#echo ghost noise

[echo-ghost-noise]

(echo ghost noise)

[ficoandleo]

'It makes sense if you think about it. After whatever happened last year.'

Leo stared blankly into the last frame of the youtube video on his screen, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. The corner of the library he'd tucked himself into for research was quiet enough, with even the cats rarely poking their heads by to check on him. Technically he wasn't looking into anything restricted that he'd need to hide for, but he didn't want the noise to potentially be a distraction.

'The weird thing is that there clearly aren't many ghosts around here.'

He drops the chair back down and looks through the Clash memorials. It's a lot of people. Mostly human. He tabs back over to the recent memorials made for victims of the anomalous inpatient. For a while after that there were quite a few ghosts around the campus and the ruined hospital. Leo could sometimes hear the airy, echoey whispers of their voices when he passed by. One or two were strong enough to be seen. In the days following it got quieter and quieter until the only sounds were the living. He remembered seeing students from a few different houses going to the area now and then. Kusanagi, too.

One of those students was a friend of one of the Vagastrom students--he remembered him bringing them over, convinced something was haunting the area.

Ex-Clementia then.

Darkwick was just laying damn near any ghost on campus to rest without letting them stick around and resolve their business? Even if they aren't dangerous? Kind of scummy, but probably just a precautionary measure. Spirits were a little unpredictable.

'A video would be a bad idea then. Too much publicity.' He's only cruel for no reason when it's funny. There's not really any humor in double-shotting a guy who doesn't deserve it. 'But it'd still be interesting to know what's going on there. I'd just have to find a covert way to ask. . .they might be monitoring our messages too much for me to go through YouTube.'

In person would have to do. At some point. Just another thing on his eternal to-do list! Leo stretched and groaned, listening to the pop of muscle and crack of bone and every other reaction his body gave to the movement.

If Taro Kirisaki(Zenji Kotodama, rather, using his name would probably attract too much attention) was a ghost that meant ghouls' souls were probably still intact enough to leave spirits behind, even if they weren't very strong spirits. More importantly if his ghost was still hanging out after this long it meant whatever demon he'd made a pact with hadn't come for him. That or something kept demons from coming to Darkwick, which was unlikely considering how little was really known about demons. If pact-makers did, at some point, unconsciously(?) consume their demons after making their pacts then the demons' souls probably didn't integrate with their own. Either they were neutralized(erased? Laid to rest?) or they were housed within the body and released on death. And there were no records of unknown S-class anomalies or demons appearing after the death of Taro Kirisaki. He died at Darkwick General, there would have to be a report somewhere if something like that happened. That or it was kept majorly under wraps.

And of course no one wanted to talk about The Clash so asking would be difficult right now. He needed a better rapport with the third and second years to get them to talk. But even Romeo didn't want to talk about it too much, and Leo was one of the only people Romeo trusted right now!

Leo exhaled sharply through his nose.

Why is it that everything kind of interesting was always just out of reach? It was like being edged on entertainment and knowledge. That was only fun when there was a good payoff.

Maybe Zenji would prove to be a good payoff in the end. He probably wouldn't know anything--or he wouldn't tell him anything--but maybe he would at least be entertaining.

[ismails]

Please help me rebulid my Bakery

Vetted here by @90-ghost

I'm Ismail Almughanni an entrepreneur from devastated Gaza trying his best to rebuild his Bakery 🍞🥐🥖

On a quiet morning, the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the street, signaling the start of a new day at your small bakery, a place you took immense pride in. For years, this bakery had been a haven where people from all around would gather to enjoy the warm, delicious pastries and bread that you carefully crafted. It was a symbol of hard work, a beacon of hope, and a destination for anyone seeking a taste of comfort amidst life's challenges.

But one day, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The sounds of bombing began to shake the city, and it wasn’t long before the fires of war reached your neighborhood. There was no warning, no chance to escape or save what you could. Shells rained down on the district that housed your beloved bakery. You watched helplessly from a distance, unable to do anything.

Minutes passed like hours. When the noise finally subsided, and the thick smoke that blocked out the sun began to clear, you looked towards your cherished place. It was destroyed.

The walls that once protected you and brought you closer to your customers had collapsed, and the oven where you had kindled the flames of hope had turned to ash. Everything was shattered, broken, as if that place had never been a sanctuary of peace and comfort.

But the destruction wasn’t just physical. The pain in your heart was far greater than any material loss, a place filled with beautiful memories now reduced to rubble. The moments when you saw smiles on people’s faces as they savored your bread, the laughter that echoed through the bakery—those were now just memories, dissolving in the ashes of devastation.

As days went by, you tried to piece together the fragments, not just of the bakery but of yourself as well. You knew rebuilding wouldn’t be easy, and the wounds left by the war wouldn’t heal quickly. But you also knew that the hope you had infused into your bread would remain alive in your heart, even if the tables and chairs were destroyed, even if the bakery itself was gone.

The bakery may have been destroyed by war, but its spirit lives on in you, in everyone who tasted your bread, and in everyone who walked into that small place and found a slice of happiness.

Here the pictures show Ismail doing his job as a baker, but in the harsh war, after he had a large bakery, he started baking and helping people in an old oven made of clay. His first and last concern was to help people.🌾🥐🥖

Vetted here by @90-ghost

[screampied]

i saw this on my feed and how about sextherapist!sylus and virgin!reader that struggles with making themselves orgasm? you can go from there 🤗

warnings. — ☆ fem! reader, sēx therapist sylus, virgín reader, praise, dirty talk, semi public, first time squírt, fıngering, mdni.

“oh, so you really weren’t kidding—were you, kitten?” sylus hums, feeling you writhe around his lap in anticipation. you’re so up close to him as your back’s facing the opposite way of his chest. in the far distance, you hear a plethora of noises coming outside of his office. meaningless chit chatter from his coworkers, loud stomps echoing down the hall, his annoying fax machine that forevermore continues to spit out those same clicking cries, and so on. you’ve been attending sessions with sylus for quite some time now, and you just needed to know how to orgasm properly. you tried everything and nothing would work. according to you, it was dire and you wanted to know if it was as good as people say. “daydreamin’ again?” he coos huskily, hot breath colliding near the twitching shell of your ear. a veiny hand of his softly trails down your inner thighs, glancing at your slid to the side panties. “ah, look at her. she’s so gorgeous.”

“sylusss,” you hiss out his name, gingerly wrapping your clammy fingers around his broad cuffed wrist. “hurry up.”

the white haired man snickers at your agitation, and once he teasingly ghosts two thick fingers over your throbbing protected entrance—his chest rumbles from wry laughter. “my, you’re so impatient. but fine, fine. spread these pretty legs, let me see what we’re workin’ with.”

right away, you sprawl your legs out even further then before and you hear him whistle.

“what a sight,” he purrs, and your head slumps back against his chest. it was almost half past ten at night and sylus was technically off work. your session ended about an hour ago but you just persisted that you needed one more thing.

an orgasm.

your nostrils smell his musky scent of loud rich leather and sandalwood that’s smothering all over his clothing. he brushes a thumb over the lace fabric of your panties before feeling just how soaked you were. “cute, bet you were soaked like this the entire time we were chattin’, hm?”

“f- fuck,” you swallow, and a plump tip of his finger gradually pulls at the string of your underwear. you remain laid back against his lap, gnawing at the bars of your enclosure.

the two of you were sitting on a fat cushioned sofa that’s dipping inward from the heavy pounds of weight. sylus was slow — painfully slow, he knew what he was doing. he lets out a raspy chortle, hearing your slow needy breaths featuring each exasperated gasp that leaves from your lips. “sylus, please.” you moan through gritted teeth, the wait just becoming unbearable.

sylus shushes you, pressing his soft lips up near the sloping nape of your neck. “there there,” and he talks over your whines before within seconds, a finger slowly inserts its way inside. you gasp, feeling your tummy heave. his finger was long, not only that but it was very very thick. you started to hear your heartbeat dramatically thump through your ears as he continues to speak. “pay attention now, this right here?” and you whimper, feeling his middle finger swirl around inside of your pussy. he taps against a spot that makes you feel almost every nerve shoot your body. “this is the clit, kitten. and this,” and you moan, hearing the sloshing sounds of your own mess fill the room. sylus gradually plugs in another finger - his pointer finger, and it fully extends immediately, reaching a spongy spot. “this is my favorite, your pretty g-spot.”

“s- sylus,” you suck in a frustrated breath, realizing that he had not one but two fingers inside. he’s very gentle regardless . . gentle and undeniably slow. oh, the wait was killing you. with your flapping lashes fluttering back against your hooded eyelids, you couldn’t help but gnaw at your quivering bottom lip. this was so much better than your own fingers. his was far longer and experienced. his plump lips starts to kiss near your neck this time, softly lolling his tongue down your skin, craving more of your sweet taste. “more, f- finger me.”

“yes ma’am,” he jibes, and it takes him a few dreadfully long seconds before he’s finally making haste. the tone of sylus’s voice was so deep that it nearly shakes you to the very core—you feel his exact rough vibrato against you. he hears the irregular changes of your breathing whilst his fingers continue to roam inside of your cunt.

“mhm, there’s about over ten thousand pretty little nerves stored up in here,” and he’s just casually talking over your babbling whines. the tips of his fingers were now already so soaked with your sappy slick. it’s gluing against his digits effortlessly — sweet like honey. your folds were just drooling, and every so often, he pulls his fingers out just to stare at the slippery sloppy mess. “how’s it feel? talk to me, sweet girl.”

as your body resumes to tingle from the circular maneuvers of his two fat digits, you let off a loud moan, peering at your left thigh that’s starting to mercilessly shake. “good—fuck, so good,” you whine, the stimulation making you merely bite down on your tongue. sylus hums in amusement, noticing how your thighs would just fail to stay still—it’s cute, you’re a jittery mess but your hand finds it’s way wrapping around his wrist again. “faster,” you plead, and your eyes nearly roll back once he’s just repeatedly toying with your precious g-spot.

again, and again, and again.

your gummy walls accepted sylus’s fingers freely and it was so snug, your mouth can’t help but start to salivate once you realize you’re coming close. he’s quick, plummeting such inches of just two simple digits in and out of you at such a maddened pace. he’s using his entire wrist, his finger work had your toes curling in awe.

“ah, easy now kitten. just relax and bare around ‘em. there’s no rushing a pretty pussy this sloppy,” and he’s speaking right up against your ear again. if you weren’t throbbing then, you definitely were now. sylus even licks against the edge of your ear, giving it a playful nibble. “c’mooon, give me that orgasm, uh huh. make me proud, sweetie.”

“hngh, s-sylus,” you whimper out loudly, your entire body growing tense. sylus’s free hand creeps toward your tummy, softly caressing against your bare skin that’s loosely tucked underneath your blouse. this was so risky. anyone could just walk in and see you - you and him, but you didn’t care—you didn’t care, especially when you were so close to making a mess all his sofa. “fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“let go for me,” he whispers, and his tone was so soothing. it’s almost as if he wasn’t inches deep inside of your swollen pulsating cunt with two thick fingers. in and out, he’s shoving them in and out of you, twisting them around and curling them all throughout your gripping walls. fuck, your toes were scrunched up, feeling such rippling waves surge through you. you were almost positive that if it wasn’t for the help of his hand holding you steady in place against his lap, you’d fall right from his grasp. sylus brings one final kiss toward the back of your collarbone before humming. “atta girl. just give it to me. c’mon, all on my fingers.”

but abruptly, right as you’re coming undone, you feel yourself spraying your translucent slick all on his pumping fingers. a shrieking scream dies from the back of your throat and he finds it oh so cute.

sylus feels you pulsing around him and he grows quiet—you huff out heavy heaving breaths, realizing that you’re squirting. it only lasts for a few seconds but it felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “oh my g- godddd.” you collapse back against his chest, his fingertips delicately plying with your prodding g-spot for just a few seconds longer before he pulls them out. slowly, sylus retracts his digits out of your puffy cunt, watching how it’s now glistening with your honeyed sap.

“aw,” he breaks the silence, hearing your pussy squeal again with numerous squelches as he’s dragging out his two drenched fingers. you’re still so sensitive, it’s like your entire body was burning up with fiery scorching hot heat. it’s intense, your thighs shamelessly try to squeeze themselves shut whilst you’re just rigorously shuddering on his lap. “would you look at thaaaat,” and his arms wrap around you. “such a good girl. although you’ve made quite the mess.”

in the midst of him sweet talking, praising you and all, you’re panting heavily. your sighing chest’s raising up and down as you’re just laid out on his lap, exhausted. as you’re chasing your own scurried breaths, sylus kisses the top back of your head. “again,” you moan, a strain in your voice. despite how your legs were still shivering—you craved more, you wanted to orgasm like that over and over. “t- teach me how to do again.”

“to squirt?” sylus raises a snowy white brow, turning you around to face him. his crimson eyes bore into yours and there’s that same sly smile stretching across his lips once you desperately nod. “hm, alright. but this time, i just might have to teach you with my tongue,” and you feel yourself throb once he’s slowly making you recline yourself back against his velvet-colored settee. “now lie back kitten, doctor’s orders. .”

[monstersholygrail]

Alien bf never knew there was even more love and affection to behold than what you had shown him and what he’s seen in the data archives found on their ships computers. But ever since he discovered sex and what it felt like to be so deeply connected to you he had turned into a fiend.

If you thought he was taking up all your time before, you literally cannot take a breath without him sliding up behind you and gathering you in his giant arms. Picking up your plush body with ease and molding it against his hard frame.

He carries you everywhere to the point where you often forget the last time your feet have touched the ground. The rest of your crew looks over at you in pity but you honestly can’t find it in yourself to complain. He views you as his mate, it only makes sense to want to do these things for you.

You can’t even delude yourself into thinking it’s innocent anymore. He knows what he’s doing, especially since he was caught watching porn with a hand around his cock. Moaning your name loud enough for someone to think he was calling for help. And he loves it. Making you squirm as he shamelessly feels you up. Soft chirps leaving him as he noses at your cute blush.

But his favorite noises from you come when he’s gotten six or seven orgasms out of your pretty cunt. Making a total mess of his throbbing cock that’s been wrecking you for hours. Fucking you stupid to the point where you forget your own language and start letting out the familiar clicks of his species.

His clawed fingers curl around your waist, using you like a fleshlight as he slams back down on his cock at a brutal pace. Meeting his own thrusts to hammer up into you even harder. Those lovely clicks that sing your pleasure pierce the air and your pussy pulses around his thick girth.

It brings him more satisfaction than he can express. Above all he relishes in the fact that there’s no doubt by now that your crew knows what’s going on in just the next wing of the ship. That’s right. You’re taken and no human cock could ever compare to what he can give you.

“Louder, sweet mate. L-let them, unngh, let them hear how good I make you feel. Need them to know you’re mine,” he growls, his cock twitching inside you and hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.

You cry out loudly, not wanting to admit how good his possession over you feels. Now that you know it’s intentional it makes it all a million times hotter. You’d be embarrassed by the loud squelch that echos with each thrust if you weren’t so unbearably needy, even after coming so much already.

The coil in your belly tightens so hard you fear you’re about to burst. And the second it snaps your releasing streams of your orgasm all over your Alien bf’s huge lap, soaking his lower half entirely. He only lasts for a few more thrusts before he’s burying himself inside you and splashing buckets of cum into your eager cunt.

He keeps you firmly on his lap, your bodies still deeply joined long after he grows soft again. Both of you panting heavily. His breath ghosts across your burning skin as he nuzzles into you, showing no signs of letting go any time soon.

It won’t take much to get him going again. So you take advantage of the break for as long as you can. Trying to ignore the way your pussy flutters as if trying to get him hard again. You can’t control it, he’s turned you into as much of a sex fiend as he is.

Reaching behind you, you brush your hand against your bfs large cheek until you’re weaving your fingers in his long silky hair. A deep purr rumbles from his chest and he leans contently into your touch.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at this whole human intimacy thing. Is there anything else you want to learn?” You ask teasingly, every inch of your body humming with satisfaction.

But of course he takes your words seriously. Perhaps humor will be next up on the list of lessons to get through. Something to think about perhaps when his cock isn’t creating a bulge in your soft belly.

“I wish to learn everything… so long as it’s you teaching it to me, my mate.”

Though all thoughts of lessons and teachings fly out the window when you feel his long thick fingers slowly making their way down to your swollen puffy clit. That he finds with ease by the way. Your bf already growing needy for you again.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

shower sounds

It was wrong. It was immoral.

But Simon 'Ghost' Riley couldn't help himself. He just couldn't.

You were his neighbor. His sweet, smiling, food-bringing goddess next-door. You had shared conversations with him, a few bottles of wine from time to time, too many cookies for him to count- you shared walls with him.

For the most part, the walls you shared with him weren't a problem. Sometimes you had your TV volume up too loud, sometimes you sang a bit too loudly to whatever music you were listening to, but that never bothered Simon.

Sometimes he could hear your cat jump up to her cat tower. He could always hear (and sometimes feel the vibration) when she would launch her chubby self up to the tower, and the tower would always knock against the wall you shared with Simon. It made him scoff quietly every time. He had a fondness for that fat cat, whether he would admit it out loud or not.

Maybe her owner, too.

His excellent hearing was partially to blame, so he never made it to be a big deal. He never wanted you to know he heard you that much, didn't want to make you feel bad for some reason.

And those noises really weren't all that bad. In fact, he looked forward to hearing those mundane sounds. Sometimes a cupboard would close a bit too loudly; he never imagined you being the type to go randomly slamming cupboards shut, and he would wonder if you were alright. If he didn't hear anything else, he wouldn't worry as much.

It was a different kind of noise that Simon 'Ghost' Riley was bothered by that came from your unit. Noises, rather. And it was always one kind of noise that led to another…

The first time it happened, he felt almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Maybe he'd be more full of shame if he hadn't felt so damn good after.

Simon had been lounging on one end of his couch, TV remote in hand. He was switching between channels when he heard the familiar sound of your shower turning on. 

There was always this almost ringing-like sound that would come through the building's old pipes when the water was on, especially in the showers. The sound was always the same when the shower turned on, though if you adjusted the spray of the shower head, it would become higher or lower pitched depending on the intensity of the stream of water.

He heard you turn on some music before he could hear the shower curtain being drawn back and forth as you probably stepped into the shower, naked-

Simon shook his head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, picking something to watch on TV.

But there was nothing on.

He decided to give up on that. Right after his television went black, he heard the familiar high pitched noise of the building's old plumbing go up a few levels.

Simon wouldn't have thought anything of it if his apartment hadn't been dead quiet, and if he hadn't heard a small moan through the shared wall between you.

Simon's eyes widened as he listened, his ear turned towards the wall now so he could listen more closely. He could hear the harsh spray of your showerhead, his mind racing with what you could be using it for and where the stream was being directed on your body.

He felt a spark of something, and his body began to respond to the intimate sounds you were making that echoed into his apartment through the wall. His breathing began to slow and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He could hear your soft whimpering and short gasps even clearer now.

A lump began to form in his throat as his body continued to react, his heart racing with excitement. His hand instinctively went to his groin, his fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal. He knew he shouldn't be standing there, his ear on the wall between you, his eyes closed, listening to you pleasure yourself in the shower-

But he just couldn't help himself. The sounds were drawing him in, making him feel like he was part of something intimate and-

Simon's eyes snapped open, and he moved away from the wall, trying to compose himself. He couldn't believe he was getting turned on by listening to his sweet, adorable, sweets-and-food gifting neighbor getting herself off in the shower. He needed to put some distance between you. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head and calm down.

He had taken the first step to move into another room when he heard a faint whisper through the wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

Back against the wall he was.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He was stuck, his ears glued to the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the other side.

The sounds were getting louder, and Simon could hear you more clearly now. You were whimpering and moaning, your breathing a little shallower now.

He continued to listen, unable to move away. His breathing was ragged and sharp, his body reacting to every single noise on the other side of the wall.

Simon's hand went back down to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers tracing the material. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized what he was about to do, but he didn't stop himself.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his hands moving urgently as he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. He was getting more and more turned on as he heard your moans and whimpers growing louder, the sounds getting more frequent.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, his other hand grasping his already rock-hard length.

He stroked himself slowly, his hand still pressed against the wall, his ear inches from the spot where your voice seemed to be coming from.

His eyes closed once more as he imagined what you might look like, pleasuring yourself in the shower, as he stroked his throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip with precum.

To keep his own pleasured sounds from getting too loud, in fear that you would hear him and maybe stop, he bit down on his own tongue, quickly tasting copper in his mouth as a muffled groan escaped his lips.

He imagined you in the shower, how wet you must be in so many ways, how slick your skin was as you touched yourself, and how much you wanted this, needed this release just as desperately as he did.

With a low growl, he began pumping his shaft faster, harder as he imagined your wet skin, your curves, your breasts, your ass... He could picture it all so vividly, thanks to the erotic symphony playing through the thin wall separating them.

He was stroking his thick, angry cock faster now, his hips rocking slightly, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the distant echoes of your pleasure-filled cries.

"Fuck," he heard you whisper breathlessly before letting out a soft whine. You were getting close. He could tell.

So was he.

The sound of your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Simon found himself matching the rhythm of your strokes, pumping his own cock in time with your breathy pleas.

His grip tightened around his shaft, the veins bulging as he worked himself closer to the edge. The image of you touching yourself, lost in pleasure, fueled his desire, making him ache to be inside you.

He could almost taste you on his tongue, feel your slick heat enveloping him as he thrust deep. The fantasy was so real, so intoxicating, that he swore he could smell the sweet musk of your arousal carried through the thin partition.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he quickened his pace, chasing his impending climax. Precum dripped steadily from the tip of his cock, leaving a sticky trail on his fist as he pumped faster, harder.

Then, he heard what he had been waiting for most of all, a sound he knew was coming but wasn't sure what exactly it would sound like. And it was more delicious than he could have ever imagined.

He heard you cry out through the wall, in the shower, as your orgasm washed over you. He really hoped that your sound of released pleasure distracted you enough to not notice his own.

Simon's entire world narrowed to the sound of your climax, a whine that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his reality. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and it shattered his last semblance of control.

He knew he was about to be loud. He needed to do something, fast, that wouldn’t mean biting his tongue or lip off-

Simon bit down on his clothed arm as he came undone, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane while the pain from biting his own arm threatened to tip the scales of pain and pleasure towards the former, but maybe that made him like it even more. Hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, painting the wall he leaned against in thick, viscous streaks. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the aftershocks, his vision flashing white behind clenched eyelids.

When Simon finally returned to Earth, he was left looking at the aftermath of his actions as he caught his breath, breathing in and out with his eyes closed, still listening intently through the wall just in case you had any more delicious sounds in you.

masterlist

[fairy-angel222]

𝐂𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍’

—OFFICER! TOJI F. x F! READER

᧔♡᧓ in which your officer boyfriend catches you at a party that you lied about going to

᧔♡᧓ content: rough smut, age gap (reader is in college), angry sex, jealous sex, possessive toji, handcuffs, breeding, choking, hair pulling, ass/tit/pussy slapping, praise, degradation, daddy kink here and there, begging, orgasm denial, passing out, pussy eating, semi-public sex, sex in police car

᧔♡᧓ requested by @valleydoli 💗

᧔♡᧓ wc: 3.1k

Toji couldn’t fight the annoyance on his face as he pulled up into the small neighborhood. Loud music blaring through the air as colorful lights beamed onto the dimly lit street. There had been a number of complaints. The neighborhood’s residents ringing 9-1-1 one after the other.

To say he didn’t care was an understatement. Out of the whole department Gojo Satoru just had to dispatch him to break up a stupid college party. His police vehicle came to a stop a little down the block, the tall man stepping out with stonic features and a sigh as he made his way closer to the source of vulgar tunes which seemed to shake surrounding houses.

Toji stalked up to the front door, the smell of hard alcohol and weed hitting his nose as he banged on the door. Forceful enough for the sound to ring throughout the noisy inside. A drunk boy no older than 19 swinging the door open with a grin. “Hey man! O-oh shit. Hey officer, what can i do for you?” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard under Toji’s harsh gaze as he tried his hardest to appear sober.

Toji peered over the boy and into the room. Sweaty bodies grinding against each other while others made out, almost every hand nursing a plastic red cup. “Do me a favor and just keep the noise down alright, if not shut this whole damn thing down.. what the fuck.” The officer spat bitterly, jaw clenching with a scowl when his eyes landed on someone. His someone.

You.

He couldn’t believe it. You had been so persistent on spending the night at home. Claiming that you had piles on piles of work to complete. Did you crave attention that badly? One measly night he had to work overtime and this was the shit you pulled? Clad in a lacy dress which had a deep v cut and barely reached your mid thigh. Your body, his girl’s body, on display for everyone to see.

He could see the eyes roaming your figure top through bottom. His blood boiling as he visibly seethed, shoving past the lanky teenage boy to make his way over to you. You were grinning happily, one hand in your hair and the other ghosting over the hand that rested on your hip. Giving the girl behind you the dance of her life.

The music lowered, Toji’s eyes twitching at all the loud gasps that echoed through the room. All eyes on his large frame as he towered over everyone in the room. Muscles bulging through his tight shirt with each hard step that he took. All eyes but yours. You were too into what you were doing, and your boyfriend couldn’t help his rising anger as he got closer and closer. Spotting familiar brunette and green hair sat on a couch with their lips on each other’s.

Of course. You were dragged here.

You giggled loudly, taking a swig from the girl’s cup and letting the bitter tasting liquid scrape at the walls of your throat when you swallowed. Your friends’ eyes widened as they pulled away from each other, desperately trying to get your attention as you swayed your hips. Those hips that only Toji was allowed to see move.

A hand grabbed the flesh of your arm tightly, your head whipping around to snap at the stranger before your brows furrowed. Taking in that broad chest that you’d gotten to know by heart. Your eyes timidly trailed upwards, a small whimper caught in your throat when they met his darkened ones. The man’s head tilting to the side as if daring you to not comply. He would not hesitate to get you out of there over his shoulder if he had to.

“T-toji.. h-hi i-“ you stuttered, looking down at your feet as you shuffled nervously. Eyes darting to the girls who eyed you apologetically.

“Shut up.” His voice was firm, and your thighs clenched as you held back another whimper. You could feel everyone’s eyes boring into you. “Fuck. You know what? Everybody out.” His voice raised at the end. The bustling college teens wasting no time before they scattered, afraid at just the mere sight of the man. “And you.. oh you’re in for it now.”

All the alcohol seemed to leave your system when Toji pulled your arms behind your back. Cuffing your hands as your face heated up in embarrassment. “T-toji w-wait.” The man ignored you as he pulled you out of the room, not caring about how you stumbled over your own two feet to keep up with his large strides.

“She really disobeyed you this time huh?” A familiar voice rung out, a teasing smirk on Gojo’s face as he walked up the few stairs that you’d just descended from. “Good job Y/n.” He winked, a deep chuckle leaving his throat as he thought back to exactly why he had sent Toji out here.

It didn’t take long to reach the vehicle with the speed you were being pulled at. Toji’s hold on your arm never loosening in the slightest. “Get in.” Toji spoke meanly, holding the door open with a gesture for you to get inside.

“But-“

“Get the fuck in Y/n.” He never called you by your name often, only when he was mad. It was always some sweet petname that made you feel all warm and tingly inside. Sliding into the vehicle you kept your head low, the door slamming behind you not too long after.

You squirmed in your seat. Giving into the tension filled silence as you watched his grip on the wheel tighten until his knuckles were pale. Thoughts of you letting any other man touch you coursing in his mind.

Toji undid the first two buttons of his shirt, using his fingers to prod the tight fabric open as he rolled his neck. Taking the pair of handcuffs off his suited pants before rolling the vehicle to a stop.

“Toji ‘m sorry.” You mumbled almost shyly, face getting hot as your arousal dampened your lace panties.

He ignored you. Taking a step out of the car and into the night’s darkness. The vacant road scarce of any sources of light. Your door swung open, eyes widening in a doe-like pout as you looked up at him.

“Don’t. Not after that shit you just pulled.” He warned, expression still hard as you climbed out, the slam of the door making you jump with a yelp. A small whine left your throat as you were flipped around, chest pressed into the vehicle’s side with your hands still bound behind your back.

He roughly pushed your dress up to your waist with a scoff. “Going out dressed like you want to get laid. Am i not enough for you baby?” His fingers found their way to your clad folds. Brushing over your clit with a hum. “Do i not fuck you enough? Is that little pussy so desperate to be filled?” He didn’t give to a chance to answer, his palm landing heavily on your pussy making you jerk with a cry. “Look at that. She’s all wet f’me. Such a greedy fucking cunt yeah?”

You whimpered loudly, Toji’s voice deep and husky in your ear as he kissed up your neck. Allowing you to lean back onto him with your head on his chest. Soft moans falling past your lips as you let yourself grind on his fingers. Another loud cry filling the air when he landed it hard on your ass instead.

“I shouldn’t even be touching you.” He whispered venomously, voice laced with clear disappointment as he pushed his fingers past the thin fabric, pressing the pad of his middle finger onto your clit before rubbing small circles. Watching the way your lips parted in sweet noises as you let your eyes flutter shut. “Should just drop you home and leave you all desperate and needy.”

That made you whine with the shake of your head, pushing your ass back onto his crotch in want. “Or will you just call someone to come fuck you like a little slut?” You cringed at the sound of your panties tearing, Toji’s muscles straining against the confines of his shirt’s fabric as he rolled up his sleeves. Quickly working to free his hard cock before pushing you into the back seat of the car with a smirk. Handling your body until you were face down, with your ass up on display for him.

“Look at yourself.” He forced your head up to gaze at your reflection in the window. “Gonna fucking destroy you baby. Do you want that?”

You nodded, eyes prickling with tears as you clenched in anticipation. You wanted his cock so bad. “Ahh f-fuck.” Another slap to your ass.

“So you do have a mouth.”

Words. He wanted to hear you say it.

“P-please fuck me daddy.”

“You can do better than that princess.”

“Please. Please fuck me. Need you so bad. ‘M aching f’ you. Want you to fill me up.” You begged.

“That’s it. That’s my slutty girl.” You mewled loudly at the intrusion of Toji’s thick cock. The man bottoming out inside you with one quick thrust making your knees buckle underneath you while your back arched. Feeling Toji’s fat tip immediately prodding at the increased tightness near your cervix.

“Shit.” He cursed, breathing getting heavy as he nestled his cock within your warm walls. Forgetting just how much he loved that little cunt of yours.

He started off rough, forcing his cock deep as you rocked harshly against the soft seat. Loud moans dripping off the tip of your tongue as his cocked kissed meanly at your g spot.

Your pussy stretched to accommodate the quick thrusts of his girthy length. Feeling his veins scraping deliciously against your gummy walls as he hammered into you.

You cried out when Toji’s hand found its way around your throat, pulling you up to his chest with your hands flush between your back and his chest. Drool filled babbles spilling messily onto your skin at the force of his hips.

“Haah— T-toji f-fuck,” you keened loudly, your chest riding and falling rapidly as your brain turned to mush. Unable to think of anything but how good he felt inside of you. Lewd squelches mixed with skin slapping burning its way into your brain. A constant reminder of Toji’s abuse to your sensitive cunt as your vision blurred.

“That’s it baby. Take it real nice n’ deep. You’re practically swallowing me in right now.” He breathed. Hand tightening around your throat as the other travelled down to your chest, barely having to tug at the black fabric for your tits to spill into his large hand. Rough fingers twisting at your pert nipples as he palmed the soft flesh.

“Ahh— so good. Feels s’ good daddy.” You cried, Toji’s hand landing two consecutive slaps onto your breasts.

“Gonna stuff this pussy real full. Breed her with my cum till you know your place.” He growled lowly, his frustration seeming to reemerge as he stroked his cock with your tightness. Allowing himself to poke at every corner of your warmth, ruining your slutty pussy to your tears.

“Wanna go out dressed like you’re available. Single. Like you don’t have me taking care of that ache between your legs every single night.” His pace quickened with every word. Snapping his hips up mercilessly till his balls reddened your puffy clit, mouth hung open in whiny mewls as your stomach tightened.

Your tears flowed freely as you were shoved back into the car’s seat. Your mind dizzy at the plowing of his cock into your sweet spot. Toji’s hand moving to grip at the delicate flesh of your hip with other torturing your clit. Rubbing mean, hard circles onto the swollen bud.

“Tojii— ‘m gonna, ahh- ‘m gonna cum.” You whimpered, catching sight of the traces of mascara staining your cheeks alongside your messy hair. The sight being enough to make you call out his name incoherently as your eyes rolled back. Legs shaking violently as you clenched around him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—“ you chanted, letting out a broken scream as you squirted messily. Completely drenching Toji’s cock in your wetness.

Toji’s movements stilled, his fingers digging into your hair with a sharp tug upwards. “Oh i’m sorry? Did i say you could cum baby?”

“Sorry, nngh- c-couldn’t hold it.” You hiccuped, knowing that you were in trouble.

Toji shook his head, pulling you back so you lay flat across the seat. Shoving one of your legs up beside your body with a grunt. A shiver raking through your body as the cool air breezed through your sopping pussy.

You let out a groan, your attempt to close your legs stopped by Toji’s strong hands shoving them apart. Groping at both sides of your ass before his palms made contact with the skin. A bubbly whine catching in your throat when you tightened around nothing.

Toji sunk to his knees on the ground outside, the forest to his back as he began pressing soft kisses to the sides of your thighs, his tongue licking a long stripe up your slit.

He groaned, grip tightening on your thighs when his tongue darted out once more to lap at your sweetness. Sloppily running between your folds before swirling around your clit. It didn’t take long to get you where he wanted you. The overstimulation going straight to your foggy brain as Toji got lost in your heat. His eyes fluttering shut with a hum as he tried to pull you impossible further onto his tongue. Your constantly flowing slick mixed with his saliva dripping sloppily onto the ground below.

Your fingers clawed at nothing as you began to tremble, crying out loudly as your eyes closed shut. Your tear stained cheek pressed into the seat as you drooled adorably. A smirk adorning Toji’s face when he curled his thick fingers into you.

“Ahh— ‘s too muchh. Gonna cum again.” You mewled desperately, toes curling as another coil tightened in your stomach. Toji stopped sucking at your clit, pulling away from you while his fingers sped up. Paddy tips poking directly into your spot with ease. “Yeah? Gonna cum for me already?”

You answered with a high pitched moan and a small “uh huh”, feeling yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge before it all came crumbling down. Toji removing his fingers before standing up, and only then did you notice how much of his chest was on display. He leaned down to kiss away your tears, brushing away any hair stuck to your forehead. “Only good girls get these privileges baby, i’m a cop, you should know this.” He cooed.

His cock prodded at your hole, sinking into his rightful place deep within your warmth before beginning to fuck into you. He knew your orgasm had barely just died down, and he was going to fuck you to another just to leave you hungry.

Your boyfriend’s head found its place in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your ear before he grinned against your skin. “You won’t be leaving the house for days when i’m done with you.” He promised, tone gruff as he felt his cock twitch in indication of his own high.

“Haah— ‘s so muchh.” You breathed as you melted into him, his touch hot on your skin leaving short quivers in its wake. “Toji— o-oh fuckk.” You were sputtering out strangled noises of pleasure, Toji’s husky groans in your ear adding fuel to the fire as you let out a cry. Your pussy gushing onto him before your orgasm could even hit.

Toji cursed loudly, his grip on your hips allowing him to pull you back onto him as roughly as he was slamming into you. “That’s it baby, pussy’s gripping me so fucking tight.”

“‘M so close— so so close.” You gasped, basking in the small skin to skin contact of your hands on his exposed chest.

“Gotta fucking earn it. Tell me, who do you belong to princess. Who owns this slutty little pussy hmm? Who fucks you this good every night?” He questioned darkly, rolling his hips in a way he knew would drive you crazy.

“Y-you. You do. ‘S all y-yours— fuck. Please can i cum? Need to cum so bad.” You almost sobbed, Toji kissing your cheek sweetly with a breathy moan. “All mine. All fucking mine. Go ahead slutty girl. Cum f’ me.”

You let go noisily, vision clouded as your moans spilled uncontrollably past your lips. The burning sensation in your stomach slowly easing as you allowed yourself to let go. Making a mess on the man’s cock while he worked himself deeper inside you. Burying his cock as far as he could before pumping you full with a contented sigh.

“Let everyone know that you’re taken. Get you pregnant with my kid and keep you locked away. Only for me.” His cum painting your walls in hot spurts as his abs tensed. The throb of his cock slowly dulling as you milked him dry.

You whimpered, feeling the thick substance slowly seep out of you when he pulled out. All the alcohol finally catching up to you as you slipped in and out of consciousness. Letting your eyes blink shut before you went limp in his arms.

Toji groaned with a stretch, smirking down at you and your fucked out form.

So pretty.

He tugged down your dress and tucked himself back into his pants. Removing your hand cuffs before taking you into his arms gently. Laying you down more comfortably with a quick kiss to your forehead. Watching as your chest rose and fell softly, face contorted into a peaceful one despite how stained it was from your tears.

He slipped into the driver’s seat, allowing the car to reach the perfect temperature for you to rest it. Finally pulling off from the side of the road. He laughed shortly when he checked the time, contemplating whether he should even bother going back to work. He’d much rather stay home with you.

He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, rolling his eyes when he saw the name written across the screen. Satoru.

“Hello.”

“So, fucked her good didn’t ya? Made your girl cry huh Fushiguro.” The white haired man laughed into the call. Gojo had been tempted to say it over the radio, but he didn’t know if you’d be awake or not.

“That’s why you sent me out there isn’t it?” Toji scoffed, one hand on the steering wheel turning it into your apartment complex while the other worked the gear. If you were awake you’d be going crazy. Him driving was one of your many weaknesses.

“Yes, and you’re welcome. Tell her i said hi when she gets up. Bye Fushiguro~” The call beeped to an end and Toji shook his head, trying to hide the small smile creeping up onto his face. Fucking Satoru.

Glancing back at you he allowed himself to openly smile, he could never stay mad at you. It was time to show you that.

[jaxon-exe]

Ghost in the Watch Tower

(With any of my ideas, feel free to use this as u want)

So for whatever reason u want, Danny needs a new haunt. Now he can’t just pick anywhere. It has to be somewhere that fits him.

So after a bit of haunt hunting he finds the perfect place!! The fact it’s the HQ of a bunch of heroes satisfies his protection obsession nicely and as if it couldn’t get better ITS IN SPACE!!! It’s perfect!!! I mean yeah there r already people living and working there but Danny can turn invisible so it’s fine. He doesn’t need much honesty.

So for a few months Danny just chills in the watch tower without anyone knowing and all is great. Than one day Constantine is dragged into a meeting at the watch tower and immediately pick up on the fact that a Realms ghost has moved in and no one in the tower had seemed to notice.

Deciding it would be better to handle alone than risk a bunch of novices poking around one of the most dangerous types of undead there is, he sets up a banishment spell in a spare room. It should be fine anyway. The spell doesn’t affect humans so he can just deal with it and no one has to know.

Only it doesn’t work.

Ok then, well good thing he knows another ritual that should work! He gets it all set up, goes the incantation and… yeah that didn’t work either… it’s at this point he hears a near silence noise echo out. It takes a minute but he eventually figures out what it is.

…laughing…

This fucker is laughing at him…

Well any plan John had of just giving up is thrown out the window. This shit is personal now.

Danny on the other hand is having the time of his life! Not only did he score the perfect haunt, he now has free entertainment in the form of John ‘soul whore’ Constantine trying to banish him using spells and rituals that won’t do anything to a half human like him!! Best haunt EVER

Cut to a week later and Flash is on watch duty when the Zeta goes off and out walks John which leads to-

Flash: hey, wasn’t expecting.. is that a shotgun??

John: ghost in the watch tower

Flash: w-what??

John: Ghost. In the. Watch. Tower. *walks off*

Flash:…………………….*presses button* yeah hey bats urrr. I think Constantine’s lost it

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[echo-ghost-noise]

(echo ghost noise)

[cumironi]

BLESSED BY THY CLEAVAGE, AMENNN ᵎᵎ

feat. geto suguru, shoko ieiri

sum. “daddy got them for me yesterday.” you said. and daddy you mean is geto suguru and shoko is your friend. and friendship so fucked up you let her sit on your face while geto got his dick inside you. it is the power of your tit$? maybe..

wn. non-sorcerer au, college setting, geto is a mess, reader is shameless, tits are a weapon, pu$$y-drunk geto, shoko is hot and mean, worship-level oral (reader receiving), face-sitting, titfucking, deepthroating implied, unprotected vaginal $ex, internal ejaculation, cumplay (leaking, smearing), overstimulation, reader squirts (multiple times), finger $ucking, nipple play, cum on tits, aftercare / caretaking, slowburn smut, power dynamics (passive reader / active partners), possessive geto, bratty reader, filthy dirty talk, praise kink, mild degradation, shoko joining mid-act, threesome dynamic (ffm), oral fixation, reader is overstimmed and praised for it, physical restraint (holding reader down), swearing / explicit language.

a/n. let’s be real, i think both of them like girls with big tits.

geto’s apartment was the kind of place that looked cleaner in the dark. it was one of those college-boy hovels that had clearly been nice once, or maybe it was just expensive, which was not the same thing. the lights were warm but shitty, one too-yellow bulb flickering like it owed rent. outside, the sky was a bruised sort of purple, summer clinging to the air like spit, like the whole world had been licked and left to ferment. a sliding balcony door was cracked open to let in the sticky summer air, but mostly just let in moths and city noise. there were half-empty mugs on the table, a bong under the couch.

when you get there, the door was already unlocked because geto thought locks were fascist, or maybe he just liked tempting fate. either way, it creaked open with the familiar little ghost-sigh of a hinge that hadn’t been oiled since second year. the first thing you saw wasn’t geto.

it was shoko, half-draped across the floor like roadkill, holding a lit cigarette above her face while she let ash fall dangerously close to her bare stomach, and she had one boot up on the coffee table. the tank top she wore was black and paper-thin, no bra, naturally, her shorts undone like she'd given up halfway through peeing. she tilted her head toward you like an owl on ketamine.

“about time,” she said without looking at you, exhaling a lazy spiral of smoke that drifted straight toward the ceiling fan. “was starting to think you choked on your own tits walking here. and what the fuck are those.”

the loud clack of your boots on the hardwood echoing like you were making a goddamn entrance. which, to be fair—you were. your tank top wasn’t even that low-cut. okay. it kind of was. maybe a little slinky. maybe a little too tight, the kind of tight that rode up when you breathed, and you had to tug it down with a crooked hand and pretend not to notice. your skirt wasn’t helping either—barely longer than a wide belt, paired with boots too heavy for the season, but fuck it, you looked hot. like dumb hot. like, failed-a-midterm-and-still-smirking hot.

“shoko,” you said, stepping into the thick warm air of geto’s living room, “is that any way to greet a friend? and they’re boots,” you said, posing just enough to make them creak a little. leather, knee-high, chunky heel. dangerous. like if a stripper got possessed by a demon and still made rent.

“friend?” she snorted. “you show up to suguru’s place dressed like that and call it friendship?”

“maybe i just like the ambiance.” you dropped your bag by the floor next to the bong. “and talk about your boots,” shoko said, dragging smoke into her lungs like it owed her something, eyeing the expensive material. “what are they doing in my eyes.”

you didn’t even take them off. you walked around like you owned the fucking place, clomp clomp, tits bouncing with the rhythm of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and didn't care if she gave someone a cardiac episode. you stood over shoko like you were presenting a thesis. “daddy got them for me yesterday.”

she stared up at you. blinked. blinked again.

“…you’re gonna have to specify which daddy.”

“the one who’s not your sugar daddy yet,” you grinned, toeing at her thigh gently with your boot like you were about to step on her for fun. “suguru.”

“jesus christ.” shoko rolled away from your leg, smoke curling behind her. “suguru! your bimbo just tracked hell into your apartment!”

“they’re not shoes,” you shouted toward the kitchen. “they’re boots! it’s different!”

geto’s voice filtered through the apartment, hoarse and half-laughing. “they’re still from outside, babe.”

you turned to the kitchen archway with your hands on your hips, tits practically launching a coup from your neckline. “they’re not dirty! they’re special! they match my tits!”

a pause.

then, “…what the fuck does that mean,” shoko said, sitting up.

“they’re both dangerous,” you declared, and then promptly posed like you were in a perfume ad designed by perverts. you even did the little bounce. the one that made your chest jiggle in that perfect, slow-motion, anime-opening kind of way. “anyway, this place smells like feet and bad decisions.”

“you forgot dick,” came geto’s voice from the kitchen. he was shirtless. not like he was trying to be sexy about it—just wore those threadbare gray sweats, low on his hips like they had a personal vendetta against dignity. hair half-tied, face flushed from leaning over a rice cooker. “and curry. i reheated the one we got last week. it’s probably fine.” and he turn back to the kitchen.

“probably?” you echoed, walking with your boots across the carpet that had definitely seen better years. you passed shoko, who gave you a long side-eye, then a longer front-eye when your boobs jiggled as you bent to pick up a pillow off the floor.

your tank top was obscene in a very “this was never meant to be outerwear” way, and your mini skirt had no business doing the bare minimum. not that anyone was complaining. not really.

“jesus,” she muttered, flicking ash into an old instant ramen cup. “how the fuck did your tits get so big? those weren’t like that last semester.”

“i worked out.”

“with what, gravity?” she made a circling gesture toward your chest. “you bench-pressing planets?”

you flopped onto the couch behind her, letting your arms fall over the backrest like you were trying to get arrested for indecency. “they just... grew. maybe i hit second puberty.”

shoko reached over and tugged at your tank top like she was checking a label. “second puberty’s a myth. you’re lying. you either got implants or a demon’s blessing. spill it.”

“you wanna feel them?” you offered sweetly, voice honeyed and shameless.

“i always want to feel them. that’s not the point.”

from the kitchen, geto said, “do i need to be here for this? or can i just watch?”

“shut the fuck up,” shoko called, “you’re already shirtless, pervert.”

“you’re in my apartment,” he called back, emerging with three mismatched bowls of steaming curry, one chopstick set already missing. he dropped the bowls on the coffee table and gestured vaguely to the mess. “eat before i change my mind.”

shoko didn’t move. she was still staring at your chest with the intensity of a scientist trying to understand a new species. “okay but seriously,” she said, “you used to have, like, regular tits. now they’re... menace tits.”

“menace tits?” you repeated, grinning.

“like if you leaned forward too fast someone might get a concussion.”

geto sat on the floor, too tall and too casual, already scooping curry into his mouth like he hadn’t slept in two days. you follow to sit beside him. “they are kind of violent. like, threatening. in a good way.”

you pointed your spoon at him. “you’re just mad they didn’t happen to you.”

“i’d kill to have tits like that,” he said around a mouthful. “i’d start a cult.”

“you did start a cult,” shoko said, mouth twitching.

“not for tits, though. that was ideological.”

“sure,” you said, “ideologically horny.”

geto shrugged like you’d just handed him a compliment, licking curry from his thumb before he reached over to grab a napkin—and grazed your thigh with the back of his fingers like it was an accident. it wasn’t.

you pretended not to notice. shoko absolutely noticed.

“you two gonna fuck right here or should i go smoke on the balcony?”

“please,” you said, already giggling, “you’d just press your face to the glass like a cat.”

“damn right i would,” she said, dragging her cigarette to the filter. “free porn and curry? i’m not moving.”

and somehow, that was the real vibe of geto’s apartment: filthy, sweaty, comfortable. you’d never been somewhere more disgusting that still made you feel like curling up and letting the night rot slowly around you. the air was hot, the curry was too spicy, shoko was drunk off her second beer and already making plans to fight god, and geto kept looking at you like he knew exactly how that tank top was going to end up by midnight.

and he wasn’t wrong.

geto finished his curry with the kind of single-minded focus you’d expect from a man who’d been fasting for enlightenment but gave up when he smelled something fried. he licked his thumb again, sucked a speck of rice off his knuckle, and looked up at you through his lashes like he knew. like he always knew. like he was in on some joke your thighs were telling in a language only perverts spoke.

“you still haven’t taken those boots off,” he said, voice slow and syrupy, the kind that soaked into your spine.

“and i won’t,” you said primly, crossing your legs just to watch his eyes track the motion like a dog waiting for a treat. “they’re part of the outfit. they’re a lifestyle choice.”

“they’re a threat,” shoko muttered, setting her empty bowl on the floor and lighting another cigarette with the dying embers of the last one. “to national security. to mental health.”

“you’re just mad they don’t match your tits,” you replied sweetly, leaning back into the couch cushions and pulling your tank top up in a useless attempt at modesty that just made everything worse. “they couldn’t,” shoko said. “your tits are... chaotic evil.”

“they’re misunderstood,” you argued, grabbing your beer again. “they just have ambition.”

“they have range,” geto added, finishing the last of his beer. “you could balance a wine glass on them or smother someone to death. versatility.”

you raised the can in salute. “exactly.”

shoko stood, suddenly, like the couch had become spiritually uninhabitable. “i’m going to smoke something illegal on the balcony before i get emotionally invested in whatever’s about to happen here.”

“too late,” you called as she slid the glass door open with a screech and stepped out into the heavy night.

then it was just you and geto. the apartment hummed around you—dim, hot, cluttered. the fridge buzzed like it had trauma. the clock ticked unevenly. somewhere in the building, a dog barked once and then gave up. and geto... well.

he shifted closer. not much. just enough that his knees brushed yours, and his hand landed lightly on your bare thigh. not high. not low. just... there. a placeholder. a punctuation mark between all the things you hadn’t said out loud yet. “you know,” he said, thumb stroking a lazy arc across your skin, “i keep thinking about what you said earlier.”

you blinked, faux-innocent. “i said a lot of things.”

“the part about your tits matching the boots.” he looked so serious, and that made it worse. “i didn’t get it at first. but now... now i see it.”

“do you?”

“yeah.” his voice dropped lower, like it was dragging itself across velvet. “they’re both dangerous. built for worship. you don’t walk into a room with those things—you arrive.”

you let your head fall back, laughing—breathless and soft, because of course he was turning your bullshit into poetry. you could feel the heat of him next to you, his palm heavier now, fingers edging higher with that slow, reverent menace he was famous for. “what are you doing, suguru,” you asked, tipping your head toward him.

“just appreciating a gift from god,” he said.

“you’re not even religious.”

“i am now.”

you snorted. “oh, please.”

he looked at you. really looked at you. eyes dark and steady, like they were made to stare, made to drink in slow details—the glisten of sweat at your collarbone, the delicate strain of fabric over full curves, the way you were smiling like you hadn’t already decided how this night was going to end.

then his voice dropped even lower. almost a whisper. almost holy.

“can i touch them?”

you raised your eyebrows. smirked. leaned in close enough for your breath to touch his jaw.

“which one—boots or tits?”

his smile split like a secret, soft and wide and so full of bad ideas it made your thighs twitch. “both,” he said, already sliding his palm higher. outside, shoko lit something that smelled like it should be illegal in three prefectures and muttered, “god damn it,” to the city below.

and inside, geto’s hands found reverence.

geto’s hand not moving fast. just pressing—heat through skin, weight through muscle—like he was waiting for permission he already knew he had. and maybe he did. maybe you were both just playing the long game because drawing it out was part of the sick pleasure, like edging a conversation until the whole room ached from the subtext.

the air was heavy. smelled like smoke and leftover curry and something warmer, muskier. something you. sweat and perfume and laundry detergent from your tank top. geto inhaled like it was the first real breath he’d taken in hours. like it was better than any spell he’d ever learned.

you were watching him watch you, and it was stupid. it was so stupid, the way he looked at you like your tits were preaching. like your whole chest had something to say, and he was ready to listen. eyes locked, lips parted, and that thumb of his drifting higher now, tracing the hem of your skirt like he was testing gravity.

you didn’t stop him.

“you’re being weird about this,” you murmured, voice sticky with amusement. low and lazy, like you’d just woken up in a stranger’s bed and decided to stay. “i’m being respectful,” he said, immediately. “these are divine objects. you don’t just rush in.”

“you’ve seen me naked before.”

“yeah,” he said, dragging his gaze up your body. “but not like this.”

you cocked your head. “what’s different?”

he didn’t answer immediately. just slipped his hand under your skirt, high on your thigh now, palm curved like he wanted to hold all of you there, in that handful of skin. “you know what’s different,” he said finally, soft and dark and smiling. “you’re dangerous now.”

you snorted. “i’ve always been dangerous.”

“yeah. but now it’s weaponized.”

you leaned back into the couch, legs spread enough to make it a problem, your boots still on like a crime scene waiting to happen. “you gonna make an offering to the tit gods or what?”

“i said respectful,” he repeated, but he was already moving. already shifting his weight, one knee between your thighs on the couch cushion, the heat of him crawling up your body like ivy in a horror movie—slow, creeping, inevitable.

his hands, finally, found your waist. slid up. thumbs brushing the underside of your tits where the fabric clung indecently tight. he didn’t grope. not yet. he held, like they might break. like they might bite. “jesus christ,” he breathed, reverent and stupid and hungry. “they really are bigger.”

“i told you,” you said, pleased with yourself. “second puberty.”

he made a noise in the back of his throat. it might’ve been a laugh. might’ve been a death rattle. “i can’t believe i get to live in the same timeline as these.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, and arched just enough that they pressed against his hands more firmly—soft, heavy, straining through the thin, sweat-damp tank top.

his breath hitched.

“you gonna cry?” you asked, almost teasing, but there was something soft in it too. “need a minute?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. just... giving thanks.”

and then he leaned in.

not to kiss your mouth. not yet. no. he dipped lower—lower—mouth brushing your chest like it was sacred ground. lips parting, breath hot through the fabric, and then a kiss, gentle and obscene, right between your tits. not biting. not even licking. just pressing his mouth there, full and warm, as if he could pour something of himself into the space and let it stay.

“okay,” you whispered, voice shaking just enough to feel real. “now you’re being weird.”

“can’t help it,” he mumbled into your skin. “they’re majestic. it’s like looking into the sun. if the sun had cleavage.”

“do you want me to take the top off or are you planning on praying through cotton all night?”

he looked up, eyes dazed and adoring and wrecked.

“i think i want to die between them,” he said.

and you believed him.

he didn’t look away when you pulled the straps down.

you hadn’t even said anything, hadn’t made it a moment—no dramatic glance, no cheeky little tease. just lifted your hands with lazy grace and tugged both straps of your tank top off your shoulders, letting them slip down your arms like they didn’t matter. the neckline fell low—too low—and then lower still until the thin fabric couldn’t hold on anymore. your tits spilled free like they were tired of waiting, heavy and flushed, nipples drawn tight from the heat, the sweat, the way geto was breathing.

his mouth parted like it was automatic. like he needed more oxygen just to process them.

“holy shit,” he muttered, voice dropped into that ruined octave of someone who’d just witnessed the divine and was trying not to weep about it. “okay. okay, i get it now.”

you hummed like you were bored, even as you shifted your hips slightly, thighs parting wider, the skirt barely clinging to your dignity. “get what?”

he didn’t answer. just leaned forward again—lower this time—and pressed his face into your cleavage like he was returning home after war. both hands came up, cupping, lifting, reverent but not shy anymore. his thumbs circled your nipples, brushing them soft at first, then with a little more pressure, watching them stiffen under his touch like they were shy at first but warming to the attention. his mouth followed, lips parting, tongue flicking once against your sternum before he just let his whole face sink between them.

you laughed. a breathy, stunned thing, disbelieving. “you okay down there?”

a muffled, “no,” came from his mouth, buried in the valley of your chest.

you tilted your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. the heat of his breath, the scratch of his stubble, the weight of his body leaning into yours—all of it made your skin feel too tight, too present, like you’d been reduced to sensation and tits and the ache between your thighs.

and then—

the sliding door screeched open again.

“oh my fucking god,” came shoko’s voice, flat and annoyed and high as sin. “i was gone for five minutes.”

you cracked one eye open. “welcome back.”

she was standing there, one hip cocked, a half-finished joint between her fingers and the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen on a human face. “suguru, are you motorboating our friend’s tits?”

he didn’t move. just gave a muffled, “mm-hmm,” from the plush safety of your chest. “you’re so fucking weird,” she muttered, stepping back inside. the glass door clicked shut behind her. “both of you. all of you.”

“don’t act like you weren’t thinking about it,” you said, breath hitching as geto’s hands slid up to cup the full weight of your breasts, squeezing experimentally. “thinking about it and walking in on it are two very different emotional experiences,” she said, dropping onto the arm of the couch again, her usual throne. “and i don’t remember giving consent to a live sex show.”

“we’re not even fucking yet,” you said, voice going soft around the edges as geto’s tongue finally found your nipple, slow and obscene. “it’s just—appreciation.” shoko exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “you’re treating her like a museum exhibit,” she muttered. “a slutty one.”

“interactive,” you corrected, arching just a little when geto sucked harder. “like the science center.”

geto finally lifted his face, lips slick, eyes unfocused. “shoko. give us a minute.”

“give you a minute?” she echoed. “you’ve been face-deep in titties for the last ten. what’s left?”

“spiritual awakening,” he said without hesitation.

shoko rubbed her eyes like the conversation itself was giving her wrinkles. “i’m too high for this. also not high enough.”

“you’re free to join in,” you offered sweetly, not really expecting anything, just basking in the ridiculousness of it all—legs spread, tank top around your ribs, one of jujutsu tech’s finest licking your tits like he was trying to memorize them with his soul, and shoko sitting five feet away like this was normal.

she blinked at you.

paused.

then said, “no, i’m emotionally married to apathy. but thanks for the invite.”

and then, because she couldn’t help herself, her gaze dropped. lingered. for a second too long. at your chest, at geto’s tongue flicking your nipple again just to make you squirm. her eyes narrowed, calculating. critical. “okay,” she finally said. “i’m sorry, but they really are too big. it’s not natural. you need to get them registered.”

“they’re emotional support tits,” you breathed, barely able to speak through the pleasure curling up your spine.

“they’re a threat to public health,” she shot back. geto just groaned, nuzzling back between them like he could disappear there, like there was nowhere else in the world worth being. and honestly? maybe there wasn’t. geto had your tits in his mouth like they were the last goddamn miracle on earth.

and he was so slow about it. he wasn’t even sucking anymore. just licking—flat-tongued, reverent strokes like he was trying to commit the taste to memory. one hand held you steady, splayed wide across your ribs. the other was still tucked under your skirt, palm heavy on the outside of your thigh, fingers twitching now and then like he was thinking about moving them up, and then deciding not to—yet.

your head was tipped back against the couch, mouth slack, one boot heel digging into the cushion like you needed leverage against the slow drag of his tongue. you weren’t making a sound. not a moan, not a whimper. just breathing. open. ruined.

and to the left—there she was.

shoko. leaning against the far arm of the couch, still in her half-buttoned shorts, one leg folded under her, the other kicked out wide with a casualness that didn’t match the way her eyes were pinned to your chest. the joint in her hand had gone out. ash clung to it. she hadn’t moved to relight it. “you’re both disgusting,” she said finally, voice dry, eyes not leaving your tits.

“takes one to know one,” you murmured, without looking at her.

she scoffed. shifted her weight to near you. her shoe knocked against the side of your thigh, not gently. “and what, i’m just supposed to sit here while he acts like he’s breastfeeding?”

geto didn’t even lift his head. just muttered, “she taste better than milk.”

shoko made a noise like she was going to throw up, but her fingers were already toying with the hem of your skirt, just to the side of geto’s hand. you didn’t stop her. didn’t even flinch. your whole body was heavy and humming, caught in that low, thick pulse of being watched.

and fuck. it was hot.

because shoko didn’t move fast. she didn’t push. she didn’t grope. she touched you like a scientist dissecting a problem she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. her knuckles grazed your thigh. then her nails. light, precise, tracing the edge of where your skirt had rucked up. you could feel the bite of her rings against your skin, cool and sharp and utterly deliberate.

“you’re just letting this happen,” she said, not even trying to sound surprised anymore.

“you’re doing it,” you breathed, finally turning your head toward her. “you joined in.”

she raised an eyebrow. “and?”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t, really—not with geto sucking one nipple deep into his mouth, tongue circling, slow and obscene. your hips jerked once, involuntary. shoko’s hand slid higher in response, palm settling flat against the bare skin of your inner thigh, her thumb just brushing the crease.

there was a pause.

a long, thick silence, broken only by your breath catching and the faint, wet sound of geto’s mouth. “you want her to beg?” shoko asked, voice low now. lower than you’d ever heard it. geto’s mouth popped off your chest, lips wet and kiss-drunk. he looked up, blinking slow, his hands still warm on your ribs.

“she doesn’t have to,” he said.

and then, to your utter ruin, he added—

“she’s already praying.”

shoko looked at him like she was about to punch him in the face. or kiss him. or both.

“you are so full of shit.”

but her hand stayed where it was. her thumb slid closer. you could feel the heat building between your thighs, throbbing in your chest, crawling up your spine. you wanted to say something snarky, something flippant, but all that came out was a shaky exhale and a noise that wasn’t quite a moan.

geto leaned over, resting his head between your tits again like he belonged there. one of his hands found your waist and squeezed, grounding you.

and shoko, that bitch, just watched.

watched your mouth go slack. watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. watched the place between your legs ache for attention. and then she smiled—sharp and slow and awful.

“i want to see what you do when he fucks your tits.”

you blinked at her.

“i want to see,” she repeated, voice soft now. almost curious. “what that looks like.” geto made a low sound against your chest. something dark. pleased. possessive. “you can watch,” he said, shifting, finally moving back—his lips leaving your skin, his hand slipping down to your skirt. “but only if you’re good.”

“define good,” shoko said, eyes hooded, fingers still resting between your thighs like a threat.

you swallowed.

and spread your legs a little wider.

geto shifted back with the kind of gravity that only belonged to people about to be adored.

he slid off the couch cushions and settled on the edge of the couch like a god descending to be fed — legs wide, jaw loose, hair slipping from the mess of his tie like it wanted to watch you too. there was something careless about it, the way he sprawled there, cock still hidden behind the slouch of gray sweats that clung low and soft and damp at the waistband. his bare chest gleamed faintly under the shitty yellow light, marked by heat and your mouth, a smear of your lip balm still ghosting the edge of one pec.

“here?” you asked, already slipping off the couch with your knees hitting the shitty carpet in one dull, obedient thud. it was hot. stupidly so. your thighs still trembled from where shoko had touched you, still open just a little too wide as you knelt between his legs like the position itself was enough.

“right there,” geto said, voice low and thin like it was being dragged out of his lungs. “fuck, baby, look at you—just right there.”

you looked up through your lashes, tits still bare and high and flushed, your top bunched under them like it had surrendered hours ago. he hadn’t even pulled himself out yet, and the heat between your thighs was already stupid, embarrassing. shoko made a quiet little noise — not a word, just a breath, the sound of someone watching and refusing to blink.

then she moved.

she didn’t say anything. just slinked off the arm of the couch and dropped beside geto like it was her seat all along, one bare thigh brushing his, the lit joint still smoldering between her fingers. she didn’t look at him. she looked at you — on your knees, eyes bright, breathing hard — and for once, she didn’t say anything shitty. no joke. no sarcasm. just… watched.

“you gonna be good for me?” geto murmured, voice wrecked now, sweet and fucked and soft, dragging one hand through your hair while the other braced against his thigh. “you gonna make me lose my mind down there?”

you smiled with teeth. “only if you ask nice.”

he laughed — a short, broken thing — and leaned his head back against the couch.

“please, baby,” he said. “come make this cock feel like a blessing.”

you didn’t rush.

your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweats, thumbs tucked in slow like you were pulling apart the final seal on something dangerous, something volatile. the moment the elastic gave, his cock spilled out like it couldn’t wait — tall, heavy, flushed an angry dark pink at the tip and thick in that rude way that felt like a punchline. veiny, twitching, needy — and absolutely aware of the way your mouth parted.

shoko whistled low under her breath. “jesus christ, suguru.”

“don’t act like you haven’t seen it,” he said, breathless.

“not like this.”

you dragged your eyes back up his body. his abs were fluttering. his jaw was clenched. your hand wrapped around the base, and he groaned — full chest, full throat, like the touch alone was too much after being teased between your tits for so long. your thumb circled the head, slick already leaking at the tip like he’d been waiting for this the whole fucking night.

“look at that,” you murmured, voice low and thick. “he’s already crying for me.”

“he’s sensitive,” geto breathed, hand still tangled in your hair. “needs to be treated right.”

“don’t worry, baby,” you said, leaning forward now — mouth open, tongue just barely flicking the swollen head. “i’ll take real good care of him.”

you licked the tip. slow.

not a suck — not yet — just the soft lap of your tongue over the bead of precome, circling, savoring, letting it smear across your lips like gloss. he gasped above you, thighs twitching, and shoko’s breath hitched beside him.

you looked up. caught his eyes.

then pressed your tits together — full and warm and heavy — and lowered them onto his cock like a curtain falling on a final act.

he exhaled like he’d been holding it all night.

his cock fit too well between them, the weight of it obscene, the head nudging up near your collarbone while the rest disappeared into the soft press of your chest. you gave a slow little squeeze, letting your cleavage swallow him, letting that thick shaft pulse against your skin while you kissed the tip, sweet and patient.

“you see this, shoko?” geto’s voice was wrecked now. one hand cradled the back of your head, the other gripping the couch cushion beside him. “fuckin’—she’s spoiling me.” shoko didn’t answer immediately. you could feel her looking — the heat of it, the scrutiny, the way her silence felt like approval.

“i’m jealous,” she said finally, voice quieter than it should’ve been.

you grinned against geto’s cock. “you can help.”

she didn’t move. not yet. just exhaled and watched, breath held like prayer.

you rocked your shoulders slightly, dragging his cock through the cleft of your tits, slow and steady, the friction just enough to make him curse. each pass painted your skin with precome, messy and sweet, and when you leaned forward to take the head into your mouth again — just a kiss, just a taste — geto moaned like he was already halfway to heaven.

“f-fuck, baby,” he gasped, hips twitching. “you’re perfect. you were made for this. look at you — down there, all soft and fucking beautiful — you’re gonna kill me.”

you let the tip pop free of your lips, smiling up at him like it wasn’t already insane how hard he was shaking. “i’m just getting started, daddy.”

shoko made a low sound beside him.

and your hands pressed your tits tighter, welcoming him deeper into the heat.

shoko had been silent for too long.

not like her. she usually filled the room with snark when things got too heated — cracked a dirty joke, rolled her eyes, insulted you just to keep the tension manageable. but now? now she was watching — watching the way your tits cradled geto’s cock, how the thick shaft dragged slow through the valley of your chest, slick and twitching and pink at the tip. watching your shoulders flex, your fingers sink deeper into your own skin to press them tighter together, to make the pressure unbearable.

geto was falling apart.

you could hear it — in the little gasps, the way his voice kept cracking when he tried to speak. the praises fell in fragments now, choked off between moans, soft-spoken worship turning sloppy. “fuck, baby… so warm, so fucking soft, can’t—can’t think—”

you had your mouth open, waiting for the head of his cock to peek up again, and when it did, you licked it. just a tease, tongue swirling around the ridge like it was a spell. he shuddered violently, thighs flexing under your knees, one hand gripping your hair like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

and then shoko moved.

she didn’t ask.

she just leaned in, slow and quiet and deliberate, the way she always did when she made up her mind about something she shouldn’t want. her hair fell over one shoulder, long and messy and smelling like smoke, and her face came level with yours — so close your cheek brushed hers. her eyes flicked down. locked on the head of geto’s cock as it swelled thick and flushed, smeared with your spit, slick with arousal.

and then she opened her mouth.

you paused. just for a second. lips parted. breath caught.

and watched her take the tip in.

geto made a sound that wasn’t a word — just a broken, animal fuck dragged out from the base of his spine. his head slammed back against the wall behind the couch, one hand fisting in the cushion, the other still clinging to your hair like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“holy shit, shoko—what the—fuck, are you—fuck—”

but she didn’t speak.

she just closed her lips around the head of his cock — your tits still wrapped around the shaft, still moving — and sucked. hard.

you felt it. all of it. the heat of her mouth at your chest, the way her tongue flicked against the slit, the obscene, wet sound of her lips wrapped tight around the crown while your tits moved in tandem, gliding up and down the shaft like a prayer answered in motion. your hands pressed together tighter, pushing the flesh in just enough to squeeze him more, just enough to feel the way he pulsed and twitched with every pass.

“oh my god,” you whispered, watching her work — the elegance of it, the intent. “you’re so fucking good at that.” shoko didn’t reply — just looked at you out the corner of her eye, cheeks hollowed around the tip of his cock, eyes gleaming with something far too smug.

geto was gone.

“please—please don’t stop—fuck, you’re both gonna kill me—shit, just like that, don’t stop—”

you didn’t.

you kept your rhythm, slow and steady and mean, sliding your tits up and down as shoko suckled the head of his cock like she was feeding on it. her tongue flicked, circled, coaxed more precome to spill across your skin, wet and messy and obscene. you could feel it dripping now, collecting in the curve of your cleavage, sliding down your sternum. you pressed them tighter, kissed his base, licked the skin where your chest met his body.

his hands were everywhere — on your head, in shoko’s hair, clawing at the couch, grabbing nothing. his whole body trembled with tension, hips rocking up now despite himself, fucking into your tits and into her mouth in short, desperate little jerks.

“fuck, i’m—i’m gonna—i can’t—” his breath was breaking apart, fingers clenching, voice nearly gone. “gonna cum, fuck, fuck, i’m—”

you squeezed. shoko sucked harder.

and he broke.

he cried out — high and wild and helpless — and came between your tits and into her mouth, cock pulsing hard against your skin as he jerked forward, hips twitching, thighs tightening under your hands. his whole body bowed forward, gave in, as ropes of hot come spilled over your breasts and into shoko’s mouth, messy and loud and filthy.

shoko pulled back with a long, wet slurp, licking her lips like she’d just tasted something rare. she looked at you — and then at him — and smirked.

“you boys never know how to shut up when it counts.”

you were still holding your tits around him, come dripping between them, breath coming fast.

geto was a wreck.

slumped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving, hair sticking to his face. he looked like he’d seen god and survived — barely. “holy fuck,” he whispered, hoarse and raw. “i’m in love with both of you.” you glanced at shoko. she rolled her eyes. “you’ll still be in love after we make you do it again.” you smiled. and licked your lips clean.

geto was still catching his breath.

he looked like sin and salvation rolled into a single man-shaped pile of regret, sprawled on the edge of the couch like his spine had given out. one hand was limp in your hair, the other sliding down shoko’s thigh like he forgot what limbs were for. his cock twitched weakly between your tits, still glossy, still twitching like it hadn’t accepted it was finished yet.

and then, very calmly, shoko stuck her tongue out.

held it there. eyes half-lidded, amused.

and let a thick, glistening bead of geto’s come drip off the tip — slow, heavy, obscene — until it landed with a wet little pat against the top of your breast.

you blinked up at her.

she looked like she was tasting irony.

you didn’t move. just raised an eyebrow, still cradling his softening cock between your breasts like it was a religious relic. “seriously?”

“waste not, want not,” she said, shrugging. and then she leaned in.

her mouth met yours with no warning, no lead-in, no tenderness — just heat, the sharp edge of her teeth against your lower lip, her tongue slick and tasting like smoke and the faintest aftershock of geto. you groaned into her mouth, and she kissed you like she wanted to shut you up, hands sliding around your waist, one rising boldly to your chest.

geto groaned. a helpless, ruined sound. “that’s so hot.”

“shut up,” shoko muttered against your lips, not meaning it, not stopping.

her palm dragged upward, slow and obscene, smearing the mess across your breasts — his mess, still warm and slippery — until it streaked across your sternum, your nipples, slicked your skin in some holy combination of filth and fondness.

you gasped against her mouth, and she grinned.

“look at this,” she said, sitting back to admire her work. her fingers gripped both tits, lifted them, gave a squeeze that made you gasp again. “fucking disgusting. you look like a crime scene.”

“thank you?” you said, trying not to laugh.

but then she added — with her chin resting in her hand and her eyes full of smugness so rich it was practically spilling over —

“you look like someone just tried to baptize you with his cock.”

and you snorted. violently. choked on your own breath, bent double with a laugh so loud it startled even you. geto, still too weak to speak, wheezed out something that might’ve been “holy shit” and covered his face with one hand.

“shoko,” you gasped, clutching at your ribs, “you’re a demon.”

“a sexy one,” she said, licking her thumb clean with deliberate slowness.

geto, blinking slowly from his position of post-nut devastation, peeked between his fingers. “if i die right now, i want my tombstone to say ‘death by tit and tongue.’”

you dragged a pillow off the couch and threw it at him. he caught it with his chest, groaned, and collapsed backward like it had been a mortal wound. “okay. round two in… twenty minutes.” shoko lit another cigarette, perched back on the armrest like nothing had happened. “that’s generous.” you laid back against the carpet, chest bare, skin glistening, heart still racing.

filthy. loved. ridiculous.

somewhere in the corner of the room, a moth slammed itself into the glass door and bounced off. “this place needs to be burned down,” shoko said. you sighed. “but it’s kind of… home.” she looked down at you, chest marked with sweat and spit and a stupid amount of affection.

“…yeah. unfortunately.”

twenty minutes didn’t pass.

maybe ten. twelve if you were being generous. it wasn’t like anyone was counting.

you were still half-sprawled on the floor, your body sticky with evidence, one leg cocked up against the couch while shoko rested a heel on your thigh like she was claiming territory. geto had relocated to the floor, slouched against the couch frame beside you with his sweatpants pulled up only halfway, looking more like a mythological burnout than a man.

nobody was saying anything. not yet. the air was full of post-orgasm haze — too hot, too heavy, the kind of silence that buzzed just under the skin.

then geto shifted.

just enough that his thigh brushed yours, and your eyes dropped automatically to where the waistband of his sweats was tugged halfway down, revealing the start of a cock that had no business twitching again already.

you didn’t say anything. you just tilted your head.

he caught the look and grinned.

“what?” he said, voice low and wrecked. “she kissed you, your tits are still covered in my come, and i’m not supposed to get hard again?” you rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped traitorously, heat climbing again with that lazy, stupid inevitability. your thighs pressed together. your voice came out drier than intended. “you sure you’ve got another one in you?”

“baby,” he said, dragging his palm down the flat of your stomach, “i haven’t even started yet.”

shoko snorted from the armrest. “someone’s cocky.”

“someone’s confident,” he corrected, already crawling forward on his knees, palms bracketing your hips like he’d never stopped touching you. you lay back willingly this time, arching under the weight of his hands, your whole body humming with anticipation, the ache between your legs reigniting like it never left. you expected him to go for your mouth, your tits, your thighs—

but instead he leaned in close. lower.

and breathed against your navel.

his hands slid under your thighs, pushing your legs up, open, spread and vulnerable, and then— “wait,” shoko said lazily, “before you ruin her again—” geto paused, blinking up from between your legs like he was being interrupted mid-prayer. shoko leaned forward, flicking your nipple with the tip of her joint. “are we switching this time? because if i don’t get some of this, i swear to god—”

you let out a breathy laugh, half-moan. “you want top billing?”

“we co-lead now,” she said, and flicked the nipple again for emphasis.

geto didn’t protest. just pulled back and looked at her, then at you.

“fine,” he said, and leaned over to kiss you, really kiss you this time — deep and full and tasting like your own breath, like smoke and salt and the ghost of your earlier laugh. “but I get to fuck her with your tits again when we’re done.”

“babe,” you whispered against his lips, “we can do that in the morning.”

“or in the shower,” shoko added, already crawling over your legs, straddling your thigh like she didn’t care that the floor was still sticky. “or while you’re eating breakfast. multitask.” you opened your mouth to say something smart, something stupid— but her mouth found your throat, and the words turned to noise.

geto leaned back to watch — one hand still stroking your thigh, the other fisting gently in his sweatpants as his cock swelled again, so hard so fast it almost looked painful. ��fuck,” he muttered, “this is gonna be worse than the first time.”

“worse?” shoko said, licking a stripe up your neck.

“worse,” he said, voice gravel and heat and promise. “like… begging level.”

you groaned.

“good,” she said, cupping your tits again, smearing the leftover mess with a grin so sharp it could gut. “i like when she beg.” shoko's mouth on your neck was sharp, almost mean — no build-up, no tender teasing. she didn’t kiss you like a lover. she kissed like she meant it, like she had something to prove. her teeth caught your pulse just to feel it jump beneath them, and her tongue followed, hot and rough, tasting the salt of your skin like it was hers to devour.

and fuck — maybe it was.

you were pinned under her hips, her thigh between yours, the weight of her pressing down just enough to make your back arch and your breath catch. her hands were already on your chest again — still slick, still marked from earlier — squeezing your tits like she wanted to see if the memory of geto’s cum was still warm on your skin. it was. the smear of it caught her fingertips, and she laughed, dark and quiet and thrilled.

“you’re a fucking mess,” she said, dragging her thumb across one nipple, watching it pebble under her touch. “and you love it.” you whined something that might have been a yes, but your voice cracked too hard in the middle.

geto was still kneeling off to the side, half-forgotten in the haze, but his gaze never left you. his cock was heavy in his hand again, long fingers stroking slowly from base to tip, his other palm flat against the floor like he needed to ground himself or he’d float. his eyes followed shoko’s tongue — the way she licked across the top of your chest like she was tasting the aftermath, chasing the flavor of earlier sins.

“i’d say i’m jealous,” he murmured, voice rough and thick, “but watching this? might be better.” shoko didn’t even look at him. she just leaned down and bit your tit — not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to make you jolt. “stay still,” she said, mouth full, voice sticky with mischief. “i’m not done feeding yet.”

your legs twitched. your fingers dug into the carpet. and still — you stayed.

because you wanted to. because her voice in your ear was pure fucking command, and her mouth on your chest was making your pussy throb in a slow, devastating pulse. she moved lower — lazy, sliding her body down yours like she was melting over you — and kissed the underside of your breast, then your ribs, then your stomach, each press of her lips hotter than the last.

you looked down just in time to see her part your thighs.

and grin.

“ohh,” she breathed, like a dirty secret. “you’re dripping.”

your hips bucked.

“i haven’t even touched you yet,” she murmured, dragging one finger up the slick mess between your legs, slow and easy, spreading you open with the kind of casual confidence that made your spine bend. “this is all from getting your tits licked? that’s so fucking cute.”

geto groaned, a real one — helpless, reverent. “don’t tease her too much.”

“she likes it,” shoko said, then turned her head just enough to make eye contact with you. “don’t you, baby?”

you nodded. too fast. too breathless.

“use your words,” she said, slipping one finger in. just the tip.

“yes,” you gasped, voice cracking. “yes, i like it — please, shoko—”

she rewarded you by sliding in deeper.

slowly.

her finger curled inside you just right, and her mouth returned to your tits, tongue wet and unhurried, licking the slick remnants of earlier off your chest like she wanted to clean you with her mouth. geto’s hand was working faster now, his breath coming in shuddering waves, his eyes locked on where shoko’s fingers disappeared into your cunt, where your thighs trembled against the floor.

and still, no one rushed.

because this was worship. this was slow destruction. this was filth as intimacy. shoko added another finger, kissed the tip of your nipple like an apology, then leaned back to watch your face while she curled her hand — hard and sudden, precise.

you cried out.

“fuck,” geto whispered, like it was being wrung out of him. “she’s so—fuck, shoko—don’t stop, don’t—please—”

“shh,” she said, not looking at him. “you’ll get your turn.”

and then, to you, “you ready to come, sweet thing?”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t. just nodded, body slick and arched and soaked in need, begging in every line of your skin. shoko’s smile turned vicious. “good.”

and her mouth went down.

shoko’s mouth met your cunt like she knew it — like this was muscle memory, like she’d dreamed it before and memorized the weight of your thighs and the shape of your hunger without ever admitting it out loud. her tongue slid against you slow, too slow, a hot wet stripe that made your hips jump off the floor and your hands fist in the tangled couch blanket beside you.

you moaned — long, drawn-out, cracked open like prayer — and she didn’t pause. just grinned against you, then did it again.

“holy fuck,” you gasped.

geto had gotten to his knees. his hand still on his cock, lazily stroking, and his other hand drifted to your breast, thumb brushing your nipple with that same devastating softness he'd started with. the contrast of her tongue between your legs and his hand on your chest was maddening — soft and hard, sharp and slow, together like they were building you up to collapse.

“you taste like you’ve been waiting for this all day,” shoko muttered between licks, her voice muffled but smug. “she has,” geto murmured, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “kept those legs closed through a whole dinner and half a blunt.”

you groaned helplessly. “i’m gonna fucking die.”

“not yet,” shoko said, and sucked.

your back arched, thighs twitching against her cheeks. her tongue flicked, circled, teased your clit like it was a secret she was trying to coax out, and her fingers never stopped — two of them buried inside you again, curling with every slow drag of her mouth, pushing up into you with devastating rhythm.

geto kissed your neck. your shoulder. his cock nudged your hip now, slick and pulsing and ready, but he wasn’t rushing it. he watched you come apart under shoko’s mouth, eyes hungry, reverent, overwhelmed. “she looks so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, brushing your sweat-stuck hair from your face. “you gonna come for her, baby?”

you nodded, whined, bit your lip until it stung.

“use your words,” shoko growled against your cunt, and the vibration made you twitch.

“yes, yes, please, shoko—don’t stop—”

she didn’t.

she doubled down.

mouth moving faster, tongue flicking harder, fingers fucking up into you with that sharp, perfect curl, over and over, and geto’s hand rolled your nipple just right, pinching it gently as he whispered filth against your ear, “you’re gonna soak her fingers, aren’t you?”

“gonna scream for us?”

“go on, baby — make a mess. be loud. let her taste all of it.”

and god, you did.

your orgasm slammed through you without warning — sudden and hot and full-body, hips bucking into shoko’s mouth, hands scrabbling at the floor, voice breaking into a cry that filled the whole disgusting, beautiful apartment.

shoko moaned when she felt you clench.

kept licking.

kept fucking you through it like she wanted everything, and you gave it, gasping and twitching and almost sobbing with how good it was. geto was breathing harder now, his cock wet at the tip, hand jerking faster. “shit,” he said, “fuck, i’m gonna—fuck—” and when shoko pulled her mouth from your cunt, she turned to him, hand still fucking you lazily — and said, “then come on her tits again. she misses it.”

and geto broke.

he leaned over you, panting, cock sliding between your sticky breasts with practiced ease. you pressed them together for him, still dazed from the orgasm, still shaking — and watched his face collapse as he thrust twice, once more, and spilled everything all over your chest with a strangled groan.

heat. wet. everywhere again.

you laughed — half-crazed, half-gone. shoko just wiped your brow with the back of her hand, like she’d done something generous. “you’re welcome,” she said, casual as ever, smearing the mess across your tits again. geto dropped beside you, spent and grinning like a man reborn.

you, somewhere between them, a ruined shrine in boots and sweat.

you could still taste her on your lips. or maybe it was your own orgasm, lingering bitter-sweet under your tongue. either way, the air was hot again — hotter, somehow — and your body wasn’t yours anymore. it was theirs. sore, open, glowing. you were slick in all the places that mattered and some that didn’t. your chest gleamed with geto’s second confession, still drying sticky under the curve of your tits.

and still — you wanted.

shoko sat next to you, her breathing steady but deep. her hair stuck to her neck in damp strands, lips wet, her face unreadable in that dangerous way. she was flushed — not just from exertion, but from wanting. she hadn’t come yet. neither had geto, this round. and that heat, that tension, was everywhere. it clung to the room, thick as sweat on skin.

you pulled your hand down from your breast and dragged a finger through the mess. held it up for her to see. “you look like you still need something.”

shoko didn’t answer. not with words. she just stood.

she pulled her shorts down slow, like a dare, one inch at a time, revealing black cotton underwear soaked through with wet and the bold indifference of someone who knew exactly what she wanted. she didn’t make it sexy. she made it inevitable. “i haven’t come,” she said, stepping out of them. “and you have a mouth.”

geto groaned. “fuck.”

you smiled. wide. wrecked.

and then, slow, still lying back on the floor, one leg bent, body open and welcoming — you looked up at her and said, “then sit on my face.”

the words hit the air like a punch.

shoko blinked once. her mouth twitched. and then — she grinned.

“don’t mind if i do.”

geto was already moving — kneeling between your thighs now, hands on your knees, spreading you open with that same reverent touch he’d used all night. but there was something hungrier in it now. something deeper. he was still hard, thick and flushed and dripping against his stomach, his cock slapped up against your pussy with a wet sound that made both of you twitch.

“fuck,” you muttered, looking up at him. “you’re still hard?”

he leaned over you, hands framing your hips, voice dark and too calm.

“i told you,” he said. “i haven’t started yet.”

and then shoko straddled your face.

no warning. no hesitation. her knees hit the floor on either side of your head and her cunt hovered inches above your mouth — glistening, soaked, swollen from teasing and denial and her own fucked-up sense of control. you reached up, bracing your hands on her thighs, and pulled her down.

you licked her first.

your tongue dragged up the full length of her pussy, from her entrance to her clit, slow and hungry, and her whole body shivered above you. “jesus—fuck,” she gasped, one hand flying to your hair, gripping hard. “okay. okay. yeah, like that—”

geto groaned like he was going to come just watching.

he lined his cock up with your entrance, dragging the head through your folds, teasing the opening — already so open, so slick from earlier, that you twitched beneath him the second he touched you.

and then he started to push in.

slow. so slow.

his cock stretched you with aching, unrelenting pressure, inch by inch, and your moan was lost against shoko’s cunt, muffled and vibrating into her as she gripped your hair tighter and rolled her hips into your mouth.

“holy shit,” she gasped, voice going thin. “she’s good at this.”

geto gritted his teeth, sinking deeper, breath ragged.

“she’s good at everything,” he muttered, hips pressing forward until he was fully buried. “fuck, you’re so tight, baby—still? after all that? fuck.”

you moaned again — helpless, overwhelmed — as shoko began grinding down on your mouth and geto began to thrust, slow and deliberate, hips rolling into you with the full weight of his desire. every drag of his cock sent sparks through your spine, pressure building again already — your clit brushing his base, your thighs trembling open wider.

shoko was shaking above you, panting, one hand braced on the wall, the other tangled in your hair as your tongue circled her clit and your lips sucked, steady, intent.

“fuck—fuck, she’s gonna make me come like this,” shoko gasped, hips rocking harder now. “god, you—you're filthy. so fucking good—yes—just like that—don’t stop—”

geto was still watching.

watching your mouth get used like a toy. watching your tits bounce with every thrust. watching you give everything and ask for nothing but more.

his thrusts picked up — still slow, still deep, but harder, more claiming now. his hands held your hips in place, fingers digging into your skin, dragging you down onto his cock with every snap of his hips. “you’re gonna make her come,” he whispered to shoko, voice dark with pride. “and she’s gonna take me like a good fucking girl while she does it.”

you moaned — a wet, desperate sound lost in shoko’s cunt — and your hands tightened on her thighs, holding her down, eating her out like your life depended on it, tongue moving faster now, deeper, swirling, flicking.

she cried out.

and her whole body tensed.

“fuck—i’m—don’t stop—fuck, i’m coming—”

her orgasm hit like a slap — sharp, sudden, full-body — and she gasped, legs trembling, hips frozen as your tongue dragged her through it, still licking, still devouring. she came hard, grinding helplessly into your mouth, and when she finally started to breathe again, she collapsed forward, catching herself on the couch, hair falling around your face like a curtain.

“holy shit,” she breathed. “she just ate my soul.”

geto groaned above you — hips stuttering.

“fuck,” he panted. “don’t say that, i’m—i’m so fucking close—”

but he didn’t let go yet. you were still wrapped around him, shaking, wet, ruined under both of them. and he wasn’t finished. you didn’t stop.

shoko’s orgasm pulsed against your mouth, her thighs trembling around your head, her hips jerking slightly as sensitivity spiked in all the places she could no longer guard — and you kept sucking. kept your lips wrapped around her clit, kept your tongue moving in tight, precise circles like you had something to prove.

because you did.

you wanted to ruin her. you wanted to see what she looked like when she couldn’t stay sharp — when her sarcasm melted, when her voice cracked, when her body begged in place of her mouth.

and you were close.

she gasped above you, breath caught in her throat, one hand clawing blindly at the couch cushion behind her while the other braced on geto’s shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of him just to stay up. her legs twitched around your head, threatening to clamp down, but your arms were already locked around her thighs, pulling her down, keeping her there, refusing to let go.

“fuck—fuck—baby—” she choked out, hips trying to escape the pull of your mouth, “she won’t stop—suguru—fuck—”

geto was still between your legs, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt with a rhythm that was deliberate and slow, every thrust sinking deep, stroking that soft, unbearable place that made your toes curl. his hands gripped your hips, thumbs digging into the flesh just above your pelvis, keeping you anchored while he watched the way you devoured shoko like it was instinct.

his voice came in a rasp. “she’s fucking addicted to you.”

shoko didn’t answer. couldn’t. her head dropped forward, her forehead brushing geto’s chest, and you felt the moment it broke her again — the whimper, the involuntary twitch, the choked sound that slipped from her lips when she tried to say stop and it came out as please instead.

and then, shaking, she leaned down.

not away. down.

her spine curved forward, folding over you, one hand catching herself on your chest, fingers brushing the slick mess of geto’s come from before. her head rested briefly against his stomach, sweat-slick hair tangling against his abs, and then—

then her mouth opened.

and she licked his cock.

he groaned, deep and shocked, his hips faltering as her tongue dragged across the base where it disappeared inside you. you moaned against her cunt, thighs clenching around his waist, body arching from the floor at the double heat of them — him inside, her on top, and now both of them touching.

shoko’s mouth was slow. exploratory. she kissed the base of his cock where it slid into your pussy, wet and obscene, then flicked her tongue lower, just beneath the ridge. your cunt clenched in response, fluttering tight around him, and geto’s hands flew to her hair before he could stop himself.

“fuck, shoko—”

he gripped the back of her head, not pulling, just holding, tangled in the mess of her hair like he needed something to hang onto. she looked up at him from under her lashes, still licking, then reached between your legs with her free hand and dragged her fingers straight through the slick mess between your folds — your wetness, his come, her spit — and pressed her thumb hard to your clit.

you screamed into her cunt, back bowing off the floor.

she gasped. “fuck—she’s twitching—”

“don’t stop,” geto said, voice hoarse. “don’t you fucking dare.”

and she didn’t.

her mouth dipped lower, licking your clit from time to time with little, almost tender kisses between her filthy worship of geto’s cock. her thumb circled faster now, rubbing your clit in rhythm with the thrust of his hips, in rhythm with the shake of her own thighs as she stayed on your face, even as her cunt trembled with aftershocks. your arms were still locked around her legs, holding her there, and now your fingers slid down to grip her ass, pulling her tighter, closer, mouth still sucking, still devouring.

you could barely breathe. you didn’t need to.

this was oxygen. this was saturation.

geto was panting now, close to the edge but holding himself back by some shred of control, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest, hips rolling in slow, grinding circles as he watched shoko lick where he entered you, rub your clit while you moaned into her pussy like a prayer on repeat.

“you feel her?” he whispered, teeth clenched. “feel how fucking tight she gets when you do that?”

shoko didn’t answer.

she just licked again.

and your body shook.

geto wasn’t thrusting anymore.

he was grinding.

his cock still inside you, deep and hot and so fucking full, but his hips rolled instead of slammed, his pace thick and deliberate — like he was sculpting your pleasure with his body, building it slow so you could feel every inch of what he gave. every pass of his cock dragged over something in you that made your spine curl and your thighs twitch, and the weight of him, the heat of him, the tension just below breaking — it was fucking suffocating in the best way.

you could hear him breathing. every exhale a prayer. every inhale like he was tasting you through the air itself. “you hear yourself, baby?” he murmured, voice barely stable, grinding deeper. “you hear how fucking wet you sound? how messy you are? jesus fucking christ…”

and you could. it was obscene — the wet, slick noise every time he moved inside you, the soft suction of his cock parting your walls, the way your cunt fluttered around him as shoko rubbed your clit and kissed the slick joining of your bodies like she was blessing it.

your mouth was still on her — your tongue still buried between her folds, licking her through the afterglow, drawing out every little tremor her body gave you in return. she twitched every time you circled her clit, hips rolling gently, almost helplessly, but she didn’t move away.

she gave it to you.

shoko’s thighs framed your face, sticky and flushed, and your arms stayed locked around them, holding her down — not just because you needed her, but because she let you. and now, her mouth was moving again — slow, lips parting in gasps, her cheek pressed to geto’s stomach, her forehead against the slick lines of his abs, mouthing the base of his cock where it stretched your pussy wide.

and her voice — her voice was finally wrecked.

“she’s—fuck—she’s still licking me,” she gasped, shuddering as your tongue slipped against her clit again. “i can’t—suguru, she’s not stopping, she’s fucking—”

“don’t make her stop,” geto growled, one hand tightening in shoko’s hair. “fuck, she’s so good like this. let her eat you like you deserve it.”

you moaned into her, a broken, feral sound, your mouth slick with her, your whole body pulsing with heat — and she felt it, the way your moan buzzed into her cunt, and she trembled. her grip on your breast tightened, and she let out this raw, real sound that barely resembled a laugh.

“she’s—god, i think she likes being used like this,” she panted, pressing her fingers harder against your clit now, fast little circles that made your hips buck against geto’s cock. “fuck, baby, you’re dripping—like, pouring, you’re—how are you still so wet—”

geto leaned in then, voice a low rasp at her ear.

“because she wants it.”

his words landed like lightning.

“she wants to be filled again,” he hissed, driving his hips in deeper with that same agonizing slowness. “wants you on her face. wants my cock in her pussy. wants us to take her apart, shoko. over and over.”

“fuck,” shoko breathed, hand jerking slightly between your legs now, thumb catching your clit just right.

and you screamed into her.

not because you came — not yet. but because it was so close now, it was right fucking there — and every word they said, every stroke, every flick of tongue and hand and cock just stacked it higher, made it worse, better, everything. you pulled your mouth away just long enough to choke out, voice slurred and ruined beneath her:

“don’t stop—don’t stop, please—please, i’m—i’m almost there, fuck—”

“we’ve got you,” geto said, kissing your thigh, mouth tender against your shaking skin. “we’re right here, baby. gonna make you feel everything.” shoko was panting again, her hand messy now, dragging through the slick between your folds, smearing it over your clit and back down again, her mouth soft and wet at the base of geto’s cock.

“she’s twitching,” shoko whispered. “suguru—fuck—she’s gonna come.”

“not yet,” he growled, fucking in just a little harder now — still slow, but firm, deep enough to make you see stars, deep enough to make your breath leave you in bursts. you sobbed beneath them, your legs shaking, your pussy gripping him with every slow thrust. “you can take it, baby,” he said, voice molten with praise. “so fucking good for us — mouth open, cunt open, just taking everything.”

you whimpered. body thrumming.

and still — still you hadn’t come. not yet. but the edge was right there. and they weren’t letting you fall. not yet. they were going to hold you at the edge until it was deserved. your entire body was shaking.

legs trembling uncontrollably, arms still locked around shoko’s thighs, mouth open against her cunt, lips wet and swollen, tongue still lapping despite the way your moans kept breaking the rhythm — and above you, they kept going.

shoko’s fingers moved faster now, circling your clit with relentless accuracy, each pass dragging sparks through your nerves like they were wired directly into your spine. she had her whole weight settled against your face, her voice cracking now, no longer smug, just wrecked — gasping your name, cursing under her breath, begging you to keep going even as she ground against your mouth with uneven, desperate rolls of her hips.

“fuck—fuck—baby—your tongue, oh my god—”

and geto — geto was a problem. a sin. a punishment and a reward.

his cock was still deep inside you, every slow, thick thrust making you feel like you were being split in the sweetest, most unbearable way. and he hadn’t lost his rhythm. he never did. his hips snapped forward at just the right angle to drag across everything you needed, his fingers holding your hips open, tilted up just so he could fuck into the deepest part of you.

and he knew.

he could feel it.

the way your cunt clung to him tighter with each pass, the way your thighs twitched, how your breath kept coming in those high, gasping sobs, how you couldn’t even form a word anymore — just sounds. raw, honest, helpless.

“baby,” he panted, sweat dripping down his throat, his hair stuck to his face, voice gone thin, “you’re—fuck, you’re right there, aren’t you? can feel you fucking clenching—so tight, shit, just a little more—shoko, don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

shoko moaned. “i’m not—I’m not—she’s so fucking wet, suguru—she’s gushing already—”

“do it, baby,” geto said, thrusting harder now, deeper. “fucking come for us. let it go. let it all out—”

you choked. a soundless scream.

your whole body snapped.

and then — it hit.

your orgasm tore through you like an earthquake — sudden, violent, all-consuming — your back arching off the floor, mouth pulling away from shoko’s cunt with a desperate sob as your body convulsed between them. your legs kicked out, your arms went rigid, and your cunt squeezed around geto’s cock so tight it knocked a guttural moan from his throat.

“fuckfuckfuck—she’s coming—!”

and then—

you squirted.

it burst out of you in a hot, wet gush — sudden and unstoppable, spraying across his cock, down your thighs, splashing against his stomach and pooling under your ass. your whole body jerked with it, hips lifting, stuttering, grinding helplessly as you cried out — loud, high-pitched, fucking ruined.

“oh my god—” shoko gasped, yanking her hand away as wetness drenched her wrist before she move from your face. “she—she fucking squirted—suguru, she—”

geto groaned so loud it echoed. “fuck, that’s it, that’s it, baby—good girl, holy shit, look at that, look at how messy you are—so fucking beautiful—”

your chest heaved, your mouth hung open, hands shaking as you tried to ground yourself — but you couldn’t. your body kept twitching, little aftershocks ripping through your core, pussy still fluttering around geto’s cock, thighs still wet and spread, and the air smelled like heat and sex and you.

shoko leaned over you again, kissed your mouth, slow and messy and open, and whispered against your lips, “that was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

geto was still inside you, still holding you open, voice shaking.

“you okay?” he asked softly, forehead brushing yours. “you with us?”

you nodded — barely. barely.

your voice was wrecked. but your smile was satisfied.

“…fuck.”

and from the look in their eyes, they weren’t done yet.

not even close.

your lungs were still catching up.

your legs had lost the concept of tension.

your mouth was parted, your whole body twitching in these soft, unsteady ripples of after, and yet —

they weren’t letting you go.

shoko had moved behind you like smoke curling under a door, slow and smooth and suddenly there, her bare skin hot against your back, her breath brushing your neck. and before you could fully realize it, her hands were on you — one on your chest, cupping a tit like it belonged to her, the other sliding down your stomach with unhurried purpose.

and geto… he was still inside you.

he hadn’t pulled out, hadn’t stopped moving. his cock was still seated deep in your soaked, fluttering cunt, his hips rolling in lazy, dragging circles that made you clench involuntarily every time he bottomed out — like your body couldn’t decide if it was overstimulated or starving for more. he was warm, panting, his hands bracing on either side of your hips, fingers flexing against your skin like he was grounding himself just to stay in.

“look at you,” he said hoarsely, voice all grit and honey and awe. “still dripping.”

and it was true — your inner thighs were glossy, slick with the aftermath of your last orgasm, the floor beneath you tacky with it, and yet the drag of his cock only made it worse — made it better. you felt too open. too full. and when shoko’s fingers brushed your clit again, featherlight and precise, your whole body twitched forward like someone had pressed a button.

“s-sensitive—” you gasped, barely audible, body jerking instinctively.

“i know,” she said into your neck, kissing just behind your ear. “but that’s the best time, isn’t it?”

you whined — high-pitched and fucked-out — as her fingers dipped lower, sliding through your folds like they were testing the temperature of a pool she already planned to dive into. she circled your clit, slow and measured, drawing soft, spiraling patterns that sent lightning through your belly.

“you’re still so wet,” she murmured, voice low and amused. “so soft. open. fuck, you feel like something blooming.”

geto groaned behind you, voice wrecked. “she’s perfect.”

and then — like it was choreographed — they moved together.

geto’s hips began to thrust with more intention, more pressure, the thick drag of him stroking deeper now, less teasing, more claiming, his cock hitting that spot inside you with brutal accuracy. and shoko’s hand on your pussy didn’t let up — her fingers sliding lower, pressing inside you with his cock, feeling how he moved within you while she curled her touch just right to grind your clit from below.

you cried out — an honest, desperate sound — your body pulled taut again in an instant.

“you’re gonna give us one more,” geto whispered, leaning forward so his forehead met yours. “you’ve got it in you, baby. just one more. come on — let it go for us.”

shoko moaned against your neck, her mouth open, her breath hot as her hand on your tit squeezed harder. “let us see it, baby. let us feel you come again. make a fucking mess.”

and god.

you did.

you shattered.

the pressure coiled so fast it almost hurt — a surge of heat and friction and wet crashing through your body like a wave, and then you came again, harder this time, your cunt seizing around geto’s cock, your hips jerking forward against shoko’s hand as another rush of liquid burst from you — gushing — spraying down over geto’s thighs, soaking your own, a high, keening moan escaping your throat as you lost control completely.

geto’s hands flew to your hips, holding you down as he groaned, voice breaking, and thrust once — twice — and then came inside you, deep, spilling himself with a sound that bordered on worship. his cock twitched inside your soaked, fluttering pussy as your squirt ran down both of you, his come mixing with yours, messy and thick and perfect.

shoko’s arms tightened around your waist, anchoring you, and her mouth kissed your temple, your shoulder, your jaw — little grounding points as your body kept shaking.

“there she is,” she whispered. “look at that. fuck, look at what you gave us.”

geto’s forehead was pressed to your collarbone now, breath hot and uneven, and he was still buried in you, his cock softening slowly in the slick warmth of your cunt.

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

but you smiled.

and you let them hold you there — fucked-out, soaked, trembling — with their hands on your skin and your breath still coming in ragged gasps.

and for now, that was enough.

you didn’t even know you could come like that again.

your whole body was already trembling — pulled taut between geto’s cock driving into you so deep, dragging through your soaked cunt with that thick, deliberate rhythm, and shoko’s fingers slipping tight over your clit, her palm warm against your pussy, her mouth still pressing hot little kisses to your neck like she was winding you back up just to tear you open again.

and you were already wrecked — thighs shaking, breath stuttering, jaw slack — every nerve fried and buzzing, the echo of your last orgasm still burning between your legs like a brand. but they didn’t stop. they wouldn’t stop. not with the way geto’s voice had gone soft and fucked and mean, whispering right against your cheek, hips rolling slow, dragging moans out of you with every push.

“you’re gonna do it again,” he breathed, panting now. “you’re close, baby, i can feel it—she’s twitching, shoko, fuck, she’s already so tight—”

“come on, sweet thing,” shoko murmured behind you, her hand dragging up your stomach to palm your tit again, squeezing like she needed something to ground her. “just one more. let us have it. be good.”

you whimpered — a ragged, high sound — and your legs kicked out a little from the floor, your thighs starting to tremble uncontrollably again.

“fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “fuck, i can’t—i can’t—i’m gonna—”

“yes,” geto growled, fingers digging into your hips. “do it. let it go, baby—let it go for us—”

and then it hit.

your body snapped forward — back arching hard, mouth falling open in a scream you couldn’t hold back — and your cunt clamped down around his cock so tight it felt like you were trying to keep him inside forever. your whole body shuddered, and then —

it spilled out of you.

a burst — no, a flood — soaking everything.

you squirted so hard it splashed audibly against geto’s thighs, sprayed down both your legs, a rush of hot, wet release pulsing out of you in waves, soaking the floor, your thighs, him. it didn’t stop — your body kept pulsing, clenching, jerking — another gush pouring out, and another, until your skin was wet, slick with it, and your voice cracked in a gasping sob.

“oh my god—fuck—i’m squirting, i can’t—i can’t—fuck, fuck—”

“fuck yes,” geto moaned, frantic now, his rhythm faltering, eyes locked on the way you fell apart around him, the way your slick poured down over his cock, milking him, drenching him. “you’re so good, so fucking perfect, oh my god—fuck, i’m—”

and then he snapped too.

his hips slammed deep one last time, hands gripping your waist so tight it left finger-shaped bruises, and he came with a broken, breathless groan — hips twitching, cock pulsing deep inside you, hot ropes of come spilling into your still-spasming cunt, mixing with your slick in a messy, thick flood that made your legs jerk again.

“fuckfuckfuck—i’m coming, baby, i’m coming—so deep, you’re taking it all—jesus fuck, you’re so tight—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

your body was still twitching.

you couldn’t breathe right. your arms had gone weak. your cunt was still pulsing around him, squeezing like you wanted to wring out every last drop of him, and your chest was heaving, your mouth open, spit on your lips, thighs spread and wet and still leaking.

your orgasm hadn’t even ended when he started to come undone.

he was still inside you, deep, buried, the warmth of your pussy wrapped tight around his cock, spasming with each violent aftershock of your release. you’d soaked him — he was dripping, thighs slick from the flood of your squirt, skin sticking to yours as your body jerked and twitched beneath him, helpless and holy and fucking perfect.

and geto was gone.

he was gripping your hips like he didn’t know what else to hold, knuckles white, arms shaking, trying so hard to keep his rhythm — but he couldn’t. he couldn’t stop watching the way you fell apart, the way you cried out, the way your cunt pulled at him like it was begging for every drop he had.

“fuck, baby—fuck—fuuuck,” he gasped, voice climbing a full octave. “you’re—you’re milking me—you’re gonna make me fucking explode—”

shoko was still behind you, one arm around your waist, her hand splayed low across your stomach to hold you in place. she was panting too — from the effort of keeping you upright, from watching the way he broke over you.

geto slammed in deep once — a shuddering, desperate thrust — and froze, his whole body locking up like it couldn’t handle the weight of what was coming.

“oh my god—fuck, i’m—i’m gonna cum—i’m cumming—fuck, fuck, baby—”

and then he did.

his mouth fell open and he cried out — loud, high, helpless — like the sound had been ripped from somewhere inside his chest. his cock throbbed hard inside you, thick pulses that you could feel against your walls, and his come spilled into you in long, hot spurts — so much, too much, filling you until it started to leak out around his cock, dripping down onto the floor already slick with your mess.

“take it—fuck, take it, baby—look at you—taking all of it, holy shit, i can’t—i can’t—oh my god—”

he was moaning through it, voice cracking, hips twitching with each contraction, his head dropping to your shoulder like he’d just run out of strength. every little movement pulled another whimper from him, another twitch of his cock, like your body was still squeezing more from him, not letting go.

you were barely breathing. limp. fucked-out. but god, you could feel it — the way he gave in to you completely, the way his voice broke, the way his body collapsed against yours like you were home.

and in the silence that followed — your heart pounding, his breath shaky against your throat — shoko whispered into your ear, breathless and hoarse: “you broke him.”

and geto, still shaking, still deep inside you, laughed a little. a broken, stunned sound.

“yeah,” he said, voice wrecked. “she did.”

the room was quiet now.

not silent — not completely. the hum of the old AC unit sputtering through the vents, the buzz of the city bleeding in from the balcony, the occasional drip of something onto the floor — maybe sweat, maybe come, maybe just time catching up.

you weren’t moving.

you couldn’t.

your legs were still spread, your body trembling in slow, confused pulses. your cunt was soaked — full of him, leaking from the stretch of geto’s cock still softening inside you, and the mess was a problem that no one seemed interested in solving. you could feel it sliding down your ass, thick and warm, pooling on the floor beneath you, mixing with what you’d already given. and above it all — the heat of shoko’s body, still wrapped around you, her breath damp against the shell of your ear, her hand lazily stroking your stomach like she was grounding you back to earth, one slow touch at a time.

geto hadn’t moved either.

he was slumped against your front, cock still inside, head resting between your breasts, mouth open, breath dragging in long, exhausted pulls like he didn’t know how to recover yet. his hands were on your hips, thumbs absently drawing slow circles into the meat of your skin, like he was still feeling you come — or trying to convince himself it had actually happened.

none of you said anything. not for a while.

and then shoko sighed.

“...we're gonna need to mop.”

you laughed. or tried to. it came out more like a wheeze.

“fuck off,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “your fault.”

“you’re the one who squirted like a busted pipe,” she muttered, but there was no bite to it. just warmth. she kissed your temple. “you’re also the one who let me sit on your face like it owed me money. so maybe we call it even.”

geto made a soft noise against your chest. something between a laugh and a whimper.

“i think i died,” he murmured.

you tilted your head to glance down at him. his eyes were closed. his hair was stuck to his face. he looked wrecked. gorgeous. “you didn’t die,” you said, softly, fingers brushing through the strands at the back of his head. “you just got fucked like you deserved it.”

he groaned. didn’t even argue.

shoko snorted. “you look like a priest after a very bad exorcism.”

“shoko,” he said, muffled against your skin, “please shut the fuck up.”

you smiled. you couldn’t help it.

and even though your body ached, even though your thighs were sore and your mouth was raw and every part of you was coated in sweat and spit and come — you felt good. warm. surrounded. held. you shifted a little, enough to make geto groan and finally, finally slide out of you with a wet, obscene sound that made you all flinch and laugh at the same time.

“jesus christ,” he mumbled, sitting back on his heels, staring down at your cunt like he’d just watched something sacred happen. “look at you.”

shoko reached around and smacked his chest.

“stop being weird about it,” she said. “we already ruined her. no need to narrate it.”

he held up his hands, mock-surrender. “sorry, sorry. it’s just… beautiful.”

“gross,” she said. “also accurate.”

you exhaled, finally sitting up, wincing as everything shifted inside you, dripping out with gravity. shoko helped, her arms still around your waist, keeping you upright even as your muscles protested. your skin stuck to hers. geto leaned in and kissed your shoulder, then your chest, then your stomach — each one slow, sweet, like thanks. like apology. like devotion.

no one rushed.

no one cleaned up.

you sat there together, sticky and stupid and smiling, soaked in everything you’d done.

“so,” shoko said finally, yawning. “we ordering food, or…?”

you were on the couch now.

well — in the couch, really. sunk so deep into the threadbare cushions that your spine was probably imprinted on the frame. your legs were folded weirdly under you, thighs still sticky, hair still damp with sweat. your body felt like it had been used as a chew toy by god and then left to ferment.

but you were warm. and clothed. sort of.

geto’s shirt — the long, oversized black one that smelled like laundry detergent and weed and boy — hung off you like a flag of victory. nothing underneath. nipples occasionally ghosting against the cotton. thighs on full display. but it didn’t matter. you were fed. or about to be.

the pizza box was open on the coffee table, steam still rising from melted cheese and garlic butter crusts. one slice in your hand. three bites in. you chewed slowly, like every fiber of your soul depended on this exact triangle of bread and grease.

across the room, shoko was on all fours in her sleep shorts and an old tank top, holding a damp towel and grumbling audibly as she wiped the floor near the couch legs. the puddle she was crouched over definitely hadn’t come from spilled water.

geto — completely naked, still glowing like a house spirit who just got laid by a god — was on his knees nearby, using one of his bath towels to blot a dark patch that probably counted as a biological hazard. “shoko,” you said sweetly, mouth full, gesturing toward the corner of the room with your slice. “you missed a spot. right over by the speaker. there’s like… a whole-ass trail.”

her head snapped toward you.

you didn’t even flinch. just took another bite.

“are you kidding me?” she barked, sitting back on her heels and letting the towel fall to the floor with an exaggerated flop. “you’re just sitting there like a little royalty gremlin in his shirt while we mop up the trail of fucking devastation you made?”

you nodded, chewed. swallowed. “mm-hmm.”

“bitch.” she dragged a hand down her face. “you’re the one who squirted like a popped soda can.”

“well,” you said, licking grease off your thumb, “i’m too weak to clean.”

“too weak?”

“i’m sensitive.” you patted your own thigh gently. “my pussy’s still trembling. it’s tragic, really.”

“tragedy would be if i smothered you with this pizza box.”

“shoko,” came geto’s voice, soft and half-laughing from the floor. “let her be.”

he didn’t even look up from where he was scrubbing a mysterious corner with one hand and balancing a slice of pizza in the other. he looked unfairly serene. still naked. still glowing. like post-nut enlightenment had lifted him to a higher plane and now he was just… chill.

“she made the mess,” shoko snapped. “she should clean it.”

“you helped make the mess,” he said calmly, biting his slice. “and i don’t see you complaining when you were riding her face.”

shoko froze. looked back at you. then at him.

“okay,” she said after a beat. “valid.”

you gave her a smug little grin, then groaned and curled sideways on the couch, tucking your legs up and pulling geto’s shirt tighter around your thighs. they“plus, if i try to get up right now, i’ll probably fall over. i’ve got post-orgasm jelly spine. you want me to faint in the puddle?”

“god, you’re insufferable,” she muttered, going back to wiping with a vengeance. “geto, this is your fault.”

“i’m not complaining,” he said, still on his knees, wiping slow, humming under his breath like a man who’d just emptied every ounce of himself into someone he loved. “this was the best kind of crime scene.”

“disgusting,” she said.

“you’re welcome,” you offered from your seat.

shoko wiped aggressively at the corner spot you pointed out, muttering something about bodily fluids and the price of friendship.

geto laughed, low and warm.

you took another bite.

and for a long, sticky moment, everything in that fucked-up apartment was perfect.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

here's an idea: a Bucky smut fic where reader is usually pretty quiet in bed and he takes it as a personal challenge. (Like somehow holds your jaw open while pounding so that you can hold any noise in and over the next two round he can hear every noise you make)

Thank you for the request! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it!

This is pretty much pure smut, the reader is described as female briefly. It does end fluffy though <3

Bucky wasn’t used to silence. Not during this, at least.

You were everything he could want, soft where he needed, sharp where it counted, and warm all over. But when it came to the bedroom, you were quiet. Not cold or withdrawn you kissed him back like you were starving, pulled him close like you’d never wanted to be separated again but your sounds were small. Barely there gasps, shaky breaths, the occasional hum that ghosted past his ear.

“You really think I don’t notice?” His voice was low, just barely brushing your ear. His breath was warm, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he owned you. You swallowed. “Notice what?” Bucky dragged his metal hand up your thigh, parting you so easily with a casual possessiveness that made your breath hitch. “How quiet you are, baby. Damn near silent when I’m deep inside you.” You shifted, already wet from his voice alone. “I… I don’t mean to.”

“Oh, I know.” He kissed your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. “Know you’re not doing it on purpose. But now I need to know what you sound like when you can’t keep it in.” You blinked up at him. “I’m gonna ruin that silence tonight.” His eyes darkened. “And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

You’re already trembling, soft gasps escaping as he lays you back on the sheets. His palm ghosts over your jaw, you flinch just the tiniest bit. Not in fear. In anticipation. Like you know he’s going to push. He leans in, voice low, dangerous. “Open.”

When your lips part for him, he almost groans. Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me.

Two fingers slide between your lips, not deep, just enough to make you vulnerable. Exposed. Make you his. Now there was no way you could bite it back. Can’t muffle any sounds. Can’t shut him out. His breathing hitched as he took in the sight under him. You look up at him with wide eyes, already flushed, already wrecked before he’s even moved. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “Can’t wait to hear every noise you’ve been hiding.”

And when he thrusts into you; hard and deep your eyes roll back, mouth falls open wider around his fingers, and finally…

There. That moan. That sharp, perfect crack in the silence. He watches as you fall apart in real-time. Watches you try to fight it and fail. “Yeah, baby,” he growls, thrusting harder. “That’s it. Give it to me. Let me fuckin’ hear you.” Every noise you make is his reward. Every gasp, every whimper, every choked little sob it’s better than he ever imagined. He wants to pull them out of her like thread, unraveling her one noise at a time.

You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your body arched beneath him. But you couldn’t bite your lip. Couldn’t bury your face. Couldn’t stay silent. Not like this. Not with him keeping your mouth open like a prize. “That’s it,” he growled, hips slamming into you again. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you let go.” You whimpered a high, breathy noise you didn’t even recognize as your own. “That’s my girl,” he purred, rhythm ruthless. “Let me hear that sweet voice. You’ve been hiding it from me for so long.”

Each thrust dragged a different sound from you, shaky moans, breathless gasps, one broken little sob that made his eyes flash with pure hunger.

“Think you can stay quiet with me? When I’m this deep in your tight little pussy?” he taunted, mouth against your cheek now. “I don’t think so.”

You came with a cry that echoed in the room, your voice breaks, it’s raw and breathy, your whole body tightening around him. There was no way to stifle it, no way to mask it. And he smiled as he felt you clench around him, your thighs shaking, mouth still held wide by his fingers. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop now that he had you where he’s been dying to have you.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he flipped you over, chest pressed down to the sheets, ass in the air. “Still got more in you?” he asked, cock dragging along your sensitive folds. You shivered. “Y-Yeah--”

“That’s what I thought.” He slid back in slower, then set a bruising pace, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust. You tried to hold in the whimpers, but they spilled out anyway. Bucky reached around to grip your jaw again not roughly, just firm, thumb dragging your bottom lip down. “No hiding,” he purred the reminder in your ear. “Not tonight. Not with me.” You came again, louder this time. Raw. Honest.

You were trembling in his arms, body limp from overstimulation, lips red from how much sound he’d pulled from you. He held you close now soft strokes between your thighs, kisses on your temple. But when you whined softly in his lap, trying to catch your breath, he chuckled darkly. “Still think you can stay quiet, doll?” You shook your head weakly. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

Your throat was raw. Your body hums with the kind of satisfaction that feels bone-deep; it feels heavy, spent, and warm in a way that leaves you wordless. For once, your silence has nothing to do with shame. You’re quiet because he took everything from you, and you gave it willingly. Now, you’re wrapped in his arms, both of you still slick with sweat and breathless, your head tucked under his chin. His metal arm curls securely around your waist while the warmth of his flesh hand traces lazy circles over your back, grounding you, keeping you here. 

“You okay?” Bucky murmurs, voice rough with effort and something softer…concern? Affection?

You nod into his chest. “More than okay.” He kisses your forehead. “Didn’t push too hard?” You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No. You…It was amazing.” His gaze softens immediately, like hearing that gives him permission to relax. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You sounded so fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he says, voice almost reverent. “Didn’t realize how much I needed to hear you.” 

You smile, a little shy again. “You make it easy. To just let go.” His brows pull slightly. “I never want you to think you have to stay quiet for me. I want all of it. Every sound, every word… even the messy ones.” You laugh softly, and he smiles at the sound like it’s his new favorite thing. “I didn’t think you’d care so much,” you admit. Bucky’s hand tilts your chin until you’re looking right at him. “I care about everything when it comes to you. Even the stuff you don’t say out loud.”

You kiss him, slow and thankful. And when he wraps you tighter against him, tucking the blanket around your legs, you let yourself melt into that feeling of safety, of softness, of being so utterly heard. Maybe tomorrow he’ll tease you for the sounds you made. Maybe he’ll chase them again. But right now?

He just holds you.  And for once, your silence means peace. Not hiding.

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

[buckysleftbicep]

earned it 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, fingering, mutual desperation, dirty talk, praise kink, dom!bucky,

summary: during a mission, bucky corners you behind a supply shelf and slides his fingers between your thighs, all while your comms stay live.

word count: 900

author's note: hi loves! so this idea popped into my head while listening to earned it by the weeknd, man, i love the weeknd, his songs have inspired many of my fics! love ya and stay safe out there!

i'd empty him, iykyk

The warehouse reeked of oil, sweat, and something burnt, but all you could smell was him.

Bucky.

He smelled like gunmetal and pine, like leather, sweat and smoke, like something dark and electric that clung to your skin and sank deep into your lungs. He had you pinned behind a rusted supply shelf, bodies pressed tight in the shadows, heart pounding in rhythm with yours.

You weren’t sure who moved first, maybe it was him, maybe it's you, but now his gloved hand was curled over your mouth and his metal fingers were buried inside you, fucking you open with a pace that was slow and dangerous.

You gasped against his palm, breath catching, hips jerking. The comms crackled.

“Yelena, anything from the south corridor?” Ava’s voice rang low in your ear, clinical. Detached. Unaware.

“Nothing yet,” came Yelena’s reply. “You two find anything?”

You whimpered before you could stop it.

Bucky’s hand tightened over your mouth, his other buried deep between your thighs, metal knuckles slick with your arousal. He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear.

“Be quiet princess, they can hear you.” The words weren’t just a warning. They were a command. And god, the way he said it, low and breathless, strained like he was hanging by a thread himself made your knees go weak.

“I’ll stop,” he whispered, jaw brushing your cheek. “If you make one more sound, I’ll stop. And you’ll walk back to base dripping for me.” You shook your head, desperate.

He chuckled then, low and dark and dangerous. A sound that buzzed right into your core. His fingers curled inside you again, slow and deliberate, pressing against the spot that made you see stars. You bit back a cry, eyes fluttering, nails digging into the tactical vest stretched across his chest.

You were soaked. You could feel it, could hear it, the quiet, obscene wetness echoing off the metal shelving. And yet, the comm still hummed softly in your ear, alive and vulnerable.

John’s voice suddenly cut through, louder than the others. “We’re moving up. You two stay put, I want eyes on the west exit.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, ragged and sharp. You felt it ghost across your jaw. “You hear that?” he rasped, barely audible. “We’ve got a few more minutes. Stay still. Take what I give you.” He fucked you deeper then, not faster, just deeper, like he wanted to unravel you slowly, like he needed to.

His thumb circled your clit and your thighs trembled. You had nearly lost your footing, but he caught you easily, thigh pressed firm against your body, locking you in place as your head fell back against the cold steel wall behind you.

“Pretty little thing,” he muttered, voice rough and full of need. “You’re soaked. So fuckin’ soft for me. And I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You made a desperate noise into his hand, teeth pressing into your lip hard enough to sting. He smirked against your temple.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured. “You make another sound and I’ll cum in my pants before I even get to fuck you.” That image, him losing it like that, rutting against you in this dark corner, wrecked by need nearly undid you.

His fingers moved again, a steady thrust and curl, thumb relentless against your clit. Your thighs shook as his chest heaved against yours now, cock hard and trapped against your stomach in the tight space between you. He was falling apart too. You could feel it in every ragged breath, every whispered curse.

“I should’ve waited,” he said, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Should’ve taken you back to the safehouse. Laid you out nice and proper. But fuck, baby, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop picturing you spread open like this, begging me.” You nodded frantically, eyes glassy with need, your body coiling tight.

He grunted low in his throat, fingers working harder now, faster, still trying to keep you both silent while everything inside you shattered.

“I’m gonna make you come right here,” he whispered. “You’re gonna stay quiet. You’re gonna keep those pretty eyes on me while you do. Understood?”

You nodded again, frantic, desperate, on fire.

“Good girl.”

The praise, filthy and tender, like a knife pressed to velvet was your undoing.

You clenched around him, trembling as your climax tore through you in waves, heat spilling down your thighs, head tipped back in silent ecstasy. You moaned, just once, barely muffled by his hand, and he cursed under his breath, shifting like he wanted to fuck you right then and there, right through the shelf, mission be damned.

You collapsed against him, boneless and breathless, the taste of ozone and sweat thick in the air. Slowly, tenderly, he eased his fingers out, slick and glistening.

Just as you were catching your breath, the comm buzzed again.

“You two good?” John asked, his voice casual. “You’re awful quiet.”

Bucky clicked the comm with his clean hand. “Still clear. No movement.”

Then he cut the line and turned to you, thumb smearing your slick across your inner thigh like a mark only he had the right to leave. “Next time?” he gritted out, voice hoarse and low. “You come with my cock inside you.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse still racing in your throat. “Promise?” you whispered.

He smirked, wicked and already half-hard again. “Count on it.”

[bubblyi3]

Residuals PART 1 | JJK

"he held her first everything, and became her quietest goodbye."

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: childhood best friends, lovers to enemies to strangers, fratboy!jungkook, heartbreak, uni!au

word count: 12.2k

content warning: angst, mild smut, mild languages

summary: jungkook used to be your everything. your best friend, your first love. but you both grew up and grew apart. he’s now the campus heartbreaker, a cocky frat boy who runs with the worst crowd. when a cruel dare asks him to destroy you just for the fun of it. everything shatters. trust. hearts. and maybe the chance to ever put it back together.

author's note: hi hello heyyyy everyone! wow, i’m honestly amazed by how much you all loved the prologue i really didn’t expect such amazing reactions! the taglist is still open, so if you’d like to be notified when future parts go up, just let me know :) i’ve proofread this like a million times (and i’m probably going to read it over again). my writing isn’t perfect, but i’ve given it my best shot. i really hope you all enjoy it! <3

© disclaimer: please do not copy, translate or reproduce any part of this work without my permission. thank you!

🏷️ taglist: @whoa-jo / @username23345 / @kelsyx33 / @toosweetforyall / @junniesoleilkth / @literallyjimin / @jeeykey / @stars4kooo / @delulutofr / @smoljimjim / @elithenium / @mysoulherofriend / @ukndtwme / @nikkiordonez12

You didn’t see Jungkook for days after that night. Maybe it was weeks but the exact stretch of time blurred together, swallowed up by the routines and noise of university life. His absence was loud, the kind of silence that echoes louder than any shout.

Whispers reached you, fragments carried on the edges of campus chatter. Stories of him slipping further into the frat scene, like he was sinking into quicksand and just letting it pull him under.

Rumors spread about the parties he showed up at. The kind of wild, reckless nights where faces blurred and memories faded by morning. Girls said he was charming, magnetic even, but a ghost when it came to texting back. One night stands, fleeting moments, nothing real, nothing that lasted beyond a sunrise or a hangover.

He wasn’t just part of the crowd anymore. He was the crowd. The center of it, like a king in a castle built on noise and neon lights.

And you? You kept your head down, burying yourself in lectures, drowning yourself in coffee and energy drinks, and nights of textbooks and assignment deadlines. Your hands shook a little when you tried to type on your keyboard, not from exhaustion but from the ache in your chest you couldn’t quite explain.

You pretended your heart hadn’t been dragged across glass. Pretended the sharp edges didn’t still scrape at your skin every time his name slipped into a conversation or a memory.

Sometimes, when the library was empty and the world outside faded to a dull hum, you let yourself think about what you lost, or what you thought you had. But then you’d shut those thoughts down before they could consume you, forcing your focus back to the pages in front of you, your lit up screen and the plans for your future.

Because that was easier than facing the truth.

Just as you were finally forcing your mind back into the case study, the quiet was shattered by the familiar sound of laughter and voices outside your dorm room. Before you could even look up, the door swung open.

Hana burst in, her bright smile lighting up the room, followed by a couple of your other uni friends, Mina and Jess. They dropped their bags by the door, eyes instantly locking onto your face.

“Hey, you okay?” Hana asked, dropping onto the edge of your bed, her voice softer now but still urgent. “Seriously, we’ve been worried."

You tried to muster a smile but it came out more like a grimace.

Mina crossed her arms, eyes sharp. “And don’t even bother with that asshole. He’s not worth a single second of your time.”

Jess nodded fiercely, “Honestly, if a guy treats you like that. He’s a fucking idiot. You deserve way better.”

You felt the sting of their words but also the warmth. It was nice, for once, to have people who saw through the bullshit and had your back without question.

“Yeah,” you said, voice a little raw but steadying, “I know. I’m done wasting time on someone who can’t even show up when it counts.”

Hana reached over and squeezed your hand. “Good. Because there’s so much more out there for you. Don’t let him mess with your head.”

You nodded, feeling a flicker of strength return. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe the company, but whatever it was, you were starting to believe that maybe, you could just move on.

The frat house buzzed with heat, music, and too much alcohol. Bottles clinked together, laughter bounced off walls, and someone had already spilled beer on the carpet. No one cared.

It was the unofficial post-midterms blowout. Two weeks of freedom ahead, meant for studying, naturally, but more often used for making questionable choices and pretending the start of the new term was a lifetime away.

Jungkook sat on the couch, half-draped with a girl whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember. She might’ve told him, but it hadn’t felt important. Just someone he’d flirted with earlier when Taehyung had dragged them over to where the nursing students usually hung out. Now, she was tracing lazy patterns on his thigh, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered something he didn’t catch. His mind was elsewhere. Or maybe nowhere at all.

Namjoon clapped his hands from the center of the room, drawing attention like a magnet. “Alright, listen up. Truth or Dare time.”

A loud cheer erupted. Within seconds, a circle formed. People stumbling over each other, red solo cups in hand, their eyes already gleaming with tipsy anticipation.

The bottle spun. Two rounds of tame truths and half-hearted dares, the usual kiss the person to your left, take two shots, confess your crush.

Then the bottle landed on him.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung drawled with a smirk, raising his shot glass in mock salute. “Truth or dare?”

Jungkook leaned forward, tongue tapping against his cheek, dark eyes flashing.

“Dare.”

A chorus of oohs followed. The girl beside him giggled, her fingers now trailing up his chest.

Namjoon didn’t skip a beat. “Alright. I dare you to make a girl fall in love with you over this semester break.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “That’s it?”

Namjoon’s grin stretched wider, all teeth and something colder behind his eyes. “Make her fall for you. Sleep with her. Then break her heart.”

The room stilled.

Jimin frowned from across the circle. “That’s seriously fucked up."

“Is it?” Namjoon shrugged. “It’s uni. Classes by day, chaos by night. Girls know the game. Parties, hook-ups, heartbreak. It’s practically on the syllabus.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

"It’s a challenge," Namjoon corrected. "A full-on charm test, baby. But hey, if anyone thinks they’ve got more game, step up. Nail it, and you’ll get bragging rights... and drinks on us for the rest of the year. If you can, that is.

Hoseok laughed, head tipping back. "Alright then, Kook. If you're gonna pass. I'll take it... I'll be choosing Y/n."

That name dropped like a lead weight.

Jungkook froze, jaw tightening. No way he was going to make you part of this so called dare. "Don't you fucking dare."

“What?” Hoseok said, grinning. “She’s perfect for this. Bet she still thinks you’re the same guy who walked her home every day after school.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Sounds personal.”

“Used to be,” Jungkook muttered, taking a long drink.

Taehyung chuckled. “So what’s the problem then? If anything, you’ve got a head start. You already know what makes her tick.”

"Plus, don’t you guys live right next to each other?" Seokjin, who wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t really roll with the guys, piped up.

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Didn’t move. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t walk out. Just… sat there, expression unreadable. A storm under calm. Namjoon leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Unless it’d bother you?”

Jungkook looked up slowly, a half-smile curling at his lips. Hollow and sharp.

“Why would it?”

He took another drink, shrugging. “The only thing that’ll bother me is if my parents find out. They’d kill me.”

Laughter erupted again.

“That’s what makes it fun,” someone shouted.

Jungkook didn’t see who said it. He didn’t care.

He’d already lost the moment to walk away. His ego was too big. His heart and whatever was left of it was locked behind layers he didn’t even understand anymore.

You already thought he was a bastard. So what was one more sin?

If anyone was going to break you…

Jungkook made damn sure it was going to be him.

The dare had been set.

Laughter slowly faded into the background noise as the party began winding down. The music was still playing. A little slower now, a little more muted. Half of the people had already disappeared into Ubers or stumbled upstairs in pairs. The floor was sticky with spilled liquor, and the smell of smoke clung to the curtains.

Namjoon tossed empty cups into a trash bag, yelling half-heartedly for everyone to get out.

"Party's over, people! Go ruin your livers somewhere else! But most importantly enjoy your fucking uni break."

Taehyung was sprawled across the couch arm, drunk-texting God knows who. Jimin leaned against the wall, sipping water, a brow raised as he watched Jungkook.

Jungkook ignored the looks. He had the same girl draped over his side again, maybe her name was Bora. Didn’t matter to him. He didn’t really give a fuck.

Her lipstick was smudged, pupils dilated. She pressed against him like they were already halfway to something dangerous.

“Your room?” she whispered, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt.

“I’ve been waiting all night.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded once, mechanically, and led her up the stairs.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

It was dimly lit, the warm glow from the desk lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. For a frat boy, it wasn’t what most people would expect. Not entirely, anyway. The space was surprisingly organized. His desk was cluttered with film cameras, old rolls of undeveloped film, a half-charged laptop still open on an assignment, and a stack of books that looked more read than decorative.

But the closet told a different story. Clothes crammed in, some half-folded, some forgotten. Drawers slightly ajar, shoes piled in the corner. He sighed internally, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

Fuck, I really need to start packing, he thought absently.

Behind him, the girl closed the door, letting her jacket slip off her shoulders. She crossed the room without hesitation, fingers already sliding up the hem of his shirt.

But Jungkook wasn’t really there.

He stood near the bed, still, watching her or maybe watching himself. Like an outsider peering into someone else’s life.

That’s when his eyes flicked to his bookshelf across the room.

Second shelf, far right. Tucked inside a worn copy of the Little Prince, a photo peeked out like a forgotten bookmark. Faded from time and touch, the edges curled slightly. It was of you and him, probably no older than fourteen. His mum had captured the moment. You were both grinning, ice cream melting down your fingers, sunlight catching in your hair. He had kept it hidden for years. Sometimes he told himself it was nothing. But he never once took it out.

Bora kissed him then, pulling him back into the moment. Her hands on his chest, her mouth moving fast, desperate and practiced.

Jungkook didn’t kiss her back.

He let it happen for a second. Let her think he was game. Let her think she was winning.

But when her hand dipped lower and started fiddling with his belt, his voice came out hard.

“Stop.”

She froze, lips grazing his jaw. “What?”

He stepped back, eyes cold. “I said, fucking stop.”

Confused, she blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“I’m not doing this,” he muttered.

“You brought me up here for what then?” she scoffed, grabbing her jacket.

He didn’t answer.

“Whatever,” she hissed, storming past him and slamming the door behind her.

Silence fell again.

Jungkook exhaled and crossed the room, pulling the book off the shelf. The photo slipped out, landing in his palm.

There you were, frozen in time. Before everything got messy. Before he turned into someone even he didn’t recognize.

He brushed his thumb over your smile and sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

How the hell did he let it get this far?

This wasn’t him or at least, not who he used to be. Not the boy who used to sneak snacks into your window during sleepovers, or carry your backpack when it was too heavy, or make you playlists when you had a bad day.

He had made a promise, to your parents and his own. That he’d always look out for you.

And now he was here. Planning to ruin you. For what?

Some twisted game? Ego?

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh and leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by your face in his mind. Your smile. The way your nose scrunched when you were deep in thought. The sound of your laugh echoing through his memory.

Jungkook’s mind drifts back to that night. The night you confronted him, asking what had happened to him. The way he brushed off those memories like they were nothing, like you were nothing. He acted like the years they shared, the bond you once had, didn’t mean a damn thing.

And then, almost as if running from himself, he found himself tangled up with some girl he’d barely noticed before. Someone one of the guys had mentioned at the party. That night wasn’t supposed to end like that. It wasn’t meant to be a reckless escape or a way to numb the ache he’d caused you. But there he was, using someone else’s warmth to bury his shame, trying to erase the guilt he felt.

Cowardly.

And now, this dare wasn’t just a game anymore.

It was a storm he’d just agreed to walk right into…

And the worst part? You were the one who’d get soaked in the rain.

The next morning, one by one, people trickled out with backpacks slung over shoulders, hugging their friends goodbye before heading home for the break.

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, watching it all unfold. His duffel bag sat by the couch, packed but forgotten. He raised a hand in farewell as Taehyung and Hoseok piled into someone’s beat-up car, Jimin tossing him a lazy salute before following.

Namjoon, finishing the last of his coffee, clapped a hand to Jungkook’s shoulder. “Don’t forget the dare, Kook. Two weeks.” He grinned.

Jungkook gave a half-smirk, the kind that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah. I remember.”

But truth was, he couldn’t wait to get out of this fraternity that he's been living in. He missed home. Missed familiarity. Missed something that wasn’t drenched in cheap beer, fake flirting, and expectations.

Just as he was about to call for a ride, his phone buzzed.

Dad: Don’t worry about finding a lift. I’ll come grab you. We’re picking up Y/n too. Your mothers have planned some big feast. Make sure you guys don't leave me waiting.

Jungkook stared at the message.

You.

Of course you were going home too. Of course the two families had planned something.

Like the two of you were still joined at the hip. His chest ached with something he didn’t want to name.

He texted back a short “okay” and ran a hand through his hair.

Jungkook let out a slow, steady exhale as he slung his own bag over his shoulder. Being the last to leave, he made sure to lock up behind him before stepping out into the quiet evening. The walk to campus wasn’t far. Close enough to count the steps yet every inch felt heavier than the last. It had been far too long since he’d seen you, and the thought of facing you again stirred a knot of tension deep inside.

As he approached the front gates, his eyes immediately found you. You stood there, two bags in hand, waiting patiently. Jungkook’s lips twitched in a faint, almost involuntary smile. He’d never forgotten how you always overpacked, insisting on bringing “just in case” everything. It was a small, familiar detail that softened the moment, even as the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow around you, making you look breathtaking. You always had that effortless beauty, but right now, illuminated like that, it was almost too much to bear. Fuck, Jungkook cursed silently, scolding himself for thinking it.

He took a few careful steps forward, keeping a distance that was neither too close nor too far. Your eyes lifted from your phone just as he drew near, and the silence between you stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

Jungkook swallowed, then decided to be the one to break the ice. “So… are you excited to head back home?” His voice was softer than expected. Tinged with a warmth and care you hadn’t heard in a while. You looked up, surprised by the gentleness, almost like the Jungkook you once knew was trying to break through the distance.

He was about to say more, to reach out beyond the silence, when the sudden sound of a car pulling up cut through the moment. His dad’s voice called out, and just like that, the fragile thread between you snapped.

The break had barely begun, yet it was already testing him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

And you? You had no idea what was about to come.

You heard the car pull up before you even saw it, the sudden crunch of tires on gravel cutting through the quiet between you and Jungkook. The sound caught you off guard, stealing away the moment, and with it, your chance to respond.

Mr. Jeon stepped out from the driver’s side, his presence steady and grounding as always. He gave a cheerful wave as he moved to toss Jungkook’s bag into the trunk, then turned to greet you with that familiar warmth. The kind that made you feel like you were still the little kid who used to tag along with Jungkook everywhere.

Before Jungkook could say a word, his dad pulled him into a firm, heartfelt hug. One that spoke of quiet pride, unspoken support, and the deep bond between father and son. The embrace was comforting, like a shield against the weight of the world, reminding Jungkook that no matter what, some things stayed constant.

You slipped into the front seat quickly, earbuds in, eyes trained on your phone. Not because you were texting anyone, but because it was easier to pretend you were. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see him.

But you felt him the moment he opened the back door. The air shifted. The seat shifted. He used to call shotgun every time. No matter what.

You never had to ask for it before.

But now?

Now, he let you have it. And that felt like a bigger deal than you wanted it to.

The drive started, slow and familiar. Mr. Jeon chatted away about dinner plans and how excited your moms were. You responded politely, nodded where you should, even cracked a smile at the bit about your little brother refusing to do the groceries unless Jungkook came with him.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at him. But you knew.

You knew he was watching you.

Out of the corner of your eye, in the side mirror. There he was, slouched back in the seat, hoodie drawn up but not enough to hide his stare. You didn’t know what pissed you off more. The fact that he kept looking at you, or the part of you that kept wondering if he missed you.

You hated how quiet he was now.

How calm.

How the boy who used to tap your shoulder to share dumb thoughts every five minutes was now silent. Like he didn’t deserve to speak to you. Maybe he didn’t.

Not after that night, he made you feel like you didn't mean anything to him anymore.

At the next red light, his dad asked, “You two doing alright?”

You gave a neutral “yeah,” not turning.

Jungkook’s voice followed a beat later. “Fine.”

You closed your eyes. Liar.

The trees passed by. The sun warmed your skin. You should’ve felt relaxed, going home. You should’ve felt lighter. But instead, the weight of him just pressed harder into your chest.

Because he’d let you go.

He’d chosen to become someone you barely recognized. And no matter how close you sat in this car, he felt like a stranger all over again.

The moment Mr. Jeon turned the corner onto your quiet street, your heart clenched.

There it was. Your house, and right beside it, the Jeon residence. Still the same distance apart. Still sharing the same trimmed hedges and side fence that separated the backyards. Still carrying the same summer breeze that used to drift through your bedroom window when you and Jungkook would whisper to each other past curfew with flashlights and walkie-talkies.

You almost wanted to laugh at how little had changed out here, while everything inside you had.

Mr. Jeon parked in his usual spot, right between both houses. The engine cut. You reached for your duffel just as the front doors opened.

“Y/n!” your mum beamed from your porch, stepping out with open arms. Jungkook’s mum was right behind her, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, still in her cozy floral apron.

You stepped out of the car, nodding politely as Jungkook opened the door behind you. He let you pass first. You didn’t thank him. Not this time.

“Look at you two!” Jungkook’s mum said, pulling you into a hug while your mum fussed over your hair. “Back from uni and thinner than ever. Are you eating? You’ve been studying too hard, haven’t you?”

You smiled, playing the part. “Just trying to survive midterms.”

Jungkook’s mum reached over and gave his cheek a playful pinch, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in. “So you weren’t joking about the lip piercing?” she huffed. “I thought you were messing with me on the phone.” 

Jungkook chuckled, leaning away slightly. “I told you I wasn’t kidding, but you said, ‘Over my dead body,’ and hung up on me.”

She clicked her tongue, her gaze drifting to the tattoos on his arms. “And this! do you want to give your poor mother a heart attack?”

Jungkook grinned. “You’re still alive though, so I think we’re doing okay.”

She shook her head, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. Her tone softened as she glanced toward you. “Just tell me you’ve been taking care of Y/n like you promised. Did you help her pack?”

He looked at you for a beat, then back at his mum. “Always.”

You didn’t even flinch.

Your mother clapped her hands, excited. “Well, let’s not waste any more time. Dinner’s all ready next door. Come on now, both of you.”

You followed her up the steps to the Jeon house like you’d done hundreds of times as a kid. But everything felt different now. He wasn’t just the boy-next-door anymore. He was the boy who let you down. The one who changed the minute campus swallowed him whole.

The Jeon house smelled like comfort. Grilled meat, garlic, soy, rice. Pretty much your childhood in dinner form. The table was already full, banchan dishes spread like a celebration.

“Y/n, sweetheart, sit here,” Jungkook’s mum said, patting the seat beside her. “Jungkook, go grab the rice cooker.”

You sat quietly, folding your hands in your lap, while Jungkook passed behind you without a word. His shoulder brushed yours.

Neither of you reacted.

The dinner chatter began. Your mum and his mum swapping stories, catching up like nothing was wrong. You just nodded when spoken to, eating slowly, eyes fixed on your plate.

Across the table, Jungkook watched you. Or maybe he didn’t. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up to find out.

Because you both used to walk home together. 

Used to climb your tree when you couldn’t sleep.

Used to swear he’d never be one of those guys.

And now he was sitting across from you, pretending he still knew how to be close.

"So, two weeks off, huh?" your dad called out from the far end of the table.

Both you and Jungkook nodded, murmuring a quiet "yeah."

"What's the plan?" Jungkook's mum asked, eyes twinkling. "You two going to visit your old spots, or just bury yourselves in assignments all week?"

You forced a small smile. "No and yes... for me at least. I'm hoping to balance it out. I've missed home a lot, so I want to soak it all in before heading back."

Jungkook paused, then reached for another kimbap.

“Same here,” he said eventually. “I’ve got a film project to prep over the break, so I’ll be working on that but yeah… I’ve missed this. A lot.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. How could he sound so… unaffected? So normal?

And maybe you stared too long, because when you blinked back to reality, he was looking right at you.

You coughed and diverted your attention, steering the conversation back toward whatever the parents were chatting about next.

By the time dinner wrapped up, the dishes were emptied, laughter had filled the room more than once, and everyone’s stomachs were happily full. You stood to start clearing the table.

Of course, Jungkook helped. He always did. It didn’t matter whose house it was. He’d gather the dishes, wash, dry, and put them away with you. It was second nature. Respectful. Familiar.

And for just a fleeting second, it felt like old times. Like your Jungkook was still there. Maybe just for tonight.

Both sets of parents waved you off, insisting you two should relax, settle in, rest after all the hard work. But that was never your style and you weren’t about to let Mrs. Jeon and your mum do everything alone.

In the kitchen, silence hung between you. Comfortable. Strange. His presence warmed the space, his clothes carrying that same scent you used to bury your face into when the world got too loud.

You missed him. God, you really did.

You rinsed a plate, passing it to Jungkook without a word. He took it, dried it gently, and stacked it neatly on the rack like always. The rhythm between you felt automatic, muscle memory stitched into routine. But underneath it, the quiet was anything but easy.

Eventually, he broke it.

“Your dad hasn’t changed at all,” he said softly, a half-smile in his voice. “Still talks like he’s trying to interview everyone at the table.”

You let out a small breath. Half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yeah. He gets worse when he’s nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jungkook looked over, his eyes catching yours for a second too long.

You shrugged. “It’s been a while since we were all here. You know what that does to him.”

He nodded slowly, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he reached for the next bowl. You pretended not to notice, but the heat lingered.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, voice quiet. “I really did miss this.”

You kept your eyes on the soapy water. “It’s easy to miss things when you’re far away from them.”

That hung in the air for a moment. Sharp. Honest.

Jungkook didn’t say anything right away. Just dried the next plate, slower this time.

“And… can you please keep whatever’s been happening on campus. About my reputation there, under the bus.” His tone was careful now, laced with something like guilt. “Don’t bring it up to my parents. Especially my mum.”

And just like that, the version of Jungkook you’d held onto in your memory. The boy you grew up with felt like he’d slipped away for good.

You stilled, hands submerged in the warm water. “Are you serious right now?” you snapped, voice rising before you could stop it. You turned toward him, brows pulled tight.

He straightened, finally looking at you, face tense. “Hey... can you not-” His voice dipped low. “Tone it down, alright?”

You blinked, stunned.

He exhaled, leaning into the counter, not quite meeting your eyes. “I know, I know. I probably sound like a complete douche. And maybe I am. But I can’t have them finding out. Not about that.”

You turned to face him fully, searching his expression. For a flicker of the boy who used to knock on your window at midnight, who swore he'd always be on your side.

“You left me to figure it all out on my own, Jungkook,” you said, the words thick with the weight of everything you hadn’t said until now.

“You started treating me like I didn’t matter the second people on campus started learning your name.”

That one landed. His jaw tightened. His eyes dropped.

The overhead kitchen light above flickered slightly. The dishes were almost done.

And for the first time in months, you felt like something was finally about to break.

Just then, Jungkook’s phone buzzed on the counter beside him. Once. Then again. Then again. You didn’t have to look. You already knew.

The constant stream of notifications was all the confirmation you needed. It was the guys' group chat. Loud. Persistent. Like the version of him you didn’t recognize anymore was calling him back.

You quietly placed the last dish in the rack, wiping your hands on a tea towel.

From the lounge, laughter spilled into the kitchen. Your parents and his, watching whatever drama or variety show was on, lost in their own version of comfort.

You and Jungkook returned to the living room. The moment your parents saw you, your dad chuckled.

“Done already? That might be a new record.”

Normally, dish duty took longer because of playful bickering, soap flicked in faces, elbow nudges, stupid arguments about whose turn it was to dry.

You forced a smile. “Yep, all done. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Jeon. Dinner was amazing. It was so nice seeing you both again.”

They stood, warm and familiar, exchanging hugs. Jungkook followed suit, giving your parents a hug and telling them it was good catching up over dinner, offering his own easy smile like nothing had shifted just moments earlier.

Mrs. Jeon turned to your mum, eyes lighting up. “Oh, we have to go to the Saturday market together in the morning. It’s been ages.”

Your mum gasped in agreement, already mentally planning the morning. “Yes! You, me, and our reusable bags. It’s a date.”

Mrs. Jeon looked between you and Jungkook. “You two should come along. Jungkook can drive us all. Right, sweetie?”

You nodded. “I’m keen.” You missed those early morning strolls, the smell of fresh bread and brewed coffee floating through the stalls.

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll see how I feel,” he said noncommittally. “Might have stuff to work on.”

You just nodded. Of course he might.

With the evening winding down, your family said your goodbyes and stepped outside. The Jeon house was right next door to yours. A perk of a lifelong friendship. Even now, you still found it a little surreal that your parents had managed to buy houses side by side. Soulmates, in their own way.

Your mums, always inseparable. Just like you and Jungkook used to be.

Until you weren’t.

After you and your parents stepped out into the night, laughter still trailing behind you, the Jeon house fell into a quieter rhythm.

Jungkook and his parents lingered in the doorway for a moment before turning back inside.

It wasn’t exactly how things used to be. But it wasn’t unfamiliar either. The kind of stillness that only came from being back home after a long time away. The air held something warm and nostalgic, even if a little too quiet now.

“Go wash up and get settled in, sweetheart,” his mum said as they walked back into the lounge. She gave his arm a soft squeeze. “I changed the sheets and aired out the room, but I left everything else just how you had it.”

His dad added with a nod, already making himself comfortable on the couch again. “We’re gonna stay up a bit, finish this show your mum’s obsessed with. You know how it is.”

Jungkook laughed lightly. “Of course. You two and your midnight TV marathons.”

They both smiled, and his mum reached up to smooth his hair. “It’s good to have you home, Kook.”

“Yeah,” he said, hugging them both. “Missed you guys.”

He kissed his mum’s cheek, gave his dad a pat on the back, and made his way up the familiar stairs. Slowly, like each step was stirring something deeper.

When he reached his room, he hesitated at the door before pushing it open.

Everything looked the same.

His old posters still lined the hallway, the same spot on the wall where he'd once drawn on the wallpaper with crayon still hidden behind a framed photo.

Bed made with navy-blue sheets, desk still stacked with random comics and knick-knacks, photos still taped above the headboard—some curling at the corners now. His guitar case was right where he left it. A faint layer of dust coated the windowsill, but otherwise, it felt untouched. Preserved.

Like time had been waiting for him.

He stepped inside, exhaling slowly, letting the weight of the day settle in his shoulders. Tossed his hoodie onto the chair. Sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor for a moment, caught in the hum of everything familiar. The scent of laundry detergent, floorboards creaking in all the right places. It made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

Then he remembered about he buzzing from earlier. The group chat.

He grabbed his phone, the screen lighting up with a dozen missed messages.

Jin-hyung: yo i'm already losing my mind w my cousins here Namjoon: been catching up on readings… send help Jimin: i’m not doing any work this week. i’m feral now. leave me Hoseok: my fam made this huge feast and i’ve been watching my old dance vids + workshop recaps since i got home Taehyung: jungkookkkkkkk you bonding yet or what don’t forget the terms, golden boy Jimin: LMAO NOT THE DARE Namjoon: bro you better have got it started. Taehyung: a bet’s a bet. clock’s ticking. Namjooon: once you make her fall for you… break her. fuck, i’m looking forward to how you’ll pull it off Hoseok: public humiliation? exposure? fuck i can’t wait. but tbh kookie i’m kinda jealous. y/n’s a smash for me. Namjoon: hobi just stfu. Jimin: You guys are lethal. Jin-hyung: yo, i love you all but i’m out of this bs Yoongi: no fun, hyung.

Jungkook stared at the messages, his jaw tight, teeth pressed together.

That guilt was back. The same one that clenched his stomach earlier when he asked you to keep things quiet. The same guilt that rose when he caught that look in your eyes. Like you saw everything, even the parts he didn’t want you to.

He turned the screen off and tossed the phone facedown onto his bed.

The silence returned. He leaned back, eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling, the soft flicker of light from the street filtering in through his curtains.

You were just next door.

But somehow, you felt miles away.

Drawn by some quiet impulse, Jungkook stood up and walked to his window. He could see your room from here. The lamp had just flicked on, casting a soft, golden glow behind your curtains. He could make out the silhouette of your gentle and slow movement. Maybe you were brushing your hair. Maybe you were changing. He didn’t know.

But he remembered a time when he did know everything.

You two used to talk from your windows, yelling across the small gap between houses like there was no one else in the world. Sometimes so loud his parents would storm in and tell him to quiet down.

Those were the nights when he could make you laugh until your voice cracked.

Back then, when you looked at him, Jungkook felt like he was somebody worth being.

He stayed at the window until your light flicked off.

Then it hit him. You’d gone to bed. Closed off from him again.

He sighed, shoulders dropping, and turned away.

His dad had already brought his bags upstairs. He made a mental note to thank him tomorrow. For now, he just needed to wash up. Get his head straight.

Before stepping into the bathroom, he picked up his phone again. Just to check the chat.

He hovered over the keyboard for a second too long.

Then, almost without thinking. Whether it was anger, pride, or fear. He fired off a reply to the group.

[Jungkook]: Don’t worry. I've got it planned.

He tossed the phone back onto the bed.

The words didn’t even feel like his. But maybe that was the point.

Maybe this version of him, the one they all expected was easier to play.

Maybe if he played the part well enough, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

He made his way into the bathroom, the floor cool beneath his feet, the lights humming quietly overhead. As he splashed water onto his face, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Eyes tired. Jaw tense. Something unreadable just beneath the surface.

If anyone was going to be in your life. It had to be him.

Because no one knew you like Jungkook did.

And maybe, a little game wouldn’t hurt and tomorrow the act would begin.

Just like old times.

Back in your own room, you’d gone through the usual routine. Washed up, brushed your teeth, pulled on your oversized sleep tee. The kind that still smelled vaguely like your old high school fabric softener. You switched off the lamp, slipping under the covers, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound as the world outside dimmed.

Everything in your childhood room was exactly how you left it.

Posters still tacked onto the closet door. Your bookshelf, slightly crooked, still carried the dust of years past. YA novels, a few worn diaries, old photo booth strips stuffed between the pages. The small glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling had long lost their shine, but you never took them down. They were part of it. The history of you.

And him.

Your gaze drifted across the room. You could still picture Jungkook sprawled out on the rug during sleepovers, stealing your snacks, teasing you for your stuffed animal collection. You remembered the blanket forts. The whispered ghost stories. The night he cried after his first heartbreak and you pretended not to see the way his shoulders trembled.

So much of your room carried him. And yet now, it felt like he didn’t belong in here anymore. At least, not the version of him you saw tonight.

You turned to your side, reaching for your phone. The screen lit up with a single unread message from Hana.

[Hana]: omg are u alive or buried under family obligations yet? how was dinner w golden boy? spill. missing you alr though

You smiled faintly at the nickname. Golden boy. She’d started calling him that after you shared your long, messy Jungkook lore. Nappies and all. Hana had become your go-to. The one person you trusted at uni to hold that story without twisting it.

You typed back quickly.

[You]: lol I survived. Dinner was… good? weird? idk. will explain everything when the time comes. And yes, I miss you too!

You hit send, then placed your phone on your nightstand, screen-down.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

Not when Jungkook’s words kept circling back.

“Can you keep whatever’s been happening on campus… under the bus? Don’t bring it up to my parents.”

The audacity.

Who did he think you were?

Some quiet little side character in his new story? As if you didn’t know who he was now. As if you hadn’t heard things. As if you hadn’t seen the photos, the whispers, the rotating of girls, the club nights, the film school fanbase he seemed to thrive off.

He used to tell you everything.

Now he was asking you to lie.

You had to admit, Jungkook was smart. He knew you wouldn’t dare say anything. Not when it meant disappointing his parents. Not when the truth would hurt the people who still greeted you with open arms, who still saw you as part of their family.

You rolled onto your back, exhaling sharply into the stillness of your room.

What hurt the most was how close he was. Just one window away. And yet, somehow, it felt like he was miles from you. That brief silhouette in the kitchen, the quiet tension thick in the air, the group chat notifications you couldn’t see but knew were buzzing beneath his skin. Everything pointed to the same painful truth.

He wasn’t the Jungkook you used to know.

Not anymore.

And the scariest part was… a small part of you still wanted to believe he was. Eventually, your eyes grew heavy, the ache in your chest softening just enough to let you sleep.

The next morning, the scent of toast and brewed coffee nudged you awake.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, sunlight already spilling through your curtains. The world outside your window was glowing. Familiar. Safe.

You sat up, stretching as the sound of light chatter floated in from downstairs. Your parents.

After slipping into some jeans and a clean hoodie, you padded down to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” your dad called out, already at the stove, expertly flipping eggs.

“You hungry?”

“Starving,” you replied with a sleepy smile.

“Morning, sweetie,” your mum chimed in from the other side of the kitchen island. She was already dressed for the day. Hair neatly tied back, sunglasses perched on her head, a canvas market tote slung over one shoulder, and practical walking shoes on her feet.

“I’ve been waiting on you,” she said with a playful glance. “You’re still coming to the market, right? Jungkook’s mum is ready too, we’ll go over there soon.”

You nodded, stretching lightly. “I’ll go get washed up and ready then.”

Before you could leave, your dad slid a plate in front of you. Toast still warm, butter melting into the surface, eggs perfectly done. He gestured toward it with his spatula. “Eat first. Didn’t you just say you were starving?”

You sat down and took a bite, nodding with your mouth full. “Good call.”

He grinned. “Saturday markets are sacred, Y/n. Fuel up.”

The morning felt good. Warm. Comforting. For a moment, everything felt right again.

However, on the other side. Next door, someone was still sleeping. Sunlight filtered through the edges of his curtains, casting soft stripes across his blanket-tangled form.

Downstairs, Mrs. Jeon was already dressed and ready for the Saturday market. Hair pinned back neatly, sunglasses perched on top of her head like a crown, canvas tote over her arm, and a familiar gleam in her eyes. The one that meant today was for errands and bonding.

She bustled through the kitchen humming to herself, wiping down counters that were already clean, checking her phone and then her watch like time owed her something.

Her husband had already eaten and slipped out not long ago, off on one of his routine morning walks around the neighbourhood park. Something he proudly called his “retired cardio.”

By 9:45am, she was tapping her foot at the base of the staircase.

“Jungkook-ah!” she called up the stairs in that half-sing-song tone only a mother could master. “Wake up! We’re going to the market and you’re driving!”

No answer.

She called again, louder this time. “Kookie! I already told Y/n's mum that we'll be ready by 10!"

Still nothing.

She sighed, muttering under her breath as she marched toward the stairs. “This boy acts like he’s filming a movie in his dreams…”

Up the stairs she went, each step announcing her arrival like a one-woman parade. When she reached his room, she didn’t bother knocking. Mothers didn’t have time for boundaries when produce was on sale.

She flung the door open.

“Jungkook!”

He was sprawled out like a starfish, one leg off the bed, the other tangled in a blanket, face half-buried into his pillow. His phone was still lying face-down by his side, forgotten. Hair an absolute crime scene.

She crossed her arms. “Yah, do you know what time it is? It’s already late for the good tomatoes!”

Jungkook groaned from the depths of his bed. “I thought you gave me options if I wanted to go or not. And right now I'm not feeling it....”

“Well... I changed my mind. Get up now."

He cracked one eye open, grumbling. “Why?”

“Because I want to spend time with you.” She softened, patting his leg through the blanket. “Come on. Just like old times. You and me and a lot of fresh greens.”

He groaned again, but this time the stubbornness was softer, almost defeated, as he rubbed his face. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Not a chance. We’ll get candied nuts. And those dumplings you can’t resist.”

That finally pulled him upright, his hair a wild mess, like he’d just survived a tornado. “Okay, okay! I’m up. But don’t drag me out in my boxers.”

“Then move faster before I do.” She shot him a grin and strode out of the room.

“Ten minutes, Jeon Jungkook. I’m timing you.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with an exaggerated groan, shuffling toward the bathroom. “Can a man just get some decent sleep around here?”

From downstairs, his mom’s voice came back without missing a beat. “Hurry up!”

The morning was crisp, sun soft and golden as you and your mum stepped out the front door, reusable market bags tucked under one arm. The walk to the Jeons’ was short. Just a few steps, really but the air buzzed faintly with something unspoken. It always did when he was involved.

Mrs. Jeon was already outside with a bright smile on her face. She turned just in time to see you both approaching.

“There they are!” she beamed, arms opening wide as she leaned in to hug your mum. “Good morning, you two. The weather’s perfect, isn’t it? I told Jungkook the market gods were smiling on us today.”

Your mum chuckled, “Told you it wouldn’t rain, didn’t I?”

Mrs. Jeon then turned her gaze to you, her expression softening with genuine care. “How was your first night back?”

You returned her smile and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s really nice to be home.”

And just as you pulled back, you heard the door creak open behind her.

Footsteps on the porch.

Then came him.

Jungkook stepped out wearing a loose, dark plaid short-sleeve shirt layered casually over a crisp white tee. His light-wash jeans hung baggy and relaxed, the kind of effortless style that suggested he’d rolled out of bed not long ago. Twenty minutes tops, if you were being honest. His hair still held that tousled, just-woke-up look, soft strands falling naturally.

The sunlight caught his face at just the right angle, drawing attention to the silver glint of his lip piercing, shimmering subtly beneath the curve of his bottom lip. It hadn’t been so noticeable last night, dimmed by the kitchen’s soft lighting. But here, in the clear brightness of day, it was impossible to overlook.

And then there were the tattoos, now fully revealed across the backs of his hands, weaving up the veins of his forearms like inked stories waiting to be read. Stark black lines against his golden skin, each mark a sketch hinting at secrets you hadn’t yet uncovered.

He glanced at you briefly before dropping his gaze, jangling his car keys in one hand.

“We ready to go?,” he said simply, voice low and half-scratchy with sleep.

Your mum looked at Mrs. Jeon, a little amused. “Look at him, ready to chauffeur us.”

Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands together. “He’s driving. It’s the least he can do after making me drag him out of bed.

“Mum,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was a flicker of a smile.

Mrs. Jeon turned to you then, placing a gentle hand on your back. “You take the front seat, darling. Jungkook’s used to me yelling directions from the back anyway.”

You hesitated. “Oh no, it’s okay, I don’t mind sitting in the-”

“Nonsense,” she waved you off. "Front seat’s yours.”

Your mum nodded in agreement. “Go on, we’ll sit in the back and talk produce.”

You blinked, caught between your own resistance and the weight of four parental eyes.

“Okay…” you muttered, making your way to the passenger door.

You could feel Jungkook’s presence beside you as he unlocked the car, the soft click of the doors breaking the stillness. As you slid into the seat, the familiarity of it all hit in waves.

Not with the new version of him beside you, hands inked, lip pierced, shoulders broader than you remembered.

He got in, adjusting the mirror with a quick glance at the back seat. “Everyone good?”

“Yep,” Mrs. Jeon chimed. “Let’s go get some vegetables.”

As he pulled out of the driveway, the silence between you buzzed louder than the morning radio.

Because you’d thought he wouldn’t come. You really did.

And yet here he was. Driving, casual, unreadable.

And suddenly, a memory bubbled up before you could stop it.

You were sixteen, nervous hands gripping the steering wheel of his dad’s old Toyota. Jungkook beside you in the passenger seat, half-eating a popsicle, half-coaching you through parallel parking.

“Ease off the brake. Not slam it. Ease. You’re not trying to throw me through the windshield,” he’d teased.

You’d glared at him. “Do you want to teach me or not?”

He’d smiled then, soft and crooked. “I always do. Just don’t kill us.”

Back then, you’d learned how to trust the road and trust him.

Now, you weren’t so sure of either.

You turned slightly to glance at him. He was focused on driving, hand casually resting on the wheel, the ink on his fingers visible as he shifted gears with practiced ease.

You folded your hands in your lap and stared out the window again, silence thick in your throat. The radio hummed something soft in the background. Your mums chatted lightly in the back seat, comparing shopping lists and debating what market stall had the best sourdough.

But between you and Jungkook, the silence felt heavier than ever.

He was close. Right there in the driver’s seat beside you, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Yet emotionally, he felt miles away.

Still, a small part of you clung to memories of the boy who had cheered the loudest when you nailed that perfect reverse park, telling you it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.

But now… he was someone who made you feel invisible.

Still driving the same car.

Still offering you rides.

Just not in the way he used to.

The local Saturday market was already in full swing by the time you arrived. Tents lined the footpaths in bursts of colour. Fresh flowers, handmade crafts, overflowing crates of seasonal fruit. The scent of brewed coffee, warm cinnamon, and the faint salt of the sea in the distance wove through the morning air.

You stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching softly beneath your sneakers, your mum already calling dibs on the walnut loaf from her favorite bakery stand.

Mrs. Jeon smiled warmly, looping her arm through your mum’s. “Come on, before it all sells out.”

“You two can just mingle together. If you lose us, remember to call,” your mum said with a knowing smile.

With that, the two mums melted into the crowd as if it were their usual Saturday ritual. Which, judging by how easily they slipped away, it probably was. And just like that, you were left alone with him.

Jungkook trailed a few steps behind you, hands tucked in his jean pocket, lip ring catching the sunlight when he glanced to the side. You could feel his eyes on you. Too aware. Too observant.

You didn’t say anything.

He didn’t either. Not yet.

Because internally, he was trying to calculate the angle.

This shouldn’t be that hard.

You had history. Long, tangled, intimate history.

He knew how you looked when you were crying in the dark. When you laughed with your whole chest. When you wore oversized t-shirts in summer and leaned your head on his shoulder like it meant nothing.

The way your mouth twitched when you were annoyed. How your eyes always flicked to the left when you were trying to lie. How you twisted your bracelets around your wrist when you were nervous.

He could read you like a book.

And right now, Jungkook was thinking this bet? This dare?

It was already in the bag.

You used to like him. Hell, maybe you still did. That part of you that lingered, that looked at him in the kitchen last night like you were waiting for an old friend to return.

And yeah, maybe you had every right to hate him now. But he also knew you well enough to know…

You never stopped caring completely.

He could tell.

So all he had to do was dial it up.

The eye contact. The soft teasing. The subtle call-backs to childhood memories. Play the long game. Make you feel like he’s still in there somewhere.

Make you trust him again.

And when the time came?

Well, the ending was supposed to hurt, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t proud of it. But the bravado of the group chat still echoed in his head. Golden boy. Star of the show. No one ever expected him to fall. Just deliver the twist.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly at your side as you passed the fresh fruit stand. His voice was soft, casual. “What do you say we check out that stall with your favorite tteokbokki and fried chicken?”

You slowed your steps. Hesitated. The air felt thicker for a second.

Part of you wanted to say no. To turn away. To remind him that things weren't the same. But your stomach gave a quiet nudge, and the thought of something warm and spicy. Something comforting sounded… nice.

So you nodded. Small. Reluctant. But real.

His grin widened, smooth as ever.

Still, you fell in step beside him, the gravel crunching underfoot as the two of you wove past toddlers with melting ice creams and couples in linen pants holding mason jars of cold brew. The sounds of the market wrapped around you. Vendors calling out, oil sizzling in pans, laughter in the distance.

He led the way like nothing had shifted, like the months of distance. The silence, the sharp edges of everything unsaid didn’t hang in the space between you. You followed, unsure why.

Maybe it was the scent of the food stalls up ahead.

Or maybe it was just easier than confronting the weight in your chest.

“Still can’t handle spice?” he asked, glancing at you sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching into something playful.

You gave a small shrug, eyes focused ahead. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Liar,” he said, light and teasing. And for a second, just a split one, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

He ordered for the both of you like he always used to. Two servings of tteokbokki, one with extra spice “for him,” and crispy fried chicken to share. You stood to the side, hands shoved in your sleeves, watching the steam rise from the giant steel trays, the sauce bubbling thick and red.

He handed you your bowl carefully, making sure the lid was on tight before offering chopsticks with a little flick of his wrist, like it was muscle memory.

You murmured a quiet “thanks,” sitting on the edge of a nearby planter box where the stalls opened up into a clearing. Jungkook sat beside you, just close enough that your arms almost brushed.

You ate in silence for a while, save for the hum of market life around you. Music playing faintly from someone’s portable speaker, a child whining for another bite of cotton candy.

“I missed this,” he said suddenly, picking at a piece of chicken. “Being back home. Seeing the same faces, hearing the ahjummas shout their usual nonsense. Just… being around the people who actually know me.”

Your chopsticks froze mid-air. You didn’t look at him.

“Funny,” you said softly, not bitter. Just tired. “Not long ago, you made me swear to keep your ‘fratboy’ antics under wraps."

His hand paused, the piece of chicken halfway to his mouth.

The words settled between you like a weight. Quiet but sharp, impossible to ignore.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared off into nothing, like the noise of the market had suddenly become miles away. And for a second, you caught a glimpse of the boy behind the ego. The boy you grew up with before university swallowed him whole.

“I didn’t know how to come back from that,” he finally said, voice low and raw. “So I ran. From everything. From you. I thought avoiding it would hurt less.”

You looked down at your bowl. The food was still warm, but the taste had changed.

“You thought wrong.”

And still, somehow, you kept eating. Because that’s what people do. They sit in the wreckage and try to feel normal. Bite by bite.

Even when the taste is tinged with regret.

It was warmer now, the late-morning sun filtering through the trees. You paused to swipe hair from your face, nearly bumping into Jungkook when he suddenly stopped in front of a vendor booth.

He turned to you with a strange glint in his eyes. “Wait here.”

You blinked. “What? Why-”

But he was already weaving through the small crowd, leaving you with a confused crease between your brows.

A minute later, he returned, something hidden behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is some kind of market prank, I swear-”

Then he held something out to you.

A delicate stem of crochet tulips, hand-stitched with vibrant yarn in shades of soft pinks and creams, the green stem twisting gently in his fingers.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t a typical bouquet, but it felt more meaningful than any fresh flowers could. Each petal carefully crafted, a small work of art. You could tell it was from one of the local artisans at the market. Jungkook had been thoughtful enough to pick something handmade, something to support the small businesses.

His grin softened, warm and genuine, a hint of boyish pride in his eyes.

“Figured you’d like something unique. Plus, I wanted to help out the local makers.”

Your hand hovered briefly before reaching out. “You haven’t given me something like this since we were kids.”

“Since we were eleven,” he said quietly, offering the tulips closer.

You took them slowly, your fingertips brushing his as you accepted the gift.

For a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink.

The silence. The unspoken words. The weight of all the time and space in between.

It was just you and that little stem of crochet tulips. An unexpected reminder of simpler days.

You turned the flowers over in your hands, and a memory surfaced.

You were eleven, sitting on the porch swing at dusk. Jungkook, always a little quieter back then, had picked wildflowers from the field behind your houses and handed you a handful, shy but sincere.

“These are for you,” he said softly. “Because you make everything better.”

Your chest tightened, that memory hitting with a bittersweet pang.

You looked away quickly, blinking back the rush of feeling. “You’re such a dork,” you murmured.

And just then—

“Y/N! Jungkook!” a cheerful voice broke through the moment, pulling you back to the present.

You turned to see Mrs. Jeon a short distance away, waving a bunch of kale enthusiastically in one hand as she called for both of you. Your mum stood beside her, sharing a quiet laugh as if they’d just exchanged a secret you weren’t quite part of yet.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Crisis alert. Kale mom is back.”

You shook your head, relief flooding in from the distraction. “We should go before she starts preaching the benefits of green juice again.”

He gave a smile. “Yes, of course."

Walking side by side toward them, you held the crochet tulips a little tighter. Like a fragile thread of hope you weren’t ready to let go of. But at the same time, you weren’t about to give Jungkook your heart so easily again.

Because even if you weren’t ready to admit it…

Some part of you still remembered when Jungkook made you feel like you were everything.

And that part?

It was stirring.

Market day had come and gone in a blur. By late afternoon, you were back home, barefoot and content, the crochet tulips resting gently on your desk. Not stored away, but not forgotten either.

Lunch had stretched into an early dinner, your dad had whipped up a simple yet comforting spread. Kimchi fried rice topped with a fried egg, and a side of his homemade japchae noodles that he claimed were unbeatable. You didn’t complain. Meanwhile, your mum had settled into one of her rare naps on the couch, a well-loved novel slipping quietly from her hands onto the floor.

Now, back in your childhood room, you had an annotated PDF open, pen between your teeth, and the kind of concentration only caffeine and obligation could summon. Until your phone buzzed beside you.

Once.

You didn’t think much of it.

Then it buzzed again.

You glanced over.

[Jungkook]: what you up to?

You froze.

The message sat there like a riddle you weren’t sure how to answer.

It wasn’t the words that threw you. It was the fact that he’d sent them at all.

He didn’t text you anymore. Not like that. Not since first year when he started gaining more attention, when people began whispering about his name on campus like it was some kind of currency.

Back then, you'd gone from being the first person he shared everything with to… no one at all. The calls slowed. The texts faded. The responses became one-liners, then emojis, then silence.

So why now?

Why this?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant.

Because part of you. The part you’d buried under logic and pride and every reason not to care, still remembered what it felt like to open your phone and see his name.

Still remembered what it meant when it was him reaching out first.

You sighed, leaning back against the headboard, the glow of your desk lamp soft against your skin.

This didn’t mean anything.

You stared at the screen a second longer, pulse just slightly faster than before.

Then you texted back, short and safe.

[You]: just catching up on some business case studies. why?

You hit send and placed the phone beside you, trying to ignore how your heart skipped just a little. Trying not to overthink the silence that followed.

Meanwhile, just next door, the Jeon house was dim and quiet, save for the low hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional clack of Jungkook’s keyboard.

He was in his room, hunched over his desk, storyboard sketches spread out in loose clusters. His laptop was open, film project templates blinking back at him while he scribbled notes in one of his lined journals. Jungkook had music playing faintly in the background, something instrumental, lo-fi. The kind of thing that made him feel like he was getting things done, even if most of the evening had passed in more thinking than actual work.

Still, the ideas were coming. Slowly, but they were.

His film pitch was due after break. A short docu-style feature about perception versus reality. He’d circled the word duality three times on his mind map. If he was honest, the concept hit a little too close to home.

His phone was propped up against a half-empty cup of iced coffee, the group video call buzzing on speaker as he multitasked. Or at least tried to.

Taehyung’s voice cut through his scattered focus first.

“So how's it going Kook?”

“Did she fall in love with you again yet?” Jimin teased, the grin practically audible over the connection.

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, biting the end of his pen. “We just went to the market. Some bonding time with the mums. That’s all.”

“That’s it?” Hoseok scoffed. “That’s like K-drama Episode 3 material. You’re slacking, golden boy.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, man, what’s next? Movie invite? Old hangout spot? Sleepover like the good old days?”

Jungkook groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Hyung, it’s not that simple.”

But the guys weren’t letting up. They kept poking and prodding, tossing half-serious suggestions his way.

“Take her to the movies.”

“Get boba, go down memory lane, use that stupid line like... ‘Remember when we used to-?’”

“Or just send a damn text already.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. He hated to admit it, but they weren’t wrong. He knew exactly how to get under your skin. He’d done it for years. Familiarity was a weapon, and he wielded it well.

But still, there was a pause.

He stared at his phone for a long moment. Because the last time he’d seen your name pop up, it hadn’t been casual. It hadn’t been playful.

It was months ago.

[Y/n]: hey, are you still walking me back after class? you said you’d wait

He hadn’t responded.

He was supposed to be there. You’d planned it. Talked about grabbing Korean BBQ on the way back, catching up. Just the two of you.

But he never showed.

At first, he thought he’d be five minutes late. Then the guys had pulled him aside. Something about a pop-up party. A girl in a leather jacket with silver eyeliner and too much perfume, had laughed at his joke. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Once, twice and he ignored it.

By the time he’d remembered?

It was hours too late.

And you never followed up. Never double-texted. Just… silence.

Which is what made texting you now feel like walking into a room he once trashed.

But still he had to keep up the image. Play his part.

He let out a slow exhale, jaw flexing.

Then, ego first, he typed a short what you up to.

It took a few seconds, maybe even minutes before your reply finally came through. You talked about being buried in case studies. Deep down, Jungkook still admired that about you, your fierce dedication, the way you threw yourself into everything with such passion. He loved that about you. Still did. But admitting it? That was a different story.

[Jungkook]: wanna catch a movie tmr? like old times. just us. my shout.

He hit send and flipped his phone over, face-down, like that would stop whatever was coming.

“Okay. I asked,” he muttered to the phone, more to himself than anyone. “Happy now?”

Taehyung howled on the other end of the call. “That’s our boy.”

The other guys chimed in, egging him on. But under the noise, Jungkook felt something twist in his chest. Not quite victory, not quite regret.

Somewhere between ego and guilt.

Just next door, you stared at the notification on your screen. Your heart thudded in your chest like it used to, back when his texts meant something. Back when the idea of just the two of you made you feel safe, not suspicious.

Was this genuine? Was this a joke?

Your mind spiraled. You remembered the afternoons in the park, movie marathons, late-night talks, the way he used to make you feel seen in a way no one else did. And yet, the hurt lingered.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair.

Maybe it was too soon.

Maybe it wasn’t.

You typed back slowly, fingers trembling slightly.

[You]: I don’t know, Jungkook. It’s been a long time.

You hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for whatever would come next.

[Jungkook]: I know but just trust me. It'll be fun.

You stared at his reply.

You read it once. Twice. And then again, slower this time. Hoping the words would reveal something deeper. A hidden meaning. A trace of sincerity.

But it was plain. Casual. Carefree, like he hadn’t ghosted you that night outside the lecture hall. Like months of silence didn’t exist between you.

So casual, so simple, as if he hadn’t spent the last few weeks making it clear that whatever you two had as kids didn’t mean a thing to him anymore.

Trust me.

You scoffed under your breath.

Still… a part of you hesitated.

As if he hadn’t looked you in the eye before and said, “That shit doesn't mean anything now.”

And maybe you could’ve let it go. Maybe you could’ve convinced yourself he didn’t mean it, that he was just trying to seem tough.

Jungkook was now this carefully curated version of himself. Confident. Distant. The kind of guy who laughed with his friends about dares and pretended emotions were weaknesses.

What happened to him? Who made him believe he had to become this?

You weren’t sure. But you did know one thing. You weren’t going to be his emotional safety net whenever he felt like slipping back into the past. You weren't going to sit beside him on a couch and pretend that watching a movie would make things okay again.

So you didn’t answer. You read his message, let your thumb hover for a second, then locked your phone and threw it on the bed. Do Not Disturb on. He lived next door. If he had something worth saying, he could knock.

Jungkook, on the other hand, stared at the message thread longer than he’d ever admit. He was pacing. He thought the text would get your attention. That it would spark something. Annoyance, sarcasm, even just a roll of your eyes. But instead, silence. No reply. No reaction. Just… nothing.

And that nothing started to dig its way into him.

He scoffed to himself. “Cute,” he muttered, tossing his phone onto his bed and rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t annoyed. But he was. Not because he cared. At least, not in the way he used to. No, this was about something else entirely.

The dare.

He wasn’t used to being doubted. Especially not when it came to girls, and especially not when it came to you. You were supposed to be easy. Familiar. A done deal. History, chemistry, emotional leverage. All of it stacked in his favor.

So when you ignored him? When you didn’t fall into the trap like he expected?

That stung. Not just because he fucking missed you. God, he did. But because losing to you would be a brutal hit to the one thing he guarded like hell. His pride.

Leaning against the wall, Jungkook peeked through the curtains of his window, eyes flicking toward your house like he could summon your attention just by looking. He didn’t care if it was real or fake anymore. He just needed to win. Needed to show the guys and maybe to himself that you were still in his orbit. That he still had you wrapped around his finger, whether you liked it or not.

Because in his mind, this wasn’t about friendship. It wasn’t about nostalgia.

This was about control.

And the game had only just begun.

You were thirteen, and Jungkook was as always, barging in next door, like he owned the place. Today’s mission? Drag you into what he insisted was the ultimate way to spend a Saturday: a Marvel movie marathon.

“Come on, you gotta watch these,” he said, practically dragging you by the wrist into your living room. “Especially Iron Man. He’s the best.”

You rolled your eyes but secretly didn’t mind. You had always admired how he could get excited about the smallest things, how his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning whenever he talked about Tony Stark’s snarky one-liners or those crazy flying suits.

Halfway through the second movie, Jungkook leaned back on the couch, chewing on a piece of popcorn like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You know,” he started, voice low and hesitant, “there’s this girl in my class. Sana. I kinda like her.”

You glanced over, curious but careful not to stare. You knew Sana. The popular girl with the effortless charm, the kind who always had the nicest high-end stationery and an easy smile that made her stand out.

“So, I asked her if she liked Marvel,” he continued, “and she said no. Not even a little. She said it’s dumb.”

Jungkook let out a long sigh, the kind that made you want to hug him. “I guess it’s just a silly crush. Nothing serious.”

You smiled softly, nudging him with your elbow.

“But you’re serious about Iron Man,” you teased.

He chuckled, but then his eyes shifted, locking with yours in a way that made your heart skip.

“I think… I love you,” he blurted out.

The room seemed to still around those words, and your heart jumped.

You blinked, caught between surprise and confusion. Love? At thirteen? You had liked him, sure, but love was something else entirely.

Then, almost instantly, Jungkook’s eyes widened. He scrambled to correct himself, his words tumbling out fast.

“No, no, wait! I mean... I love you. As a friend. You’re, like, the most important person in my life. You mean the world to me.”

He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks heating up. “I didn’t mean it like… that way. Not like that yet. I’m just bad at saying stuff.”

You laughed softly, relieved but also touched. “I like you too, Jungkook. But yeah… love’s a big word.”

He smiled, eyes warm and honest. “Yeah, maybe it’s just something we’ll figure out later.”

And there, on the worn-out couch, two kids tangled in feelings bigger than them, settled for the quiet comfort of a friendship that already meant everything.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; fem!reader

knight!suguru is more than glad to drop to his knees for his beloved princess.

his rough hands bunch up the skirt of your dress with haste, his pruple eyes blown wide with lust as you try to grab onto his shoulders for support. your knees feel weak, your body shaking with a mixture of excitement and pure adrenaline – this is improper, you shouldn't be doing this.

but oh, how good does it feel.

how good the knight's fingers feel as they dance on your skin, the tips of them ghosting over the soft material of your soaking undergarments. with his face hidden under your skirt, you can only imagine the hungry look he's wearing as they prepare to eat their heart out after a long, tiring day.

you rest against a bookshelf in the dark library, letting the wooden planks press into your upper back, into your soft skin. candlelight flickers across your flustered face, it being the only audience you could ever possibly allow.

what you're doing is risky, it's dangerous – but neither of you can fight the need any longer.

a quiet gasp echoes through the empty library when suguru presses a gentle kiss your core, his fingers tugging on your underwear. he can feel your legs tremble, he can feel the goosebumps on your skin; just like you imagine his expression, suguru does the same – how dark and low your eyes would be, how swollen your pretty lips. he'll get to see it all later, the masterpiece that is your blissed out face after he're done devouring you.

as his tongue lays flat against your needy cunt, the room gets flooded with hushed mewls; taking a hand from suguru's shoulder, you slot it in front of your mouth but the palm does very little to contain the sounds of pleasure that suffocate you. alongside with those, the noises that emit from under your skirt - your body feels as if its on fire.

suguru's hands knead your thighs – the very same hands that have killed, that have taken lives, are now caressing your skin with the utmost care and tenderness the knight could ever possibly muster up. this is his job afterall – to take care and to proctect, in every way imaginable; whether it's him on his knees as they get a taste of the woman they have swore to protect, or it's him dying at the end of a blade for the woman they love – it's the suguru's desire to serve.

he sucks on your clit, he tongues at your folds, drowning in your scent as he pushes you closer to your high with his skilled mouth. your nails dig into his shoulder, with most of your weight now leant against him as your body threatens to go limp, your brain turning into a mush. cries of suguru's name fall from your lips like a waterfall, with the letters coated with sickly sweet honey that reel him deeper and deeper into her core.

the obscene sounds grow louder by the second with suguru now lapping at your cunt like a starved dog, his good manners long forgotten in his clouded mind. there's a whine on the tip of your tongue, a shy and embarrassed one, but suguru doesn't falter even a bit – instead, he moves to raise your thigh up onto his shoulder, the new angle making your eyes roll back into your head with a loud gasp.

with the other hand, suguru guides you to grind against his face, his nose catching your clit with every roll of your hips and all it takes for you to finally let go, is to hear your beloved knight moan into your sopping cunt.

the back of your head meets the wall behind you with a soft thud and your eyes screw themselves shut as your whole body tenses up; you try to close your legs by pressing your thigh into the suguru's face but it's of no use because he simply digs his fingers deeper into your plush flesh and forces them apart again, so he can keep burying his tongue inside you. suguru can't let any of it go to waste – not the moment, not the saccharine slick that fills his mouth.

you clutch onto your knight as he let you ride out the high, your mumbles of 'thank you's' not going unheard in his keen ears.

before he pull away, suguru places one last kiss to your clit, gentlly as ever; his calloused hands glide over your calves and thighs when he places your leg down onto the wooden floor. with his finger hooked under the material of your underwear, he tugs them down instead of up and taps on your foot for you to raise it.

finally poking his head out from under the skirt, both of you need a moment to collect yourselves; completely disheveled, sweaty and fucked out, panting and heaving – your eyes are still heavy with a flicker of something tender inside them.

you watch the knight pocket the ruined undergarments with a kind of sly grin.

for later.

suguru stays there down on his knees, staring up at you like you're the one that hung the stars in the sky. in his head, you did.

when you try to shove his face to escape the wave of embarrassment that's creeping up your throat but when your fingers meet the slick that's covering the entirety of suguru's lower half of his face, you can't help but cringe at yourself.

and suguru falls for you more. deeper, harder.

"can— can i kiss you?"

your words are but a mere whisper, afraid to see the light, but suguru welcomes them with open arms nonetheless. the corners of his lips tug upward, his hands itching to hold her.

"of course, sweetheart."

you hold each other's gaze as he stands, the rhythm of your chests rising and falling matching in pace.

delicate fingers play with the material of suguru's shirt, a certain nervousness flowing through you despite the fact that you've done this many times before. but you always get like this – a bit shy, a bit timid, wishing to nuzzle your face into the his chest to hide from his fond eyes, the attention suddenly too much. it's the effect he has on you. but you still wants the kiss, you still want the love.

so you push through.

suguru's hand raises to his mouth, his eyebrow quirks up when he sees your eyes grow wider. "don't you want me to wipe it off?"

burns, it burns.

your skin burns.

"no..."

and it burns even stronger, even brighter, at the sight of his wolfish grin, shis sharp canines glinting at you inthe soft candlelight.

"no?"

a tease.

a shake of your head.

a searing kiss. a touch of love.

[nanamiskentos]

❛ lousy liquor, loose lips ── 𝓖𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

✶ 𝓬𝔀 ｡⠀五条悟 ㅤ&ㅤsfw ㅤ( 660 ) gojo is drunk and very much in love w/ you

"you're really so lucky that i like you," you're huffing, tightening your grip around gojo's firm waist, letting him sway against you as he's practically one drink away from belting out sea shanties in the quiet streets of tokyo, "i should have left you on the side of the road." the idiot's still half-laughing, half-stumbling down the empty corridor.

but now he's leaning heavier against you, a beefy arm draped lazily around your shoulders, and the scent of sake has mingled with his expensive cologne, "you like me?" echoing, but you can hear the teasing tone in his slurs.

"that's what you took from my words?" you adjust your hold, cursing under your breath, "you're six-foot-something of dead weight right now. focus on walking."

"not a fan," gojo grins, head lolling towards you so soft strands of white hair brush your cheek in soft, petal-light kisses. his blindfold is shoved up onto his forehead, exposing glassy, flushed skin and hazy blue eyes, "i can teleport, y'know. being the strongest and all that shit."

you yank his staff uniform collar, hard. pulling gojo back from running towards a stray cat and making ridiculous baby noises, rolling your eyes, "then, pray tell, why aren't you using it?"

"because," gojo stops walking entirely, making you stumble with the sudden halt, "i wanted to spend more time with you." gojo, being the grown man he is, has the audacity to top off his little sentence with a giggle and a teehee.

but you're doing your best to drown the frozen block of ice leaping into your throat. gojo's drunk, so very drunk and off his rocket, but you're not an idiot and you definitely don't miss the uncharacteristic softness painting his creamy cheeks awash in a pretty, berry shade of watercolour.

"satoru...," you're warning, doing your best to not buckle under the weight of the strongest sorcerer alive as he patters up the stairs.

but gojo's just smiling, slower this time, and more genuine, "you never call me that."

"because it makes you smug." you're reaching into his pockets, practically wrapped up against him as you fumble for his apartment keys. and he just lets you.

"i like it when you say my name," gojo's leaning in, forehead nearly pressed against yours, close enough that you can feel small puffs of hot air against your burning skin, "i like a lot of things 'bout you."

what a dangerous dilemma. drunk gojo was charming in a messy, unguarded way that left you defenceless, with a pounding, traitorous heart.

"you're going to regret saying all this tomorrow," you mutter, but your hands don't quite loosen up on him. yeah, you know that you like holding gojo satoru in your arms.

"or..." gojo's gentle grin widens, ocean-blue eyes wide as they search yours, "maybe i'll regret not saying all this sooner."

gojo's hand, so very calloused from battle wounds and bruises, are practically tracing hearts around your face. warm skin. brushing your cheek, thumb ghosting over your lower lip like he's going to kiss you.

and you want him to kiss you. so, rationally, what do you do next?

"well, yippee!" you yelp, pushing gojo's apartment door open so you can shove the ridiculously tall man in, "time for you to hit the hay, pal! talk to ya' tomorrow."

waving him off, ignoring his whines and whimpers as he's muttering to himself, tearing his blindfold off and chucking it on the pricey leather couch.

you just close the door abruptly in his face, gnawing at your inner cheek when you hear a sweet, crisp call from the other side of the wood, "i love you!" followed by a thump, most likely the sound of a grown, adult man crashing out on his couch — ready for a nasty hangover tomorrow morning.