aggressive, and the intensity in his gaze leaves you breathless, as if you're under a spell you can't break. “You still want to fuck my best friend?”

“Satoru…” you beg in a trembling voice.

“Don't be shy, angel. If you can ask for it, it's yours,” he replies with an indulgent smile.

You had discussed this before, once… well, maybe it was twice. You remember it clearly because it's impossible to forget how the idea made you feel. The first time, you were drunk and thought it was all a joke; but when Satoru brought it up again, whispering it close to your ear while you were both sober and cuddled in the dark your room, you thought it was just a fantasy that would fade away and stay just that.

“You know… we used to share everything,” he told you.

The idea of being shared between the two of them is… overwhelming, to say the least. Just thinking about it takes your breath away; both men are huge, tall and muscular, not to mention how handsome they are.

“You know I do. We've talked about it,” you confess in a low voice.

Suguru barely manages to hear you over the hiss of a whistle on the TV, but what he does manage to catch makes his heart beat wildly and his thighs tense.

Satoru examines you up and down, perhaps looking for some trace of doubt about what is about to happen. Finding no sign of uncertainty, his eyes fall on Suguru and, with a wave of his hand, he beckons him closer.

“C'mere, Suguru. Don't be shy.”

Suguru moves like a magnet towards you, shuffling his legs over the couch until his warmth envelops you. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the heat that has built up in the room, of the sweat on your back and the sticky feeling on your skin. The atmosphere becomes dense and suffocating, each breath feels heavier, Suguru's bare knee touches yours and the friction of your bodies makes your skin burn, intensifying the crushing sensation that overcomes you.

Expectantly, you both look at Satoru as if waiting for the next command anxiously, like animals about to be tamed.

Satoru makes an effort to pretend that he does not enjoy the situation, that the idea of devouring you both in one go does not excite him. However, he takes the first step and reaches for you with his hand, placing it on your cheek to force you to look at him. Lips half-open and eyelashes messy, you feel his lips pull you close and kiss you, filling you with a palpable intensity. Suguru beside you gasps.

Your boyfriend's fingers push at the thick denim fabric of your shorts and your needy core reaches for his open palm, swaying your hips in need of more.

Suguru doesn't know what to do; he seeks Satoru's permission, unsure if it's okay to kiss you, if he can touch you. Fists clenched in his tight shorts, he pauses to watch as Satoru's tongue hungrily thrusts into your mouth, creating a mess of saliva and moans. The intensity of the moment draws you into a new kiss, as his mouth fills with water, caught up in the maelstrom of desire that is unleashed.

In the midst of a new kiss that ends with Satoru gently biting your lower lip, he reaches out to grab his friend's jaw, delicately inviting him towards you. Leaving your mouth inches from his and with your eyes still closed, you barely make out the change in mouths, except for the difference in the way they devour you.

Suguru feels very different; his lips are harder and thicker than your boyfriend's, and his skin, rougher from the recent shave. Unlike Satoru, he sucks your tongue with precision. Each movement, though laden with desire, feels carefully planned, not so messy and the sensation of his mouth molding yours has your pussy soaking wet from satoru's long fingers now playing with your drooling pussy directly.

“You're this wet? Just from kissing him?” Satoru bites your neck and you release suguru's mouth to moan and expose your throat even more. “Such a naughty girl.”

Suguru's kisses mark the other side of your throat making you clench around the pair of digits with which satoru explores your insides, a couple of jerks of his fingers inside you has your back hunched for both of them and just as you begin to ride the wave of your orgasm, so close, the fingers are hastily withdrawn from you to show them to the room as proof of how wet you are. A long transparent string ties his fingers together.

“Look what you did to her, suguru.” Satoru brings the fingers to his friend's mouth who after hesitation circles them with his tongue with his eyes closed and face burning.

The heat is as unbearable as the erection in his shorts and suguru is grateful to feel some pressure on the throbbing bulge while still sucking on his fingers. You spit on your hand and cover his cock in saliva jerking it up and down, satoru drags his fingers out of his friend and sees the desire in his cinnamon eyes, lust overpowering shame.

Satoru spits into his own hand and curls it around suguru's throbbing cock, you masturbate his base, he swirls the sensitive tip, your left hand massaging his balls and the whole haze of new thrills and sensations whip him, and make him dizzy.

“Fuck you,” Suguru gasps with his eyebrows drawn together and mouth a distorted circle looking at his friend.

“Don't you want to cum?” you ask, innocent at the dueling gazes battling in front of you.

“Agh, fuck. No, not yet…” selfishness wanted him to continue, not so soon, he couldn't finish now.

“Oh no?” Satoru presses harder, stroking his slit with his thumb. ”Because you want to cum in her tight pussy, don't you? Fuck man, you don't know how hard she squeezes when she's about to cum, it feels like she wants to keep you there and have you fill her over and over again with your fucking cum.”

“Satoru shut the fuck up!” he yells through his teeth.

“Or do you want to cum in me?” as they both look at each other, his balls twitching, no words to respond other than pent up emotions from years ago.

“Please…” is all he can say, unsure of exactly what he's pleading for.

The waves of pleasure that Satoru's fingers give him descend, allowing the pressure in his lower stomach to cease, and he can breathe normally again.

“Stop,” Satoru says, kissing your temple. You obey instantly, getting Suguru to groan with painful longing, cock twitching visibly a mess of his saliva and precum. “Do you want to ride him?” he asks you directly, catching your gaze as he grabs the back of your neck firmly to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

“I do,” you reply, slightly light-headed from the kiss, the physical contact and the heat. Your breath brushes against his mouth and Satoru looks at you proudly, or so you think; you fail to decipher what's really in those eyes, though many times you can't.

Suguru lies down on the couch just as Satoru orders him to. He finishes removing his shorts awkwardly and hurriedly, becoming completely naked. It's not the first time Satoru has seen him without clothes, but it's the first time he's contemplated him in this way, almost like you are.

Suguru is handsome, that's a fact you can freely acknowledge. Seeing him like this, fully exposed, a sense of awe comes over you. His body is toned, with muscles worked by hours in the gym. His legs are covered with short hair that is growing, and a line of hair descends from his navel to his pelvis, where you find a tangle of short, curly hairs. The sight of his naked body is breathtaking, a mixture of strength and vulnerability that takes your breath away.

A few feet away, satoru jerks his cock with his own hand, long rather than thick, pale pink at the tip with a drop of pre cum in the slit and suguru, head cocked to the side and leaning back on the couch licks his lips in his direction watching him satisfy himself.

You grab his cock with one hand and then, the realization has your body tingling the moment you brush the tip at your needy entrance. All three of you moan in unison, connected together by the same thought and it is lewd, it embarrasses you but at the same time excites you to have the attention of both men pouring into you alone, suguru thrusts his hips upward in search of some kind of release and satoru takes a few short steps forward to admire the scene more closely, then sitting down on the ground a few feet away from you to better admire the scene he has set up for himself.

His cock plunges into you, thrusts and expands your pussy, spills your arousal around the thickness. Suguru is much thicker so you feel so full the moment you're sitting on him completely, his warm hands on your thighs massaging you up and down bringing comfort as he thrusts his hips to grind against your clit.

You hold onto his stomach like an anchor, feeling the sweat make your hair stick to your forehead and tangle around your face. Your hips move harder, riding him with increasing intensity, selfishly seeking climax. suguru finds your clit with the hard pad of his thumb and rubs it back and forth as you do all the work. For a long minute it's just the two of you staring into each other's eyes, the open-mouthed panting chanting turns to grunts and moans that gets lost in the noise of the forgotten match in the background; suguru struggles to concentrate on you, watches your lip being punished by your teeth, your tits covered by the thin fabric of the summer tank top and on the way his finger fiddles your nub of nerves lazily.

You lose yourself in him, in the rhythm at which his hips join yours; you feel his desperation, his hunger. Suguru grunts and carelessly grabs your hips to turn you around and place you now on your back on the couch, your thighs spread wide by his wide hips and his hands make prisoners of your wrists above your head.

You moan, with his forehead against yours and his body bending yours in half you feel like you might break beneath him, he notices, feels you tighten which makes him grin devilishly.

“Too deep?” He asks, as if he doesn't know the answer, pounding you harder and more precisely. “I like it like this, perfect for breeding you…. I like how tight you get.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply biting your lip, sharing the sweat from his frown.

“Tell him,” he orders you without looking at satoru, sharing a secret between your open mouth that can't be heard by your boyfriend.

You had almost forgotten him for a moment, too wrapped up in the fantasy. Turning your attention to satoru you realize that he fucks his cock to the rhythm in which suguru thrusts into you, he licks his lips as he watches you come back to him, to the giddy and disoriented and a smile curving the corners of his mouth appears on his face.

“Hi, angel.” Satoru gasps, “Do you have something to tell me?”

“He's so deep,” you gasp, suguru becoming more beast than human with every second you let him take you, caught up in the idea of fucking his friend's girlfriend, now you were no longer his property, you were his; his for that moment. He pushes back to get a better look at you from another angle and pulls up your tank top and exposes your tits, pinching your nipples without remorse.

“Yeah? And you like it?” you look back at suguru, the bun tying his hair back is starting to unravel, black strands falling down his back and you're not sure which one you want to look at first. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes…”

“I can tell… I love that face you're making, you're going to cum soon….. How about you Suguru, tell me how you feel?”

His eyes wander to your crotch, to your panties pulled aside so he can slip inside you, and he loses his rhythm for a moment as he watches his cock thrust in and out of you. He spits right on your clit for extra lubrication and takes his thumb to start massaging you, squeezing even tighter the tension binding your guts.

“She's so beautiful, and this fucking pussy, god…” his back arches and he rolls his eyes, feeling his own orgasm come hard. “She's squeezing me so hard.”

“Don't cum in her,” satoru warns.

Suguru bites his lip coming back to the present, the violent sound of wet skins meeting and the invisible steam of heat overwhelming him and urging him to take his own orgasm soon.

“Suguru…”

Another warning.

Satoru's voice sounds so sweet yet so commanding that it's almost annoying. It's just like before, when he ordered him things like he was his puppet and he was always so grateful to obey him, just to remain his friend. But you feel so good now, so tight, so wet, he doesn't remember the last time he fucked someone raw that nothing feels more like it now than filling your pussy with his load however, he forces himself to pull his cock inside you and fuck his cock on top of your stomach while you watch him with eyes full of adoration, he lets his cum run on your stomach making puddles on your belly button while someone behind him shouts “goaaaaaal”.

Then Suguru leans over, his fingers tangling in the mess that is your hair as his hair trails down his sweaty back, this with the intention of kissing you but he feels a brute hand on his shoulder pulling him away from victory, meeting that warm bluish gaze that reminds him of nostalgia.

“No kisses… those are another thing you'll have to ask for like a good boy.”

[zweiginator]

Crawling After You (Patrick Zweig x Reader)

includes: mutual pining, friends to lovers, secret relationship

Patrick was your best friend in the whole world since childhood. You both went to tennis camps together and then to boarding school. Your parents are best friends, and they all thought your friendship would fizzle out by the time you hit puberty, but you stayed close.

And both of you would be in your own respective relationships that would inevitably fizzle out when your partners couldn’t get past your closeness. The bona fide twinkle in your eyes when you saw each other, even when it had only been a day or two.

Your friends all have crushes on him; they giggle and twirl their hair at his matches. They say they’re there for you, but you see how they blush when Patrick grunts, when he peels his shirt off and throws his battered racket against the pavement.

“You’ve never thought about fucking him?” Your friend asked you after your match. You were pissed about losing; Patrick was in your peripheral, beaming with his own friends about his big win against an NCAA favorite from UCLA.

“No.” You took a gulp of water, shaking your head. “I haven’t.”

“Do you think he thinks of fucking you?” Another friend butted in. “I mean, how can you resist that?”

You repeated yourself. “No.” Another sip of water, to help you hold your tongue. You weren’t in a good mood. “Patrick does not need help in the dating department, I know he doesn’t think of me that way. We are friends and that’s it.”

Except, since last summer, you had been fucking. A lot. The problem was that you and Patrick hated being told, “I told you so.”

And every single person you had crossed paths with, from middle school teachers, to tennis coaches, to acquaintances in your class were convinced you and Patrick would inevitably end up together. The story was too picturesque, your interests too aligned.

So you kept it a secret. You kept your chin high when girls fawned over Patrick, and he bit the inside of his cheek when boys whistled as you entered the court.

Last summer, Patrick and you got in a huge fight. You had never fought before; your friendship was uncomplicated. Neither of you ever directly competed against the other in tennis, you had almost everything in common. But after a team dinner one night in July, he and you were seething.

“Oh my god, Patrick.” You shoved his chest, annoyed that he barely moved from the force. You were in the parking lot, leaning against his expensive Jeep, a gift from his parents. “All you do is talk about the most shallow, meaningless fucking things.”

It started after he began to complain about your piqued interest in politics. You had always been well-read, but as Patrick said, “You just don’t need to talk about it all the fucking time.”

“What the fuck do I talk about that’s shallow? Tennis? Because last time I checked we both do that.” He rolled his eyes. “And don’t fucking shove me.”

You mocked him. You knew that was his biggest pet peeve. “You’re mad because I care about what’s happening in the world? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m mad because you sound like a piece of shit politician, and your fucking personality changes as soon as you start talking to a new guy. And you’re becoming so fucking pretentious since you started hanging out with that fucking douchebag Vincent.”

You scoffed. “I find it funny you call me pretentious when you grew up in a fucking castle. Ironic coming from a kid who had escargot and caviar served to him on a platter at age 6.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re just saying shit that doesn’t even make sense because you know I’m right!”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I don’t change my personality. I’m not even talking to anyone right now, and if I were, why does that even concern you?”

“Oh okay.” Patrick nudged you to move you away from the driver’s side door, letting himself in. “Get in, it’s about to rain.”

“No. What were you gonna say?”

He yelled your name. “I don’t want to get drenched. Just fucking get in!”

You crossed your arms. He was right, the wind was picking up, goosebumps peppered your arms all over and your hair blew into your face.

“Fine, then don’t.” He got into the car and started it. The headlights hurt your head and burned saucers into your retinas.

The rain began slow; fat droplets splashed against the curb and dribbled down your cheeks. And then it was faster, and the wind grew stronger, and you stood your ground. Patrick watched you, he watched your gray Stanford shirt get soaked, and your tennis skirt become plastered to your legs. Your hair was flush against your cheeks, eyelids heavy.

“Fucking get in the car.” He wasn’t yelling anymore. His shoulders were slumped, and you know he felt defeated as he got out of the car.

“Why don’t you tell me anything?” You started to cry. You didn’t know where this was coming from; this tantrum.

Patrick was soaked too. “I do tell you things!”

“Not as much.”

“It’s hard. It was easier when we were kids.”

“But what changed?” The engine grew louder, almost crescendoing in your ears.

"We aren't kids anymore. Everyone is always asking about me and you. There's no such thing as our innocent little friendship."

His words broke your heart. And he saw that as your shoulders slumped and your eyes welled with tears. "So what?" You asked. "What are you saying?"

Patrick sighed, pushing his wet hair away from his face. His white t-shirt was see-through, his broad shoulders rippling as the wind tore against his lean body. His voice was soft now. "Let's go back to the hotel. Stay in my room and we can talk."

The ride to the hotel was silent. Usually, Patrick would complain about water all over his leather seats, but he didn't say a word, and you wondered why, out of all the heartbreaks you had been through, why this conversation had chewed you up and spit you out so violently.

You sat on the bed with him and waited for him to speak first.

"Do you need a towel?"

You shook your head.

"What I was saying before," He began. "Why do we act like it's normal that in each of our relationships, the common denominator is that we are way too close?"

"We've never-"

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying maybe this friendship isn't really serving us anymore, and maybe it's causing more harm than good."

"You know what?" You stood up, grabbing your bag. "I've sat here and been your best fucking friend for twenty years, and now you're just taking the easy way out like you always do." You slung it over your shoulder. "I'll leave. Don't worry, I'll leave."

You wanted him to chase you down. He didn't. He didn't say bye or that he was sorry. One big fight during twenty years of friendship, and it would seemingly be your last.

The tournament was going on for another 3 days. After 2 nights of barely sleeping and going through the motions, of leaving the court whenever a mens' match was on, there was a knock on your door. You let him in; of course you did.

"I wasn't telling you I didn't want to be friends anymore." He whispered. Your back was against the door.

"Okay."

His finger trailed from the dip of your collarbones to your chin. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallowed, loudly, looking up at him inquisitively, waiting for him to finish his thought.

He fucked you with your legs over his shoulders, while your roommate was at lunch with the rest of the team. Patrick muffled your moans by spilling his own into your mouth. Sweat dribbled off his chest and your nails raked down his back as he thrust into you, over and over and over again. Twenty years of reserved angst and repressed feelings manifested in desperate whimpers and the sound of skin on skin echoing off the chipped taupe walls.

No words, at that moment, needed to be said. He was yin and you were yang. Your friendship began and ended where your bodies met. And it would never be the same.

He told you he loved you after he came, and you reciprocated those feelings. Something was so thrilling about the secret, though. Of people gossiping and speculating about the two of you. Of you both feigning disgust at the idea of fucking your best friend, only to ride him in the back of his car until the windows fogged up, and his chest was red and raw from your desperate scratches.

You loved the thrill. One whole year of sneaking around and nobody had a clue.

One year of pretending to get sick at parties, so Patrick would follow you into the bathroom and eat you out on the bathroom sink until your legs shook, raw from his stubble.

One year of Patrick tugging on the collar of his shirt during a match to signal he wanted you waiting in his car for him afterward. If he won, he made love to you slowly, rocking his hips, so his cock went deep, deep inside. When he lost, he spat on you, and left bruises on your ass that stung the next week as you sat on the metal bleachers.

It was hard to fit twenty years of love and pining into that one year without it bubbling over. At graduation, you and your friends threw your caps into the air and Patrick kissed you. Hands on your waist, tongue in your mouth.

The team gasped. They hadn't known your secret for the past year. But they did know it was only a matter of time.

[elysians-adventures]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐈. Part 1

masterpost

Being a kindergarten teacher, you have your fair share of troubles regarding loud kids. But you didn't realise that on this school trip, a certain someone will make you experience your worst fear in your entire teaching career.

5 kids + 1 manchild = chaos. This wasn't the brother of Yuuji Itadori you were expecting!

“Miss! Nobara stole my toy!” 

“No I did not! Shut up!” 

The wailing of children made you exasperated, watching Nobara's and Megumi's squabble before the class boarded the coach. The brown haired girl had stolen Megumi's dog toy, one of a pair. Your lips puckered, crossing your arms:

“Nobara, give it back. Remember what we said about taking things without permission?”

The little girl gave a whimper, glancing downwards with a look of guilt, “It's mean…” 

“And?” You asked, putting on your best teacher-sounding tone.

“...And if we want something, ask first~!” She repeated in a jingle, obviously something that you had instilled in your students' brains for some time.

Nobara looked to her right, turning to Megumi and stuttering out, “Can I play with it?” 

“No!” Megumi snatched the plush back, earning a scowl of disgust from the other child. 

“Meanie! Meanniee! Go away!”

You had been a kindergarten teacher for two years now, watching classes grow up and leave, but this was by far the most boisterous of them all. Nobara Kugisaki, Megumi Fushiguro and Yuji Itadori were all the resident troublemakers, though, speaking of Itadori– he didn't show up yet. You look around, trying to spot locks of pink hair within the sea of excitable children.

Last week, quite spontaneously, you had been told that there was a new parent chaperone joining the field trip; Yuji's older half-brother– Choso Kamo. Assuming that you hadn't seen anyone with pigtails with the little rascal alongside them, you assume they must be both running late. 

“Megumi, let that little brat play with the toy, both of you screaming is pissing me off,” a gruff voice spoke. You turned back to the arguing duo, noticing a newcomer patting– rather, manhandling Megumi's head. Toji Fushiguro. 

“But I don't wanna!”

“Do it, or I'll sell you.” 

The black haired child gave a groan, finally nodding to Nobara's request. Internally sighing, you gave a wry smile to Toji, trying to telepathically remind him not to swear around kids. He seemed to get the message, holding his hands up in false defence. 

“Whoops. I'll do better, Miss L/N,” he joked in a high pitch, earning an eye roll from you. 

You two had a close friendship, meeting each other in university and later named godmother of Megumi by his late wife (the man would never bother with sentimental stuff like that). 

“Have you seen Yuji? Or his brother? The coach leaves soon…” you shot the question towards Toji, who had also taken up the role of parent chaperone by Megumi's incessant requests (begging). 

“Yuji Itadori…?” He paused, thinking, before his face contorted into a laugh, “Oh! That kid! Nah. The one that plays with Megumi? I'm friends with his older brother, y’know?” 

“Oh?” You shot a questioning look towards the seeming off handed comment Toji gave. Choso didn't seem like the type of guy to keep Toji around as a friend, but you were always willing to be proved wrong.

“Yea. Goes to the same MMA club as me, shit guy. Probably running late, dick stuck in some bitch and forgot the time.”

You give Toji a hard elbow at his rather loud tone near the kids. He smiles, shrugging carelessly. Though, it did make you wonder, who exactly was he talking about? Yuji's older brother had always seemed like a well adjusted guy, if you ignored his tendency to act emo. And he was always punctual to stuff, so this situation made you slightly worried. Itadori had no trouble cheering up the entire class, his selfless nature not lost on you. Whoever raised him did an amazing job… 

“Should probably load these fuc– kids… onto the coach. Where's Nanami?” Toji looked around, before spotting the blond-haired teacher. He turned on his heel without a goodbye, walking towards him. 

Toji was right, it was getting late, the driver was probably irritated at the entire ordeal. You gave a sigh, hoping that the two finally would show up. 

You rolled your shoulders back, and raised your chin, standing tall.

Clap! Clap!

The storm of children grew silent at a moment's notice. 

“Good! Go to Mr. Nanami and sign yourselves in! Straight line, remember!” You gave them instructions, seeing them clamber towards the two chaperones. The line was not as straight as you'd hoped, but it was fine enough for a group of six year olds.

Now, onto the matter of the late chaperone and child. You grasped at your phone within your pocket, opening your contacts. As policy, or rather as common sense, you saved all the parents’ numbers onto your phone. You scroll until you find ‘Y’, scanning over the names. 

… ‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuko's Mother’ …

You frown, when were they two? Probably a glitch. You tapped into one of the names, waiting.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ri–

“What?” The deep voice that responds makes you jump,  absolutely not what you were expecting. This absolutely was not Choso, unless he had a vocal chord surgery or something. In the background, there were sounds of humming cars. Traffic jam, perhaps? You try to maintain a level of professionalism.

“Hi, I'm calling regarding the school trip. I'm wondering–” you were cut off by a youthful voice. 

“Gaah– Sukuna! Hurry up! We're late! I'm sorry Miss L/N! Hurry up, hurry up!” Yuji's frantic tone makes you smile, the boy obviously panicked at the prospect of missing the thing he had been looking forward to for months. 

“Shut up! Fuckin’ bastard… yea, we're almost here.” The voice, which you took as ‘Sukuna’, mumbled in an annoyed tone. So this was Toji's MMA friend? You could tell why they were friends now. 

Thumping sounds were heard in the background, but you ignored them, continuing: “Well, I'm sure Yuji wouldn't like to miss the trip. The coach is leaving in a few minutes, but if you need more time I can talk to the driver for you. How far are you?”

“Stop kicking my seat, you little shit! We're five minutes away, just wait,” the last part was hissed in a commanding tone, a scowl unknowingly painting your face. You already didn't like him, and you were never good at hiding your emotions. 

“Well, alright, I'll call you back soon if you aren't here.” Not wanting to hear the rest of the sibling spat between them, you promptly hung up. The blatant swearing, insults, and punctuality. He was going to be worse than Toji. 

Instantly after the call, you tap onto your work email, trying to see whether there had been some mixup with the guardians. It wasn't a huge deal, Yuuji was going to get here regardless and the job was easy enough for a teenager if anything. You scroll down to the form submitted by Choso Kamo– only to find that he had pulled out at the last minute, being replaced by a ‘Sukuna R. Itadori’.

Groaning, you turned back to the group, who had been dwindling to around ten kids in line. 

“Nanami!” You called, “Can you tell the coach driver to wait a little longer?”

The pitiful look on your face managed to soften Nanami's stern gaze– though not fully. With tight lips, he gave a slight nod. Something told you that the five minutes were not so true. 

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes passed before a car pulled near the group. A black Toyota, its slick form resembling a teardrop. You watched as the backdoor flew open, Yuji Itadori beelining straight for you. Backpackless, and without a care in the world, he gripped onto the fabric on your legs as he neared. 

“Miss L/N!” He hugged your leg, “I'm sorry! Can I get on the bus–”

“Oi, brat!” 

Both of your attentions were pulled back towards the car, the happy reunion making you momentarily forget that there was supposed to be another different person here after all. 

A tall man emerges from the vehicle, a tiny Spiderman backpack slung over broad shoulders. Jesus, how tall was he? About six foot, you surmised. He donned a tight black vest, with matching grey zip up hoodie and sweatpants pulled over himself– obviously in a rush, considering the creasing. The man combs through pink hair with his fingers, giving you a glower.

He neared the pair of you, chucking the bag towards the smaller child. Yuji caught it, blowing a raspberry towards him… this was his brother, was it not? In reality, you had completely forgotten that Yuuji had an older brother directly related to him. You've gotten so used to Choso picking him up after school, you've just defaulted to him.

“Miss! ‘Kuna made me late! Blame it on him!”

“Now, now, it's alright. The coach hasn't left yet, but catch up with it now! Who knows, it might just drive off without you now…” You feigned a face of worry as you crouched to meet his height, looking towards Nanami. The smaller of the pink haired duo was alarmed, grasping his backpack and sprinting towards the teacher.

 He was too fast for a six year old, you knew that for sure. 

Standing to your full height, you face Sukuna, trying to ignore how you comically dwarfed him. Are you short because he was tall, or was he tall because you were short? Such philosophical questions were pushed to the back of your mind as you nodded for him to follow you to the coach. You earn a grunt in response, the muscle bound man starting to walk ahead of you.

 ‘Alright, you don't like to follow, noted…’ You think. 

Trying to make small talk on the thirty second journey, you decide to bring up Toji as a common interest: “I heard you go to the same fighting club as Toji. What was it, boxing?” You purse your lips, thinking. You messed up on purpose to see if that would strain any more conversation out of him.

“MMA,” he answered bluntly. A pause, nothing else came out of his mouth. 

‘Alright, the silent type, noted…’ You think.

The both of you arrive at the coach, the driver giving you the most piercing glare you might have ever experienced in your life. It almost made you shudder. Scanning over the bus, you make sure everyone's seated. You assumed Nanami had already checked the kid's seat belts with his methodical nature, but one more pass through couldn't hurt. Letting Sukuna figure out his own seating situation, you walk and check the seat belts until you make your way towards the back, seeing a specific trio fiddling with Yuji's seatbelt. 

“Ah, let me do it sweetie,” you took the seat belts and swiftly buckled it, patting it to signify the task was done. 

“Thank you, miss,” they hummed respectively. 

“You're welcome.”

You make your way back up the coach, looking now for free seats. Nanami was sitting alongside Junpei, trying to break up a squabble between him and Mahito. Toji was sitting in the only lone seat at the very front of the coach, scrolling on his phone. That left you… your eyes narrow. 

Next to Sukuna? You just hoped he wasn't one of those people that smelt when you got near them. You sat.

He wasn't, rather the opposite, a subtle cologne filling your senses. Although, his man spread did invade a bit into your space, so you tried to reclaim it by also man spreading– though not as blatantly. 

“This ’s to a museum, right?” He questioned, staring at his phone. Glancing at it, you see that he has a privacy screen. Considering the comment Toji had thrown out previously, maybe you didn't want to see what was on his screen.

“Huh? Yea, the national museum. They're all so excited,” you smile earnestly, “especially Yuji. He hasn't stopped talking about it since he found out.”

“Hm, ‘s that so,” he slurred out in response. 

‘Alright, the coach ride will be in silence then, noted…’ Your eye twitched. Could this guy at least act amiably? Discarding Yuji and Sukuna's brotherly relationship– which you expected would be at least rocky, it seemed there was not a bone of politeness in this man towards strangers. 

You could feel someone's stare on you, intense. Peeking around you, your sight finally landed on Sukuna's red irises boring through you. Did you fuck up somehow, and now he was going to fillet you using his MMA skills? You quickly break eye contact, internally sighing. 

Sinking into the leather-bound seat, you tried to distract yourself, choosing to think of all the mess the kids would make during the hour trip. How many would throw up?

.

.

.

Answer: one. 

Mahito must have fed Junpei something earlier, because the projectile vomit that came out of the poor kid was not natural in any sense of the word. You almost feared he'd straight up die. Soon calling his mother to pick him up, Yuji and Megumi said bye to their dear friend as he disbanded the bus. 

Nanami's pristine suit got, needless to say, utterly demolished. The teacher scrambled off the coach when they arrived, in search of an actual toilet in place of the coach's small dingy one to clean up at. If anything, though, it would be more beneficial to buy a new shirt. 

“Take care of them!” He bellowed as he rushed into a nearby bakery, trying not to pay mind to the dirtied water dripping down his shirt. 

“Okay!” 

Now, to get them off. A task easier said than done. 

Thankfully, most of them were capable enough to pry their seatbelts off of themselves, though one or two needed some help. 

“It's okay, sweetie, I'll do it.”

Yuji gave you a beam, “Thank y–”

“You can take your own seatbelt off, brat. Don't waste my time,” Sukuna's voice came from behind you, making you jump. Glancing at him, you could tell he was towering over the pair of you– arms crossed. 

“It's fine, Sukuna. Yuji's just tired from all that sitting, no?” You coo towards the boy, who nods vigorously. 

“Yea! I‘m tired!” Itadori fakes a yawn, and you pinch his cheek: “Let's not go overboard, now. Off you pop!” 

Yuji grabs Nobara and Megumi's hands, and rushes off the coach, barging past Sukuna. The action earns a giggle from you, not lost to Sukuna's death stare. 

“Let's get off before they all run away from Toji,” you hummed, trying to mutually make your way past Sukuna. He didn't let you pass, stocky frame blocking the way. 

You stand for a second, waiting for him to move, before you speak up, “Umm… excuse me.” Trying to slip past between the seats and him, he finally let you go with another hum, this time sounding a bit more pleased. You frown, what was that about?

Coming out of the coach, the children stand timidly at the side of it, Toji watching over them with a bored gaze.

“Y'know, Y/N, I regret this already. This shit is so boring,” he mutters under his breath as you approach. He turns to the other ‘parent’ chaperone, smirking, “I wish you were there last Saturday, y'know…” 

Tuning out of the conversation, turning to the kids. Their chatter filled the air, so you rolled your shoulders back ready to clap– 

“Oi, shut up!” Sukuna clicked his fingers alongside the bellow, and it all fell silent without a moment's notice.

What… What was this power? It took you months of training just for them to hear your claps and calls for order, but this outsider manages to silence your class at the click of a finger? You stood in awe. 

“Fall in line! Anyone out of it will get chucked in a dinosaur's maw, got it?”

As if choreographed, the children lined up perfectly. Not one shoe or hair out of place. You weren't sure if they knew what ‘maw’ meant, but you felt as if the message got through without problem. 

He nodded towards the line, passing you full responsibility now. Perhaps, you had underestimated him. You nod back in thanks, a small smile threatening to appear on your lips. Sukuna turns back without a welcome on his lips, looking unimpressed. 

“Alright, sweeties! I know you are all excited, but we have to enter the museum quietly, all right? After we all sign in, we'll wait for Nanami and split into groups. C'mon,” you go in front of the queue of children leading them in. 

They follow you in, followed behind by Sukuna and Toji still talking– which you humorously think they're a little too like ducklings following their mother. But that metaphor quickly fizzled out when you realised in this situation, you would be the mother. You could never imagine raising them…

The museum had tall roofs, and its pillars resembled an ornate grecian style. Arches weaved above the roof, supporting the building, the interior remaining the modest brown of the brick. 

The class looked up in childish awe, eyes shining at the gigantic structure, gazing up at the pterodactyl replicas hanging as if in flight. You manage to quickly check in with the receptionist, and were told that two extra tour guides were on their way.

Nanami soon came back with a new shirt, the plastic wire of the price tag still hanging from the collar. His face was still turned in the iconic stern look, a glint of disgust still evident from the twitch of his lip. 

“Groups of five, quickly,” he stated with mechanical efficiency, trying to split the class equally. Without turning, he addressed the adults, “I'll be taking a tour guide with me. Toji, take one too. Sukuna and Y/N will stay together. Take Yuji with you, or he'll run off.” 

You didn't even have time to argue back at the pairing, you opened your mouth and suddenly there was a group of toddlers grasping at your feet as if you were some sort of deity. You didn't even have to corral the kids, Nobara and Megumi staring up at you expectantly.

“Let's go, miss!”

“I want to see some Egyptian stuff!”

“Bleh! Boring… Dinosaurs!”

“Mummies! Mummies!”

“ ‘Kuna! Mr. Kento said: you AND miss!” 

Yuji was busy trying to pull Sukuna closer towards your shared group. He was quickly pushed off, Sukuna finally rolling his eyes and neared you keeping a few paces behind, his expression a mixture of boredom and (shared) irritation. You didn’t seriously have to spend the next two or more hours with this self-absorbed prick, did you?

“Okay, okay! We're going!" you finally managed to say, smiling despite the chaos unfolding around you. 

As the groups started moving, you noticed Nanami leading his group with his usual stoic demeanour, already taking over the guide's job and explaining the historical significance of the museum's layout. You almost felt bad at the despondent look at the tour guide’s face, pouting miserably as they followed Nanami around. 

Toji, on the other hand, seemed to have his hands full with a particularly energetic child who was attempting to scale his back onto his shoulders. You worried they were going to fall, but that wasn't an issue when he took hold of the kid by their collar accompanied with stern talking to. 

The museum had massive, great pillars at every corner with vast displays. There were sections which you methodically scoured through, first the Chinese artefacts, then the Egyptian– old kingdom and new kingdom split into two different rooms. 

You had spent a bit too long reading about a mummy pair, brothers from what the hieroglyphs were supposedly saying, too invested in your own world to realise it had gone scarily quiet. Too quiet for a group of children, nevertheless if that group contained Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you rip your attention away slowly from the mud-stained coffins, as if you were trying to avoid seeing the scene in front of you.

 There were two reasons for this silence: someone had gotten hurt, or they all ran off. You especially hoped it wasn't the latter as Sukuna was meant to be watching them, and the register was meant to be done in time for lunch soon…

Your eyes come upon the second reason. Your small group of 5 disappeared into thin air. At least Sukuna seemed to be gone too, hoping that he had simply led them off into the new kingdom room. With a quickened step, you make your way across the hallway opposite.

Nothing.

What? Did they really leave you behind? Your lower lip protrudes as you're in thought, pacing aimlessly further down a corridor. Perhaps they have gone further down, one of them wanted to see dinosaurs, or something along those lines.

“You seen them?” A nonchalant tone asks, followed by a slurp.

“Have I…  seen them?” You spit back incredulously, your optimistic daydream of the pink haired bastard looking after the group quickly shattered like glass. He was standing next to a display of old Japanese artefacts further down, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, he found the time to pick up a drink at the museum cafe.  Thankfully, you hadn't picked up on this fact, or else you're sure you would have strangled him. 

“I thought you were looking after them,” Sukuna states, unbothered by the lazy look in his eyes. He gestures towards the exhibit he must’ve been distracted by, a large wooden sculpture of a god, “Kōmokuten, Heian era of Japan. Interesting?” The last part of the sentence was worded as a rhetorical question, followed by a nod by the man as if agreeing with his own statement. 

He continues: “Not interested? Anyway, where the hell are they? I thought you were looking after the–” 

“No, you were looking after them,” your angered whisper-yells were countered by a scoff by the pink haired man, sipping the beverage in his hand. You almost wanted to knock it clean out and pour it all over that stupid dyed hair. Actually… was it dyed?

Now that you think about it, Yuuji always seemed to have pink hair too, though the underside was brown. Did they have special brotherly hair dying sessions? 

“They’re kids, how fuckin’ far could they have ran?”

Tuning back into the conversation, it was your turn to scoff, “They're fucking kids! They could be on fucking Mars by now for all we know. Oh god, okay… let's follow the hallway down.” 

Attempting (but failing) to mask your worry, you bit your lip as you rushed past him and all the– truthfully interesting– exhibits. Another time, maybe. There was a loud slurp, before you heard thudding footsteps behind you. 

“Do you even know where you're going?” His gruff voice asks, you can feel his head peeking out from behind to look at the side of your face. 

“... Down there.”

“Stop. Fucking stop for a second, jesus. Let's look at a map of this place before you get us lost too.”

Sukuna grabs your shoulders, attempting to pull you back to the hallway you were previously. You wanted to spit some snarky comment about how you weren't going to be in this situation if it wasn't for him, but your tongue caught itself. 

You give in, sighing, and trace your steps back to a large display board. Right now, you were in the Japanese section, so if you followed it down– it split into two directions. Not so good. 

“They wanted to go see the dinosaurs,” you mutter to yourself in revelation, bending over to see the section on the board lower down. 

A loud sip, “Then let's go.”

You turn your head, ready to agree, until you see him nonchalantly texting on his phone. Your eye twitches.

“Put that away,” you hiss, uncaring to try to keep an air of friendliness, “You lost them and you can't even be fucking bothered to look. We have to get them back in at least–” you look at your phone, “-- at least the next 20 minutes. Can you please just help and not act condescending?” 

He switches his attention to you, his eyes glaring at you. Unmoving in his gaze, he raises an eyebrow. 

“Fine.”

“Thanks,” you spit out, full venom, obviously not thankful. Standing to your full height, you turn on your heel without caring whether the man was following you or not. But the thudding footsteps behind you signified as much.

You passed back by the Japanese displays, taking a cursory glance over them. Really, the statue Sukuna had tried showing you didn't pique that much of your interest. It looked rather, strange if anything. The man must have unique tastes. 

As you rush past them, you spot a certain black haired boy staring at a scroll– also from the Heian period. 

“Megumi!” You call out, relieved at having found at least one of the children. Sukuna grabs the boy's hand before you had the chance to scold him, and does your job for you:

“Who told you to run off, you brat?” He spits, crumpling the cup underneath his fingers. Megumi, unperturbed by the harsh words (perhaps training he had gotten from having Toji as a father), stared nonchalantly at the taller man. 

“They went to go look at the T-Rex, but I said I wanted to see this,” Megumi points towards the scroll, and you look to follow. Sukuna huffs, unsatisfied by the answer but knowing he isn't going to get much more tightens his grip around Megumi's hand.

“One down, four to go,” he glances at you with a humorous tone, but without a smile to match. 

You think it cute that Sukuna holds the little boy's hand in such a way, making sure he can't run off. He must be used to Yuuji's antics. Talking of Yuuji, Sukuna doesn't seem to be very nervous at all at the prospect of losing him.

“He's fine,” he states, sharp and short. The twitch in his brow isn't lost on you, however. Megumi yawns, trying to slip out of Sukuna's graso and back into your own– but the man pulls harshly, hissing. 

“Don't run again, jesus. These kids…”

With a smirk, you walk ahead of them, “They're probably running from you.”

–

Unfortunately, during your walk– halfway to the ‘dinosaurs’-- the three of you weren't able to spot any other lone children. Or rather fortunately, which indicated that they were still together. 

Sukuna had now resorted to letting Megumi piggyback him. The little boy rested his head against salmon-pink locks, eyes closed as if in dream. 

“Hey, why haven't you just called the museum staff?” The pink haired man asks, staring at you.

You blink, frowning. You can feel your cheeks burning up, the sensation uncomfortable, “It's embarrassing…” 

Your words were barely heard, so Sukuna furrows his brows: “Huh?”

“It's embarrassing,” you repeat, not daring to look behind you. 

There was a pregnant pause.

“Who the fuck cares about embarrassing?” He scoffs. 

“I do. It's my first proper trip and I've lost them. Plus, I know where they are! What's the big deal!”

Honestly, you don't believe your words. You knew kids, and you knew how small their 

attention span was. They could have already switched sections by now, or even wandered out. That sent a chill down your spine.

But for now, you were willing to hazard being irresponsible for the sake of your dignity. Not very good, is it?

 “At least it's like a… two minute walk,” you reasoned to yourself. Your steps hurried. In truth, if you didn't find them right now, you were willing to go straight for the intercom. Stupid you–

“Miss!” A higher pitched voice wailed out.

> part 2 (wip)

[niluffa]

୨୧ “ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ! ”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : five times satoru has said your name with different kinds of emotions, and one time he said your name softly.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 : fluff, friends to lovers, angst, smut, s2 spoilers, sub!satoru, dom!fem!reader, riding, praise, dacryphilia (lots of crying), handjob, two orgasms, creampie, small aftercare

𝐖. 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 8,0k

𝐀𝐔𝐓. 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : this took a ridiculous amount of time, and i’m still not satisfied with it !! :(

you gulped at the “welcome to jujutsu high” sign standing tall at the entrance of the school you were transferred to just a few days ago. apparently, it was due to your ‘ability to see curses’—mind you, what the hell was a curse anyway?

sure, some strange creatures always kept peeking out from behind the buildings whenever you were on your way to school or back, but you always thought you were just a bit insane. or at least, that’s what your parents, who couldn’t see curses, always told you.

years of therapy that you didn’t even need were hopeless to shut down your worries, and you sometimes wonder if you were just as out of your mind as everybody, even your friends think.

“aliens? cut that crap out, [name]!” they would laugh at you.

the information you have spilled to your therapist somehow reached yaga, the principal of the school you were walking through at the very moment, who wasted no time to reach out to you, happy to explain every one of your questions.

well, he wasn’t exactly happy to realize yet another bright teenager like you will spend years of torture and the burden of being a sorcerer, building up friendships just to watch them drop dead one by one—only to end up like them.

he didn’t tell you that because he knew you were already aware of the amount of pain you would go through once you accepted your position as a student at jujutsu high.

but it was worth a try, right?

you were currently following the principal. he told you to just stay quiet and let him introduce you to your new classmates and future mission partners.

the door into the classroom was slammed open by yaga, and his cold and stoic face matched his deep voice that echoed through the room, “good morning─”

“good morning, sensei!” a white-haired male yells from his seat, his grin spreading from one ear to another. your jaw dropped when you took a good look at him.

he was drop-dead gorgeous.

the iconic glasses he always used to wear were abandoned on his desk to reveal his vibrant blue eyes that could kill by the way they lit up the whole room—which was lowkey a bit creepy. nevertheless, the shade of the blue was just so hypnotic that you couldn’t look away.

the boy’s six eyes immediately get triggered under your stare, and he wastes no time to let his dramatic side out.

“sensei—” the male begins, taking a big inhale, and your face already cringes when you realize his plan is nothing else but to yell at the top of his lungs, “she’s staring!”

the classroom falls dead silent, and you watch the other male with a bun slap the back of the white-haired’s head. the girl next to them sat unbothered, her lips pursing at the awkward silence.

“satoru . . .” yaga warns him, making the boy flinch and shrink back to his seat with a wobbly but embarrassed smile that shows how much he’s prepared for the whole hour of scolding from the principal later.

the older man sighs, “this is your new classmate, [name].”

you stand in front of the board in silence as yaga begins to explain some things that are not related to you—instead, you pay attention to the gazes of the trio you just learned to recognize as your classmates.

a brunette girl on your right, closest to the window. a guy with a bun who was sitting in the middle. and, of course, a white-haired guy closest to the door. maybe that is why your eyes landed on him the second you stepped in.

from what you could tell, the black-haired male held zero judgment towards you by the way he offered you a friendly smile that made his eyes curl into the shape of a crescent moon. he looked kind, and you smiled back.

the girl was questionable at first. she looked up and down at you, and for a second, you were afraid her face would do the twist of disgust, and she would roll her eyes as most of the girls in your school did—but she didn’t. instead, she offered you the same smile the boy on her right did.

the white-haired male—satoru, as yaga mentioned—was a bit different. his reaction was rather interesting. aside from yelling at the top of his lungs that you were staring at him, he did exactly what you expected from the girl on the left.

“[name]?” satoru huffs in annoyance. he stared at you with a pout, his face twisting. but it wasn’t a judgmental twist that would make you burst out in tears and run away from the room—even when you didn’t say a single word, and your voice was still unknown to him.

“i don’t like her,” satoru huffs proudly. the attention he was expecting was far away from reality than he would like to admit. angry look from yaga, an annoyed look from his two other classmates, and a sad look from you.

maybe this was a sign for him to never speak again.

“suguru,” satoru whispered harshly, nudging his elbow into the boy’s side, who was already sending him an ‘are you serious’ look, “back me up!”

suguru clicked his tongue, “raise your hand if you care.”

the silence that fell right after suguru’s words was so damn awkward that even you couldn’t help but feel bad for the amount of embarrassment satoru must have felt after not a single person in the room raised their hand. his head hung low in shame, the sound of his forehead slamming against the desk only making others roll their eyes.

“i apologize for satoru’s behavior, [name]. please, feel free to take a seat.” yaga says, but immediately finds the issue of why you never sat down—the only available spot was right next to satoru. yaga clears his throat.

“suguru? shoko? please,” the principal didn’t have to repeat himself twice for the two of them to nod and switch their seats so that you could be as far as possible from satoru and his bratty personality.

the rest of the class period was quiet, but you could feel satoru’s gaze on you almost every five minutes—just about every time yaga turned his back to all four of you to write something on the board. so as soon as the teacher lifted the piece of chalk to write something, satoru had his head snapped in your direction.

“ignore him,” shoko whispered since even though satoru wasn’t looking at her, his gaze was so easy to pick up that even yaga, who had turned around for a while, knew what was going on behind his back.

after what felt like forever, the class came to an end—that couldn’t be said the same for satoru’s non-stopping stare that went on and on for the past hour without breaking. but once you found the courage to make eye contact with him, he was a long time gone.

you sigh in defeat and wonder if maybe next time you will be able to talk to satoru normally without him him having the need of digging blades into you with his stare.

“hey,” shoko spoke, “can i get your number?”

the weekend followed. you questioned why you had to be transferred to the school on friday and why they just couldn’t let you stay home for the weekend and then show you the school—but who are you to wander into yaga’s office and complain.

when shoko texted you just some location of a random street without telling you any context or clues, anxiety began to rise within your body. funny how a simple “meet us there” was able to shake you up so much.

no, they won’t kidnap you and beat you until death just because satoru was too picky with his choices of making new friends—you had to insure yourself.

“hey, you came!” shoko cheers as soon as you come into her vision, and you tell yourself that it wasn’t so bad, you were just overthinking again. a special habit you had for the longest time, “i’m glad you did.”

suguru nods with that same kind smile and adds, “we were afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

you smiled at their words, genuinely grateful you won’t spend all your sorcerer years as a punching bag for some mean kids who were raised without any sort of manners.

there were two other people, both male. the blonde one introduced himself quietly but with a hint of respect while the brunette one just shook your hand, looking like he was about to burst from having too much energy.

“we’ll go check the movie seats. wait here, okay?” shoko waved, and you nodded, soon enough finding yourself a nice empty bench while the other four entered the movie theater.

the streets were quiet, and you had to admit that it was quite relaxing. not until you heard heavy footsteps and a very familiar voice rushing right in your direction. you cursed under your breath.

“nooo! they went inside already?!” satoru dramatically collapses right next to you, the plastic bag that he was holding landing right on top of your lap. fortunately, none of the things ended up broken.

after satoru was done with his fake sobbing and whining about how he “checked the time multiple times” and “how dare they go inside without him”, he took the bag from your lap to his to open it.

“i’m sorry. about uh,” satoru clears his throat, “yesterday.”

for a second, you froze. apology from satoru gojo himself? oh, you were so flattered you could yell it out from the rooftops. but truth be told, you weren’t affected by his yesterday act at all. maybe that has something to do with your “people’s people” personality.

“oh, no, no!” you wave it off. satoru hears your voice for the first time, and he’s shocked about how sweet and gentle it sounds, “it’s okay, really─”

“no, i’m serious,” satoru cuts you off before you have the chance to rant about how truly you didn’t care and that sometimes, first impressions just don’t go as many people would like them to be, and that’s okay.

“i brought you this as an apology. i hope you like sweets as much as i do!” the sorcerer shoots you the same grin he did yesterday when greeting yaga. “please accept it. it was the last piece.”

satoru hands you a plastic box of edamame and cream kikufuku—a small tag hung from the side of it, and the price that was supposed to be on it was harshly ripped apart so you were unable to tell how much he spent.

you hummed, “thank you, gojo—”

“satoru. please, call me satoru.”

“okay, satoru.” you smile, feeling happy with the whole situation. at first, he was an asshole who looked like he wanted to throw you out of the classroom just because you were breathing, and now, he spent god-knowing how much yen just to buy you an apology gift.

“hey, the movie is starting—oh, satoru!” suguru’s smile got wider at the sight of his best friend and you sitting next to each other, satoru’s favorite kikufuku flavor on your lap.

satoru, immediately after hearing suguru’s voice, grinned and jumped up from his seat. you came running right after them, tightly holding the sweet dessert the white-haired boy had bought you close to your chest as if it was the most precious and important thing in the whole world.

the movie was, in your opinion, boring. supposedly, it was a famous summer horror that your classmates, along with haibara and nanami, wanted to see for the longest time.

the plot wasn’t even that bad, and it had the potential to be interesting if it wasn’t for the poor choice of actors in the movie. the budget was low too, and it showed. so the only thing you really could do was stare at the poor attempts of what was supposed to be a jumpscare.

“oh, man . . .” satoru groaned from beside you and gave in to the impulse thought of spreading his long, aching limbs everywhere they could fit—because he was the strongest, who was gonna stop him when his spreading arms would block their vision of the threader screen?

“this movie is boring!” the sorcerer was now spread all over his seat, your seat, and also you. the boy takes good notice of how you didn’t even look at him when his legs landed right on your lap and how you continued to stare at the screen with a blank expression.

satoru decided to push his luck to spread out even more than he already was. but this time, his head took the place of his legs—right on your lap. finally, you did look down at the recognition of something shaped like a head, and you smiled when you saw the white-haired boy grin up and you.

what you didn’t expect was when satoru’s thumb rose to flick his own forehead multiple times, mentioning for you to kiss the spot he had touched just now. and you listened. bending down a bit, your hand removed all the bangs his hand wasn’t able to scoop, and your lips contacted the skin of his forehead.

“didn’t know you would fall so easily, [name]!” satoru says teasingly, followed by a genuine chuckle. his toothy grin shoved appearance again, and you bit down your lip so as not to burst out laughing and ruin the movie experience for the other people.

a quit flash of a camera, “cut it out, lovebirds,” shoko had to lean over to whisper from her seat so that the guy, who was already glaring at her for taking a picture in the threader, wouldn’t bash her out.

“get a room, you two!” suguru chuckled from the other side and watched both of your faces catch an adorable shade of pink that would be hard to get rid of once the same thing might happen later.

because satoru is definitely getting another kiss from you.

“ew! look how ugly that is!” riko squeaked out of disgust, pointing at a strange-looking creature that desperately tried to bury itself back in the sand before another wave of ocean water arrived and filled the hole again.

the worm-like creature kept digging even after many failed attempts to disappear from the hungry seagulls who kept circling above the four of you for the past half hour.

“ew!” your boyfriend yelled, voice high-pitched when he burst out laughing at the poor animal trying, but failing, to borrow itself away from the flying predators, “don’t worry, princess!” he jumps in from of you, “i will protect you from that gut-wrenching alien!”

“it’s a sea cucumber,” you deadpan, watching suguru and riko chuckle at satoru’s reaction—which was giving you a long face before letting his head fall in defeat, close to throwing a tantrum, “help it, satoru.”

“you’re no fun!” the boy huffs but listens to you anyway. his colossal hands dug deep into the sand, and once reaching a good size, satoru stared at you in silence.

“what?” you question.

“come put the thing into the hole.” satoru gulps, wondering if you’re playing about being clueless about what he wants you to do, or if you’re dead serious.

“why?” you question again.

“it was your idea!” satoru yells. his voice held nervousness and more cracks than the strongest would like to admit.

“don’t tell me you’re scared.” you tease, earning a chuckle from suguru who leaned over your ear to whisper, “oh, he definitely is.”

satoru gasped, “no way!”

“just admit it, i won’t laugh—” you get cut off, needing to bite your lip in order not to burst out laughing because the strongest is afraid of a little sea cucumber.

“you’re already laughing!” the white-haired boy protests, pointing at you with one of his long and slim fingers that he didn’t dare to wrap around the animal.

you roll your eyes at the sorcerer and decide to put the situation into your own hands. so easily, you pick up the marine creature and put it into the hole that your boyfriend has dug. he, immediately, throws the leftover sand back at the sea cucumber right before another wave could come.

“i don’t want to see that alien near me ever again!” satoru made a fake gagging noise, holding you by your shoulder so that you won’t have the audacity to run away and find yet another sea cucumber—and maybe even chase him with it.

the sun began to set soon enough. the seagulls were gone, no longer praying on the poor sea cucumber. riko was wet from being thrown into the ocean water by satoru, and you and suguru spent a lot of time building a perfect sand castle. in secret, suguru would peek around, making sure all four of you were safe, and nobody was here to take the star plasma vessel away.

“we should go back,” suguru suggested, dusting his hands to get rid of the leftover sand he used to build a sandcastle. you nod at his words, turning around to call out for the two other idiots who are still in the water, “satoru! riko!” you yell, catching both of their attention.

satoru stuck out his tongue at the young girl before using his long legs to reach out to you and pick you up without effort. “you look ridiculous!” you squeaked. the leftover sunscreen that didn’t sink into his skin was decorating his cheeks and nose, making him look paler than he already was.

“back we go!” satoru yells, rushing past his best friend to be the first one to reach the hotel—with you still in his arms, looking like a princess the way he was holding you.

by the time satoru sets you down, you’re already in your hotel room. exhausted, you collapse on the bed, “i’m going to take a shower,” you mumbled into the sheets before you picked yourself up and grabbed your towel.

“alright, princess!” satoru grins from behind you, sending you a small wave before you disappear into the bathroom of your hotel. the sorcerer could finally let his grin drop, the same exhausted collapse on the bed following his mind.

but he couldn’t. he had to stay up for the sake of riko. even if it meant another sleepless night would have to haunt the already tired sorcerer. he was the strongest, after all. one night without sleeping won’t kill him.

“satoru?” you call out, confused. the room was empty by the time you stepped out of the shower—no sight of your boyfriend. your footsteps were quiet as you moved down the hall, only to find satoru sitting in the lobby alone.

you kneel in front of him, “you should sleep.”

“can’t,” satoru hums, “too dangerous.”

you sigh at his words. the whole star plasma vessel thing was fucked up and already made your head ache. and the fact you had to watch your boyfriend’s eyebags grow by each day wasn’t helping.

“don’t worry about me, [name],” satoru assured you as if reading your mind, voice visibly tired as he spoke.

“i’ll still worry about you,” you begin, placing a soft peck on his lips, “but i’ll let it go. just . . . don’t exhaust yourself too much, okay?” you blink up at him, and for the last time this long night, he shot you his iconic toothy grin.

you waved at him, ready to turn around and leave—as you were grateful he was sacrificing his own sleep hours so that you could have yours. not until you heard his sweet voice.

“don’t forget to dream about me!”

the first thing in the morning was your boyfriend clinging to your arm, asking: “did you dream about me?” with a pout and puppy eyes that begged you to play along and say—

“yeah,” you ruffle his hair, “i did, ‘toru.”

satoru does a girlish gasp, covering his open mouth with both of his hands like a high-school girl—partly mocking sweet riko, who was eyeing him from the other side of the public plane.

your boyfriend stuck out his tongue, earning a smack from suguru, “cut it out, satoru.”

satoru’s reaction was a huff and dramatic snap of his head towards your direction. you, too busy looking out of the window, didn’t notice his glare. offended by your “not on purpose” ignorance, satoru let out an even louder, and more dramatic huff.

“do you need something, satoru?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes from the amazing view you got from up here.

“your attention?” satoru grins, and once hearing your heavy sigh, he knew he won. spreading himself all over the place, his head landed on your lap just like it did the first time in the threader. the memory almost brought tears—

“hey!” suguru yells, eye-widened, “get your feet off me!”

you lean forward to take a better look, almost bursting out laughing. in order for satoru to place his head on your lap and fit into his seat at the same time, his long legs spread all over his best friend’s lap. poor suguru, of course, didn’t appreciate that kind of behavior.

“deal with it,” satoru mouths, fixing his glasses by using his middle finger to push it further up his nose—flipping off his best friend in his favorite way. suguru stared back at him in disbelief, shaking his head with squinted eyes.

satoru didn’t take his legs off suguru for the rest of the flight, and the other male had to just suck it up and let you and your boyfriend have a romantic moment. but suguru would lie if he said he wasn’t irritated by satoru’s smug grin when you massaged his scalp.

the strongest didn’t have to watch his buddy’s angry stare ever since he drifted off, leaving satoru and you alone for a few hours.

“princess?” satoru spoke, and even when he likes to bother his best friend any chance he gets, his tone is quiet, not to disturb his sleep. you hum, and he continues, “i love you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, “i love you too . . . is everything okay?” you ask just in case, not expecting him to say something so casual with such a strange expression.

for a second, satoru freezes. your eyes were so soft while you waited patiently for his answer, not rushing him and expecting an answer right away just like everybody else in his life did. he was the strongest, right? what took him so long to answer such a simple question?

“everything’s fine,” satoru assured you, but you didn’t fail to notice the desperate squeeze he gave your hand. your hand sent a squeeze back, and the boy relaxed back into your lap, nodding, “promise.”

“take a nap, okay?” you suggest. the flight will last longer than all of you thought it did, and a little taste of sleep did sound nice—satoru thought it through and nodded.

satisfied by his choice of answer, you shifted yourself a bit lower to give the sorcerer more room to fully relax. he was grateful that you didn’t want him to wake up with an aching neck and burning spine.

and trust me, he did thank you by the time all of you woke up and stepped out of the plane. but now, as you walked up the many stairs of the jujutsu high, your legs ached for just a quick break.

“so─many─stairs!” you huff and take a step up with every pause, earning a shit-eating grin from your boyfriend who was able to walk up multiple stairs at once without even breaking a sweat.

“we’re almost inside the jujutsu high’s barrier,” suguru says out loud, and you wish you could just tell him that the fact he just mentioned didn’t help your aching legs or your tired brain that was overthinking all flight after satoru fell asleep.

speaking of satoru—he kept grinning all the way upstairs, never once leaving your side. as if he wanted to watch you suffer with each step.

“i could always carry you, you know?” satoru’s annoying grin got wider, if that’s even possible, as he was eager to watch your reaction. you, of course, turned him down.

the second you pass the last stair, you bend over to catch your hands on your knees. the way you gulped and gasped for air made suguru laugh as he praised everyone for making it to the top.

your eyes rolled back in “pleasure” when the jujutsu high barrier’s cold air made contact with your sweaty skin, and you sighed in relief. the only thing you needed right now was a cold shower.

the comforting feeling left as fast as it came when a warm liquid splashed your cheeks. horrified, your eyes shifted to your left to find the source—only the find your boyfriend with a sword pierced through his torso.

“satoru!” a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the whole jujutsu high campus called out his name, and suguru wasted no time to rush to you, who were already running to your boyfriend.

suguru’s curse was quick to send the attacker away, but when you reached out to help satoru, his palm stopped you right away. “i’m fine,” he smiled, acting like his uniform was not completely soaked in blood.

you were still in shock, unable to choke out anything “just ‘cause your boyfriend was fucking stabbed in front of you and his blood was on your face.” satoru felt bad for the scene he caused—even suguru and riko were worried.

“[name],” satoru said sternly, one hand cupping your cheek to fully ground you into listening to his words. which were, according to him, very important, “you and suguru, take riko and flee. i’ll finish him off.”

you wanted to slap satoru—scream and yell at him for how insane he must have to be to just tell you to leave him all by himself while you, suguru, and riko ran to safety. but then again, he was the strongest. who were you to argue with someone like him in a situation like this?

so you nodded, took riko by her arm, and together with the other sorcerer that was already waiting for your lead, you ran. there was only one thing you could do—believe in him.

“believe in the strongest,” you have told yourself, having enough faith in satoru to let him fight someone who was able to trick his infinity and land a perfect stab that made the time itself pause, letting everybody process that fact.

satoru would laugh, “a perfect stab? he wasn’t even able to hit my fetal organs!” you could already imagine the cocky grin he would shoot you just to make you feel less worried.

but now, the strongest has been announced dead.

the moment those words reached your brain, you were already thrown to the ground with a gun pointing at your motionless body. you could pick yourself up and continue the fight—but what was life without satoru, the only thing that made your life as a sorcerer not so miserable?

your face was still covered in satoru’s blood, which was now dried up. even while finding the motivation to raise your hand and clean your skin, the blood was simply too hard and stuck to your face.

your cheek lay against the cold concrete as you didn't have the energy to get up from the position the man had thrown you into. now, you were basically forced to watch suguru’s curses destroy the temple in the hope of killing whoever started this.

but is this what you really wanted? was this something that satoru would wish you to do? lay down and hear suguru’s screams whenever he got slashed across the chest, or even slammed into the hard walls of the buildings?

maybe you did consider yourself useless, but against the man who killed satoru gojo himself, everybody was—even suguru. but the difference is that he didn’t give up. hearing his best friend die stung, and so did the death of riko when he watched a bullet fly straight into her brain and watch her drop dead right in front of him. but suguru dusted himself off and kept fighting.

but by the time you somehow managed your shaky arms to support your weight to sit up, the man was gone—and so was riko’s body. you were useless to protect the girl and fight against the enemy.

the least you could do was limp all the way to suguru and help him reach shoko in time. you already lost one fucking important person in your life and you were sure as hell not gonna lose another one. so you ignored the burning feeling in your legs and dragged the male to shoko.

during suguru’s treatment, you stayed quiet. the cold wall that pressed against your back triggered every one of your nerves—if that was even possible, considering the fact that your whole body had been shut down the moment you received the news about satoru—but you were too weak to even pull away.

“[name],” yaga’s voice shook you out of your thoughts, disoriented eyes weakly lifting to meet his, “satoru’s alive.”

star religious group facilities—you never ran so fast in your life like you did right now. from one place to another, you cursed yourself for the members who have built some many of these places, as if one wasn’t enough.

“slow down!” suguru yelled. you didn’t listen, jumping off one of his curses to reach another building where you were supposed to meet satoru. so far, it was no good, and both of you were unable to spot the familiar white hair you grew to love.

the door was harshly torn open, and you were ready to let out a disappointing whine at the lack of people in the room. the thought was far from reality.

a bright room filled with hundreds of people, all dressed in white. the clapping sound of their palms directly hitting against each other made your ears ring. even suguru, who was peeking out from behind you, began to worry at your reaction.

the room went quiet when your eyes landed on the tall man walking right towards you. people didn’t stop clapping, and suguru’s mouth moved but no words came out.

there he was─the strongest, alive.

“you’re late, suguru, [name] . . .” satoru’s tone had caught you off guard. he sounded so emotionless, and his stare was blank, not a single ounce of his personality showing. the light in his eyes died too, making you choke up a sob you didn’t dare to release.

there was no need to cry. satoru was right in front of you, alive. his heart was beating, and every fetal wound he had back then was gone.

“should we kill these guys? the way i feel right now, i doubt i’d feel anything about it,” satoru asks. you froze, blinking.

the strongest was far away from being fine. later that day, all three of you returned home with a new kind of trauma that would haunt you for the rest of your life. but that was the life of a sorcerer. helping the weak and taking all the burden on yourself so that others don’t have to.

satoru was a bit shook up, only capable of creating a small form of sentences—a good start. but in the morning, he’ll be the same sunshine as he always is. that was all you could think about as you dragged your soap-covered hands up and down satoru’s back, watching all the blood fall by your feet and drench somewhere into the sewers.

shoko had already cleaned you up, but when satoru was already fast asleep in the comfort of his bed, you stayed up all night to dig your fingers into your skin in the hope of getting rid of the feeling of satoru’s blood on your face.

something like this will never happen again—you swear.

“great. now you need to add—” whatever came out of the woman’s mouth next was just blurred-out words—good for nothing sentences as you stared at the burnt pancakes with horror in your eyes.

months passed since the star plasma vessel accident, and you have grown more comfortable. satoru has been doing better too, not affected by the past events anymore.

now, you stood in the middle of the jujutsu high dorm’s kitchen. the food you have been currently working on has been burned into near ashes, making you question your cooking skills.

soon enough, you grew tired of the smell and decided to clean up so the other students wouldn’t have to work in a mess you created by your poor attempt at the evening snack.

you left the window open just in case your nose got too used to the smell, and the others would have different experiences with the terrible smell—avoiding scolding from yaga, who would never allow you to cook again. even if it meant for you to starve.

but when you returned to your dorm room, your moment of peace and quiet didn’t last as long as you wanted it to be. a small and almost shy knock came from the direction of the wooden door. too curious to ignore the person and throw yourself on the soft cushions of your bed, you rushed to answer whoever was waiting outside.

you were shocked to make eye contact with satoru, whose teary eyes and irregular breathing hinted to you he was on the verge of a panic attack—your thoughts were confirmed when a heart-breaking sob left escaped his mouth.

“h-he left . . .” satoru whispered, lips trembling. before you were given the chance to ask something, you watched him gasp for air with a pained expression, “he fucking left me!”

you stood frozen—who left? you don’t recall any news from yaga that was more recent than a few weeks ago. through the months of being a sorcerer, you never experienced the loss of someone who would decide to leave the school.

perhaps you misunderstood, and satoru was hinting at some random friend of his that he had never mentioned before. maybe they passed away, leaving your boyfriend shaking and in tears as he knocked on your door. but even then, whose absence could affect him this much?

“suguru!” satoru sobs as if he had taken your confused face as a hint for him to explain. unfortunately, his brain was mush at the moment, and the only thing he wanted to think about was getting rid of all the sadness—with your help.

“suguru? what do you—satoru, don’t . . .” you slurred out when you felt his hand weakly tug at your pants, and you immediately knew what his intentions were. you couldn’t allow him to trust you with removing his sadness, not when it involved a still unknown situation with suguru.

“p-please! please, please, please!” satoru sobs, even louder than his first try was. obviously, he wanted you to pity him and give in to drown him in the pleasure he needed so badly.

you shook your head, sternly stating: “satoru, no.” but his loud cries never died down—in fact, they only increased at your rejection. he just wanted for you to let him escape reality, so why did you keep saying no?

satoru fully broke down, hugging your waist from his kneeling position as if his life depended on it. “n-need you, please. just this once . . .” the puppy eyes he had given you was something he used only to really convince you to do something. but even then, he never used it in a serious situation like this.

“not right now, satoru,” you slowly lift him up, forcing small steps out of him before he collapses on your bed, “you’re in pain right now, you don’t realize what you’re saying. by the time you sober up, you’ll regret what you’ve asked for . . .”

the strongest shook his head and kept clinging to you like a baby koala, too afraid to face the reality of the world. what you were saying was true, and satoru’s actions weren’t as healthy as they sounded—but why did it hurt this much?

“b-but—” satoru gasps at the lack of oxygen in his lungs when he tries to confront you about whatever is happening right now but fails to do so, sobbing with frustration, “just this once . . . all i’m asking for—please!”

you weren’t sure for how long you could keep up with your rejecting act—you wanted to take away all of his problems and satisfy all his fantasies that currently fogged up his mind, so when he blinked up to you with those pretty long white lashes, you gave in with a sigh. “just this once, ‘toru.”

you gently laid him down, using pillows and blankets to make a spot comfortable enough to let him fully sink into the moment. satoru, carefully picking, chose a safeword in case the moment wasn’t as dreamy as he expected it to be.

everything was fine. satoru gave you his consent multiple times to the point he thought you were planning to edge him the whole night—tears appeared in his eyes again.

the first kiss of the night was gentle, mostly just helping to distract satoru when your hand traveled all the way down in order to wrap around his graciously pretty cock. you coo at his whimpers, “i know, i know.”

satoru moaned the second you gave him a few testing pumps, looking out for any sight of discomfort or pain.

“more,” the white-haired boy whispers when he decides the stimulation of a few “testing” pumps isn’t enough, and he wants the full experience that you were willing to give him. so carefully, your wrist moved faster.

everything was spinning. getting so much movement on his poor virgin cock from something else that wasn’t his own hand when he jerked off was a different feeling—a new kind of feeling that satoru began to like more and more.

when you increased the speed to keep the pleasure going, your thumb accidentally brushed over his tip. you mentally slapped yourself, noting to be careful next time. but satoru didn’t seem to mind. not when his back arched off the bed with a loud mewl escaping his lips.

“oh, you liked that?” you cooed at him and repeated the same process of rolling your finger over his tip. satoru’s reaction was the same, just slightly more intense with the way his cock shamelessly released an impressive amount of pre-cum.

satoru kept liking all the interactions you had with his cock so far, so the level of enjoyment didn’t decrease once your hand moved faster with the help of the sparse liquid.

the rest of his shaft became wet and slippery, basically letting you just guide your fingers to the tip before letting them fall down to the base. somehow, the movements seemed to trigger something inside the sorcerer when a fucked-out giggle left his throat.

“s-so good—it’s so good!” satoru hiccups between his words, mainly babbling to himself. and truth be told, he didn’t really care if you thought his behavior was weird. fortunately for him, you weren’t one to judge, not in a moment like this, and you kept going.

your hand shifted in different ways, looking out for places that were more sensitive than others in a way satoru could not describe. the male took an immense liking to the area near his tip, or even the tip itself—you noted and kept stimulating the same spot that made his eyes roll.

“c-close!” satoru’s tone was almost shy as he spoke. the familiar burning feeling inside his stomach rose at a rapid speed. he began to squirm underneath you of the sudden pleasure that harshly flexed his tummy, “g-gonna cum!”

“mhm,” you were quick to coo at him with small kisses all over his face. but your innocent touches failed to distract satoru’s attention from your brutal strokes of his cock that were successful to send him over the edge.

“c-cumming!” satoru’s voice was high-pitched before his orgasm washed over his body for the first time of the night. when his release landed all over his tummy, you hummed a praising sound that left the sorcerer trembling. but it was not enough. satoru wanted more.

you checked up on him, making sure he was alright after such an intense orgasm that looked almost painful in a way you couldn’t describe. oh, if only you knew how much pleasure he was in—you would have kept going without a question or pause.

“are you okay, sweet boy?” your gentle voice made satoru feel like he was floating somewhere in heaven. somewhere far away from all the pain and the burden of the world he had to carry as the strongest. especially after failing to protect so many people in his life.

satoru choked on his own sob, and his face was quick to twist from extraordinary pain at the memory from earlier. you still didn’t know what was happening because if you did, suguru would have ended up with a few broken bones for hurting his best friend in such a cruel way.

but you didn’t know, not yet. so you held satoru close to your chest in an attempt to soothe his cries. you’ve already told yourself the session was over when the male shook in your arms from the mix of his orgasm and whatever happened between his and suguru.

but to your surprise, satoru didn’t take this as the end. no, he craved—“o-one more . . . please!” he whimpered against your chest with teary eyes tightly shut. he didn’t want you to see him like this. not when he was so vulnerable.

something about the way satoru kept clinging to you as if you were to disappear made your eyes soften. the sorcerer was so close to escaping the misery that you couldn’t just decline now. with a sigh, you nodded.

satoru expected another handjob—that’s why he kept his eyes shut and let you shift positions so that you could get the work done easier. but when he felt something warm lowering itself on his cock, he gasped.

“shhh,” you whisper, cradling his head back to the original position on your chest before satoru can do it himself. if he knew that knocking at your door with tears in his eyes would lead to you riding him, he would have much sooner.

the moment you were adjusted to his size, your hips began to rock themselves against his. you moved slowly, carefully dragging whimper after whimper from the boy underneath you, who was currently staring at you with blown-out eyes.

you were a goddess to satoru—you had to be. the way you gently caressed his hair, the way you prepped small kisses on his face, the way you moved slowly so that satoru could preserve every roll of your hips.

right now, he wasn’t the “god” who shifted the balance of the world due to his birth. in this situation, you were.

satoru broke down crying, but what he admired the most about you was that you didn’t stop. long ago, he told you to keep going, that he’s okay because he wants this. and you listened to him, not daring to pause your movements.

the boy whispered something, but it was faint. you weren’t able to pick up a single word he tried to say, feeling bad for not being able to respond to him—solid proof that you’re listening. but satoru was too deep into this, and thanks to his constant babbling, you were able to hear his thoughts.

“d-don’t leave . . .” satoru whispered, a bit louder than last time. it was still uncharacteristically quiet for somebody like him, but you were lucky for this position to give you better access in order to hear him.

satoru sobbed this time, fingers digging into every inch of your skin that he could reach. at this point, he was basically dragging you down with him, and you weren’t even allowed to rise yourself anymore to properly ride him.

the strongest, for the first time in his life, was terrified. he was too shaken from the events earlier, and the thought of you following the same path as suguru made him shake in terror. he couldn’t let you leave, not now.

“p-please don’t leave!” satoru wailed, “n-not you! anyone but you! i-i can’t—” his sobs continued on, and on for quite a while, and your hands ended up cupping his tear-stained red cheeks.

“i’m not leaving. you know i won’t . . .” you whisper. one of satoru’s hands flew to yours, weakly interlocking his pinky with yours.

satoru sniffed, “promise?” he could only choke out much, his throat raw from the previous breakdown—not like he cared either way, he was just too tired to try to get his voice to work normally. you nodded, “promise.”

that’s all it took to make satoru’s grip on your skin loose. he no longer held onto your shoulder with a death grip like you were to get up and leave, no. he allowed you to move after you made your promise of not leaving him.

satoru had to choke up another sob when your hand moved to catch his, bringing it up to your lips. you took your time with the kisses, making sure to leave no place untouched.

his knuckles were white from the grip he had on the sheets, or maybe even your skin earlier. you weren’t sure which one was it, since both of them were pretty brutal and made the skin over his bones look paler than usual.

when your lips moved to his palm, you noticed a fresh open cut. the wound held a shape of thin lines that looked almost way too familiar to his fingernails. you took a mental note to ask about it later—once he’s mentally ready.

you placed the last kiss on the nail on his middle finger that held an unhealthy color due to being squeezed for too long. whatever happened with him and suguru, if satoru thought about using that technique, it must have been serious.

satoru was too deep in his thoughts by the time your hips started to move again. the feeling of your slow movements made his eyes roll back to the back of his skull. he thought you being rough with him would be the best option for his brain to shut down—but once tasting the gentleness from your slow pace, satoru chose a winner.

“you’re doing so good, pretty boy. keep breathing through your nose,” you praise him, knowing it will catch his full attention before taking the opportunity to remind him to breathe properly, not wanting his sobbing mess to catch another near panic attack.

satoru blinks up at you through those long, white eyelashes that are soaked and stuck together with his tears. his blue eyes look majestic—they always do, but now, they are just so pretty and glossy from the salty liquid on his waterline.

every time your hips rose before slamming down, the tears threatened to escape. whatever it was rolling down his red cheeks or falling on his thighs, satoru struggled to keep them stay in place.

“i-i tried to stop him—” you carefully listened to his words as he did his best to speak through his heavy breathing of his incoming orgasm, “i really did! b-but he—oh god!” his words were cut where you sped up the pace.

“you did well,” you whisper, being gentle as ever when placing a soft kiss near his ear. “i don’t really know what happened between the two of you,” you admit, ignoring satoru’s high-pitched noises as he began to claw at your skin when his tummy begins to flex again.

“but i know you did a fucking good job,” you finish, and he does too. satoru screams into your shoulder that had been marked with his well-kept nails, sobbing along his release. you kept stroking his hair, feeling his cum fill you up.

the milky ring appears soon enough, and your hips finally come to a stop. satoru didn’t complain this time, letting you coo at him and whisper sweet nothing’s into his ear. telling him what a “good boy” he was, and how he “took it so well”

he didn’t feel so miserable now. the memory of suguru’s back turned to him as he walked out of his life will never leave his mind. it will never not haunt him everywhere he goes—the burning feeling inside his chest will forever stay.

but somehow, he couldn’t think about it when your gentle touches were pulling him to cloud nine. the way your hand caressed his thighs while the other one dragged the wet towel to clean up the mess you two made while his head was gently placed upon your pillow gave him butterflies.

the lipgloss he always wore was dried out now, making the skin feel weird and wobbly. but satoru found the strength to tear his lips apart and say what he wanted you to know.

“[name] . . .” satoru whispered softly, “thank you.”