#gotta let it simmer a few days

[wr1t3w1tm3]

The Outsiders a New Musical Cast Recording Reaction

Here you go @its-a-hare-pom-pom

Please note: I do not actually know the voices of who is who. I am having to assume who is who in some of the songs so I'm doing my best. I looked up a cast list for this. This is confusing and I'd need several more listens through to figure out who is and that's probably not gonna happen anytime soon (ya'll fill find out why in a later post).

Also, I curse a lot and there's a brief mention of suicide in my section on I could talk to you all night, so be warned.

Tulsa '67: Interesting how they changed Johnny's jumping to just a week before the events of the musical. I don't mind that change. I kinda like it? Maybe?

Okay. I need to rant a bit here. I grew up just a day's drive from Tulsa in a town not very dissimilar from it. Just switch East and West and you're halfway there. (Meaning in my city the East side was the old money and West was more of everyone else/the new money side of town).

Ponyboy's diatribe about how people get stuck in the town for life hits home for me because, like, of the nearly 300 person graduating class from my highschool, a vast majority of them went to school either in town or within the state. While I'm technically still in the state, I'm right across the river from our neighboring state so the line's a bit funky. I feel his longing to get the hell out. I feel the sort of resentment he feels towards Darry, who could've been a sports star had circumstances panned out differently. I feel his heartache for Soda when he mentions that his girlfriend up and left and broke his heart. My little sister and younger brother are both up-and-coming in similar ways to Darry (albeit a different sport for my sister) and Soda. The only real difference is that my family isn't just above the poverty line. In this economy maybe we're starting to slip down there, but if that's the only difference... shit. I'm in for a ride.

Moving on...

Grease got a Hold: I did watch the performance of this for Good Morning America or whatever it showed up on so this isn't my first time listening. This is the first time I can't tell who is who. I looked up the cast so I think the first singer is Dally? IDK. It's the whole gang except Johnny. This is when I discovered that Steve was in fact a named ensemble character.

Not my favorite song. But I'm sure that it introduces everyone well. I don't mind it, just def my least favorite of the ones I'd heard before.

Runs in the Family: I'm pretty sure it's a Darry song. Shit. I feel this song. I am literally Darry in this song, except I have parents, they're just not around a whole lot due to work.

I think I mentioned here that I work at a Nursing home. And especially during the winter if I worked twelves (luckily I'm PRN, so I can pick up shorter shifts) I'd be in before the sun and out after it. That is one of the worst feelings I've ever felt. You feel like you didn't do a damn thing but your so tired you can't do anything so you end up getting down and just scrolling while you eat and you barely have energy to grab something to eat. Had I not been still living at home I would have just gone through a drive through. You are a different kind of tired after a long day of taking people to the toilet and passing meds and working with memory care patients as they sundown.

So while I'm not a roofer, I'm not out every night working till midnight, I think I can relate to Darry the best out of the three here, being an eldest daughter an all especially. I like this song as a character set up, though I have to point out it sounds like he's whining but I also know I've done this so like... I can't complain if I wanna keep my whining privileges.

Great Expectations: This is the first song out, I'm sure we've all heard it. It's about Ponyboy relating to Pip, one of the characters in the book Great Expectations I think by Charles Dickens. I never read it in school I think due to Covid so...

That being said, great song. Still very much relate to him and his wanting to get the hell outta town but feeling trapped by family and obligations. Like I get the kid is only fourteen, and S.E. Hinton was about this age when she wrote this but it is raw and I still feel it.

Come on, we've all felt like everyone expects everything of us and have just wanted to get swept up in a fictional reality where shit is hard but we know everything will be just fine in the end, right? Right?

The line about Darry hits harder after Runs in the Family. His bit about Johnny has always hit me too, because I've always wondered (anxiously, of course) about what my life would've been like had I been born to different parents. And as much as I think about that, pretty sure I'm lucky to have what I have and I'll take it over worse.

Friday at the Drive-in: So there is also a drive in in my city, and I've been several times. I freakin' love it, and it's kind of sad that they're disappearing. This chapter/scene/song has always been a favorite of mine in all Outsiders media. I love Cherry's actress. She's able to do a more country/southern accent without it sounding like a characture. Kudos to her. I'm sure this song is really cool to see in person.

I Could Talk to You All Night: Confession time: I don't like Cherry. I understand that maybe she does have a rough life, but it has always rubbed me wrong the way she told Ponyboy it's "rough all over". Bitch, both his brothers work to keep their house you shut up. Like I went through highschool with my mom hurt, grandpa dying, Covid, a whole lotta other shit and some kid literal told me to off myself b/c I got in his space while practicing a tap number for the musical. Also, I was working through the entire school year. It wasn't terribly uncommon among my peers, but to be in the musical was a sacrifice on my part and we just... we couldn't see under each others skin. My school was on the west side and his family was new money, so I guess he and Cherry are alike in my eyes in that way (even had the same hair, lol). I didn't know what was going on with him and I guess when he broke up with his gf (she was a senior and he was a junior) he got better.

That being said, I really like Cherry's character in this song. They see each other beyond the labels for the first time in their lives. It sort of feels like a love song, but also not so much, and I really dig it. I may eat my words later but I like this version of Cherry. She comes off a lot less snooty than book/movie Cherry. Its so cute.

Runs in the Family (Reprise): Shit. Darry. Okay. The silent oldest sibling burden has fucking snapped. Bro. This is so good. Seeing what all was going on behind his outburst at Ponyboy. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm even more in love with Darry's character. Shit. The oldest sibling being a parent when the parents aren't there. The younger siblings all leading into it. The abrupt stop that is Darry slapping Pony. I wanna scream IT IS SO FREAKINNG WELL DONEOAWE RUH!!!!!! I can practically hear Pony throwing open the screen door and Darry yelling back that he didn't mean it!I@ :OUhoihlacwijhr ;iuaweh' riu

Far Away From Tulsa: Oh, oh Pony. You're innocene it showing honey. This is the one thing I feel I've got on him is that I actually live on the edge of town, so I really live within a smattering farm fields and disappearing small farm towns. Those people will be judgey as hell, they will stalk you anyway possible to get info on you and there will be rumors. Like I love that you two have a dream, but we're getting into Of Mice and Men territory with Lenny and George (is that his name?) with the rabbit farm.

Also, are they changing Pony and Johnny's motivations? Obviously I'd have to watch this but this sounds like they might be changing their motivations a bit.

The transition into Great Expectations!!! The leitmotif!??! The key change?!?!?! HOLY FUCKING SHITHLIUWE RHF AIVCWH TLGIUAWEHCFIUHA. I'm screaming!!!!! But they're dream sounds like a cowboy western fantasy. And the ending where they talk about that not being in Tulsa... realy gives me pause. I think maybe their motivations changed just a bit? BUt IDK cause I'll never get to fuckin' watch this because I am but a poor midwesterner and Broadway is a bitch.

Run Run Brother: Shit. I love this. The little boys coming to Dally. The only one they can trust to know this. This is the loss of innocence in real time. The implication that he gave them all he had (the 50 bucks) is realized here. The song sounds so frantic. Aggggg. It's so good.

The background: if you're not born into money your born into despair? The background singers are great. Grease isn't given its something you earn??? Shit. Run through the fire your bound to get burned? They really like using fire as a symbol (for obvious reasons).

The transition into "You're a Greaser now and you ain't going back?" Like he literally cannot go back. Johnny killed a kid and Ponyboy would be tried as an accomplice probably. Cheezits this is so fucking good! The wrapping back to earlier songs is so freaking well done! The desperation in whoevers voice pointing out the sign to Windrixville? I love.

Justice for Tulsa: Did they come up with a new character? Are there others? Is this the Greasers talking to each other? Immediatly suspecting Dally? So they added the interrogation that he mentions he got brought into.

Is Cherry at Bob's funeral? Honey, he's an asshole. Like I get he could've been cool but gees. I'm torn up about her. They made her way more complicated. So far I'm glad for Dally and Cherry's sake that they added this scene.

Is this Darry or Soda? No. It's a Soc. Is it Randy? Oh I love his voice. Shit, is she grilling him? She's talking about Johnny. Randy. Are they getting onto her for talking with Pony. What she did wasn't wrong? Yeah, it's a senseless tragedy. If you pushed him into it.

So this is the explanation of how they started jumping Greasers and how that tension switched things up. This might be the Act break? But I'm not sure.

Death's at My Door: Is he talking about his parents dying?

Oof. I feel him. So in my life I had a series of deaths where my grandma died, then two years later my grandpa died (different sides of the family), then a kid at my college died going home for winter break. Then a girl from my highschool died going back to school after winter break. Then working at a nursing home every time, I come back someone else is dead. So, I feel that sentiment that it feels like death is following you. But that is just growing up, and I think this is Ponyboy finally sort of coming to that realization a bit.

Are they adding romantic elements to Pony and Johnny's relationships, or is this just really flirty platonic stuff? Because now I'm confused. And I'm someone who does really flirty platonic shit with my friends.

Throwing in the Towel: Oh it's a Darry song. Oh. Darry feels guilty. Shit. Okay. Is he making up with Soda? I'm a bit upset that Soda has been jipped in here. Long list of failures, same here Darry.

Oh. Soda. Soda, ever the middle child. Trying to keep the peace, trying to hype Darry up. Their being the brothers we always knew they would.

There little harmony part is so good!

Soda's Letter: I have heard this one as well. We are finally getting a Soda song!! But still, ever the middle child, trying to keep the peace between the oldest and the youngest. Dammit. I like that they added context to the letter, since it's a bit briefer in the book/movie.

The fade in of Pony singing over Soda is so good.

Hoods Turned Heroes: I love the name on this. I think this is Two-Bit singing this. Interesting that they skipped over the fire incident and Johnny talking to them at Dairy Queen. I like that it's Soda and Two-Bit in this song. I love them as a duo. And I love that we get a Greaser son in response to Justice for Tulsa.

Interesting how they changed it to 1st degree murder for Johnny's charge, because it was manslaughter and I seriously doubt there's enough evidence to even get second degree murder.

Hopeless War: Another Pony and Cherry song. I do like the musical duo of them so far. He's not wrong about the soc's declaring the war. Cherry's also not wrong, but girlfriend, your privelage is showing.

Shit, she got a point about black and white morality. "Same mistake a thousand times" "Doing what we've all been raised to do."

Shit. I like this version of Cherry. This sounds like a country love ballad and I am all here for it. Seems like act 2, like many musicals I've seen, has fewer/shorter songs.

Geez, Cherry. Okay. I still like the Cherry best out of all of them. But girl, you've gotta understand that this kids got more skin in the game than you do. Girl. IDK, this version of Cherry is just more nuanced and I think that's what she needed.

Trouble: The way Hopeless War tansitions into this song is so fucking good!!!!

So I don't know if this is at the park or the Gang going to the park but holy shit. I love this. Is Darry trying to keep Pony out? Or is Dally? Who is telling him not to fight? Didn't book Darry let him fight??!

Little Brother: I have heard this one before as well. It's a Dally song, and it still makes me awe;u hgseruig. This is my favorite version of the Dally and Johnny relationship because it solidifies the brotherhood and the way that Dally see's Johnny. It's done fairly well in the book but the musical makes it much more clear. Even the movie does it pretty well but I like that it's a bit more spelled out here.

I think I've heard all of these last three songs so they'll maybe be a bit more in depth. Also, I am gonna say this now Grease got a Hold is growing on me as I type.

I don't really like how Johnny feels very shoe horned to the side in this version of events.

Is... is someone singing with him on the second little brother in the first chorus? Could that be Darry or am I just trippin'?

I love the way that they show Dally's descent. Oh. There's a chorus on here with him. They put a different version out on YouTube with just Dally on it. Holy shit. Holy shit!!!! I love his voice so much. When are the lyrics gonna be up I gotta see who sings what in here damn it!!!

Dally. Shit. The part where the music strips and then starts building. This will never not give me shivers. I love the orchestration on this version!

The now into no!!!!! ;jfh;ajwerhf;ija uvaiwrhf;aiu3wh I AM NOT OKAY!!!

Stay Gold: This hurts like a son of a bitch still. I can't really put my words on here, but it really is written like someone who knows they're gonna die and they're wanting to give their family a final message. Which is something you can do on hospice nowadays, but wouldn't have been avaliable in the 60's.

Can't believe we had to wait the whole musical for a Johnny solo song. But I love the touch that a man came to thank Johnny for saving the kids, because in the book that's not mentioned and neither in the movie and I like that touch. They added just a few scenes and all were very well done if not honestly needed.

The fading of Ponyboy reading it with Johnny will never not get me. They use this technique so well throughout the musical. But again with me questioning if this is platonic flirty friend shit or Johnny and Pony being romantically involved somehow? I lean towards platonic flirty friends due to the time period and the fact that they're both on the younger side... but geez.

Johnny telling Pony to tell Dally, when we know Dally is dead and Dally asked him to save a seat and just owehtouwaehrt;ouiawe I am not okay. Will never not hurt.

Finale (Tulsa '67): Is this an older Pony on the first line? Does he get out? Or is that his teacher reading it? Like the acknowledgement of Paul Newman.

Oh. This is so sweet, him turning to the hometown heroes, the little everyday ones.

He got out!!!!!! Him talking about Darry and Soda!!

Ah! They took the one paragraph directly out of the book!!!

Dally!!! Wearing grease for their disguise? Holy shit. Bro. You are killing it! Killing it! The chorus entering!!?!?! The excerpts directly from the book!

"He was just to damn good for growing old? And for his memory I'll stay gold!?!?!??!" Holy shit okay. Emotional damage dealt. You didn't have to do that.

I love me a legacy explaning final number. Shit. I love this. Beautiful ending. I love the jazzy bits.

My phone immediatly jumped me to Non-Stop by Hamilton. Fuck you spotify, didn't need that now.

Final Thoughs: Unfortunately, this is not like Hamilton in the sense that the entire freaking musical minus one song that not terribly necessary for context is on spotify. There are chunks of context missing that make me wonder how else they may have changed the story. If you're someone who's first exposure to the outsiders is this, you're gonna be left with a lot of questions. Luckily, you've got a book and two versions of a Francis Ford Coppala movie, but if this was a stand alone I think I'd be leaving the cast recording fairly confused.

I think it's amazing. I did find out while finding a cast list to compare to the featured artists that Steve is still a character. I also wonder if they're gonna release the track they use for the rumble, since I think that's a seperate track with no real singing? IDK man. I wanna see that so fucking bad.

A little mad about how they downgraded Soda and Two-Bit. I know Two-Bit was more of a minor character but it really felt like Soda got the short end of the stick here. Same with Steve, though he already had the short end so it was only a matter of time. Two-Bit makes sense despite my love of him so I kind of expected that.

Overall, I do like this, but it feels a bit incomplete as I believe some of the most critical plot details have been left for portions of the musical that are acted or spoken, which sucks for us broke ass plebs who don't live within driving distance of Broadway.

So long friends.

[gojonanami]

IS IT OVER NOW? - SUGURU GETO (ft. SATORU GOJO)

summary: suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend. contents: 18+ only, smut, mentions of cheating, swearing, spoilers for vol. 0 + star plasma vessel and premature death arc, so much angst, but also too much smut (gotta earn that smut by getting through the angst), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), oral (f + m receiving), slight choking, panty play, overstimulation (f receiving) wc: 11,150 (why do i do this) playlist: is it over now - taylor swift, now that we don't talk - taylor swift, you are in love - taylor swift, say don't go - taylor swift

“It’s over,” the words slipped out of his mouth like second nature, the same way “I love yous” left his lips with a smile against your neck, but now those same lips were in a tight line. His eyes once filled with mirth, now stared at you with nothing in them — nothing but empty truth. 

You don’t believe your ears — and how could you? The same man who laid with you on sleepless nights, in the silence of the way home after brutal losses, mornings spent in his wrinkled uniform white button up, stupid arguments ended in laughter, and the whispered promises kept like oaths in your hearts. 

But now, they were broken — broken like your heart was. 

“It’s over, I’m sorry — I can’t do this anymore,” and you’re stepping forward over this ravine with a snapping tightrope, but he’s on the other side with a lighter and a knife — daring you to cross it. Because he wouldn’t catch you — not anymore, “it’s not you—“ 

“Don’t give me bullshit assurances, Suguru,” you spit, the same name you had woken up this morning on your lips, all the love he had fostered over two and half years eroding away with his few words — slipping into hatred without another word, “give me a reason, I know Amanai and Haibara hurt you — hell, it hurt me too, but—“ 

“Don’t bring them up—“ he seethes, the same passion he once had for you — for even a scratch you had gotten from a mission that he promised to make a curse pay for again and again by making it serve him — now used for people who weren’t even here anymore, “it has nothing to do with them,” 

And you almost laugh. It had everything to do with them. You had watched him fall apart over this summer — scapegoat the summer heat to Satoru’s face, when it wasn’t the heat that was withering him to nothing — a wilting flower simmered under the heat of loss. And with no one who could reach him — because he wouldn’t let them. 

“You know that’s not true—” 

“I cheated on you,” and the words die on your lips — along with any hope you had, “it was a stupid mistake but it showed me we can’t keep doing this,” 

“You’re lying,” you denied it — no, no, no.  

“I’m not,” and you can’t make sense of it, sense of anything, images of him tangled with another assaulting your senses — assaulting your heart, your soul, your body — bile rising in your throat that seared you on the way down as you swallow, “I didn’t want to have to tell you, but if it’s the only way for you to accept this, so be it,” 

“Fuck off, you didn’t want to ‘have to tell me,’” hot, angry tears burning at your eyes, “fuck you,” 

“Sweet—“ 

“You don’t get to call me that,” you snarl, heart rattling your ribs, as if it was trying to break through its bony cage, as if puncturing itself on the shards of your bones would hurt less, “not unless you’re trying to fix this,” you bargain, bargain for a love that was already lost. 

“We can’t do this — I can’t do this to you,” and you give a watery chuckle, unable to meet his gaze; meet the gaze you once thought was your salvation — the thing you fought day in and day out to come home to, “I’m sorr—” 

“Don’t bother,” you bottle the sadness  in a barely kept shut box, shoved beneath your icy exterior, ice crawling over the recesses of your shattered soul, “don’t apologize for me for something you chose to do,” and you turn to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” 

And you give a terse chuckle, turning to look back, “you don’t get to care anymore, Geto.” 

~~~ 

It was necessary. It was necessary. It was necessary. 

That’s what Suguru keeps telling himself. He was caught in a tailspin, a tailspin that was only leading him one place, and he couldn’t take you with him. He couldn’t let that happen. But you keep haunting his thoughts, along with the other ghosts holed up in his head. 

He hasn’t seen you in weeks. Only sporadic updates from Shoko when she humored his questions with a bribe of free cigarettes — and he didn’t know what you had told her but he knew you hadn’t told her that he had cheated (because Shoko would have surely ignored him). Shoko had even snuck a picture of you. You had grown your hair out, eyes no longer full of the joy as it once had been, and a cigarette you had said you had sworn you would never smoke between your lips. 

And it only makes him want to pull the cigarette from your lips and kiss you again, swallow the smoke poisoning your lungs, hoping your lips would clear the poison from his system. But he couldn’t — he couldn’t go back now. Not when he couldn’t shake the darkness that crept over his soul — he couldn't go back to that spring, because those old days had died along with everyone else around him. Shot through the head just like Amanai. 

He stares at the picture and it only makes him more sure — he can’t be in your life. He can’t be yours, he can’t even be your friend — because he can’t pretend it’s just platonic — can’t pretend it means nothing — not when you can see right through him, see the light fading from inside him, and you’d try to save him. Because that’s what you do. So he pays the cost instead, the cost of losing you — of losing your smiles, your laughs, your tears, and your voice. 

And he didn’t even have his dignity — he had left that behind when he had lied to your face. Lied because he knew it was the only way you’d leave, and he couldn’t risk you staying. He couldn’t let your fingers dig into his sides, as he let himself drown, he couldn’t watch you choke on water along with him — no, no, it couldn’t happen. 

He had long drowned — on that beach in Okinawa. 

He got a phone call — Yaga — likely with another mission, and he only can think about Tsukomo’s words — over and over and over. He was treating the symptoms, eradicating curses day in and day out, he himself was a symptom of a broken system — a broken sorcerer. 

And he flips his phone open, staring at the screensaver of you and him, your sleepy smile as you look up at the camera nuzzled against his chest — filled with the same love in your eyes that he watched drain from your eyes when he fed you perfectly prepared lies. 

“Hello, yes, I’m available for a mission,” he hears Yaga give him the details of the mission on the other line, but it barely registers. 

But at least he wouldn’t break you too.  

~~~

You wake to a pounding at the door — the one time you had gotten time off, the one time you had taken the vacation you swore you would, the vacation that you would have your phone off, doors locked, no communication with anyone with Jujutsu Tech. 

And yet. 

There was someone banging on your door at 11:09 PM at night. 

You stare at your ceiling at the spinning fan above you, and you couldn’t imagine how this night could get any worse. You throw off your covers, only in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, grumbling as you meander your way to the door to find Satoru, standing at your doorstep. 

Your heart drops. 

“What— did—“ 

“Suguru defected,” and you stare at him, as if he’s speaking a foreign language — two words made no sense in that order, no, no — he wouldn’t do that. Suguru out of anyone wouldn’t do that.  

“No, that can’t—“ and Satoru comes inside, brushing past you, “Satoru—“ 

“It’s not just that,” he says softly, “he slaughtered a village, and his parents,” and you’re shaking your head, “why are you shaking your head—“ 

“What kind of weird prank is this, Satoru— he wouldn’t—“ and your voice dies in his throat as you see the look on his face, and all other words fade away from your lips except one —  “why?” 

And he explains — tells you what Suguru had told him, what had happened, why he left — “I couldn’t bring myself to kill him,” he murmurs, shaking his head, “I should have — if I had done what he did, Suguru wouldn’t have hesitated—“ 

“He wouldn’t have been able to do that to you, Satoru,” you scoff, leaning against your couch, Satoru sat beside you, “you’re the most important person to him, he wouldn’t have been able to even fathom the idea of hurting you. He would have just tried to convince you to change your mind,” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “Well then, he would have been able to change my mind all the same,” he’s holding his face, as if it would keep himself from falling to pieces — but his hands are too late — you can see the broken pieces of what was Satoru Gojo in front of you. 

“Satoru, you can’t put Suguru upon yourself to save — he made the choices he made, you can’t change them. You can’t fix a person who doesn’t want to be fixed,” and maybe you were projecting — but you swore you saw the same pain, the same pain the day he broken your heart in Satoru’s eyes, “Suguru is smart enough to know where this road is leading—” 

“And why can’t I completely blame him for choosing it?” he murmurs, his cerulean eyes finally meeting yours over the rim of his sunglasses, “I understand how he feels — so do you, you’ve seen the broken system, the deaths that could have been prevented—” 

“But is this the way to fix it with innocent peoples’ blood on our hands?” you whisper, almost afraid to hear his answer, “I have friends who aren’t sorcerers — would he have me slaughter them too?” 

“Well, he killed his own parents, so I wouldn’t doubt that,” he shakes his head, “Suguru was never the type to do things half-heartedly,” and his gaze falls again to the floor, “do you know after I had retrieved Amanai’s body — I asked Suguru if we should kill all of those people in the Star Religious Group?” 

“Satoru—” 

“He said there would be no point in it — no reason,” and he’s licking his lips, pulling his glasses off, “but he found his reason now, didn’t he?” 

“Satoru, you had just come off Amanai, almost dying, you had barely a moment to process—” 

“Why did he tell me to stop? Why did he save me when he couldn’t do himself the same courtesy?” And he’s rising to his feet, pacing the room, unable to sit still, “I thought I’d come here and talk to you because who else could understand him more than me? Shoko maybe, but even she doesn’t know,” his fists are clenched at his sides, as he whirls to face you again, “Why? I don’t understand how a person can change so much — how can you go from protecting the weak to—” 

“Satoru, I don’t know why Suguru does the things he does—did you forget? He broke up with me,” the words reopen old wounds you thought had long scarred over, flesh wounds that had ripped you open, but had closed back up, now bleeding like new, “and he cheated on me,” and walked away without another word — twisting the knife with his silence. 

Satoru’s brows knit together, his mouth opening as if to dispute it, but closing again — because if Suguru could murder his own parents, why wouldn’t he cheat on his girlfriend? 

“I’m sorry—” and you laugh bitterly, meeting his gaze. 

“I think we have bigger problems than his unfaithfulness,” and he says nothing, “what are we going to do about him?” 

“Nothing—” 

You stare at him, lips parted, “Satoru—” 

“I can’t kill him,” his voice breaks, and it breaks you too,  “I couldn’t bear it. I can’t be the one to—” 

“But you’re the only one who can—” and you swallow the lump in your throat — how could you tell him to kill Suguru when you couldn’t imagine doing it either? “then what do we do?” 

“Nothing, for now,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, “I’ll monitor his moves as best I can, he’s good at covering his tracks — he knows how I operate more than anyone else does,” he says softly, “but not many can hide from the six eyes,” 

“And you know how he does things too, Satoru,” you find your way his side, your fingers finding his, “it will take time for Suguru to make large moves — especially if he has two young children with him right now,” your heart aches at the thought — he promised to marry you one day, promised you a family once you both had settled down enough to consider it, and now he had two kids. But you weren’t with him. 

His eyes find yours, “i’m sorry about what happened — I wasn’t there — I haven’t been here, at all—” 

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Satoru,” and he’s shaking his head. 

“Maybe I could have—” 

“You can’t fix the whole world, Satoru,” you whisper gently, “you’re the strongest, yes, but that doesn't mean you can be everywhere and do everything,” 

“I should have been here,” and you’re shaking your head, “I could’ve—” 

“You couldn’t have, do you know how stubborn Suguru is? We couldn’t even convince him to cut his hair, much less change his mind about committing mass murder,” and he sighs, his eyes falling and rising to yours again, “hey, you’re okay, you know. You do too much, honestly, everything you’ve done — everything you will do—” 

“And yet it will never feel like enough,” and you feel as if you could hear the same words leaving Suguru’s mouth too — the two had more in common than they had cared to admit. 

“You are enough,” and your fingers find his cheek, “just as Satoru, you are,” 

And his arms are pulling you into a hug then, head buried in your shoulder, his body consuming you with its warmth, your fingers running through his snowy locks, his tears wetting your shirt, but you say nothing, only holding him.

He pulls back after a few minutes, but his arms still wrapped around you, as he stares at you, barely any evidence of his tears, except for the redness on the tip of his nose, “You’re enough too,” 

“I don’t know about that,” you joke, and he’s cutting you off with sharp words and a sharper look. 

“You are, sweetheart,” and the familiar pet name makes your heart ache, “you’re more than enough,” and his palm is resting against his cheek, thumb rubbing the length of your cheek, “you’re so much more than you even know,” 

And your breath catches as he draws near, “Satoru—” you shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. It wasn’t right. But why did his hands feel so nice against your cheeks? Why were you melting into his touch? Why didn’t you pull away? 

“I just want to feel something else,” his hand is sliding into your hair, fingers pressed against your neck, “don’t you?” 

And your lips find his first, lips brushing at first — and he’s so soft, his breath catching when you do, your fingers against his cheeks, and he’s pulling you back in again — it’s gravity. Again and again your lips meet, less hesitant with each kiss and each touch. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You needed to stop it — Suguru had always teased that his best friend had a thing for you — hell, Satoru had all but admitted it with teasing words and promises to steal you away if Suguru ever had fumbled your relationship. But you knew he’d never would do it. 

Or you thought he never would do it. 

His hands slide down your body, pulling your hips closer to his, “tell me stop, if you want me to,” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, “I want—” 

And you’re kissing him again, pulling him along your living room to your bedroom, “I don’t want to stop,” you breathe, you want something else, you want Suguru’s touch cleansed from your body, you want something more — you want to be wanted.

It had been so long since you had been wanted. The last few months with Suguru felt like an exercise in futility. You barely saw him, much less touched him — mission after mission, and excuse after excuse, piled onto the pyre waiting to burn your love for him alive. How long had it been since you had even kissed him? Each time you tried would end in him pulling away, shaking his head and telling you he was tired. 

And he was. He was tired — tired of his work, tired of jujutsu society, and tired of you. 

But he didn’t have the courtesy to let you know. 

But Satoru…

His fingers are quick to get you naked, deftly pulling your t-shirt over your head, as your fingers tug his jacket off with the same eagerness, “Eager, are we?” he murmurs, half hearted teasing, a ghost of a smile on his lips as you pout, “don’t worry, I am too, baby,” as your fingers tug his sunglasses off, and place them on your nightstand. 

You roll your eyes, “Satoru—” and he’s swallowing your retort with his lips — and you can’t help but compare them in your mind, he was so much more aggressive than Suguru was. Suguru’s hands slid over your hips and thighs as if he had all the time in the world, while Satoru’s clung to you desperately, as if you’d dissipate under his fingertips, “should we be doing this? Suguru—“ 

“Cheated. Murdered. Left us,” And his lips slide from his lips to your jaw, before his teeth graze right under your jaw, drawing a gasp from your lips.

And his lips curl, “Such a pretty noise, just f’me,” and he’s biting and sucking, surely leaving a lovely mark against your skin, his tongue tracing over the mark, “did you make noises like that for Suguru?” 

“Satoru—” and his fingers are tugging at your bra, teasing your erect nipples as he’s only tugging the garment down, “fuck—” and his lips kiss your tit, while he’s rolling the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “please,” 

“Did you beg him like that too?” his fingers pull at the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin underneath, “no wonder Suguru kept you for yourself,” he’s tugging off your shorts down your legs. 

“Can we not talk about him if we aren’t gonna talk—” and his lips find yours again, teeth baring down on your bottom lip, “Satoru—” you gasp as he pulls at your lip, thumb sliding over the kiss bitten flesh. 

“How can we not?” he murmurs, as his hands slide up your thighs to squeeze your ass, “is this the bed he fucked you on? Is this the way he touched you?” and he’s parting your thighs, large palms holding you apart, as his half lidded eyes linger on the wet patch on your panties, “is this how wet you got for him? Am I special?” 

“Oh, fuck off—” and your words fall away as his finger presses against the wet patch, thumb against your puffy clit while his fingers tease your aching cunt. 

“What was that, baby?” and he’s grinning, and he spares you, dragging your ruined underwear down, and he’s leaning down to your sopping pussy only to press teasing kisses to your inner thigh, before his lips press against your clit, “so fucking wet,” and he inhales, a languid moan leaving his lips, “if you taste as good as you smell, I’ll be cumming in my pants before I even fuck your pretty cunt,” 

And his fingers sink into you — two at once, making your lips part, teasing your pussy open, the lewd sounds fill your ears as your slick squelches against his fingers, “Hear that? Such a greedy cunt, swallowing my fingers up even when I try to pull out,” and he’s pumping faster now, fingers curling against your walls, making you moan far too loudly, “moaning like that, and I’ve barely even started,” he hums, before his breath is warming your slick cunt as a warning as his tongue begins to lap at your clit, again and again. 

“Fuck, Toru, need more—” His other hand is only grabbing you, pulling you impossibly closer as a third finger finds its way into you, and your hips move against his touch, begging him to fuck you in earnest. But he’s unrelenting. You can hear him swallow around you, every flutter of your cunt made just for him, as he nearly growls against you, vibrations only making you nearly grind yourself against his fingers and mouth.  His tongue circles your clit, toying with it, before his lips close over it and suck, nearly making you scream, “I’m cummin—” 

And his fingers finally find the spot they had been looking for, again and again with deft precision, as your walls clench around his fingers, as you gasp, arching your back, as you cum, and he’s licking your essence up eagerly. 

Grinning as he pulls his fingers from you, licking your cum from his digits, before lapping at your leaking cunt, making you twitch around nothing, “Fuck, needy pussy practically begging me to fill you, huh? Hehehe,” he’s looking up at you all fucked out, your thighs twitching, eyes blown out — meanwhile his lips, chin, and nose were painted in your essence, the most beautiful work of art you’d ever seen, “didn’t realize how much I wanted this,” and he’s licking up your cum off his face, and wiping the rest on the back of his hand, and he’s climbing back over you, dragging his clothed bulge over your still sensitive cunt, making you both groan, “and I guess neither did you,” 

You’re still looking up at him with lust filled eyes, as your fingers find his cheeks, “aren’t you wearing far too many clothes still?” and he’s smiling, “wanna help me out with that, sweetheart?” he asks, as his fingers press your boobs together, thumbs flicking against the abused nipples, cock twitching against your cunt as if he was imaging what it would feel like to blow his load right between them, his warm cum all over your face— 

And you’re flipping him in a moment, pinned underneath you, as your fingers undo each button of his now definitely creased white button up, damp with your cum, as your palms drag over the exposed skin of his chest and abs, “Can’t wait to fuck myself on this later,” you murmur, leaning down to drag your tongue up his stomach, making him gasp deliciously, before your fingers busy themselves with undoing his belt, the click of the buckle only making you ache more, as you undo the zipper of his pants, tugging his boxers along with them to bunch at his feet hanging off your too small of a bed, and you can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips. 

He’s so fucking big. 

Suguru was big, so fucking big that the first time he fucked you, he couldn’t even fit in your tight cunt. He had to give you multiple orgasms, prep you right, stretching you out with his fingers and tongue, and even a dildo, until you could fit himself with lube. And Satoru definitely wasn’t as thick as Suguru, but he made up for that in length — fuck, how deep would that reach? A pretty curve at the end with lovely veins running up that made your mouth water, white pubes dotting along it that were shaved, but grown out — likely from being away on missions for so long. 

“You can take a picture, it’d last longer,” and your eyes snap up to the smirk on his lips, “although I tend to last very long,” he’s shrugging out of his shirt and kicking off his pants, before he’s pinning you under him again, “and if you do, maybe I can take a picture of you, full of my cum, my cock fucking it back in — it’s only fair, right, pretty?” and you shiver, as his finally unclothed cock bumps against your cunt, “oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I’ll make it my screensaver, you’d like wouldn’t you, filthy girl?” 

And your fingers wrap around his cock, finally making him shut up with a hiss, “Gonna talk all night, or you gonna fuck me, Toru?” and he barks out a laugh, but it's consumed by a moan as you stroke him, leaning up to kiss along his jaw, “you gonna fuck the same hole your best friend did? Gonna cum there too?” and he’s thickly swallowing, your words leaving the great Satoru Gojo speechless, “what? If you brought up Suguru, so can I, right? Only fair,” you echo his words, and you’re squeezing around the base of him, “well, are you—” 

And he’s pulling your hand away, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock, dragging his pre-cum over your cunt, letting your cum mix together, “Fuuuuuck, baby, so fuckin’ gorgeous,” and he’s manhandling you, grabbing your thighs, and hooking your ankles over his shoulders, “gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, any complaints?” 

He grins at the way you shake your head eagerly, hips nearly grinding against his cock, and his tip sinks past your walls, “so tight, baby, did Suguru not fuck you right?” You can’t manage a reply, as you grasp at his shoulders, pulling him closer, as he sinks into you inch by inch, his brow furrowed beautifully as he finally bottoms out with a groan, “s’good f’me, so perfect—“ your walls flutter around him, your slick soaking him, and he’s tilting your head by your chin to make you look at where he’s sunk into you. 

And he’s pulling out before sinking back in, and you’re gasping and squeezing him — how was he possibly deeper? “Fuck, baby, your cunt is trying snap me half,” and his hips are slapping against you as he fucks you in earnest, the squeaks of your mattress as he thrusts in and out and the lewd squelch of your pussy as it wraps around every inch and vein of his cock, “that’s it, that’s it, take me, take every inch of me,” and his balls are slapping against your ass, “did you take Suguru this well? Did you ever take anyone this well?”

And you’re a mess of just moans as he’s fucking you again and again, as he cups your chin, “I didn’t hear an answer or did the I fuck the words out of you too, baby?” He’s kissing you again, swallowing your noises with lips curled, before he’s pulling away with a groan, “can’t hear myself think with how loud you are — so fucking wet,” 

“S’close, Toru, I-“ and he’s grunting, nodding, as he watches you, his cerulean eyes stare at you, right as his tip brushes your cervix— 

“Cum for me baby, let me watch you cum around my cock,” and his fingers reach down between the two of you and rub against your clit, making your eyes roll back, as you fall apart around him. 

Your walls are fluttering around him as you cum, moaning his name on your lips, as he pistons in and out again and again, thrusts stuttering as your walls squeeze him tight, “baby, I’m gonna cum, where do you want me—“ 

“Inside—please need to feel you cum—“ and you’re moaning, pulling him impossibly closer, and he’s sinks deep into you, and cums. He’s spurting his thick load into you, fucking it into you deeper and deeper, until you’re so full of him and his cum, you can barely feel anything else. 

He’s slipping your legs off his shoulders, before collapsing on top of you, sinking into your arms. He’s pulling out, watching your mixed releases slip out of you with a groan, “how are you so fucking perfect?” He’s finding your lips in a kiss, before his nose nuzzles your neck, as your highs wear down. 

Your fingers run through his white strands, “shouldn’t I be asking you that?” And he laughs, settling on your chest.  And for a moment you forget — you forget the nights you spent with Suguru in this bed, the nights spent in tangled sheets with whispered nothings, with his arms around you, just like Satoru’s were now. 

But only for a moment. 

And as Satoru’s soft snores filled your ears, the only thing on your mind was the one person who you wanted in your bed right now. 

~~~ 

“Still asleep?” your fingers run through his hair, “such a lazy-bones on your days off,” and your lips trace over his jaw, making his lips curl despite the draw of sleep, “gonna leave me hanging after last night?” 

And your lips find his, sliding over his with practiced ease, the same way you breathed — it was natural, as his fingers find purchase in your hair, sliding back to your neck. Again and again, your lips cannot part his, if you can’t breathe without him — cannot exist without his touch. 

And when you do part, he’s smiling, black fringe falling in his eyes, “So needy in the morning,” Suguru’s voice is gravelly with sleep, even as your fingers card through his black locks, “when did you become such an early riser? Usually I’m the one dragging you out of this bed kicking and screaming,” 

Usually, but he’s the one who's struggling out of bed these days. He’s struggling to even function — lifting his arms in the shower feels like too much effort — and what’s the point? Would anything change if he left his bed today? Couldn’t he escape into the recesses of his unconscious for the rest of the day? 

But you’re here — and you’re leaning over him, your lips curled in that smile that damned him into submission, because what could he do except submit to you — “who said anything about leaving this bed?” 

But he needed to leave this bed, he thought, as your lips found his again — and how did you always taste so sweet? — he needed to leave these warm covers and inviting embrace. Because he couldn’t stay here. 

He couldn’t stay with you.

But then your lips find his, and he can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’re climbing on top of him, straddling his waist, his growing bulge tenting in his boxers. He can he stop when you’re murmuring his name like that, eager fingers tugging the damp fabric down, letting his dick slap against his stomach — a bead of precum that you lean down, your tongue darting out to taste. 

And he hisses, as your fingers wrap around him, teasing the head of his cock, thumb dragging over the slit, “sweetheart—“ he's warning — but you know he’s all bark and no bite — but he would be biting you later surely, with the way you toy with him — both his cock and his feelings. 

Your mere presence in his bed has him questioning himself — questioning how necessary is it to end things? Why does he need to? He had this future planned — a certain way things were to go — he was the strongest, him and Satoru, he was going to work and settle down later, marry you, maybe even a kid or two — but now — the plans had changed. 

He had changed. 

Satoru was the strongest. Not him. And work as a sorcerer was killing him now, as you and Satoru were sent farther and further away, and Shoko had resigned herself to medicine — what did he have? Another year of this hell — he didn’t even know if he could last another day of swallowing curses. It had become second nature to him, but without a purpose, without a reason without any principles to guide him — it became worse than torture. 

It was his personal hell. 

And yet, as your soft lips closed around his leaking tip, fingers playing with his balls, as you sank your mouth onto him, drawing soft moans from his lips — he didn’t wanna give it up. How could he, when you were here? He could burn his life down to ash, watch what he worked for, what he had thought was his purpose fall to pieces in front of him — let himself fall to pieces — but that would mean burning you along with it. 

And could he bear that? 

Your tongue flicked against his length, tracing his veins as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him, as his fingers settled in your hair, “fuck, sweetheart, s’fucking good f’me,” and his hips shallowly thrust into your mouth, “take me so well, practically swallowing my dick,” and you swallow around him, pulling a moan from his mouth, his eyes flitting down to see the telltale press of your thighs together, “such a filthy girl, look at you, probably dripping wet from sucking me off,” 

And he’s tugging you off, strings of spit and his precum connecting your lips to his aching dick, “Sugu—“ your lips are red and puffy, parted still, with cum and spit slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

And he’s pulling you on top of him, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, hissing as the damp fabric of your far too thin sleep shorts press against his still sensitive cock, “don’t even have to get you ready baby, already all prepped from just tasting me, aren’t you?” 

He shouldn’t be doing this — he told himself today would be the day, he promised himself he’d stop pretending everything was fine. But when you felt so perfect on him — soft skin and soft sighs, your little gasp you gave when his fingers slide his t-shirt — the one full of small holes you had stolen from him when you first spent the night that you refused to throw out — up and over your head, exposing your chest to him — how can he stop? 

“Suguru, please,” you whimpered as his mouth took one nipple in his mouth, warm tongue flicking against the pebbled flesh before his teeth graze it, pulling another hallowed moan from your lips, “need you,” 

“Do you?” He hums, half teasing, half truthful — did you need him? Would you fall apart when he left? Would he spend nights wondering if you were anxious without him? Spend days wondering how you were filling them without him? 

And you pause, strange look on your face, as your eyes scan over his features, palm sliding over his face, “of course I do,” passion falls away for a moment replaced with a different intimacy, “you’re my best friend,” and your lips slide over his as you lean down, “I’ll always need you, even when we’re both dust — I hope we spend it bathed in sunshine together,” 

But would you? His eyes can’t meet yours — because he can’t see the sun in his future, only a dark descent into madness — a future spent alone. Because even with your smile at the end of his days, he couldn’t imagine spending another minute doing thankless work for miserable, ignorant, weak monkeys, only to do it all over again the next day. And his silence has you questioning him, but it’s like water fills his lungs, paralyzed by his own thoughts, and even as concern fills your eyes, he still can’t find anything to say. 

So you say it instead. 

“C’me here,” you murmur, and your hands slide over him, “I love you,” you kiss him all over his face — his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, before your lips hover before his, “can I—“ 

And he’s flipping you under him, pressing bruising kisses to your lips, as his fingers snake between your thighs, “you don’t need to ask— you never need to ask me,” he whispers in the dark, but even so, he knows — it can’t stay like this — even as he pulls your shorts down to bunch around your ankles and presses his leaking tip your messy folds — it can’t — because you were meant to live in the sunshine. 

And he hilts himself in you fully, inch by inch, until he’s groaning your name in a grunt — and he belonged in the dark silence. 

He knows this would be the last time. It would be. Because he had to — he couldn’t wait. It was only a waiting game until he was called to another mission, time until he dragged himself lower — until he couldn’t blame the heat for his dark bags under his eyes and the lost weight. 

He had to. 

And as he fucks you to your orgasm, instead of your lips moaning his name, your hard eyes meet his, lips parting, “I hate you—“ and his hands curl around your neck, “I hate lying traitors,” you choke out as his fingers squeeze your neck. 

SNAP. 

And he jolts awake, as whispers fill his ears, as his heartbeat slows, “Master Geto?” His eyes flicker over, spotting Nanako and Mimiko trying to snap a chocolate bar in half, “can you help us?” 

A dream. It was a dream. 

And he’s helping the girls, as they curl up beside him, “are you okay, Master Geto? You were talking in your sleep,” Nanako asks, ever curious, “you looked like you were having a bad dream,” 

“I was,” he admits, eyes fixed downward, trying to force the image of you choking below him from his eyes, “about someone I used to know,” 

“Who?” Mimiko pipes up, nibbling on her chocolate, and he sighs, running his hands through their hair, a bittersweet smile on his lips — he could still feel your lips against his, the smell of your sweat, the feel of your body. 

“Someone I loved — who I left, but I guess…I guess I miss them,” why was he spilling his guts to these two little girls? Ones who had been through far too much to hear about his petty problems. 

“Then why don’t you talk to them?” Nanako asks, “maybe you can tell them to live with us,” and his lips curl sadly. 

“I don’t think she would want to talk to me,” and why would you? After what he had said, what he had done, and what he was going to do. 

“You can try,” Mimiko says, she bites a chunk out of her share of the chocolate bar, “you tried to save us and you did — maybe you can do the same thing — save her,” 

And he considers it — maybe he didn’t have to drag you down. Maybe he wouldn’t be — maybe he’d be saving you. Saving you from a system that would only land you in a pile of bodies — just like Riko, just like Haibara. 

Maybe — maybe he could. Maybe he could be enough for you. Enough for you to leave. Enough for you to stay. He could have his family — and have you too. 

~~~~ 

He still had your key. 

You hadn’t bothered to ask for it back — maybe you had forgotten, maybe you didn’t care — but a part of him hoped it was for another reason, maybe you wanted him to come back. 

Even so, he didn’t know if it would still work — maybe you had the foresight to change the locks — but it does, sliding into the lock with ease, as the tumblers slide into place and he’s turning the knob into a silent apartment. And it plants a stubborn seed of hope in his chest, maybe it wasn’t so crazy — aside from breaking and entering — maybe he would find his way back to you. 

You’re likely on your walk this morning still — the same way you started the weekend, a walk and visit to your local coffee shop where you got the same order each time, and then you’d spend an hour browsing the shops for something to read or make. He scans the apartment — he knows you’re on vacation this week, from what Shoko had told him last, before he had spoken to Satoru. You hadn’t heard of his news, but you probably did now — if Shoko hadn’t told you, he knew Satoru would have. 

And he wonders how that conversation went. Wondered how angry you were. Wondered how much you must hate him now — maybe you even wanted to kill him. But the logical side of him knew you didn’t have the skill to do so — you were a grade 1 — a cut above the rest, but still, your abilities weren’t enough, but emotionally…he may let you kill him, if only to spare him the agony of having to kill you — but he knew it’d kill you just the same. 

He can see his days spent here before — you had finally moved off campus, convincing Yaga to let you have your own place early before graduation. You two had celebrated being free of dorm rooms with far too little space and too thin walls (too many times Satoru had spoiled the moment by either banging on the wall, blasting polka music, or just with smug remarks about yours and Suguru’s lack of sleep). He sees himself sitting at the kitchen counter, your stools pressed close as the two of you read the paper together, or laughed about something Shoko had texted or something stupid Gojo had done to piss off Yaga over burnt toast you had only burned while he’s pressing his lips to you. Or evenings spent on the couch cuddling while a bad movie he had picked played, but he’s more preoccupied with teasing you with brushes of his fingers against your bare skin or burying his face in the crook of your neck. And nights spent in your bed, entangled together, his arms around you listening to you breathe, skin dappled in the moonlight that streamed in from the window, wondering how did you ever exist at the same time as him? 

And then the front door swings open, as he steps out from the bedroom, and he hears a bag slip falling to the floor, groceries spilling out, and his gaze finds yours, “What—” 

“I came to see you,” he moves closer, and you step back — and he’s stopping, he doesn’t see fear in your eyes, he sees hurt — and he almost thinks maybe fear would pain him less. 

“Well, I’m here,” you cross your arms, unable to quite meet his eyes, “anything else?” 

“Sweetheart—” 

“You don’t get to call me that, Geto,” your words were sharp as a knife, and you were trying to cut — and you did, deep. He bites back the sting, as he stares at you — your hair was longer, your eyes had bags, but your lips were twisted with pain, when normally it’d be quirked in a smile pressed against his cheek, “what do you want? Unless I should just save myself the trouble and call Satoru or Yaga?” 

“I came to get you,” he steps forward slowly, and you don’t move away this time, “let’s be together. I—” 

“You murdered people, you murdered your parents, you left Jujutsu Tech, you broke my heart, you broke Satoru’s and Shoko’s  — and you want me to come with you?” you shake your head, barking out a harsh laugh, “did you lose your grip on reality between all the damage you’ve caused? 

“If you let me explain—” 

“And why should I let you? Your silence these past months was enough for me, you not fighting for us was enough for me, you spiraling without letting me help you was enough for me,” and your voice breaks, “and you cheating on me was enough for me, enough for me to know it’s over.” 

“It’s not over, it’s not. I tried to force it to be over. I lied to you, I lied to myself, and said it was over, but it’s not, it’s not,” and he’s so close in a moment, and he can smell the familiar scent of your perfume mixed with your sweat — lavender, hibiscus, and something all the more sweeter, “not when it’s us,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, “please—” 

“Don’t do this,” you’re shaking your head, again and again, “don’t, don’t, don’t, please—” 

“How can I not? How can I not when I was foolish enough not to the first time, pretty?” he’s murmuring, “I love you, I do, I never stopped,” 

“No, you don’t—” 

“I do, I do, I know I said a lot of things, I need you to know, I need to explain, if you just let me—” and his fingers are sliding along your jaw, and finds uneven skin, and his eyes lingers, as his fingers tilt your chin up to find a fresh hickey left underneath.

“I—” and he’s drawing you close, so close, his dark eyes narrowed to slits, a deadly silence that makes your skin prickle under his gaze, until he’s warming your lips with his breath. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” but the telltale sign of your breath catching, your chest heaving against his, your lips parted as your eyes can’t pull away from him, his grip is slack enough for you to pull away — but you don’t. 

You can’t. 

And his lips hover before yours, warming your own with his heated breath, “Kiss me, baby,” and your cheeks warm, butterflies erupting in your stomach, heat blooming wherever his other hand sneaks, dragging over your sides. 

“Why should I?” you’re grumbling, but you’re staying right where he has you — right in his arms, and you don’t know why, “you want to kiss me so bad so you do it,” 

And he clicks his tongue, fingers sliding behind your head, weaving into your hair and against the soft skin of the back of your neck, tugging you closer, “you kissed someone else with those lips, tasted them, maybe a day or two — were you this bratty with them?” 

“Oh fuck off, Suguru, you’re one to talk—“ and his lips swallow your bitter words, tasting them on your tongue, as he parts your lips with a rough squeeze of your hips. And his lips only quirk when your moan rumbles against him, his calloused palms sliding between your thighs. 

“You open your legs this easy for them?” he says when he’s pulling away from your mouth, thumb dragging over your swollen spit soaked lips, “how’s that fair? I’m your first, baby, and I’ll always be your favorite—“ 

And any retort is lost as his teeth drag over your jaw, lips closing right over the hickey he had hated so much, normally calm eyes filled with dark contempt, and he’s biting down, pinching your already bruised skin between his teeth, sucking and soothing with his tongue, “Mine, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

You nod wordlessly, and his fingers slide forward, wrapping around the front of your neck, thumbing the hollow of your throat, “Use your words,” and there was something darker — something he had let you have glimpses of in moments of missions, of arguments, even in bed — but it wasn’t a glimpse now — it was the whole goddamn picture above you. 

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you manage, words strangled by a moan as his lithe fingers tug at the waistband of your panties, making them rub against your drenched cunt, “please—” 

“So pliant now, aren’t you?” he hums, as he pulls harder, making the wet fabric rub against your aching clit, “maybe I should make you cum this way, don’t know if you deserve my fingers or my mouth yet,” 

You’re a mess — mind swimming in the need for pleasure, why did it always feel so right with him? So perfect. It shouldn’t be. He cheated on you. He slaughtered humans. He left you. He left you without telling you anything of what was plaguing him, until it was too late. 

It was too late. He was too late. 

So why were you letting his hands tear your panties apart as he fucked you with them? 

Because — your fingers reach for his cheeks, leaning up to kiss him, again and again, as your lips parted and met — it was Suguru. 

It was always Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru, I need you, need more—ngh—” and the fabric of your panties snaps under his fingers, as he’s ripped them off, pocketing them without another word. 

“Did you let him touch you?” he’s kissing down your body, wet kisses, his lips lingering at your pebbled nipples, sucking one, while squeezing the other between his thumb and forefinger, before he switches, kissing down your stomach — tongue teasing your belly button — before he’s finally settling between your thighs, his fringe unrulier than ever, strands of his long hair slipping from his bun, “Answer me, sweetheart,” he orders, as he presses mean fingers to part your thighs for him, surely leaving bruises with how hard he’s holding your soft flesh. 

“I did,” you can’t manage the words to tell him who — how can you tell him his best friend fucked you? That you let Satoru fuck you the night you found out he left. It was one thing for him to cheat with a random person, it’s another for you to go and sleep with his best friend, “Suguru, please—” 

“Mouth or fingers?” and you swear, despite them not speaking, they still share the same dumbass brain cell— 

“What the fuck does it matte—” and your words are cut off by Suguru slipping in two fingers at once into your leaking cunt, fucking you meanly as he watched your mouth fall open, head tilted back as your hips jerked against him, desperate for more. His fingers curled as they fucked your hole open with rapid thrusts, the squelch of your cunt going straight to your head and straight to his already hard cock. 

“It fucking matters because this is my pussy, isn’t it, baby? I fucked it first, I fucked it best, and I need to know what others did while I was gone, don’t I?” and a third joins the other two, pulling another moan from your lips,“but if you won’t tell me, I’ll just use both, fuck you with all five fingers and tongue if that’s what you want to do,” 

“Sugu—” you’re already so fuckin’ close, your walls shuddering around his cock, “I’m—“ and he stops moving, smiling down at your open mouth twisting in a scowl, “fuck—“ 

“That’s what we’re trying to do, baby, but I’m not gonna let you cum that easy,” he coos, his curled lips leaning down to lap at your cunt, warm tongue dragging up your clit, before sucking lightly, making you squirm, “tell me you want me,” 

“Your fucking ego—“ and he’s plunging three fingers into your messy entrance, making you gasp — god, you hated how good he felt — his fingers bullying your insides with practiced ease, “Sugu— please—“ as his tongue teases your clit, flicking it, before his teeth nibble at it. You’re squirming in earnest now, nearly fucking yourself on his fingers and tongue. 

He laughs, pulling his mouth from your cunt, lips glossy with your pre-cum,“How quick you’re going from cussing me out to begging me to cum,” you don’t care anymore — you need to cum, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Need to cum, please, please, Sugu—ah—“ and he’s sinking one more finger in you, before his lips close around your clit and suck, hard. Your back arches as something in you snaps, as the squelching and slurping of his fingers and sucking send you over the edge. You flood his mouth and fingers with your cum, squirting all over him, as he eats you out and fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as you clench around his tongue and fingers. Your thighs shake and quiver in his grip, fingers holding you still in place, as he keeps overstimulating you, “too much, can’t—“ you cry out, shaking your head, but he’s not relenting until you feel something build in again — more and more, until his fingers find that one spot in you that has you silently screaming as you cum again, even harder than the first. You’re soaked — soaked the sheets through, chest rising and falling as the pleasure ebbs away, tears slipping down your cheeks, folds fluttering as he pulls his fingers out. 

His breath warms your dripping cunt, lips glossy and eyes dark, groaning as he watches your cum slip from inside you,  as he looks up at you with a dark, half lidded gaze, “So fucking good for me, even hotter when you cry,” he’s licking his lips clean of your cum, before he’s pressing the pads of his fingers into your open mouth, “clean them f’me, baby,” and your tongue swirls around him obediently without question, pretty eyes glassy with tears making his rock hard cock twitch in his pants, “good girl,” 

And he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth, before leaning up and pulling off his black sweater, the click of his belt as he kicks off his pants, your eyes glued to his thick cock — he was thicker than Satoru, so pretty too — black pubes groomed, nearly pressed against his stomach. 

“Always so desperate for my cock, aren’t you, Princess? I’ll let you clean your cum off of it after, but I have to have you first — got to reclaim what’s mine,” and he’s dragging his cock against your clit. 

You gasp, twitching against him, but more than the pleasure, the guilt creeps in — flashes of Satoru from the night before with hands over your hips and thighs, and you had kept quiet about your life from the time you spent away. You had done your best to stay away from Suguru, even though you knew he hadn’t exactly done the same — asking Shoko questions, for pictures, for any scrap of you. 

And you couldn’t lie — not about this. 

“Suguru,” and he’s pausing, eyes meeting yours with a flash of concern, but the words tumble out with warning, just the way he had done with you, “I slept with Satoru,” 

And he’s silent — emotions roll in and out on his face — confusion, hurt, anger, and acceptance — they all fall away as he’s only staring off to the side, unable to even look at you. Words fall away, stopped in your mouth after the bitter truth that’s left it and you wonder — is it over now? Seconds feel like hours — your fingers curl into the sheets, looking for something to hang onto, to ground you. Why did he have to start this? You were fine with the burnt ashes of the love he had scorched over, but now he started a fire, and you didn’t want to put it out. You didn’t want to go out. 

You didn’t want him to go. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes finally find yours for a moment, before he’s kissing you again and again and again, bruising kisses that slaughter any sense of logic and words from you — but his message is clear, he doesn’t wanna talk, especially as his hand reaches does to brush his aching tip against you, smearing his pre-cum over the length of you. 

And he’s sinking into you, and somehow you’re still so tight around him, “Fuck,” he hisses, the first word that leaves his mouth, “did Satoru not fuck you right last night?” and your lips part as he thrusts harshly and smoothly, bottoming out with one single movement, “still as tight as when I took your virginity, aren’t you, baby?” 

“Suguru,” you’re so full, he’s so thick, and these last few weeks without him almost had your cunt forgetting what he felt like filling you — his hands gripping your thighs to press them back against your stomach, as he pulls back only to slam back in, making you head loll back, “s’good, s’full,” it’s all you can feel, all you can think about, was him, just him. 

“That’s right, I’m the only one who can fill you like this, the only one that makes you feel this good,” the sounds of his hips slapping against you send more heat flooding downward, as he grunts, watching himself piston in and out of you, “take me s’well, my good girl, mine,” he growls, “squeezing me so tight, never want me to leave this sweet cunt, do you?” your thighs shake as he presses them back, balls slapping against your ass, as he only sinks deeper and deeper, “could fuck you all night, don’t hide that face from me,” he’s forcing you to hold his gaze as he fucks you — your glassy eyes blown out with pleasure, your kiss ruined lips parted for him as you panted and moaned, forehead glossy with sweat, “wanna watch you cum around my cock, wanna see you scream my name, pretty baby,” 

His hand slides behind your ass, grabbing a fistful and finding a better angle before slamming back in, and with his filthy words, its enough to have you cumming with his name on your lips, “Sugu—fuck, Suguru!” your voice goes to a pitch you didn’t know it could reach. Toes curling as your gummy walls swallow him in, your pretty mouth forms an ‘o’ and he grunts, imagining those lips around his cock, his thrusts growing sloppy as he fucked you through your orgasm. His dick was soaked, his precum mixing with your cum. 

But he wasn’t done yet. 

He’s slapping your clit, making you jolt, as he’s still pressed inside you, “Sloppy fucking girl, I know you have one more for me,” and you’re so fucked out, he’s guiding your legs around his lower back and hips, making you gasp, “gonna cum in this perfect princess cunt,” 

“Sugu, can’t, It’s too muc—” you nearly sob, but he’s already fucking you, thrusting again and again. And it doesn’t take long for another orgasm to build, already far too sensitive from your last. It’s too much — the feeling of his hips slapping against yours, the feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls, the small moans that your tight cunt pull from his lips, and when his tip brushes against that perfect spot, as his thumb bears down on your clit — it’s too much. You see stars as you cum again, even harder, the loud squelch as he fucks you still pulls a deep groan from his lips. 

“Gonna cum, baby, gonna make a mess of you, fill you up,” he’s grunting, and you’re only nodding and moaning “yes,” still fucked out from your orgasms, but it’s enough for him notch himself deep in you and cum, painting your womb white, as he spurts his seed inside you. 

And his hips stutter, as he eases your legs down, still shaking and quivering from being fucked, and he rubs them, as you pant, his fingers then reaching to wipe your tears, as he eases himself out, groaning as he watched your mixed cums leak out of your cunt. 

“Suguru,” you murmur, and he’s leaning over you, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, and your hand reaches for him, cupping his cheek, “I love you,” and you do — you always loved him, you always would — there was never anyone else. Only him. But the words can’t find their way out of your mouth, sleep calling for your attendance, as your fingers run through his hair, pulling his hair tie off, and carding their way through his long hair, “I love the long hair,” you hum, eyes fluttering and heavy with sleep. 

“Do you?” His voice is gravelly, as he leans down, his lips finding your own for moment, before reaching for a bath towel you had slung over your metal bed frame, as he cleans you up, “how much?” 

“Too much, Sugu,” he chuckles softly, as he finishes cleaning you and himself up, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, as he moves to get up and put the towel in the hamper — your hand catches him by the wrist, “Don’t go,” 

And his gaze softens, as he shakes his head, “I’m just taking this to the hamper, I’ll come back to bed,” and your lips form an unfairly cute pout, but you relent, letting him walk away to the bathroom to dispose of the towel, and when he comes back, you’re already asleep, curled up. 

He stands in the doorway, watching your chest rise and fall — and he’s walking over, pulling your comforter over your body, as he holds it open for himself, pausing, only to let it fall and settle on your side. 

He couldn’t ask you to come with him. Couldn’t whisper those words in the night, because you couldn’t save him from the dark — not you, not Satoru, not a single person. Because he wasn’t cut out to live in this world with a smile on his face — and you always deserved to have one on your lips. And Satoru could do that for you. Not him. 

It was never him. He was never good enough — his fingers trace over your cheek, pressing another kiss to your forehead — not for the jujutsu world, and not for you. 

And he turns to leave, sparing a single glance at you — but he’d make a place for him. And maybe for you — make a world that’s safe for them to live in. Where he didn’t have to watch you join the other bodies piled up around him. 

He’s pulling the door shut to your apartment softly, his key left on the table. 

It was over. 

~~~

“You’re late again, as usual,” Suguru smiles, slumping down against a wall, “Satoru,” 

“The ones in Kyoto, they were under your command?” 

“Yes, they all were,” he sways, holding his shoulder, he didn’t have much time left — he couldn’t feel anything, even as he held his wound, he felt nothing — no pain, no anger, no hatred, “no matter what anyone says, I hate those monkeys,” and his thumb brushes lightly over his shoulder, “but I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High School,” 

“Did you not? Could’ve surprised me,” and his head turns slowly behind Satoru, and he sees you — sees you for the first time in a decade. Even at his visit to Jujutsu High, you weren’t around — away on a mission, just as he had intended. 

Satoru only sighs, sparing you a glance, “I told you not to come here—” 

“And I told you that I needed to see him,” you brush past Satoru, kneeling by Suguru — and he can’t take his eyes off of you — he had seen pictures, ones he had his twins take (not wanting those money grubbing monkeys to have even an image of you), and he saw you had done quite well for yourself after he had left. A teacher, just like Satoru — trying to foster a new generation of sorcerers — he was right, you were just like him, weren’t you? And he watches as your brow furrows, scanning over his injuries, gears grinding, but he has to halt them right then and there. 

“There’s no saving me now, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, “but you know that already, don’t you?” he takes an unsteady breath, leaning back against the wall, his eyes falling over you again, “still so beautiful — how’s that possible?” 

“Not beautiful to stick around for though, am I?” your words aren’t laced with bitterness so much as it’s a question, a question of why he had left you. Why did he never had come back. 

“But beautiful enough to always stay faithful to,” his words are soft, “I don’t have many regrets, not any at all truly in retrospect, but I did lie to you about cheating—” 

“I know,” your hand uses your sleeve to clean some of the blood on his face, scarlet on your palm, “I realized once I thought about it — and I’ve had plenty of time to think about you, Suguru,” your fingers trace his jawline softly, “because thoughts were all you left me with,” 

“Not all I left you with,” his eyes slide back to Satoru and back to you, lips curled in a smile, “you two were always more better suited than I ever was to you, princess,” 

“Suguru—” Satoru starts, but Suguru is shaking his head. 

“It’s rude to interrupt a person’s last words, Satoru,” he clicks his tongue, and his lips curl as he finds your gaze again, your eyes glassy, “don’t look like that, sweetheart,” 

“Suguru, why did you have to leave?” and he’s shaking his head slowly, resting it against the wall behind him. 

“Because I didn’t belong there — I couldn’t live in this world with a real smile on my face,” and his hand reaches for you, but stops, falling back to his shoulder, and tears slip down your cheeks, “but with you, I came close,” he murmurs, and he knew it was time, “Satoru,” and that’s all he had to say to have Satoru start to pull you away. 

“No, no, please—” you’re shaking your head, trying to push past Satoru, but you slump in his arms, “I love you, Suguru, I always will,” 

And he gives a small chuckle, lips curled in that smile that always damned you — “At least curse me at the end,” 

But you never could, as you step away, squeezing your eyes shut as you hear the distant splatter of blood. And you knew — you knew you would have stayed forever, stayed with him forever, if he only had told you not to go. 

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

The two of you bury him, somewhere secluded, where no one would find him. The cold ground was hell to dig up, but the two of you managed somehow, each shovelful feeling like a funeral march with no end in sight. Neither of you could bear the thought of his body being poked and probed for its secrets, before being burned, turned to the ash and smoke, the very same he had left your lives in when he had torched it all to the ground. But even so, you couldn’t bear it — and as you look at the mound before you, you want to claw his body up — dig him up as if it would bring him back to life, pull whatever being or force out of the sky and make them give him back. 

But you can’t — it’s over.

Satoru’s hand finds your shoulder, pulling you into a hug, burying your face in his chest, as he holds you tight to his chest. And he’s leading you away from Suguru, a single flower left over his grave, as the cold air freezes the tear stains left on your cheeks. 

It’s over now. It was over now, right? Right? 

And it was. 

Until Shibuya. 

a/n: this was supposed to be 3K, and ended up being over 10K. story of my life. this fic is thematically sponsored by 1989 (taylor's version), in particular, the vault tracks that helped me write this. you can literally spot lyric references almost throughout the entire thing

tag list: @ghostkonigkeegan141, @lightblueexorcist, @aemondseyesocket, @lemonpoppy-seed, @stran-dedforyou, @tiaraqueen123, @sun-daddy-yoriichi, @grooveandshit, @prettyabc, @kaskasi, @moranguitosz, @haunting-venus, @ninneko19, @psychicai, @d1rtv, @forest-fruits-jam, @katie91239, @dud3vil, @robynnikole151, @ivory-cove, @ohbi-the-way, @numbinyourchest, @dabisdolly, @kal0pssiaa, @glaceliy, @3atinguout, @iovesatoru, @imthebestbye-blog, @michelleeveline, @ichikanu, @ummcumfurtable, @collectionofdolls, @auraeum, @reesesnieces, @goldfishsmemory, @itshobiscussposts

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊⇢ had a depressive episode yesterday and just whipped this up to feel better. a little selfshipy but is suitable for anyone 💕

『 ෆ k.bakugo x fem!reader 』

“C’mere already,” Katsuki calls from his bed, arms outstretched as he lays on his back. “I’m not gonna ask again.”

You comply, stalking over from the doorway and crawling across the sheets into his embrace, face snug against his chest. He sighs into your hair, planting a few soft kisses onto the top of your head.

“Ya look like you needed some love, peach.”

It’s almost scary how well Katsuki can read your emotions. You hadn’t even told him that you were feeling down, he just knew by your mannerisms.

“How’d you know?” You ask sheepishly. You’d gotten to his apartment a few hours ago…how’d he read you so quickly? Well, it could have been that you showed up in sweatpants and his hoodie - your go-to comfort, low energy outfit.

“I jus’ do. ‘S like a sixth sense.”

“That’s for ghosts, dummy,” you giggle while idly fiddling with the material of his shirt.

You can practically hear the grin in his reply. “Got ya ‘ta laugh, didn’t it?” He gives you a light squeeze and kisses your forehead.

How can two people be so connected? It often left you wondering how you’ve gotten so lucky to have someone like Katsuki around, let alone adore and love you with his entire being.

“Any dinner requests?” He asks, shaking you out of your train of thought. “Y’gotta be hungry, I haven’t seen ya eat all day.”

You pull back from his embrace and pinch his cheek, bringing your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “Oh, is Chef Bakugo taking requests now?”

“Not if you’re gonna heckle me about it. And it’s Chef Dynamight, get it right!” he retorts with a huff.

“Whatever you were gonna make, I’m fine with.”

Katsuki sits up, releasing you from his hold and scoots to the edge of the bed. He motions for you to follow him.

Once the two of you are in the kitchen, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you over to an empty section of the countertop. Effortlessly, he picks you up and sits you on the marble. Katsuki shimmies between your legs, one hand on each thigh as he graces you with a sweet smile - a rare sight.

“Ya don’t gotta do anythin’, sweets. Your job is to look pretty while I cook for you, ‘kay?” He gives you a quick peck on the lips and pats your thighs before turning toward the cabinet to grab his cutting board and spices.

For the next hour, you silently watch Katsuki prep dinner for the two of you. He’s decided to make a chicken curry, one of your favorites, all from scratch. He’s got the sauce simmering on the stove while cutting up the vegetables and potatoes. You’ve tucked your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees as you watch him in his element, bouncing between tasks without breaking his concentration. Before Katsuki tosses the peppers he’s cut into the pot, he pops a small piece into his mouth and offers you one as well. You take it from him without hesitation - he loves to have you taste test and sample anything involving his cooking, even if it’s just a simple bell pepper.

After another 15 minutes passes, the ding! of the rice maker signals that everything is ready to eat. You slide off the counter and skip over to grab plates when Katsuki scoops you up by the waist from behind, bunching the hoodie up your midsection.

“Oh no ya don’t! Sit your stubborn ass down an’ let me get it.”

You sigh in defeat, closing the cabinet as he whisks you out of the kitchen and plops you onto the couch in the living room. Within a few minutes, Katsuki reappears with two full plates of curry. He sets them both on the coffee table and turns to grab the blanket off the back of the couch, unfolding it to drape over your legs.

He does a double take around the room while grabbing the TV remote. “Need anythin’ else, baby?”

You shake your head, responding with a soft “no.”

Katsuki joins you under the blanket and hands you your plate from the table. He settles in next to you, turning on a mindless reality show before kicking his feet up on the table and leaning into you - blissfully sinking into the cushions.

“This shit is so fuckin’ stupid, but it’s fun to hear the wild commentary you do,” Katsuki quips with a laugh. “Like how the fuck do these people even breathe on their own?”

“Beats me, and yet they’re richer than we’ll ever be,” you joke, digging into your curry with a satisfying hum.

Katsuki kisses you on the cheek before returning to his curry, fascinated with the stupidity of the reality show. He knows you’re thankful, never expecting a verbal ‘thank you’ in times like these. Your smile and laugh, along with the return of the twinkle in your eyes, was enough for him.

💥 tags; @slayfics ✨

[urhoneycombwitch]

mean mouth

foreword: and if I said Eddie liked when you talked a lil' mean to him. what then. n e ways. just a little exploration of his early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master. 

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.” 

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious. 

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering. 

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard. 

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats. 

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness. 

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls. 

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire). 

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space. 

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again. 

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with  “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink. 

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand. 

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink. 

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night. 

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue. 

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place. 

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips. 

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth. 

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse. 

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks. 

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat. 

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep. 

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room. 

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin. 

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.” 

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

[ohbo-ohno]

loneliness and fallen woman with price please! happy 1000 followers ❤️

1k game here - no more please!

alright anon. i gotta be real with you, i barely used the prompts you gave and for that i really am sorry. i wrote like 1k of this about three different times because they kept just not being quite right, and they got increasingly further and further from the prompts. sorry!

2.6k of reader x local crime kingpin price. no smut! (the background plot and "worldbuilding" here is really weak, but just ignore it lol)

You know you’re doing something stupid, but that seems to be all you’re capable of these days. The last few weeks have been nothing but stipid decision after stupid decision, your absolute stupidest decision leading you to this exact moment.

You should’ve never slept with John Price. You should’ve known, should’ve recognized his face, but you’d been a little tipsy and a little desperate, and hadn’t connected the very common name John with the very well known criminal John Price. 

No, that had come the next morning, when you’d woken up before him and been able to really take a look at him, completely sober. Him and the gun in its holster resting on his folded pile of clothes.

You should’ve recognized him long before then, and you should’ve turned tail and run. You shouldn’t have let him buy you a drink, you shouldn’t have let him coax you into dumping all your troubles onto him, and you certainly shouldn’t have slept with him. 

You’d left before he could wake up and say God knows what, fear pumping through your veins at the realization of who you’d slept with. You’d nearly knocked yourself out trying to get dressed, almost fallen on top of him before you managed to stumble out of the hotel room he’d bought for you.

Everyone knows John Price. No one ever really bothers to detail why he’s dangerous, but they all seem confident he is. You’re a recent transfer to the area, and you still haven’t been able to get anyone to really say why they always whisper when they say his name.

What you do know about him is that every few weeks, almost routinely, you hear that he’s been arrested. Then two or three days later, like clockwork, it’s announced that he’s escaped, always thought to be “armed and dangerous”. His mugshots are shown on TV enough that it’s truly surprising you hadn’t recognized him at the bar. 

You always figured you’d never run into him. You don’t exactly lead a life of crime, don’t exaclty put yourself in harm’s way. You work a boring nine to five job, have dinner with friends every couple weeks, occasionally meet up with someone from a dating app, and never really stray from that. Had he not happened to be in the same bar as you, you never would’ve met him, never would’ve slept with him, and never would’ve been hunting him down now, weeks later.

Hell, you might not have even slept with him had you not just been stood up by what was supposed to be a first date on the same day you’d lost out on a promotion. But a few shots, that loneliness that grows more and more familiar every day, a simmering frustration in your career, and a handsome man are not a good combination for your self control. 

But you had slept with him, had been especially stupid and not even worn protection - something you’d only really noticed the next morning, when you felt… him still leaking from you, saw that there was no condom wrapper.

And now here you are - stood in that same run down bar you’d first met him in, wearing an old hoodie and your favorite sweatpants, three positive pregnancy tests tucked in your front pocket.

You try to take a deep breath.

You really don’t know what you’re doing. You’ve been running on autopilot since you realized you might be pregnant, the time between buying tests and taking them a blur. Even now, you’re running on instinct alone. Instinct tells you to find John Price, and tell him about… this.

You can figure everything else out after. 

You scan the crowd, hoping to spot him quickly. You know he owns the bar - something you’d found out once you’d gotten home and fallen deep into a rabbit hole and read everything about the man you could find. You’re not sure how he still owns the bar considering he’s got multiple warrants out for his arrest, but you figure it’s probably the same reason he never actually ends up in jail.

But he’s not here now. At least, not anywhere you can see.

You step up to the bar, rest your elbows on the counter and rest your head in your hands, taking a few long, stablizing breaths.

“What can I get for ye?”

You glance up at the sudden voice, coming face to face with the bartender. It’s not the same man as last time - this man’s got a Scottish accent and a mohawk, a far cry from the darker skinned British man with pretty eyes who’d served you last time.

“Do you…” you glance around again, sigh, and decide you should try and find somewhere to compose yourself a bit. “Do you guys have a bathroom I could use?”

“Course,” he smiles at you, open and friendly, and you feel some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Just ‘round that corner there, a few doors down. Can’t miss it.”

You give him a tight smile, mutter your thanks as you head in the direction he’d gestured. His directions are exactly right, the women’s bathroom door towards the end of the hallway but clearly marked.

Just past the bathroom doors is a stairwell. The door is half open, but you can clearly see the stairs even halfway down the hallway. You’re not sure why, but you walk right past the bathrooms, ducking into the stairwell instead after shooting a quick look over your shoulder to make sure no one saw you. 

It’s nearly silent, the music from the bar growing more and more muffled as you start to make your way to the next floor. It’s even quieter once you reach your destination, just a distant and faint rumbling in the floorboards.

You step out into a hallway with four doors - two of them with nameplates nailed to them. Stepping close, you see one is labeled Simon Riley and the other reads John Price.

Before you can consider whether or not you’re making another stupid decision you’re knocking on the door with Price’s name. 

You regret it the moment your knuckles rap against the wood, can’t believe you keep doing such stupid things without thinking.

Before you can even get a step away from the door, there’s a voice calling out from inside the room.

“Come in.”

Your breath hitches. 

You can’t leave now. There’s no way he wouldn’t come to the door, see who knocked. You’re not about to ding dong ditch John Price, but that doesn’t make it any easier to move forward. You only manage it because you feel oddly exposed in the hallway, and your nerves urge you forward enough to open the door.

You shut it quickly behind you, eager for privacy for some reason you can’t quite pin down. Listening to your instincts regardless, you keep your back pressed to the closed door and shove one hand in your pocket to wrap around the pregnancy tests.

John looks… mostly the same, which only makes you feel even more foolish for not recognizing him on the night that started this whole mess.

His beard’s a bit longer, but he’s got a button up and that silly hat on, the same thing he’d been wearing the first night you saw him. It’s almost like you’re yanked back to that night without warning, the only real difference being the fact that he’s sat behind a desk instead of beside you.

“Oh,” he says, looking oddly unsurprised as he leans back in his chair, hands lacing over his stomach. “It’s you. My little runaway.”

You scowl, your trepidation immediately replaced with anger. 

“First of all,” you hiss, scowling and moving towards his desk, the twitch at the corner of his lips only working you up further. “I’m not your anything. And I didn’t run away.”

His lips curve into a fuller smile, and he shifts his chair back enough for you to see his thighs, thick and bulging against his tight pants. He’s manspreading in his own office chair, and you have to swallow thickly when you realize just how attractive it is.

When you glance back to his face and see the distinctly smug expression he’s wearing, your ire only grows.

“Not sure what else you’d call it,” he rumbles. “Was hoping to spend a little more time with you, love, but you were gone before we could set up a date.”

You instinctively go to bite back, but stumble a bit when what he’d said settles. The idea that he’d been disappointed when he woke up alone, that he wanted more time with you…

You shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter, you have more important things to discuss.

You force yourself to straighten, fingers toying with the tests in your pocket. Your nerves return now that you’re really face to face with John again, now that you’ve got to actually figure out how to tell him. 

He seems to sense the shift in your mood, leaning forward so he’s not sprawled out so casually and resting his forearms on his desk.

“Why’re you here, love?”

This is it, you think to yourself, closing your eyes to take a deep, stablizing breath.

You tug the pregnancy tests out of your pocket, drop them wordlessly in front of him. It’s hard to keep your eyes open, to watch his expression as he slowly looks down at your offering, watch as realization washes over him.

John’s silent for a long moment. Your palms sweat, and you just barely resist the urge to wipe them off on your pants.

Finally, he looks back up at you, shifting in his chair. “You’re sure?”

You hesitate, nod a bit. “There are… I took more, at home. Didn’t want to bring them all.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. “And it’s mine?”

You flush, face going hot. You know it’s a fair question, but you can’t help but bristle anyway. 

“Yes,” you hiss, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I haven’t… I didn’t…” You cut yourself off, the words you were my first trapping themselves behind your teeth. You hadn’t meant to lose your virginity to John Price, and you see no need to tell him you even had. As far as you’re concerned, you can keep that knowledge to yourself. “It’s yours.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and that only makes your face go hotter. You fight the urge to tuck your hands beneath your armpits, determined not to shrink in front of this man.

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” you elaborate, eyes flicking away from his face.

He takes a deep breath, exhales in a loud sigh. You hear his fingers tap against the desk, just barely bite back your annoyance at the sound. You work your tongue between your teeth, nerves racing again.

“Well,” he eventually says, standing from his chair. You can’t help but jolt a bit, having forgotten just how big he is. He towers over you even from a few feet away, his broad shoulders and barrel chest only making him feel twice as large. It’s a conscious effort on your part not to take a step back. “I hope you weren’t too attached to your apartment, love.”

He stalks around the desk, walking towards the door, but you can’t move from your spot. Your eyebrows furrow, and you track him with your eyes.

“My apartment? What’re you talking about?”

He shoots you a look, one you have no idea how to interpret, as he tugs his door open. “Simon!”

“John,” you hiss, stepping closer to him again. “What’re you-?”

He holds a hand up to quiet you as the other door opens, and you can just barely spot another man stepping forward. “Yeah?”

“Need you to call some movers. Need to get my girl moved into my place.”

You gape like a fish as the new man leans to the side a bit to look where Price is gesturing to you, and he nods. “Got it. Timeline?”

“Done by tonight.”

The other man grunts, and leaves again. John closes the door, turning back to you and starting back to his desk.

“What- what the hell?” You splutter, mouth opening and closing in shock. “You can’t- you don’t even know where I live!”

John settles back into his chair and shoots you a look that you can clearly read - it’s nothing but unimpressed.

“Course I do, love. Did you think we wouldn’t be meeting again?”

You blink at him, dumbfounded, as he turns to his computer, lips twitching into a smile.

“Of course we wouldn’t,” you try, hand resting on one of the chairs in front of the desk to steady yourself. “We only… we only slept together once. I didn’t even know who you were.”

He hums an agreement, typing. “No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter, you know now. And considering the other… developments,” he shoots a look to your belly, and you rest your free hand over the small curve protectively. “It’s best we get to know each other in far closer quarters, hm?”

“No,” you argue, trying to inject some sterness into your tone. “I’m not moving in with you, that’s ridiculous. I just… I only told you about the baby so you could be involved. Maybe pay some child support. But there’s no reason for anything more.”

He sighs heavily through his nose, giving you another of those unimpressed looks. “You’re tellin’ me you’d rather keep living on your own? Take care of yourself and my baby all on your own?”

You brows furrow. “My baby.”

“Our baby.”

“Whatever,” you huff, moving to sit in one of the chairs, slumping back. “I can’t move in with you. Just because we… slept together, once, doesn’t mean you can just boss me around like a minon.”

 “Oh, it was more than once, love,” he corrects, voice pitching lower. You force down a shiver, cheeks heating again. “And is it really bossing you around if it’s for the best?”

You shoot him your own unimpressed look. “Yes, of course it is.”

He shrugs, turning back to his computer. “Then I guess I am bossing you around. Regardless, Simon will have your belongings in one of my properties by tonight.”

You scowl, leaning forward enough to plant a hand on his desk. “Listen, John, I have a life. A perfectly nice apartment, a job I like, friends - you can’t just take me away from all of that just because we made a mistake!”

The quick glance he shoots you verges on scolding. “That’s exactly what I can do, and it’s exactly what I will do.”

He stands before you can reply, fixing his cuffs as he strides back to the office door.

“You can call your boss tomorrow to turn in your resignation,” he says over his shoulder, tugging the door open and already walking away, winking at you just before he disappears from your sight. “You won’t be working while carrying our baby.”

You gape at the spot where he just was, palms still slick with sweat. It takes you a moment to fully grasp what he’s just said, how the entire conversation has gone, but when you do you’re enraged.

“John!” You shout, storming after him, leaving the pregnancy tests behind. “Get back here, you insane man! That’s absolutely not happening!”

The sound of his low laugh echoing through the stairwell only pisses you off more. Your scowl feels etched into your face, and as you storm after John you vow to keep him from completely steam rolling your life.

If he thinks he’s going to just pluck you from your life and drop you in his with no fight, he’s got another thing coming. 

[toji-girl]

tw: fem reader + harassment towards you + this is solely written for and about me + writing helps me process things + Toji doesn't play around

It was only once in a while that you and Toji preferred to go out and about, date nights consisted of you two staying in and cuddling on the couch with takeout or leftovers with your heads pressed together.

But Toji loved to show you off and he wanted to make sure you were happy and if that meant taking you out to dance the night away while he gets the chance to watch so be it, and it made him feel good knowing that other people wanted you but you were his wife.

Most people just moved out of the way when they saw your husband, he was a hulk of a man, big and broody too. With his broad shoulders, large and bulging biceps you felt protected around him and safe.

Which is something he took very seriously, he knew your past and Toji made a vow to keep you under his protection and in his arms, he was by far the best man you've ever had the pleasure to meet let alone marry, every day you counted your lucky stars for that man.

The club was a bit busier this weekend but you two were able to snag your favorite booth in the far corner smooshed together, knee to knee and heads pressed against each other while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, pulling out his Mr. Smooth card.

"I'll be right back darlin', you stay right here," Toji murmured in your ear before kissing the patch of skin under your lobe then you watched him work his way to the back of the club to the restrooms.

You knew Toji told you to stay there not to be controlling but he was worried that something would happen and he couldn't be there and as you waited you finished your ice water and wanted more due to the heat from the bodies grinding together creating a furnace.

With a sweep around you didn't see anyone that looked out of place so you slid from the booth and made it the bar in need of something to drink as did Toji so you put in an order for two more ice waters and leaned against the oak watching out for your husband.

"Hey there good looking, are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got fine written all over you." A man who appeared out of nowhere slid up to you resting one elbow on the edge as he stared at you.

His eyes dropped down taking in your full body with a grin that made your skin crawl, his pickup line made your stomach twist but you heard the horror stories of being rude to men like that so you let out a fake nervous laugh which in turn only spurred the stranger on.

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, either way, he was intent on making you go with him. "It's rude not to reply." He huffed.

Before you had the chance to say anything he was being lifted off the floor by the collar of his shirt that was beginning to rip. "It's rude to keep pressing a woman for something, especially my wife," Toji growled as the man kicked his feet while squealing like a pig.

Almost everyone now was paying attention to the whole scene. "Now I suggest you apologize." Your husband told him in a tone that brooked no argument as you met his eyes feeling your knees almost give out.

The man uttered an apology while begging to be let down which Toji promptly did, letting go of his shirt. You watched as he scrambled off the floor and scurried out of the building. "Toji-"

You were in his arms being crushed in a hug before he pulled away to look you over. "He's lucky I didn't kill him. Are you okay?" He asked, his eyes gleamed with a mixture of emotions and you could sense the anger that simmered under his skin.

"I am now, let's go home please baby. I love you, thank you thank you." You told him meeting his loving gaze as he cupped your face in his large palms.

"You ain't gotta thank me for taking care of my baby girl, let's get you home and in the shower."

With that, you both left after explaining the situation and a few people were gushing about how Toji stood up for you, but of course, he always will, he is your husband and protector.

[whorediaries-09]

i still do it for you, babe 🩷 bf!sirius black x gf!slytherin!reader in a secret relationship bc she's friends with regulus black, hiding and having the best night with siri in the ROR also HI, how have you been?

i've been really stressed lately, considering exams start from the 20th. anyways, how about you?

so high;

pairing- sirius black x slytherin!reader warning(s)- 18+ content. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- did. ya'll. listen. to. freak. by. ldr. (demo).

ps- i hope ya'll like hehe.

the slut club

you ain't gotta say a word, just spark that, let's get burnt

he had you pinned down to the mattress, as he teasingly pressed kisses all over your face, slowly moving down your neck. the slow sensuousness of his kisses were contrasted to the way he roughly pounded into you. his cock was deep into you, hitting just the right spots inside you. the room echoed the sound of skin slapping and heavy moans of pleasure.

'i haven't felt you in so long,' he breathed, completely enamored by your body. you nodded, your mind too blank with consuming ecstasy to reply. you breathed heavy, tangling your arms around his neck, pressing his temple against yours. it was a never ending loop of pleasure that burned through you, simmering under your skin.

'i missed you so much,' you whispered, feeling his cock hit your g spot just right. sirius had your body memorized, and he could sculp you out, pore by pore even with his eyes closed. you were a drug, a fallen angel from heaven. he was high, not from his cigarettes but by you. he felt like a fucking domino, he'd fallen on his knees just for you, and worship you like his goddess. you'd gotten him good.

the tears of pleasure strained down your face, ruining your eye makeup. he could feel the heat radiate of your neck as he entangled his fingers into your hair, pulling your lips to his. he slid his tongue into your mouth, capturing you in a filthy and dirty kiss. his cock plunged in and out of you, your stomach boiling with the hotness of your release.

he could feel it. you were clenching your walls around him, curling your toes, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he could feel your thighs shake. he slid a finger down between your connected bodies, rubbing your clit. he left your lips, a string of saliva following your swollen lips.

'cum for me sugar. scream my name as loud as you want to,' he begged, pounding into your convulsing walls. his ears wanted to hear you moaning his name like a sweet fucking melody. it was the fuel to his fiery desire.

you nodded, as you felt your coil of orgasm snap, painting his abs. you cried out his name, your throat raw and harsh. it was a cacophony of your moans and his when he continued pounding into you through your release. he chased his own, your puffy walls and moans fueling him to paint yours his.

'sirius, cum inside me, make me yours,' you encourage through gasps, digging your nails into his back. he gasps, as the nail hits the coffin, releasing himself inside you, painting your cunt with hot ropes of his cum.

he moaned, pulling himself out, and falling beside you. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. he wanted to feel your skin against his, feel your scent infiltrate him, infuse him. he pressed soft kisses down your back.

'i love you so much,' he said, squeezing your hip. you turned around to face him. your eyes bore into his. they were blown with lust and love. you pressed a soft kiss on his nose and he smiled.

'i love you more...but i've to clean,'

'no,' he whined. you laughed, clenching your thighs together, hoping the next day wouldn't be much of a sticky mess.

'okay we'll do it tomorrow,'

******

'where have you been!' regulus shouted. he was normally a soft spoken person, but you'd missed a few lessons, and he was concerned. so when you finally showed up from god knew where, he exploded.

his eyes slowly wandered over you. he opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. you hoped sirius hadn't given you any hickeys you had to cover up.

'i-i slept in,' he stared at you skeptically.

'are you sure?'

'yeah!' you chimed, a little too enthusiastically for it to be an honest statement. he deadpanned an expression of thoughtfulness before he replied,

'you're wearing a red tie,'

[to-thelakes]

wrapped up

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after coming back from the bar, frank takes care of you with a hot shower and wrapping you up in blankets.

warnings; fluff, domestic fluff, domestic frank castle, self-indulgent, showering together

notes; hello hello! so this is my day 8 fic for fluffbruary, day 9 is partially written and i have a few ideas for 10 and 11 but i'm back in uni tomorrow so whether i will get anything done is really anyone's guess! but here's day 8. this originally was going to be written differently but since yesterday was really not the one for me, i wrote it more self-indulgently because i needed that frank castle lovin'! so here's domestic frank looking after reader <3

ao3

It was meant to be a fun night out but it had ended in disaster. You were also frozen to the bone. Your jacket did very little to protect you from the blustery winds and despite taking a cab, you were still freezing. By the time that you got into your apartment, your teeth were chattering. 

Frank was cooking in the kitchen when you came inside, arms wrapped around yourself. Your eyes were red and teary from the crying at the bar but you were fine now. You were so emotionally strung out that it really didn’t matter anymore.

“Hey,” Your voice was hoarse as you closed the apartment door behind you. Frank glanced back, a smile spreading across his face at your sudden appearance. You hung your jacket up and kicked off your shoes before walking over to him. He was stirring a pot.

“How was it?” He asked. You shrugged, not really in the mood to speak about it.

“Awful,” You admitted. You wrapped your arms around his waist, snuggling into his back. A frown formed on his lips and he shivered at the feeling of your cold skin against his. “You’re so cold, sweetheart,” He said after a beat. You let out a grunt of agreement but you were honestly more than content to stay here with Frank, pressed up against him. A contented sigh left your lips and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “Gotta let this simmer, let’s get you a shower, hm?” He suggested. You let out a grumble of annoyance before pulling your arms away from him. There was a begrudging acceptance but Frank knew you and knew that you would have rather stayed pressed against him for the rest of the evening.

“You’re coming in with me,” You declared as you wandered over to the bathroom. Frank chuckled but nodded his head.

“Yes, ma’am.” A smile couldn’t help but break out across your face and once you had both entered into the bathroom, you stripped down. The cute top and jeans you had been wearing for the night were discarded and Frank warmed the shower up while you wiped your make-up off. The mascara had already smudged and some of it had come off due to your tears in the bar so you were glad to be rid of it.

Frank wrapped his arms around you, naked body pressed against yours as you used a cotton pad to wipe down your eyes. He just watched your reflection, admiring you as you went through your usual routine. It was only when you were done that he let go of you. Then, the two of you stepped into the steamy hot shower.

Frank let you get under the spray first and you tilted your face to be underneath it. The water rushed down your face before you pushed it back into your hair and turned around. Before you had the chance to, Frank’s hands had come up to push the water off your closed eyelids. He then leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Y’so pretty,” He mumbled against your lips. A grin split across your face and you opened your eyes to look into his. There was something so soothing about being here. After tonight, after what had happened at the bar, you wanted to be with him. It made you feel a little more sane. You tugged him under the spray with you, water dripping down both of your bodies as you leant into him. His hand moved to cradle your back, holding you against him.

It took everything in you to stop yourself from sobbing. You knew that he wouldn’t mind but you didn’t want to have to think about it. You just wanted to be happy with him and you wanted to talk about it with Frank but not right now. It would make you angry and you didn’t want to be angry. You just wanted to be here with Frank, with your boyfriend and everything would be okay.

“Where’s your body wash?” You asked against his damp skin. Your head tilted up and he nodded his head towards the edge of the tub where all your products were. A grin spread across your face and you stepped back from him, reaching out towards it.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” His eyebrow was raised as he watched you pick it up. You then flicked the cap open and were about to pour some gel into your hand but his stopped you.

“Using your shower gel,” You responded, giving him a cheeky grin. He shook his head and grabbed the bottle from your hand, “Hey,” The frown quickly took over your face and he poured some into his hand. The sting of rejection began to seep back in and you felt the tears begin to prick at your eyes again.

“Turn around,” He instructed. You tilted your head, giving him a curious look before you followed his instructions. You weren’t under the spray of water anymore and then you felt his hands on your shoulders. He spread the shower gel along your shoulders before trailing his hands down your back. You melted. You were pretty sure you would have melted into a puddle if that didn’t defy the laws of the universe.

His fingers dug into your back, massaging your shoulders while lathering the gel up against your back. Your head fell backwards, a soft groan of pleasure escaping your lips. Frank smiled softly and leant forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Gotta take care of my baby,” He mumbled in your ear. You grinned and turned your head around so you could capture his lips in a kiss. His hands moved from your shoulders to your hips, letting you decide how long you wanted to stay like this. It was a soft kiss, tender and it made you breathless. You were panting when you broke away and you leant down, pressing a kiss to his chest before you turned back around.

His hands left you and he squirted some more gel onto his hands and then began to spread it across your stomach and up your chest. He ran his hands down your arms, lathering up every inch of your body with all the love and affection you needed in that moment. He was able to read you perfectly and by the time he was done, you felt so relaxed. All the tension, anxiety and anger had slipped away into happiness. 

You slipped back under the spray and Frank let you wash away the gel as he began to apply some to himself. You frowned, ready to argue with him but before you could even get a word in, he told you to just wash yourself off. You wanted to help him, you wanted to give him all the attention that he had given you. But Frank was a selfless lover, sometimes.

Once you had both washed up, he wrapped you up in a fluffy towel. You both dried off before walking to the bedroom and changing into your comfortable pyjamas.

“When is dinner ready?” You asked as you followed Frank back into the main room of the apartment. He glanced at the clock.

“Not long, just relax f’me, yeah?” You nodded in response to his words. There was no way you could argue with that tone and so you plopped yourself down on the sofa. The shower had significantly warmed you up and the emotions from tonight had been washed down the drain with sudsy water. But you were still cold.

As you curled up on the sofa, Frank could hear you shivering every few minutes. So, once he had checked on the sauce that still needed a minute or so to finish simmering, he headed back to the bedroom and brought out a stack of blankets. You glanced up at him as he walked over, fluffy stack in hand.

“Sit up f’me, sweetheart,” He requested and you followed. He then began to wrap you up in layers of blankets. You couldn’t help but chuckle as he made sure they were all wrapped securely around you. It was a warm cocoon and seeing Frank smile at you made it feel more loving than silly. Though you still felt silly.

“How am I supposed to eat?” You muttered. He rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss against your head.

“Stick your arms out, shit, I dunno, but I gotta keep you warm,” He retorted. You couldn’t help but bark a laugh at his response. You adjusted your position slightly and were able to get your hands to stick out from the cocoon of blankets. The air was so cold but you grabbed onto Frank’s hips and pulled him down into you.

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips before capturing them in a kiss. It was soft at first, closed-mouth kisses against each other before you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. He let your tongue slip into his mouth and you moved your hands to dig into his hair. The smell of him was surrounding you and you felt at peace for the first time since you had left for work that morning. Frank made everything so much better and you didn’t want to stop kissing him.

But then he pulled back, “I wanna keep kissin’ you, baby, but dinner’s gonna burn.” You pouted up at him but he gave you one last kiss to placate you before he walked back over to the kitchen. You switched the TV on and curled up under the mountains of blankets as you watched the crappy reality show on the TV and listened to the sound of Frank cooking.

Frank always seemed to know exactly what he needed to be and despite everything, despite everything, he was there for you. It made you love him so much.

<3

[spectersgirl]

hi! can you do one where harvey and the reader had a thing and it ended badly and they end up in court against each other or something like that? maybe they end up together after all? thanks!!

Loveeee flexing my angst muscles!

Ready for a Battle

Harvey Specter x Reader

-------

"You've gotta be fucking kidding" you muttered under your breath as you read over the paperwork for your latest case, noticing the attorney on record listed just so happened to be Harvey Specter. You'd dated a few years prior, but the ultimate killer to the relationship was that you and Harvey were very similar in stubbornness, causing you to fight and argue more than spend any actual time together.

You'd been lucky enough not to cross paths in all the time you'd been a lawyer since the breakup, but it seemed that your luck was running out. You placed your head in your hands in frustration, sighing before getting back to work on preparing for your case.

A few days went by of normalcy before you heard a knock on your office door, and they didn't wait to hear you answer before entering.

"Harvey, you know normally people knock to get permission before coming into a room." You said dryly.

Harvey smirked before striding to your desk, leaning on the corner before looking around appreciatively.

"I knew you'd tell me no, and I wanted to see this fancy corner office they gave you."

"Not too bad, huh? Don't worry, I'm sure Jessica will give you one soon enough." You replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"I have one of my own, I just wanted to see how much better mine is than yours."

You rolled your eyes at the cockiness, setting the file you'd been focused on aside, finally giving the man your full attention.

"Is there something I can do for you, Harvey?"

"No, but you can do something for you. You can settle this thing so it doesn't get ugly in court."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to pull. "Since when do you care about things getting ugly?"

"Since I noticed you were the attorney of record on this case. I don't want to see you get hurt." He replied, a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't identify.

"I think I can manage. Plus, it's not like it wouldn't be the first time you've seen me get hurt. I'm ready for a battle. Now, if there's nothing else, you can see yourself out. I've got a case to prepare. "

He paused for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sharpness of your tone, before shaking his head and heading for the door.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Y/N." He said before opening the door and leaving you to stew in your own thoughts.

The verbal banter continued throughout the trial, each argument met with a counterargument, every objection with a swift rebuttal. The tension between you two was undeniable, the courtroom atmosphere simmering with unspoken history.

Days turned into weeks, and the battle intensified. You won the case, barely, based on a technicality that you were thankful Harvey didn't catch during discovery. He'd come to your office later that day, clearly pissed about the verdict. The energy in the room turning nothing short of intense the moment he stepped foot inside. The arguing began immediately, the two of you throwing jabs left and right until Harvey took it one step too far, making it personal.

"You always were too blinded by your own stubbornness and ego to ever see the truth," Harvey retorted, his voice carrying an unexpected edge.

The words hung in the air, a sharp sting piercing through the facade of rivalry and through the high you'd had from winning the case. It was a line crossed, a jab that hit closer to home than intended. The hurt flashed across your eyes, and anger surged within, a tempest of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

"MY ego? MY stubbornness? You're one to talk, Harvey. You know why this didn't work out all those years ago and you know it wasn't all my fault. At least I never let my arrogance overshadow my competence," your voice, usually composed, held a hint of hurt.

Harvey's facade wavered, regret immediately swirling in his stomach as he realized the depth of his words. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry,"

But the damage was done, the rift between you widening with each passing moment. His apology hung in the air, sincere yet inadequate in the face of the pain it had caused.

It was later that evening when yet another knock interrupted the silence of your office. As you turned, Harvey stood in the doorway, a mixture of determination and vulnerability on his face. Without a word, he crossed the room, closing the space between you. His gaze was unwavering as he reached out, his hand cupping your cheek gently. You couldn't move, and you hardly breathed as he began speaking.

"I messed up. I messed up today when I got pissed and opened my mouth, and I messed up years ago by letting you walk away. I know that now, I guess I always have but I couldn't admit it. I can't let you walk out of my life again." Harvey's voice was earnest, devoid of the usual brashness.

Before you could respond, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a tender yet passionate kiss, one you'd been craving since the moment you left him all that time ago. In that moment, words became irrelevant as the depth of his regret and affection poured into you through the kiss.

As you pulled away breathlessly, the weight of the moment hit you both.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I... I shouldn't have done that, that wasn't fair to you. I just-" He stammered, but you stopped him with a gentle hand to his chest.

"Don't. Just come here" You replied, pulling him in once more and guiding his head down to yours for another kiss. You felt him smile as he ran his hands down your sides.

"I always hoped you'd come back." He whispered against your lips..

"I fought myself every day to not come running."

"Wish you would've"

"Me too"

[lciesdepravity]

Sold Out Series

Chaeyoung Arc Chapter 1-1: Thank you for your service A/N: Happy Last Day of NNN. To Celebrate, Here's Chae's fic. This might be a bit too depraved as I based it on my fave hentai. Enjoy.

"Wha-? What do you mean I got no choice?! This is ridiculous!"

"Sorry Chae. The decisions final. You know how the management is."

Manager unnie watched sympathetically as the young idol huffed and stomped petulantly in front of her.

It was rare for any of the girls to throw tantrums like this outright. It's just - with them being on an all time high in their career, the tension and stress inevitably piled up.

Which is why currently, Twice's Manager unnie is trying to patiently placate said idol.

"C'mon Chae. It'll be fine. The sooner we start, the earlier you'll finish. Besides... Its for a good cause anyway, right? You can make that your motivation today at least."

Another eye roll.

"*Huff* It's not like I don't want to do it. It's the fact that I gotta go alone. Ugh, whatever... Let's just go."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chaeyoung rubbed her sweaty palms together as she continuously fidgeted in the back seat. They've just entered the military complex.

From the car window, she could see the plain ass boring buildings and the continuous line of barracks stretching as far as the eye could see.

She gulped.

The sheer thought of having to entertain this many people today - alone no less, made her a panicking mess.

It didn't help that she was basically going in blind. All the company told her was that she was to go to a military fanmeet event to promote and uphold international friendship and alliances. Nothing more.

StupidJYP. Stupid military. Ugh, annoying!

Just then, she spotted a platoon of soldiers jogging along the barracks line. Their ripped, shirtless torsos gleamed against the harsh sun while their muscles flexed with every step. Sweat rolled off their pecs down to their toned abs, making Chae blush a crimson red hue.

Well... At least they've got some decent eye candy here...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything was such fucking whirlwind when she arrived on the venue. There was a line of soldiers standing in attention as she was escorted out of her car and into the backstage. Before she knew it, she was already getting ready to come out and start the show.

Whiny bitch mode off... Professional idol mode - On.

"Salute! Annyeonghaseyo~! Twice Chaeyoung imnida!"

The roar of the crowd was deafening, even to the point of almost drowning out the music. The idol smiled shyly, her hands trembling a tad bit as she clutched the microphone.

"I'm so happy to be here with all of you. Thank you for coming out to see me tonight. I hope you enjoy the show!"

As the music starts, the deep chorus of the soldiers' voices reverberated across the entire hall, chanting her name with such fervor that made her blush. 

"Chaeyoung! Chaeyoung! Chaeyoung!"

She wasn't used to hearing such loud cheers. T'was usually Nayeon or Sana that got the loudest pops afterall.

Chaeyoung waved at the crowd in appreciation, even throwing a few winks and blowing a couple of kisses. She even threw in a few hot twerks and sexy body rolls here and there. Fanservice to the max. She was surprised to see that not everyone in the crowd was Korean. In fact, there were quite a lot of Americans in attendance as well. Black, white, asian, the whole lot of men were cheering and even dancing some of their choreos. It was kind of cute actually.

Ooohh~ so this is what they meant when they said something about promoting and upholding international friendship and shit. I see. Hmm, well at least my English is decent enough.

As the music started to simmer down, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath and bows, to the absolute rain of cheers and adoration from the audience. She was about to wave goodbye and start her final speech when suddenly, from the backstage, a stern figure had walked out.

Judging by the stars on his uniform - and from the way all the other soldiers  stood in attention as soon as he walked in, it's safe to assume that this man was the commander in charge of this camp.

She stepped back. His glare, his aura, the way he carried himself - it was all so intimidating.

What the fuck is this old man's deal? O god I didn't make a mistake again did I?

Nervously she shuffled back. To her surprise, the commander stretched his right hand out and greeted her warmly.

"Thank you for coming Ms. Son. We appreciate you making time for all of us here."

She breathed a sigh of relief as she shook his hand.

"*Whew* N-no sir, I-it was my pleasure. Thank you for having me. Please invite me over again next time." She flashed him her signature toothy cub smile.

The commander just looked at her confusedly. 

"What's the rush Ms. Son? We have you booked for until tomorrow night if I remember correctly."

It was Chaeyoung's turn to looked confused. Manager unnie didn't say anything about that tho?  I thought I was only here for a mini event?

The commander pulled out an Ipad, scrolling through his emails till he got to the right one. "Ah! Found it! This is the receipt." He opened the file and showed Chaeyoung the receipt from JYPE.

"For the price of $10M USD, JYPE officially assigns Ms. Son Chaeyoung to be the 'Cumdump for the day' for the Alliance event."

What the fuck?

"What do you mean 'Cumdump for the day'?! I'm a fucking idol for fucks sake! I will not be treated like some common whore to be passed around for some alliance event. Go to hell!"

In a fit of rage, Chaeyoung threw the Ipad hard onto the floor, breaking the glass. The old commander remained calm however. He just walks right up to Chaeyoung's ear and whispers:

"Your brother is currently serving his time with us, yes?"

Chaeyoung freezes. Her brother. Her dear little brother who got forced into the mandatory military service. Shit.

Seeing her reaction, the commander smirked as he continued: "Such a shame if anything were to happen to him... Just because his sister breached the terms of our contract... Right~?"

Evil. This man was truly evil. Chae looked at him in contempt, only for the commander to slap her right across her face.

*Smack!*

"Look at me like that again, and I'll kill your brother myself.  Now, either you become the submissive bitch we paid for... Or... Well~ You know what happens. The choice is yours Ms. Son."

Chaeyoung's shoulders dropped in defeat. Choice? What kind of choice is that? Of course I don't want my brother to die... But....

She felt tears building on the corners of her eyes. Unfortunately for her, he commander had no mercy.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and cupped her jaws harshly, making her look him in the eyes.

"This one's useless." He says, his voice gravelly as he scans her face. He looks to a nearby Private and signals him over.

"Call JYP and ask for a refund. Tell them their idol is not cooperating, and to send us another one. Maybe... Ask them for Mina instead. The soldiers would definitely be happy breaking that posh Japanese bitch."

The mention of Mina's name immediately brought Chaeyoung back to her senses. Immediately she stopped the soldiers.

"W-wait! Please, don't. I-I'll do it!"

Anything to protect her. Everything for her.

In an instant, she was on her knees, looking at the soldiers with desperate, pleading eyes. The commander smirked, gesturing to the private beside him.

"Have all the men line up behind me. Let's get started then."

Chaeyoung's eyes widened as all the soldiers scrambled to get in line, everyone excitedly taking off their clothes. A camera focused on her and transmitted the event on the big screen above for all of them to see.

She gulped. The men numbered in the low hundreds at least. She hoped she would survive.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her eyes were drawn towards the imposing figure of the commander, still fully clothed. His stern eyes looked at her expectantly, and she got the message.

With trembling hands, she undoes his belt and trousers, up until his semi erect cock popped out. Her eyes widen.

This is... Definitely not the cock of a middle aged man.

Whilst his cock stood at a decent length (5 inches at most), it's girth was wide and veiny.

She licked her lips as they parted, slowly darting out to kiss the slowly awakening cock head.

*Tsup*

It twitched. She moved her hands to jack him off but the commander slapped them away.

"No hands. Use those plump lips and talented tongue of yours." He demanded.

Fuck... My jaw's definitely gonna be sore after this...

With a hesitant nod, she darted her tongue, licking through the length of his cock as her lips form a tight seal around his bulbous cock head.

And then she starts bobbing.

"*Slurp* *slurp* Gulck Mmmph~"

His cock was so girthy she struggled to take it halfway. The further she takes him down her throat, the more she gags. She looks up at his stoic facade and panicked.

You can do this Chae. For your brother... And for Mina.

Inch by fucking inch, she takes him down her throat, gagging and choking on his thick dick all the way.

"Mmmph~ gawk mmmph..."

Finally, she feels her lips press down at the end of the commander's cock and feels some relief. Tears may be prickling the sides of her eyes, but she did it. She looked up at him with those cute eyes, begging for some sort of approval.

"Mmm~ fuck. Good girl... Do more." He says as he let out a shaky breath, his head thrown back in pleasure.

She smiles, finally getting a reaction from him. Eager to get this over with, she renews her blowjob with vigor.

In and out, in and out. She takes his cock in her wet hot mouth over and over again. Her lips seal around his head to intensify the pleasure, and soon enough he was grasping her hair.

"Fuck... Ms. Son. I'm gonna cum... ARGGH! Fucking take it!"

With a firm grip, he buries Chaeyoung's nose deep in his pubes as spurt after spurt he cums, his white hot spunk dumped straight down her fucking throat.

"Gulck Mmmppph!~" She slaps his thighs, begging for air but to no avail. He holds her down till he finishes.

Eventually he lets go, and Chaeyoung immediately gasps for air. Cum dripping down her throat as she nearly retches from all the cum.

Blegh! So much cum. *Ptoo* She spits.

*Smack!*

The commander slaps her once again.

"Ungrateful bitch! Don't let our cum go to waste. I want you to swallow each and every load deposited in that mouth of yours. Then, thank us for our service afterwards understand?!"

He feints to slap her once more and she recoils, nodding her head rapidly to avoid getting hit again.

"I-I'm sorry Sir! T-thank you for your service."

He withdraws his hand and buckles pants up once again.

"Good. Now, look in the camera and introduce yourselves to the soldiers once again. Tell them your role for the day."

Another nod.

"A-annyeonghaseyo. I-I'm Chaeyoung of Twice, a-and today, I'll be your cum toilet. P-please deposit your all cum in my mouth!"

...

...

The subsequent roar was deafening. The echoes of her name bounced all over the walls. The commander nodded to his men before fucks off to god knows where.

"Enjoy."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first soldier that stepped up was a young Korean man. Oh he was definitely her fan.

"C-chaeyoung-ah. I-I'm your biggest fan." He stutters as he fumbles his cock in her face.

She smiles at him and nods, although deep inside she cringes.

Tsk, never thought I'd be sucking off a fan. Well, at least his cock's small...

As she starts to suck him off, he caresses her face.

"F-fuck... Chae~ uhh~ I've fapped to your pics so many times. *Slurp* Uhh~ I've always fantasized about these dick sucking lips of yours sucking me off."

She mentally rolls her eyes, annoyed at him. Ugh, one of those creepy one eh?

Suddenly, his hips start thrusting erratically, and with one flick of her tongue, he cums.

"F-fuck I-I'm cumming. N-nooooo~" Pathetically, he cums, not even a minute into the blowjob.

Chaeyoung almost giggles as she licks her lips clean.

"Thank you for your service!" She says, waving at him tauntingly.

It continued like this for awhile. Man after man, blowing their loads in her mouth prematurely.

Hah! Is that it? They cum so easily! This is going to be easy!

"N-no! I can still go!" The last man protests, trying to make her suck him again. The other officers in charge however stopped him.

"There's a long line behind you son! You blew your chance. Now git!"

The man was stubborn as he struggles to move pass them. Suddenly, the next man in line lifts him up and throws him out.

"Move foo! Its mah turn. Let me show you how it's done."

Chaeyoung's draw drops as she sees the next man in line. His dark hulking figure towered over her as he walks. Confidently, he presents his big black cock to the young idol.

Holy shhit... That things gonna annihilate me.

His cock stood at a proud 11 inches, with a girth as wide as her forearm. Thick veins pulsed through its length, and his cock head was swollen. She gaped. No way this things gonna fit.

Taking advantage of her open mouth, he forced his cock in, immediately impaling her throat with his swollen cock head.

She smacked his thighs, begging for some semblance of control or mercy, but was given neither. The black man held the back of her head tight, and fucked her face like a goddamn Fleshlight.

"Gawk gawk gawk gawk mmmmppphhh!~" Sounds of her gagging and choking reverberated all over the hall, the extreme facefucking being broadcasted on the big screen overhead.

They all watch as Chaeyoung's tight little mouth gets impaled by this big black monster cock over and over again, her head being held like a fuckdoll.

Being facefucked so roughly is making her gag and choke so much that drool is seeping from the side of her mouth. Not to mention, with every thrust, his big balls slap against her chin, making her face one hell of a drooly mess.

"Gawk gulck gulck gawk"

...

Its been 10 minutes, and the fucker still hasn't cum. Chaeyoung's jaw was starting to hurt from the relentless facefucking when suddenly, he pushes her all the way down the base of his cock.

"I'm fucking cumming slut. Take it all!"

The outline of his cock bulges against her throat as it pulses, spurt after spurt of his thick gooey cum being deposited straight to her stomach.

For an entire minute he cums, holding her down all the while. She chokes, she gags, she slaps his thighs and tries to break free of his grip, to gasp for some well needed air, but his grip is ironclad.

Eventually, she resigns to her fate and falls limp, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he continues cumming.

Finally, he lets go, and Chaeyoung violently gasps for air. She coughs and coughs, feeling some remnants of his cum stuck in her windpipe.

"Oy, where's my thanks bitch?" He postures to hit her.

"*Cough* *Cough* Ack-! T-thank you *Cough* for your service..."

Holy fuck, he fucked my face so hard. I hope the next one is....

Much to her dismay, the next one was just like him, big and black. Her eyes widen as she sees the line haven't really gone down much at all.

"Less staring, more sucking bitch. There's plenty more where that came from." Said the next guy as he steps forward.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gawk gawk gawk gawk Ahhnn~ T-thank you for your service. *Tsup*"

As the 20th man walked away, Chaeyoung could feel the fatigue settling in. Her throat and jaw were hurting bad. Just then, an officer stepped up.

M-maybe he'll be giving me some rest?

Yeah cute. Haha.

All hopes of rest were dashed as the officer spoke.

"Alright you fucks listen up! This is taking too long. So, as per the commander's orders, we will split into two lines and spitroast the bitch!"

Chaeyoung blanched in horror as she sees the men cheer and separate into two distinct lines. She tries to protest.

"W-wait, that wasn't in the -"

*Smack!*

"Shut it bitch! Cumdumps are not to speak!"

The men tore her clothes apart and bent her over like a bitch. One white soldier with a big white cock stepped behind her, while one black cock smacked her face.

The white man held her by the arms, using it as handles as he drives deep into her cunt.

"W-wait please do - mmmphh!~" Before she could protest, the black man shoves his cock in her mouth.

They penetrate her in unison and she unexpectedly cums, not knowing they drugged their cocks with aphrodisiacs to make her wet.

After all, wet hot sweltering tight pussy is best pussy.

"Look at this bitch, cumming all over our cocks. Hah! Not so high and purdy now are ya darlin? Hey Ricky! Let's give it to her!" The black man grinned and nodded.

Chaeyoung was completely and utterly fucked.

She was pingponged like a ball, back and forth, back and forth they thrusted in perfect rhythm. All the while shes squirting like a bitch in heat.

"Plok plok plok plok" "Gawk gawk gawk gawk"

"T-thank you for your s-servi- gulck gulck gulck!"

She couldn't get the words fast enough as another soldier fucks her face. Man after man came, and man after man replaced each other to fuck her sloppy holes.

Her eyes were rolled all the way back to her head, her body shaking in overstimulation. Her arms and legs fell limp by her side as she was help up only by their cocks. Her entire body was caked in cum until eventually, she passes out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she came to, she was still being used. The line was still a quarter remaining, her pussy was sore, her ass was sore, her jaw was sore.

"P-please. N-no more. Mercy..."

No. No mercy to be had here.

Each man came inside her, filling her up to the brim, and yet they still fucked her. Dollops of cum dripped out from all her holes and still they came.

It was late in the next afternoon when they finished, no man was left in the hall. They were all called to the daily exercises already. Center stage, Chaeyoung was a fucked out mess, lying a pool of cum. Her eyes were rolled up, her legs bowlegged and her pussy twitching. Her belly was swollen with cum and all her holes were gaped wide open. Over and over, like a mantra she repeated:

"T-thank you fow your shervish~"

The commander stood over her fucked out body, gesturing to his men.

"Get her fed and clean her up, this is only the beginning. Pay JYP for the contract extension." He says as he walks away.

"Oh... And pay them for Mina next."

Next Chapter: 1-2 Chaeyoung Arc; 2-for-1 Deal (TBC)

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | THE FINAL CHAPTER | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

The day of the fight has arrived.

Warnings: fighting, violence (fighting is described, though no explicit mentions of blood or injury), kissing, fingering, referenced vaginal sex, referenced creampie, biting, marking.

Notes: Thank you so much to every one that has stuck with it and read this all! Everyone who liked, reblogged, replied, sent messages - I see you and appreciate you all!!

The support kept this all going.

As for these two, I do have little vignettes here and there that are partially written that I plan to post down the line (a little epilogue maybe, though not part of the main story). Whether you stick around or not, I appreciate you.

FIRST CHAPTER

FIGHT NIGHT MASTERLIST

With the day of the fight finally here, you find that you can’t remember ever having such a palpable feeling of anticipation. Your head is spinning, your stomach tightened into knots, and you’re almost numbed out from all the electricity coursing through every inch of your skin. It’s exciting, it’s scary, it’s… something you would have thought was leaving Sukuna entirely unaffected if you didn’t know him so well.

On the outside he is calm, but it’s something far to the left of the indifference you’ve seen from him in the face of most things. From the moment he wakes up, sitting at the edge of the bed, letting out the contented sighs of a well-rested man, Sukuna is in the zone.

Within that space he is more and less there all at once, eyes keen on your every movement as you eat your breakfast across the table from him, steady breaths a little louder than usual - as if his lungs were making up for his blood coursing a little faster.

He’s attuned to everything, but slow to respond. Eating much more slowly than you were used to, movements so deliberate it was as though his senses were near overload and taking things in properly was the only way to keep that frenzy at bay. Taking a second for his eyes to look at the totality of your face rather than the minutiae of your rising brows and crinkling eyes as you wish him luck. Not squeezing your hand back as quickly as usual when you hold onto him that little bit longer before he has to go.

He comes back to you for a moment as he says his goodbye to meet his team at the venue, as he grabs at your hand again, squeezing it more firmly now that he’s lowered the simmer of the adrenaline coursing through him enough to feel you.

“Don’t go losing your voice screaming for me out there.”

You smile, pulling your tightly clasped hands closer to press a kiss to his fingers, before tilting your head up and raising to your toes in a silent indication of what you needed to get you through the next few hours. He dips his head down, steadies you by the hip, and his eyes flash as you lean just out of the path of his kiss.

“I’ve gotta make sure you hear me.”

He smiles. “I will.”

When he leans in further, til his hands are the only thing keeping you upright, you don’t evade him, letting him pour just a little of that pumping blood and barely contained energy into you with the power of his kisses. His hands grope at your hips, then your ass, as he presses you against him and slots a thigh between your legs. It isn’t the time for this, you know that, but he’s turned a sensible goodbye kiss into something more as he encourages you to grind your hips against him, teeth catching at your bottom lip as he keeps his blown pupils on your face as if memorising every little expression he could pull out of you.

Then, he pulls back and you’re both left panting for different reasons, you because there was no room for air within the fervour of that kiss, him because he’s left with the slightest tremble from all the restraint it takes to keep his pent up adrenaline on ice until it was really needed, later tonight.

You end with a soft kiss to his lips, then his cheek, and he basks in that for a moment, tempered down to his prior quiet intensity, before he takes his leave as you watch him go.

The day feels too long on your own, padding around his house, feeling as though you’re just as pent up as Sukuna, except you don’t have punching bags and sparring partners to release a little of it on before tonight.

Eventually, you decide to just do what you can in the meantime. A nice bath to calm your nerves, carefully shaved legs, painted toes for your heels, makeup applied with much more care than during your usual rush to get ready to go out.

As the time to leave arrives, you stand in Sukuna’s walk-in closet, smelling like your own warm perfume instead of Sukuna for the first time in what felt like ages. As you stand in front of the floor length mirror mounted on the wall, pulling on your soft blue dress and securing the few buttons at the neck, you find your reflection smiling back at you.

You turn around, looking at yourself over your shoulder, your body hugged, your back exposed, you let out a little chuckle at how out of left field the dress had seemed at first. Looking at it now, it’s a bit of how Sukuna saw you, light and soft with that visible helping of strength and structure around the edges, despite its ability to stretch and contour perfectly. It’s a bit of him too, reserved at first glance, but turn it around and it bares more than you would have ever thought.

And, despite being the brightest thing among the racks and shelves of shoes and suits and various items that blend together with their darkened tones, you fit in here perfectly.

You run your hands down your body, sigh, then leave to get into the car awaiting you outside.

When you reach the venue, you’re recognized by one of the workers, confirming your name and giving you a wristband. It’s your first taste in a while of that VIP experience that was provided just by being in proximity to Sukuna, and as you’re escorted past the mass of people waiting to filter into their sections, you’re grateful for it.

First, you’re brought to a separate bar meant just for the attendees in your section, though you decide to forego alcohol entirely. It wouldn’t usually be your move, but you want to pace yourself for what’s to come.

Then, you’re shown your seats. It’s as good of a view as Sukuna had promised, right at the front only feet away from where fighters will enter the ring, and only a handful of people away from the walkway they’d be coming up too.

Once the event starts, the night is a stop start of building anticipation. Things go fast during the fights themselves, leaving you feeling like a poorly timed blink would have the clock lurching forward in that half-second your eyes were shut. Then, once the fights are won - whether by decision, knock out, submission, or otherwise - time drags as you look around for any indication that you’d soon be getting another fight out of the way in your wait for the main event.

When the time finally comes, the lights go down entirely, and you find yourself screaming and cheering despite knowing Sukuna would not be the one coming out first. The energy is infectious, and you need to finally do something with the nerves that had built up steadily over the last few hours. So you clap, and look around, before focusing on the easiest screen to watch in order to see the entrances clearly without straining at the distance.

Pink and blue lights cut through the darkness, and suddenly a high energy song starts playing as bright white lights join in a rapid flash and speedy sway. The crowd starts cheering even louder - picking up on and clapping out the beat to the pop song they surely did not know.

As you watch the screen above, Todo comes out, side hopping as if he were already in the ring, hands up and clapping as if it were the crowd that needed hyping up for what was to come. His team follows, walking fast to catch up with his frenetic movements, and among them is Yuuji, clapping along more energetically than the others, who maintain a more serious face befitting such an event.

The song reaches its chorus as Todo races down the gated path with both arms up and out, and people reach over the railings to happily receive the high fives he gives as he goes. You wonder for a second if it would count as a betrayal to clap along to the song with everyone else, but in the end you decide a bop is a bop, and know that you’ll be showing ten times the energy for your boyfriend.

Once he reaches the steps up to the ring, he rocks from side to side on his feet, pulling his shirt over his head and kicking off his slides for this team to pick up. He’s checked over one last time, showing his gloves and mouth piece, nodding when he’s given the thumbs up, and he turns back to Yuuji and bumps fists with him. He faces the ring, bending down slightly, and the pink-haired boy brings his arm back, winding up as if he were some kind of pro pitcher, and delivers a massive open-handed blow to the centre of Todo’s back.

It seems to give the man an even bigger boost of energy, as he roars and flexes before running up the stairs and into the ring where he starts circling and waving at the crowd.

As the crowd continues cheering, finding the man’s hype up attempts exhilarating, you let out a shaky breath, knowing the moment you’d been waiting for is coming next as you find yourself unable to contain your smile.

The lights go out, leaving the crowd in darkness much, much longer than they had been for previous entrances. As the music starts, only a few red lights illuminate the arena, just enough to adjust to the view of the awaiting entrance. A guitar drones, joined quickly by crashing symbols, then a kick drum beating powerfully enough that you can feel it in your chest. The vocals are much more melodic than the screaming crowd, already worked up into a frenzy over the anticipation of seeing Sukuna emerge. Singing turns to growls as the man, The King, comes into view.

The crowd erupts into a cacophony of screams and shrieks and boos and claps. He does not display the same theatrics that Todo had, standing straight save for his rounded shoulders and head tipped forward enough that, when paired with his steady gait and intense yet half-lidded eyes locked only on his destination, he looks like a predator stalking its prey.

The men trailing behind him hold the same energy, calm with a bubbling intensity, slowly following the man as if he were carving out the only path available to him and anyone with him: one to victory.

He makes his way far enough that you no longer have to rely on the screens to see him clearly, able to make out his tall self through the watching heads of those surrounding you.

He looks intense, more so than you’d ever seen him, and the difference of seeing that face up close versus on a screen is thrilling. As he stops to remove his robe and shoes, you want to push past the few people between you and the small divider to lean over and scream and cheer so you can be sure he hears you just as you said he would, but you know he feels your support - even if he is too focused to look for you.

Todo has stopped his skip around the stage at some point, pacing back and forth in his corner as Sukuna takes his own place. The announcer stands between them, flashy movements and excitable voice hyping the crowd up further as he lists out the records and stats of the fighters before him. Once he gets to Sukuna, and his record of flawless victories, those boos and cheers build up again until your ears are ringing. The applause only grow louder as the announcer finishes his job with a flourish and makes way for the referee as all but the three men filter out of the ring.

The crowd finds themselves a steady rhythm with their claps as the referee finishes whatever standard instruction he was giving. Sukuna reaches an arm out to tap gloves and the people around you gasp. You only smile, knowing by now from your time spent reading of his reputation that he doesn’t show any of these typical niceties, something that leaves a bad taste in the mouths of many.

It seems it’s for nothing, though, as the rare gesture is not returned. Instead, Todo stares him down and backs away to take his place in his corner. Sukuna raises his brows, accepting the rebuff of his uncharacteristic sportsmanship, and returns to his own corner. The referee looks at Todo, who gives a nod. Then to Sukuna, who does the same. He brings his arm down quickly at the centre of the ring and backs up for the men to approach each other and begin.

You’re tense, holding your breath, and the crowd has quieted down as well while you all wait for that first punch to land. Both men close in on the centre of the ring. Sukuna doesn’t bother to raise his hands high enough to guard his face, showing his confidence, or rather his disrespect. Todo doesn’t bother either as he displays his speed by dodging Sukuna’s first punch, though with the look on his face as he throws it you can see he’s only testing the younger man.

Todo’s hands stay down, as he flicks his upper body side to side faster than a man so large had any right to, and the people behind you comment on how bold it was to give Sukuna free access to his face.

It’s an invitation he does not take, however, as Sukuna instead delivers a kick to Todo’s ribs - something the younger man neither foresees nor dodges. The blow connects with a smack loud enough to make you release the breath you were holding while Todo in turn lets out a heavy huff and takes several steps back to remove himself from Sukuna’s reach. Sukuna does not capitalise on taking the man by surprise, instead spreading his arms as he shouts a taunt, and you don’t need a translator to know he’s telling him to make a move.

He does, closing in with a flurry of punches, and Sukuna only throws one hand up, taking the majority of the hits there as he turns his body. Todo hops back, unperturbed by how ineffective his strikes were, and this time when he closes the gap less shots are delivered, though each holds more power. It’s enough to have Sukuna blocking properly for the first time, enough to have him laughing as well, a sound that unsettles and excites you even though it was not even sent in your direction.

The next move is made by Sukuna, a combination of only two punches, both dodged by Todo well, then as the younger man begins to respond with strikes of his own, Sukuna throws a surprise uppercut. It lacks the momentum of the first two, but hits hard regardless, sending Todo back out of his reach yet again with light hops.

The clappers sound, indicating to the men that there was only ten seconds left in the round, and as Todo closes in on Sukuna with punches that seem to now have both the speed of the first flurry and the power of the second, he is met with Sukuna dodging in the same way the younger man had in the opening seconds of the round, arms down and swaying side to side.

Then, the horn sounds and the round is over. Sukuna turns his back to Todo to return to his corner, smiling as he does. Todo looks surprised, but his smile matches his opponents as he returns to his corner as well, accepting the rough pats on the shoulder from Yuuji as another teammate sets a stool down for him to sit on.

You look back and forth between the teams, frustrated as you wish you could hear what was being said. Whatever is being discussed, Todo nods along, getting more and more hyped up with every sentence. Sukuna shows no such emotion, raising a brow every so often at the instruction being given to him as he drinks deeply from the bottle being held at his lips.

The seconds pass quickly as the men then stand and their respective teams filter back out, and you feel like you’ve hardly had a chance to catch your breath, though the men seem fine as they take their places and wait for the referee to begin anew.

Just as before, the referee’s hand is brought down quickly, then men close in, and this time they both swing at once. Sukuna dodges nothing, taking hits straight to the face and chest and only letting sharp breaths out with the force of the blows as he delivers a left hook and an uppercut with much more strength than any blows he’d dealt in the previous round.

Todo is clearly jarred by the sudden uptick in power judging by his wide eyes and now desperate flurry he presses forward in hopes of rocking Sukuna somehow, despite how the larger man has begun speaking out a string of something too low for you to understand, even if it hadn’t been in their shared language.

Sukuna only continues, eating hits as he delivers what seems to be an accumulation of the damage he was taking every so often, letting out what you now understood to be teasing encouragement as Todo does all he can to evade the few blows while trying to whittle Sukuna down. Then, Todo spins, swinging his leg round and connecting his calf with Sukuna’s side in a hefty kick, and it sends the larger man stumbling a few steps to the side.

Sukuna’s eyes are crazed as he smiles wide enough that his black mouth guard turns his grin into something ghoulish, and he nods excitedly at having received such a blow. Todo is taken aback by the reaction, but bounces from foot to foot faster, confidence bolstered, and he delivers another combination of punches, ending with a missed elbow as Sukuna dodges.

Just on the tail of the sequence, he spins again, this time faster and with stronger momentum carried in his strong legs, but this time Sukuna swings when Todo has no chance of stopping his path right into the charging blow. It connects with Todo’s jaw, sending him off his foot and onto the ground.

Even with as quick as he is to get back on his feet, he’s not as quick as Sukuna, who uses the momentum of his large step forward to send a low swing right into the side of Todo’s head. He’s still fighting, still alert despite the force of the hit, but is sent rolling onto his back nonetheless, and Sukuna only carries on. Todo brings his knees up, trying to guard his stomach so he doesn’t get straddled and left with no ability to scramble out of the situation, but it doesn’t matter as Sukuna seats himself on the man’s shins and rains down punches from above.

Todo swings blindly, far from having enough reach to be effective in this position, and eats punch after punch until his head is bouncing off of the ground and the referee dives in, waving his arms to call the fight finished.

Second round. Just as Sukuna had promised.

He stands, peering down at Todo as the medical staff filters in, and extends his hand in an offer to help him up. This time, he accepts the gesture, though they release each other quickly once their respective teams are filtering in.

Medics surround Todo, checking him over as the crowd cheers, and you focus on Sukuna. He’s not quite winded, but still catching his breath as he leans down for his team to remove his mouth piece and offer him water. He looks pleased with himself, smiling and accepting praise from the men around him, offering only the smallest glance at the crowd as they continue in their frenzy.

Then, having been cleared as having no immediately pressing injuries, Todo is brought to the centre of the ring to speak first. He’s asked easy questions: how he felt about taking the fight on such short notice, how he got so brave to do such a thing, then he’s given an opportunity to thank his team and say a few words.

As Todo makes his speech, microphone held between him and his interpreter, everyone watches on between cheers and claps. All eyes are on him for a moment, thanks to his impressive performance, despite the loss. However, your eyes are only on Sukuna. He seems like he’s still catching his breath, chest heaving, breathing harshly through his nose, but you know better with the way his eyes are slightly wider than you were used to, and his mouth held in that tensed line. He’s watching his brother.

His gaze is felt, as the boy turns from watching Todo make his speech, to locking eyes with Sukuna. You can’t see his face, you can only see Sukuna’s, but from his eyes alone you know he’s trying not to look so far away from what’s happening. As Yuuji approaches him, Sukuna leans down to hear whatever he has to say over the crowd, and whatever it is seems to change something in him.

His face softens as he responds, tension beginning to leave him, and your heart skips a beat as he even smiles at whatever he and his brother were talking about. It’s a tired smile, one of acceptance, but a smile nonetheless.

The exchange is only a few minutes at best, but what was communicated seems to have been volumes worth as the conversation is punctuated with quickly clasped hands, followed by the boy tugging his brother in to bump shoulders and slap him on the back. Sukuna matches the handshake of sorts, with surprising strength that his brother seems unphased by, and then he rejoins Todo’s side at the edge of the ring as it’s Sukuna’s turn to speak into the microphone.

“Ryomen The King Sukuna, wow!” The interviewer laughs and spreads his arms wide with a tilt of his head, clearly feeling that the result of the match was an inevitability, before he gives Sukuna the smallest prompt for his speech, “What a show the two of you put on, were you expecting that level of tenacity from a guy so young?”

“I was expecting to win. Easily. And I did.”

The crowd starts with a low rumble of boos, but Sukuna carries on as if they were too weak to reach his ears.

“It gets boring, going up against the waste that seems to want to challenge me, and I was hoping for something from Fushiguro before he went and got himself injured yet again.”

The boos only get louder, until the interviewer is looking back at the crowd and shrugging, both enjoying the energy yet wanting a clean sound bite as Sukuna continues.

“But, this new blood was needed, and welcome. I look forward to fighting him again when he reaches his full potential.”

Just like that, the crowd is turned, now cheering and applauding as Sukuna is finished and turns to leave the ring.

The interviewer rounds out his speech in his absence, gesturing to Sukuna’s back as he shouts, “Ladies and gentlemen: the man, the myth, the legend, Ryomen The King Sukunaaaa!”

He leads the group as everyone leaves the ring, and this time you do push past the few people between yourself and the edge of your section, cheering over the divide. He hears your voice through the swell of the crowd, locking eyes and smiling. Then your heart is racing as medical staff and coordinators part and allow him a path toward you, lest they be shoved out of his way.

You expect an acknowledgment, maybe even a pat on the back or a quick kiss, but instead Sukuna is sliding his still-gloved hands under your arms, hooking them around your waist and pulling you over the divide. He sets you down next to him, making sure you’re steady on your heels, and guides you along down the walkway with a hand on your back.

Your head is spinning, your heart is racing, and he’s gotten sweat on your dress, but you don’t care. You’re by his side.

When you’re back to his dressing room, surrounded by staff and his team as the buzzing crowd is muffled by the distance, you want to kiss him then and there. Drag him out of everyone’s view and fuck him just as you had so many times before all of this, but he’s shown so much restraint for your sake, so you show the same for his as he goes through the post-fight motions.

The medical checks are boring, as is waiting with his coaches while he showers and gets changed, but through it all Sukuna looks to you, hands never far from touching your back, your side, your thighs, promising that he’ll make it worth all the waiting tonight.

Eventually, with his brows iced and slightly less swollen than before, and his hands and ribs checked over, and the messier parts of his fight washed away, you do indulge - grabbing at his broad shoulders to pull him down into your kiss. He accepts it happily, chuckling at how little you care of the small audience present, knowing that he never cared in the first place, and he sends a low hum into your mouth as you tangle a hand into his hair.

His hands run down and around your body, fingertips threatening to dip below the fabric only inches above your ass, and you arch your back, inviting him to do as he pleases.

Instead, he pulls back slightly, eyes on yours as if you were the only one in the room, tip of his tongue tracing your parted lips as he’s smiling down at you with want.

“Pace yourself, we’ve got a big night ahead of us.”

The look you share then is enough to keep you satisfied for the time being, and you nod as he brushes a thumb across your bottom lip in a silent promise that it’ll all be worth it, that he won’t let you want for anything tonight, or any night.

Hours later, when the sun is coming up and you’re running on fumes in the back of his hired car, he’s kept that promise. With his head resting on your shoulder, tongue and lips and teeth keeping his marks on your neck fresh. With his fingers inside of you, slipping through what he’s left with you through the night and threatening to give you your dozenth orgasm with the slightest provocation. With his promises that he’ll clean you up and keep you warm in his bed once the two of you are home. It is worth it, all of it.

And you think it always will be.

[angry-geese]

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything. 

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7. 

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer. 

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room. 

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say. 

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two? 

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path. 

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!” 

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn. 

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself. 

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying. 

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her. 

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says. 

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable. 

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring. 

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter. 

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him. 

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised. 

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet. 

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this. 

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable. 

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away. 

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in. 

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself. 

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway. 

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do. 

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments. 

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well. 

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in. 

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt. 

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee. 

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger. 

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all. 

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

[jinxhallows]

kinktober #oo3 | my turn

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows my turn (role reversal) || jisung x fem!reader summary: you have the coolest partner in the world, the literal rockstar Jisung of the band Eternal, and the best part? you knew he was one before the rest of the world found out. you two met over a shared love of music, and you let your dreams fall to the wayside to support his. but when jisung hears you with his band for the first time, the roles are reversed, and he becomes your biggest fan. warnings: rather fluffy for kinktober, plot heavy, pet names, established relationship, non-kpop idol AU.

word count: 3.2k masterlist - click here

You’re a supportive girlfriend, so it's your job to be the one front and center when your boyfriend performs at festivals, waving a big sign around like an average fan, despite the badge hanging from your neck indicating you were very much not an average fan, and had full and complete access to the artist.   Jisung is undoubtedly a rockstar, the charismatic lead guitarist and vocalist of the alternative rock sensation, Eternal. Following the blazing success of their recent single on the radio, their demand has skyrocketed, securing them bookings at renowned festivals with extensive media coverage.    But your unwavering enthusiasm for Jisung's music dates back to the days when it was just him and his band in a rented-out rehearsal room inside an old warehouse in your hometown. There, you'd watch him perform, feeling your heart swell with pride and admiration as he poured his soul into his music, singing about his tumultuous past. 

In the last two of your five-year relationship, Jisung has been urging you to step into the limelight with your own unique voice. He's convinced that your vocals have a distinctive quality, a gritty edge that perfectly complements grunge and rock music. However, you've hesitated, recalling your past as a pop artist that didn't quite take off. You're afraid of experiencing the heartbreak of the music industry all over again. 

It's been easier to live vicariously through Jisung's success, still being close to the music scene that makes you feel alive. Your dreams haven't faded entirely, but for now, they simmer on the backburner. 

  After a year of pestering you, Jisung manages to convince you to get on the microphone after you two have shared a few beers and a couple of shots in between runs of his set at rehearsal.  You’re barely walking, and he’s pushing you while you make an effort to lean back against him, half fighting and stumbling your way up.    Giving him a sideways glance, he winks at you and turns to his rack of three guitars. He selects his vintage strat, slides the leather strap over his head, taps his foot on his pedalboard with a dozen pedals, exchanges nods with his drummer and bassist, and begins strumming chords.   

As the chords fill the air, they feel almost deliciously right, which is no surprise. Jisung knows your musical tastes well—Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Staind, 3 Doors Down, Nickelback—and he's giving you something distinctly different from his usual style, something that resonates with your soul.  You close your eyes, furrowing your brow in concentration as you sway to the chords. Then, you open your mouth, and the words flow effortlessly:    My anxiety,    It just ain’t been getting down with your sobriety    As the words leave your lips, you're pleasantly surprised at how good they sound, both vocally and lyrically. 

Jisung signals the band to continue with a circular motion of his finger. He adjusts his playing to complement your voice, encouraging you to keep going. 

Closing your eyes once more, you raise the microphone to your lips: 

  My anxiety,    It just ain't been getting down with your sobriety    And I can tell how things are changin’ cause you’re just like me.    The next set of words come to you within seconds.    And I’m gonna take you to that place where you don’t wanna be, don’t gotta be.    You hear that familiar switch and whirr of the high pitched amp as Jisung switches pedals again, the sound harder, with more overdrive.  His strumming pattern has changed, and it makes you feel like a chorus should come out naturally.    Take me out onto the wide and open roads,    I’m just waiting for you to tell me when to go.    We can take it slow,    I don’t have to know.    But I can’t promise that you’ll find your way back home.    You're completely immersed in the world of your lyrics, lost in the music until you hear Jisung's whistle followed by hearty laughter as the band comes to a stop. 

Jisung steps on a pedal, deactivating the overdrive, and asks, "Holy shit, did you write that, y/n?" 

You shrug, "No, it just came out—the way you were playing, that's just what came out." 

He widens his eyes, brows raising in surprise. "Wait, you mean to tell me you came up with that off the top of your head?" 

You look at him, puzzled. "Jisung, we do this at home all the time. We freestyle together when we're drunk. I used to be a musician. Is this new information?" 

He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. You know I've never heard you with a live band. When we freestyle when we're drunk, you don't come up with stuff like that. That was... poetry." 

  Jisung steps back and adjusts his pedals, strumming lightly. "Do the same thing, but Troy, hold out that E string through the first eight bars." 

And so, your very first alternative rock song, 'Home,' was born during an organic jam session. It was so impressive that Jisung funded its professional recording in a studio and helped you release it as a single, under his publishing. 

  You landed 68k streams in the first week.    People were hungry for more.    The band lent their full support as you embarked on your first major project, a small EP comprising eight remarkable songs. The pinnacle of your excitement came when you received news that you were invited to perform at none other than the prestigious Coachella festival. 

Your excitement matched the enthusiasm radiating from Jisung. He couldn't contain his joy, and as the news broke, he screamed, hugging you tightly and even jumping up and down with sheer delight. When he finally released you from the hug, his eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he looked into your eyes. "I get to be your groupie now," he exclaimed.    & Jisung meant that shit.    He purposefully schedules a leg of his tour to leave that night open so he can be free to attend and play for your performance, instead of the hired gun guitarist that takes his place when he has to prioritize his own band.  He’s headlining a top venue in the city the next night, but tonight is all about you.      But for tonight, Jisung is your guitarist, so he can’t wave a sign in the crowd for you like you do for him, so he gets a little creative.  As the band began playing the intro to your song, the stage lights transform into a dim, muted blue, and you gaze out at the vast, massive crowd before you. It is undoubtedly the largest audience you have ever performed for in your career. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jisung stepping up to his microphone, still strumming his guitar. "Tonight is special to me, to be playing for Y/N, really, it's an honor," he announced, causing you to cover your mouth and nose with your hands, concealing your wide smile as the crowd erupted in cheers, urging him to continue. 

  "I am her biggest fan, and it sucks that I can't be in the audience, watching you do your thing from their point of view," Jisung continued with effortless stage presence. Laughter and whoops filled the air as he spoke, still strumming his guitar. "You guys are some lucky motherfuckers." His stage presence is effortless as the crowd reacts with laughter and whoops.  He’s still playing, the band perfectly vamping the song in the background as he points to the front row, “So I gathered some fans to help me out tonight.”    Before your very eyes, signs go up one by one across the front.    M A R R Y  M E ?    You take a step back, your eyes widen as you squint to see. The crowd's deafening roar and the giant screen above capture the moment, alternating between the sign and your bewildered expression. It's a surprise you could never predict.   

"Jisung—" you begin to exclaim, but your voice breaks into sobs as he embraces you tightly. The band briefly pauses, and the crowd's cheers grow louder. 

"It's okay, baby," Jisung reassures you, laughing as adrenaline courses through him. He rocks you from side to side, and then, he pulls out a box from his back pocket, dropping to one knee. With tears in his eyes, he opens the box to reveal a stunning ruby ring surrounded by diamonds on a gold band. He wipes his cheeks, trying to maintain composure as emotions overwhelm him. 

Your shocked reaction, a mixture of surprise and joy, draws raucous laughter from the audience. You hadn't expected him to propose right then, and you had no idea he had a ring. You don't even know any of this has been planned. As you say yes, barely above a whisper, you nod and let him slip the ring onto your finger.  It rests perfectly between the silver carved wolf ring on your pinky and the owl eyes ring on your middle finger, with turquoise stones set into the irises.  It's a ring that proves he knows you well and listens to the things you love and want.  You hadn’t mentioned wanting a ruby engagement ring since you first started dating and it came up randomly when you two were at a mall together and happened to pass them by. 

  -  “Do you like this one?” Jisung asked.    “Nah, too traditional.  I love rubies.  I’d love a ruby one.” 

-    Now, you shiver with emotion, looking down at the ring and sniffing as he stands up to kiss you. It's a brief kiss, but you know there's more to come later. He steps back, never taking his eyes off you, and the introduction to your song begins once again. 

Through your tears, you laugh. "Now I have to sing the song, asshole," you tease.   

Jisung chuckles with the crowd and leans over to quip into the microphone, "Yeah, but you got this, rockstar."   

As you prepare to start singing, the crowd's voices join in unison, singing the opening phrases with you: 

"My anxiety..." 

You feel a surge of happiness and gratitude as you close your eyes and sing the lyrics, your voice soaring as the song reaches its climax and descends gracefully, like a plane landing smoothly. The audience erupts in applause, and soon after, you find yourself in the dressing room. You're sweaty, makeup smudged from tears, but you're buzzing with excitement. Your heart races, and it feels like a fluttering butterfly has replaced it, its wings sending a rush of blood through your veins. 

Your team rushes in, surrounding you in a massive group hug. Some of them hold bouquets of flowers, and your manager pops a bottle of champagne, filling flutes for everyone in the room. 

"Attention, everyone, I need to make a toast," your manager announces, raising her glass above the chatter. The room hushes. "To new beginnings!" she declares, and everyone cheers, clinking their glasses together. You raise your glass from where you sit on a makeup table, taking a sip as the room bursts into conversation again. 

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Jisung walks in, greeted by more whoops and cheers. He's visibly exhausted from his set and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, but Jisung plays along, accepting the enthusiastic welcome as he makes his way over to you. 

"Han Jisung!" you exclaim, shaking your head as he wraps you in a warm embrace. Your legs wrap around his waist as he hugs you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips and looking into your eyes. 

"It sounds even better now that it's gonna be your last name," he says with a grin. 

"Let's take this to the afterparty!" your drummer yells, and everyone starts gathering their belongings, excitedly agreeing.   

"Leo, we're playing Thunder Eagle tomorrow, don't get too messed up, man," Jisung says over his shoulder, calling out your shared drummer, who rolls his eyes.    “I’ll be cool Jay.”    “I’m serious.”    "I'll make sure they behave," Jisung's manager chimes in, patting Leo on the back and pointing towards the door, silently advising him not to argue tonight.  

Jisung is a Virgo, a perfectionist, and he wants his set to be flawless, even if it never quite reaches his impossible standards. She reassured him that everything would go according to plan so he could enjoy his proposal night.   

"Thank you, Rina," Jisung says. 

Rina nods. "Meet us back at the hotel. We need to go over tomorrow's itinerary." 

She knows Jisung has no interest in afterparties, especially not tonight. His social battery is drained as well. 

After Rina leaves, the steel door slowly closes behind her, and you and Jisung let out synchronized sighs, followed by shared laughter. Those sighs communicate everything you both feel—the relief of finally being alone.   

"Wow, I can't believe I got backstage with Y/N," Jisung teases, his eyes playfully wide. 

  "Got past security and everything, huh? You must've really wanted to meet me," you playfully comment.   

"Of course," Jisung responds, placing his hands on both sides of your face and looking into your eyes. "I told you, I'm your biggest fan." 

And then, Jisung kisses you for real this time, like he means every bit of it. Your head tilts to follow the rhythm of his tongue as it rolls over yours, and you give him a forceful shove backward as you hop down from the countertop. He stumbles back a few steps while you push his leather jacket off his shoulders. Eventually, he lands on the black futon, looking up at you with a crooked grin as you straddle him. Your knees sink into the leather, and you can feel just how aroused he is when you lower yourself against him. Both of you are still clothed, and you rest your arms on his shoulders, your breasts grazing against his chin as you start grinding in his lap. 

"You're my biggest fan, Jisung?" you inquire, your voice low and teasing. 

"I am," he confirms, his eyes lifting from your chest to meet yours as he answers your question. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down firmer onto his lap. 

You lean in close, murmuring in his ear, "Wanna be my groupie?"   

"Mhm, I do, I do," Jisung breathes, his hands gripping your ass. 

But then, you stop, lifting yourself up slightly.   “Let me fuck you then.” you say with a firm grasp of his erection. You stroke him a couple of times through his jeans, your lips hovering over his. You watch his expressions, the way his eyes cross, and his lids flutter, his vision blurred by the shockwaves your touch is sending throughout his body.    "Y-Yeah?" Jisung stammers, a reply that makes you both laugh, briefly breaking the intensity of the passion between you. How can you still have this effect on him? Jisung melts under your heat, and he always will.    “Take your dick out, I need to spell it out for you?”    You grant him a bit more space, allowing him to lift his hips and deftly slide out of his jeans. His brain finally clears the fog of desire, and he's acutely aware of how badly he craves to be with you at this moment. 

"Sorry," he stammers, "I'm like...star-struck or something." You straddle him once more, your thumb gently grazing his lower lip, the delicate almond-shaped acrylic nail tracing along his upper teeth. You observe the transformation in his expression as he shifts from awe to sheer desperation, all while you slowly lower yourself onto his throbbing anticipation. 

“Hmm,” You throw your head back with a blissful sigh of contentment, adjusting to his size. And Jisung can hardly believe it; he’s actually going to marry you and keep you in his life forever. He gets to feel this forever.   

The thought is making him impossibly hard as hips rock into you, emptying out those moans he’s grown to love so much. 

  “Jisung, you feel so good right now, baby,” you purr into his ear, his nails digging into your thighs to get a firmer grip as you ride him, writhing, whining hips giving him chills as you engulf him from every angle. 

“Goddamn,” He moans. “You do too.” 

When Jisung vocalizes during sex, it comes from some deep, carnal place that drives you absolutely mad. And then, he finds his second wind, snaking one arm around your waist, the other supporting his weight on the couch as he starts plunging into your pussy. You're losing composure, your choppy moans matching the tempo of his thrusts as your eyes roll back in your head, being fucked dumb over his shoulder.    When he tires, it’s like a perfect pass off, the way you grind against him.  He releases a guttural noise, head back against the futon as he slaps your thigh in encouragement, coaxing you to keep riding him just…like…that.    He looks up at you again, with stars in his eyes.  “I wish you could see yourself right now.”    “I can.” Your arm around his neck, fingers in his hair, you can see yourself in the reflection of the chain of mirrors along the wall behind you both.    “Oh, good,” Jisung says with a half-smile, your cunt still swallowing him up at this languid pace.  “See how pretty you look when you’re being fucked senseless like this?” He watches your face, the way your chest flutters with tiny gasps and your face twitches when you hit that certain spot.    "Yeah, I do," you barely manage to respond.    “Only thing prettier is how you look when you cum.” His praise pushes you further, two fingers sliding between your lips that you welcome, and Jisung closes his eyes, all of his senses overstimulated as he dangerously evades his orgasm, thanks to shutting out the sight of you absolutely wracked with pleasure, bouncing on his cock, with his fingers at the back of your throat.    You can’t speak, your mouth obstructed, so you begin to whine instead, and he presses on your tongue, making you gag over and over again as you unravel on him.  Jisung feels you cumming, he puts both arms around your waist as he pounds into you from below until he pulls you down a final time, his breath hitching as he allows his release to take over, cursing as he empties inside of you.    As your bodies slowly come down from the peak of ecstasy, you stay intertwined, breathless and sated.  The room is filled with a warm, intimate silence, broken only by the occasional soft sigh and the sound of your synchronized heartbeats.    Jisung gazes into your eyes with a tender expression, his fingers softly brushing a strand of hair away from your face.  “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispers.    You smile warmly in response, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.  “I feel the same way,” you murmur against his lips.  “Forever sounds pretty perfect.”    The two of you lay there for a while longer, basking in the post-coital afterglow and the knowledge that your love has reached a new level of commitment. The future seems brighter and more promising than ever before, filled with endless possibilities now for the careers of you both. 

Eventually, you two gather the strength to get up and clean up the evidence of your passionate encounter. As you help each other get dressed, there's a sense of contentment and serenity in the air.  With one last lingering kiss, you make your way back outside to catch an Uber back to the hotel, likely for a highly-anticipated round two.      What? You two are rockstars.  Did you expect anything less? 

[aquaquadrant]

What would the au where tango never got experimented on and as a result never left hels look like

you said that tango would have found his way to timmy eventually and that’s really interesting if they would have been friends I wonder how close they would be

the bond like the one Jimmy and tango have was only possible because tango had spent at least a year in hermit craft learning to open up and jimmy was raised not in hels

even if tango wouldn’t have the experiment trauma he still would have trauma and Timmy well I’m pretty sure he would’ve been open to it

Can you share your headcanons on the hypothetical situation please

(i know i’ve been sitting on this ask for ages but i had to turn the idea over in my mind a few times, like really let it get in there, let it simmer, rearrange the furniture. so uh, here ya go!)

~*~

“timmy,” tango calls urgently, ducking into the netherrack cave.

“yeah?” timmy pokes his head up from their nest. there are a few stray sticks caught in his hair- he must’ve taken a nap like tango suggested, thank god.

“sminor said there were blackcoats at the market yesterday, asking about hybrids.” tango talks quickly, his tone low and impersonal. he crosses over to the double chest they’ve set up, starting to rummage through it. “we gotta go, pack your stuff.”

timmy makes a noise of dismay, sitting upright. “is sean gonna be okay?” he asks tentatively, wringing his hands together.

tango scoffs. “c’mon, you know him. long as he stays outta water, he’ll be fine.” okay, that’s everything he can carry. he pops his ender chest down and starts reorganizing, trying to fit as many resources as he can. “now we, on the other hand, happen to be a bit more visibly obvious hybrids, so like i said, we gotta go.” satisfied with his ender chest, tango mines it back up before turning to face timmy. “now c’mon, scooch, i gotta burn it.”

timmy glances down at the nest, his face falling. “but i just got it how i like it…”

“well sorry, but it’s gotta go!” tango huffs, totally unapologetic, tugging at timmy’s arm. he manages not to scratch him. “now hurry up, get packing-”

“can’t we just hole up here for a few days, til they clear out the area?” timmy asks desperately.

“timmy-”

“you hid this place really well, they’re not gonna find it.”

tango doesn’t let the compliment sway him. he knows he’s hidden their base really well; countless hours were spent mining a virtual labyrinth of tunnels through the mountain, painstakingly shaped to appear as if they generated naturally. the way up to the cave is subtly marked by ever-so-slightly misplaced blocks of netherrack, completely imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know they’re there.

but if the rumors about the blackcoats are true, that won’t be enough.

“we can’t take that chance,” tango says sharply. he jerks his thumb back at the chest. “last warning. get packed or i’m burning it all.”

sighing, timmy finally relents, climbing over the edge of the nest and shuffling over towards the chest. his head is bowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. pouting, like a little kid. fucking typical.

leaning over the rim of the nest, tango dips his clawed fingers into the brush. he closes his eyes; fire flows from his fingertips, easy as breathing. the stick-and-leaf structure catches light almost instantly. fire crackles and pops in the still air.

timmy has turned his face away as he digs through the chest, shoulders hunching by his ears and wings tucked closed to his body. tango refuses to let himself feel bad for it. it had to be done.

“how’s your hunger?” he murmurs, stepping away from the burning nest.

“hm?” timmy doesn’t look over at him, preoccupied as he sorts his inventory.

tango sighs. “timmy. your hunger.”

“oh, uh- fine?”

“did you even check your comm?”

“i’m pretty sure it’s fine-”

“lemme see.”

“tangooo,” timmy whines, in that plaintive way of his, willing tango to drop the subject.

but tango remains firm, holding out a hand expectantly. after a moment, timmy wilts under the pressure, as expected. he meekly hands tango his communicator, glancing away.

tango quickly scans timmy’s stats. full health. thirty-eight levels (it’s been a while since his last death, tango notes with no small amount of pride). two armor points, cause of the iron boots tango made him last week. and his hunger bar-

“two haunches?” tango hisses. he can almost feel his blood start to boil. “damn it, timmy, how many times do i gotta tell you? you keep it at four at the absolute lowest, in case you have to run or fly. i told you, you don’t have to ration food, if we’re low i’ll go get more.”

timmy gives him a pleading look. “tango-”

“no- no, stop it with the puppy dog eyes! i already- i told you!” tango shoves the communicator back at timmy, none too gently. “do you want the creepy scientists to catch you? huh? want them to experiment on you? you want them to do a- a live dissection- a vivisection on you?”

“hang on,” timmy protests, a nervous tremor in his voice, “we don’t- we don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen if they find us-”

“what do you think happens?” tango snaps, tasting flames on his tongue. he knows his blaze rods must be spitting fire at this point, but he can’t bring himself to care. “everywhere they go, hybrids disappear. what, you- do you think they’re all just enjoying some super secret hybrid party, joining hands and singing kumbaya? don’t be stupid.”

for a moment there’s silence, nothing but the steady crackling of the burning nest behind them. timmy just looks at him, those big sad eyes shining with tears, and tango’s anger extinguishes.

as easy as it is to lash out at timmy, as good as it feels to get that release, tango always regrets it pretty quickly afterwards.

“hey…” tango exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “okay, okay, sorry. you’re not stupid.” he steps closer, carefully taking timmy’s face in his hands. “and- and i don’t wanna leave either. but it’s the only way to keep you safe. i mean- i promised i would, didn’t i?”

“yeah, i know.” timmy sniffles, avoiding tango’s gaze. “there’s… another town fifteen hundred blocks north?”

“no,” tango says, taking care not to let his voice harden. he picks a stick out of timmy’s hair before stepping away. “no towns for a while. we need to lay low til they clear the area. we’ll find a nice mountain in a forest somewhere, okay? maybe- maybe we can even have a little skylight.”

“yeah?” timmy asks, his voice going up hopefully.

“yeah.” tango pulls a cooked salmon out of his inventory, handing it to timmy. “here, eat.”

in hindsight, tango should’ve known they wouldn’t be safe for very long, living near a coastal town. oceans are few and far between in hels, so they get a lot of traffic. but god, it’s so nice to have actual meat for a change. he loathes the thought of going back to rotten flesh and spider eyes.

timmy takes the fish without complaint and starts nibbling on it. satisfied, tango turns to their double chest and breaks it, letting all the excess items and blocks spill onto the floor. a single well-aimed fireball sets the whole pile ablaze, leaving nothing but smoldering netherrack.

lastly, tango mines their respawn anchor. now that their spawn point is untethered, he feels the anxiety start to kick in with renewed force. a death now would strand them at the world spawn, and that would be all kinds of bad. he takes a final look around the cave; there’s no sign they were ever even here.

“alright, let’s get moving,” he says, putting his pickaxe away and heading for the exit tunnel.

timmy follows him out of the cave. they travel in silence for a few minutes, tango keeping an ear out for mobs since the only light they have is the faint flow of his blaze rods. lighting the area up would give them away, so they’ve had to get used to seeing in the dark.

“someday,” tango says quietly, “we’ll go far enough that we won’t have to worry about those guys ever again. and- and we’ll be able to make a little happy house together, nest and all.”

timmy hums, his arm brushing against tango’s in the dark, wing spread around his shoulders. “yeah, a proper home. i like it. we can- uh, d’you think we’ll make like, a farm or somethin’? a little cozy cottage, like a- a homestead, or…”

“a ranch?” tango suggests, feeling a grin pull at his mouth. like they’d ever find enough passive mobs for that. but for some reason, the idea appeals to him.

timmy huffs a laugh, something tango hasn’t heard for a while. “yeah, sure, we’ll be ranchers.”

“ranchers,” tango agrees. his inner fire has dimmed to a gentle warmth, now; some soft, weak thing he doesn’t have a name for. “team rancher.”

~*~

[rev-glut]

Mother Hen

Platonic Hobie Brown x Reader

Requested by @lazyslothsthings: “Reader basically mothering Hobie platonic??!”

Summary: Hobie comes back home after leaving for a few days.

Info: Fluff. Gender-neutral Reader (though Hobie jokingly calls them Mum once). 1.6k words

Notes: I didn’t explicitly say it but Reader lives in a riverside house so Hobie can keep his canal boat. Sometimes he stays there, sometimes he’s in R’s house.

He knows you’re home before he reaches the door. The lights are on and he can hear the music. Pleasantly he notes that it’s one of the songs that he frequently listens to. He knows how to play this one on guitar too. The key easily slides in and turns as he opens the door.

“Welcome back.” You call out without looking back. Currently you’re hovering over the stove and whatever you’re cooking smells good. “Did you eat recently?”

“I had a quick bite earlier.” He says, undoing his laces so he can place his shoes by the door. Quickly, yet carefully, you scan him. Eyes darting around as you catalog anything noticeable at the moment. There’s a small cut on his lip and chin, his knuckles are unsurprisingly busted too.

“Go shower, I’ll patch you up after. No if, ands, or buts, mister.” You add before he can say anything. The slotted utensil in your hand pointed at him. Hobie gives you a look that makes you raise your eyebrow.

“Alright then.”

“Thank you.” You call after him. Humming back in response, he goes to his room.

Checking the food you decide you’re satisfied and could just let it simmer on low heat while you patched up Hobie. You set out the silverware and dishes to plate the food afterwards. Retrieving the first aid kit from under the sink along with swiping your small notebook from the counter you make your way to the couch.

Setting the kit next to you, you flip through your notebook. Notes on random things, little doodles, to-do lists and supply lists are scattered across the pages. Plucking a random pencil from the table, you add small things here and there. The dark blue graphite makes its mark on the paper while you wait.

At the sound of footsteps you lift your head up with a smile and set the notebook aside. “Alright, cmon.” You pat the space next to you as Hobie trudges over to you, shirt in hand. As he sits down you grab a bandage. You won’t have to clean the cuts since Hobie already did that in the bathroom. “Picked up some of those brownies you like, by the way. They’re in the fridge. I also made some fruit salad and there’s trail mix and granola in the cupboard.” Tomorrow you’d probably make a casserole too. It’d be nice to have Hobie around helping you. He’d only been gone for a few days but still.

“Peanut butter fudge ones from the bakery?”

You snort. “Of course. Who do you think I am? The trail mix is homemade too. Made it myself.”

“Aces.”

Picking up some ointment you held out your hand so you could deal with his knuckles. He places his hand in yours. “So how you’ve been? Not in too much trouble, I hope.”

“Wouldn’t really call it trouble. Just some necessary things to stir it up.” You raise your eyebrow. “And a bit of fun.”

“Just here or is this interdimensional fun?” Usually he said where he was going before he left but with how things are and how Hobie is, things just change. Before he left earlier this week he said he’d be in town, mostly, probably.

“Bit of both.”

“Now was the interdimensional trouble Spider stuff or just some visit?”

“Just a visit to Pavitr.” Apparently Gwen had been out on a mission when he checked the Lobby. “Y’know I can take care of myself. Nothing I can’t handle.” He says as you motion him to turn to check his back.

“I know you’re a tough guy with powers but still, everyone’s gotta have someone looking out for them. I’m always in your corner, I’m always cheering you on, okay? And at the end of the day I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

“ ‘preciate it.” He really did. Even if sometimes he thought it’s a bit much, because he didn’t really need much and what he did isn’t much in the first place, he learned to stop fighting you on it, mostly.

“Gwen’s always welcomed here too.” You worry about her too, ever since Hobie brought her back saying she was gonna crash here for a few days. The girl was a nervous wreck the first few days. Something was up. She told you eventually. Most likely after some casual, yet sincere, reassurance from Hobie.

This just made you a bit concerned about the other Spiders. You hope that the others all had somewhere to go at the end of the day. Even if it was just somewhere within the Spider Society HQ. That and the hope that they too had someone to come back to after every mission, even another Spider. The way Gwen had Hobie, Jessica, and Pavitr.

“She’s left a jumper here.” He says, which is not quite what you expected. You laugh a little.

“‘Course she did. She’s got a habit of forgetting things.” You say softly. “Pav’s welcome here too. Even if it’s just for an hour.” Pavitr had a loving home to go to so he didn’t come as often or stay as long. But he and Hobie were great friends and was just a general joy to have around.

“Pretty sure he knows. But I’ll remind him.” He adds and with the way your eyes light up a bit with that glow he’s gotten so familiar with he knows that was the right thing to say. He’s gotten to know you well enough, even if you didn’t hide much.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you lot get a home cooked meal every now and then.” You say as if you haven’t been doing that for Hobie for well over a year now. “‘Sides sometimes you’re not here to yell at the bastards on the street so someone has to.”

“Ya do a pretty good job at it. I tell off bastards wherever I go anyways.”

Chuckling you stand. “Speaking of home cooked meals, there’s one waiting for you right now.” He pulls his shirt on before following you to the kitchen.

Over your late dinner you and Hobie swap stories and talk about random things. The conversation follows you two as you clean dishes together.

Drying your hands on a towel, you say, “I know it doesn’t mean much to you, since you don’t need anyone’s approval or anything, but I am proud of you, you’re doing good things, Hobie. In and out of the suit.” He’d come a long way, pushing this world towards being better, freeing everyone.

Eventually taking more of your help and even moving in with you and allowing you to take care of him. Others came and went but you’d convince him to stay since he was a different case. In this dimension at least. You’d work everything out with him, as long as you knew he was safe or where he’d gone off to you were okay. The last thing you want to do is stifle or restrict him in any way.

“Someone’s got to do it.” To him, it wasn’t really much but he knew how much it meant to others.

“It’s nice to have you home.”

“ ’s pretty nice to be back.”

“Alright. You need to go to bed, you look like you need it. And tomorrow you’re coming with me to get groceries. Dawn’s got some new stuff in inventory too. They miss you over there.”

“Alright, Mum.”

You laugh. “Go to bed, mister. And bandage up anything else.”

“Goodnight.” Your name slips off his tongue.

“Goodnight, Hobie.” You pull him into a quick hug before letting him go.

You missed him a lot. He could be gone for weeks at a time or just for less than a day then spend weeks here in town. You knew he could take care of himself in a fight, verbal and physical. He‘a confident in himself and his beliefs. That never stopped you from worrying about him, knowing he was going up against things across the whole multiverse. But you’d move heaven and Earth to make sure he was okay, that he had a home, and nothing would change that.

Bonus:

5 minutes ago Gwen had appeared in a portal with Pavitr and Peter, Mayday in tow. They spoke about Miles and Miguel and multiverse stuff. You knew Hobie would go, both to help, to take down another messed up system and just because. Now you stand on your lawn with the group.

“You lot look after each other, alright?” Your hands rest on Gwen and Hobie’s shoulders. Pavitr in between them.

“We will.” The fire in Gwen’s eyes made your own heart warm. You’re proud of her and the confidence she’s found.

“Don’t worry about a thing.” They’re a team, friends. They’d come too far now to go back.

“You’re worrin’ too much honestly.” Even though Hobie knows you couldn’t really help it.

You bring all 3 of them into a hug. “ ‘m so proud of all of you. Go help Miles and come back to me, alive.”

“Like I said, ya worrin’ too much.”

Releasing them you instead grip your shirt.“Alright, go save your friend.” Probably the multiverse as well. You didn’t really understand it, there hadn’t been enough time to properly explain it.

Hobie squeezes your arm before turning to leave. You watch them go, waving. There’s a lot you don’t understand, but you know whatever they’re doing it’s something big and as proud as you are you just couldn’t help but worry, even with all their powers and skills. The whole Spider-multiverse is after them, along with the Spot. Whatever happens though, you know things are about to change.

[maelialuv]

Fire Side - Eddie Munson

*NOT MY GIF*

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a campfire with friends, you look at your best friend Eddie in a brand new light. Good thing he brought his van.

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! mature language, alcohol, jealous!eddie, smut, virgin!reader, reader is 18, The Van.

Word count: 4.3K

"To no more tests, no more shitty cafeteria food and NO MORE SCHOOL!"

As Steve bellowed from on top of a log, you and your friends cheered in excitement, each with a red solo cup in hand. The graduating class of 1985 - well, you and your friends- had gathered by Lover's Lake to set up a bonfire to celebrate the end of senior year. And while he wasn't able to graduate this year, Eddie Munson , as per your incessant pestering, had tagged along with you.

Eddie had been your best friend since your junior, his first senior, year. You'd been nose deep in your schedule when you'd collided with the long haired dungeon master. You'd been knocked right to the floor, the wind smacked right out of you, whilst Eddie stood tall.

"Wow, okay, you're alright, there you go" he'd said, hoisting you up and brushing the dust from your back. "Ouch, Click's history. Rough."

"Had them before?" you asked , taking your books from him as he grabbed them from the floor.

"Let's just say our relationship has not been one of love."

You'd been close with Eddie ever since, but it was your senior year - Eddie's second- that you became best friends. You had nearly every class together, ate lunch together, and hung out almost every day after school at your place or his. You were practically attached at the hip. So when Eddie said he was gonna skip out on the bonfire, you simply wouldn't put up with it. After nagging him for a good twenty minutes straight, he'd said yes to shut you up.

But he was secretly glad he'd come. He loved spending time with you, no matter the setting or reason. He would sit with you and watch paint dry if it meant that you two were hanging out.

The bonfire party consisted of you, Eddie, Steve and Robin, Nancy and a few others. As the night went on and the sky darkened, and the booze ran low, people started to file on to their bikes and head for home until it was just you five left. You five and a bottle of vodka.

"And who hid this from the rest of us?"

"Always gotta bring a spare for the after party, Y/n. Have I taught you nothing?" Steve said, ruffling your hair playfully as he sat down next to you on the logs. He cracked the cap on the bottle. "Ladies first?"

"Straight?" you said, hoping for at least a soda to relieve yourself from the alcohol.

"Why, are you coming on to me?" Steve said with a suggestive wink.

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"It'll be fine , watch." Steve took a tiny swig from the bottle, grimacing lightly as he swallowed. "See." You could see him fighting back a cough.

"Was that meant to impress me, Harrington?"

"Are you impressed?"

You chuckled at your friends antics, ducking down as Harrington ruffled your hair again, this time harder.

Beside you, Eddie was not laughing. Far from it. A simmering anger was spluttering inside of his chest, much like the sparks from the embers of the fire. The way Steve was talking to you - flirting with you- made his blood boil. He was so flippant about it! In front of your friends too! Eddie clenched his hands by his sides, trying his best to shove this anger- or was it discomfort?- down and just enjoy the night. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, however, when you grabbed the bottle from Steve and took a large sip with a straight face, not breaking eye contact with your friend.

Jesus Christ, Eddie thought.

Why not just make out in front of us all?

The bottle got passed around a few times, and soon a happy buzz had worked its way on to all five of you. The fire was dying down, only a light glow now, casting orange light on to everyone's faces. Robin's head rested gently on Nancy's shoulder, eyes closed and murmuring to keep up with the conversation. Moments later, Nancy took on the same tired exterior, resting her head on top of Robin's.

"You guys had enough?" You asked, putting your hand on Nancy's shoulder. She yawned loudly in response. "I think it's time to get them home, Harrington." you said, tossing Steve his keys.

"Yeah, even when the kids aren't around I'm still playing baby sitter." He leaned forward to whisper in your ear. "Don't tell anyone, but I've been having soda all night."

"Wow, party animal. You gonna be okay to drive?" you joked, smiling at Steve's gracious role of designated driver even on graduation night.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm good. I'll leave you a message when we're all home." He wrapped his arms over your shoulder in a friendly hug. "Night, squirt. See ya, Eddie!" he called to your best friend, who simply waved in response.

After helping Steve get the girls into his car, you plopped down next to Eddie on the logs, the glow from the moon making his pale skin look ivory in the dark. He was staring into the embers of the fire, twisting his rings round his fingers.

With a tired, but happy, sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder. "I'm sad you didn't graduate with us, Eds, 's gonna be weird not getting to see you every day." Beneath your head, you could feel Eddie tense up.

"Well, you've got Harrington for that now." He laughed humourlessly as he said it, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?" lifting your head abruptly when Eddie stood, shifting his feet with his hands in his jean pockets.

"Just that, clearly, Harrington can make you happy. So you won't need to miss me too much. Steve's gotcha covered from here , it seems." He laughed to himself again. "I mean, god, could it be more obvious that he's hot for you? Guy is shameless."

"What?" you gawked at your best friend, a mix of confused and slightly angry at his sudden outburst. "What are you talking about he's hot for me?" In any other situation, Eddie's phrasing would have made you laugh. Now it just made you mad.

"Oh come on, Y/n, he was practically rubbing it in my- our faces all night. Touching your hair all the time? He's gone textbook, which is the first time I think anyone has ever said that for Steve."

"Hey, leave him alone man." You were fully angry now, pissed off at Eddie's change in demeanour. "There's nothing going on with Steve and I. And even if there was - if he wasn't still obviously in love with Nance- why would it be anything to do with you?"

"Because!"

"Because what?"

"Because you're my best friend, and I should know these things, and not have it shoved in my face. God, he was practically eye fucking you all night!" Eddie ran his hands through his hair to try and calm his nerves, but he was on fire right now. He was shaking he was so distraught at the thought of Harrington getting to you.

Before he could tell you, or show you, how he felt about you.

Your mouth was agape in shock at Eddie's words. Shocked both at his sense of entitlement to know which boys you were or were not getting with, and at his vulgarity. Steve had been his normal friendly self all night. He made sure you were having fun, he took care of Robin and Nancy. He was just normal Steve.

What had made Eddie so...off?

"What the hell is your problem, Eddie?" you took a step closer to your friend. You were about arms length apart now. "You're being an asshole right now."

"You wanna know my problem?"

"Uh, yeah, that's why I asked."

Eddie paused for a second, rocking on the balls of his feet. Then, in one smooth stride, he walked to you, grabbed your face in his hands.

And kissed you.

Eddie was kissing you.

It was intense, and hard. He grasped your face so gently in his hands, the force of his lips seeming that much bigger. When the initial shock wore off, you pulled away breathlessly.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your hands on his forearms. You were so, so confused. So why were you enjoying it? In those ten short seconds, you'd had a better kiss than in your whole high school experience. Eddie pulled back with a deep sigh.

"That's my problem. Harrington getting to touch you, not a big fan." His hands still rested on your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. When you didn't pull away, he touched his forehead to yours gently. "I've liked you for so long, Y/n. So long. And you know I'm not a big feelings guy, but, God, seeing Steve with you tonight just made me wanna scream." You laughed slightly at him. "Oh, that's funny to you , is it?"

"You were jealous, of Steve?"

Eddie looked down at his feet, smiling to himself gently. "Of course that's the bit you listen to." You moved your hands to smooth out his wild hair. You felt like the wind had been kicked from your lungs. Eddie liked you, Eddie was jealous of Steve touching you? As much as you were confused, the small flicker of warmth in your stomach was fanned into a flame as Eddie let out a deep chuckle. "Anything else you picked up on there?"

He was looking so deeply, so intently, into your eyes you felt as though he was seeing your very soul. His hands crept their way up to the back of your head, twining his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck. "Well," you said, taking on a teasing tone despite your heart thrumming in your chest, "I don't get the jealousy thing." Eddie furrowed his brows. Had he not been clear before? "I don't get being jealous. It's not like Steve and I," you leaned in, hovering your lips over the shell of his ear, "touch here." You lightly kissed the skin below his lobe, grinning when Eddie sucked in a sharp breath.

Lowering your head, you dragged your lips down Eddie's neck. "It's not like he touches me," you kissed his adam's apple, dragging your teeth down to where his shoulders met his neck, "here." You ran your hands up Eddie's arms, lingering around his face and tracing his lips with the tip of your finger. "Wouldn't let him touch me there."

Eddie felt like he was going to implode. Your touches were driving him crazy, and if you didn't just kiss him again, he was gonna go out of his mind. You ceased your movements. "You've got no reason to be jealous of anything, Eds."

"Does Harrington know that?"

"Steve's not here, Eddie." You dropped your hands to your sides. "And even if he was, I wouldn't dream of kissing anyone else but you-"

Eddie's lips cut you off in another searing kiss, this time you reciprocated. It was all teeth and lips, hands in hair, and hands roaming anywhere they could reach. Eddie's lips felt like magic against your own, better than any kiss you'd ever had. When Eddie tugged against your hair, lowering his lips down to nip and kiss the skin of your neck, you groaned aloud. Eddie's head whipped to face you.

"Well, what do we have here?" he smirked, nipping the spot again and taking another groan as encouragement. You yanked his jaw, desperate to kiss him again. "C'mre, Munson." Eddie gladly obliged, crashing your lips together.

You felt overwhelmingly hot in your sweater now, tugging frantically at the hem to get it off without breaking the kiss. "Eds," you said, resting your hands on his cheeks. "can we sit down?"

His eyes lit up, excitement and desire evident in his now black eyes, blown wide and darkened with lust. "We could sit in the van?"

Doors thrown open, you clambered into the back of Eddie's van. You threw your sweater over your head, leaving you in a Van Halen tshirt. "You stealing my clothes now, Y/n?" You had borrowed the shirt last time you stayed at Eddie's place. The sight made Eddie just about burst. Seeing you in his clothes, he felt like he was marking you as his. The attention on the shirt - and your chest- made you suddenly self conscious, as you crossed your arms over your chest.

The pause in activity had made you nervous. What did this make you and Eddie? What would happen to your relationship now? You obviously had feelings for Eddie too, revealed by your feverish desire to kiss him, touch him, have him touch you. You head whirled with anxieties, broken when Eddie's hand wove its way into yours.

"Hey," he said softly, "we can stop if you're uncomfortable. We don't have to do anything, okay?" His thumb rubbed gently against your skin, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. Your whole body thrummed with an electric desire for Eddie. When you didn't respond right away, he scooted on the floor of the van next to you. "What's going on up here, hmm?" He tapped his fingers to your temple lightly.

"Can I tell you something?" you said, gaze on the rug Eddie had laid in the back of the van.

Eddie turned his body completely towards you. "Of course."

"I haven't... been with someone before." you grimaced in embarrassment at yourself. "So, if we do this" you finally met his gaze. "it would be my...first."

Eddie was quiet for a few heartbeats, before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips. It was slow and gentle, and conveyed his love and all his care for you without saying a word. When he pulled back, he smiled at you. You felt like your heart was in your mouth. He looked at you as if you were the moon. "Are you sure?"

You nodded your head. "I'm sure."

Eddie leaned in to kiss you again, and his tongue made its way into your mouth. You moaned lightly at the sensation. He cupped your jaw, shifting your head to deepen the kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he lightly laid you down on the bed of the van, moving on top of you. Raising your arms above your head, he intertwined your fingers before peppering kisses down your neck, the hollow of your throat before kissing down your clothed torso. "Can I take this off?"

"Do you want me to take mine off first?" he asked , noting your nervous look. When you nodded, grateful for his patience, he reached to his back and swiped his signature Hellfire shirt off in one swift movement. You'd seen Eddie shirtless before. You'd swam together, and you'd showered at each others houses a million times. But in the white light of the moon, accentuating his light abs and tattoos, it was like the first time. Subconsciously, you reached up to trace the tattoo on Eddie's hip, mindlessly moving across his stomach. He tensed under the touch, sucking in a raged breath.

"Jesus, Y/n, you don't know what you're doing to me."

You sat up slightly, lifting your hand from his stomach to pepper small kisses along the tattoos by Eddie's collar bones. "You're so handsome, Eddie." you whispered against his skin. You lifted your head to meet his lips again, graciously welcoming his tongue back into your mouth as he slid your - his- shirt over your head. "Christ," he breathed as your skin glowed in the light of the moon made you look silver, accentuating your boobs against the stark black of your bra. "You're beautiful."

Eddie pressed wet, open mouthed kisses along your chest, lowering down across your stomach until his lips reached the hem of your jeans. You sucked in a ragged breath, the heat of where the moment was leading finally catching up with you. Without realising it, your hands had begun to tremble lightly with excited nerves. One of Eddie's own large, ringed hands came to grasp you own. "How we doing up there?" he asked, eyes meeting your own as his finger toyed with a stray thread near the button of your jeans.

"Good." you said, flushing dark red at the sight before your eyes. Eddie was sprawled on the bed of the van, body between your opened legs, hair messy and curling round his face. Unable to stop yourself, you pushed a stray curl from his eye. He leaned into your touch, kissing your wrist as he caught it. "Do you want to keep going?"

You'd be insane to stop now. The heat in your stomach was a full on wild fire by now, centred between your legs where Eddie's head was. "Yes," you said breathlessly, "yes, please."

"Okay," Eddie began to unbutton your jeans at a purposefully, painfully slow pace. The coolness of his rings against your bare thighs made you gasp, resulting in a smirk from the metal head between your legs. With your jeans off, Eddie took his own off too. If you'd been staring before, now you were gawking at him. Through his boxers, Eddie was hard enough that you could see the outline of his cock clear as day, despite the limited light. He was big, bigger than you thought you could manage. If you went all the way tonight, it would be painful. Somehow, the thought turned you on even more.

Out of his jeans, Eddie crawled up your chest to reattach his lips to yours in a heated kiss. Feeling a surge of confidence, you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, moaning as he allowed you entrance and his tongue met yours. Subconsciously, you started to grind your hips against Eddie's , shocked at the volume of the gasp that was swallowed by his mouth. Matching your eagerness, Eddie ground his hips down to meet yours. "Fuck," he groaned right in your ear, turning you on even more than before. Something about bringing Eddie pleasure made your own start to pool between your legs.

"Eddie," you sighed, hands woven in his hair as you rutted against him, desperate for any friction you could find.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart." he sucked on the skin of your neck, surely leaving marks that you would have to cover later. He nipped a particularly sweet spot that made you whine. "Tell me, and I'll give to you." Eddie would give you the moon if you asked. “You,” you breathed in a sigh as his tongue swiped over the bruising skin, “just want you, Eddie.”

Inside his chest, Eddie felt his heart surge. For months, he had been letting guilt eat him up inside. He never meant to fall for you, and he felt terrible for it. But the pain of losing you as a friend would be a thousand times worse than being rejected by you, so he bottled it up. So in the dark of the night, laid down in his van with yourself on display to him, professing your desire for him, Eddie felt confident.

”Well, I'm not going anywhere babe."

Babe

Eddie's delicate fingers wound themselves over the hem of your panties, shimmying them down your legs with heavy eyelids. "Gonna make you feel good , okay?" He threw your underwear over his shoulder blindly. His hands settled fondly on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles . You felt like you weren't a person anymore, but merely a heap of ash from the sweltering heat you felt in your stomach. Every touch of Eddie's cool skin on the sizzling heat of your own felt like a fire hose on a burning house.

Then you exploded.

Eddie nestled his face between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his head and keeping them there with his arms. He flattened his tongue against you, and you felt like the floor was going to swallow you up. You were instantly melting underneath him, uttering breathless praise as he wrapped his lips around your clit and hummed. You hands clutched and palmed at his hair, desperate for him to be all the more close to you.

"Oh, shit."

"How's it feel, s'good? Tell me how good it feels, Y/n." When you didn't reply right away, he nipped at your inner thigh, leaving a bruise.

"So good, Eds, so so good." So good you could hardly form words, as your mouth seemed able to only form a silent oh as you back arched and your hands flailed around Eddie's hair, messing it up. "So- fuck- good."

Between your legs, Eddie groaned at the praise. The vibrations against you had your eyes rolling back into your skull. Eddie's hand travelled up your stomach before resting against your boobs, kneading and palming them. The coil in the pit of your stomach was close to snapping.

"E-Eddie, I'm gonna-" you cut yourself off as a loud, borderline pornographic moan escaped your mouth as Eddie began to rapidly shake his head bath and forth, tongue a vice on your clit. Your back arched from the floor of the van, almost sitting up, as you came. Eddie's face remained between your legs, licking up the remains of your climax as your chest heaved.

He kissed his way up your stomach to your face, and you crashed your lips to his. You tasted yourself on his mouth, groaning in reaction. "That was so hot," Eddie breathed against you, "almost got off on it."

"Almost?" you pouted your lips lightly at him, the thought of Eddie getting off to you made you ravenous. You reached for the hem of his boxers, completely ready to try your best to return the favour, when Eddie stopped you.

"As amazing as that would be," he said, laughing to himself, - the girl i'm crazy for wants to blow me and I'm saying no?-, "I just wanna make tonight easier for you. It's about you."

"Okay."

Eddie's hands cradled your face as he hovered over you, his hair fanning against your face and creating a cage around you. His eyes were black with lust. He guided your hand to the hem of his underwear. "We can stop now. Just say the word." You shook your head, maybe too quick, as Eddie chuckled.

"I want you, Eddie. All of you. Here." You stroked your knuckles against his cheek. "Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Eddie moved with a speed that would be comical ,had you not been aching for him in that moment, as he took off his boxers. Reaching into his jean pocket, he pulled out a condom. Tearing it open with his teeth - an action you wished to see many more times- he rolled it down his shaft. "Okay, are you ready? It may hurt, but we'll take it slow and you can take as long as you need, alright?"

"I'm ready."

He took one hand in yours, holding them entwined firmly above your head as he inserted the tip. You gasped, the intrusion bringing a somewhat painful sting. Eddie kissed your neck as he slid in, stopping every inch or so to make sure you were okay. "You're so gorgeous," he sighed into your neck, moaning when he bottomed out and the two of you were entirely connected. "Are you okay?"

There was not a single word in the English language to describe the feeling you felt in that moment. So entirely full of Eddie, consumed by your need for him. When Eddie shifted slightly to get a look at your face, nudging a particularly sweet spot inside you, you whined aloud.

"Oh my God, Eddie please."

"What?"

"Move, please."

That was all Eddie needed. Seeing you fall apart beneath him as he ate you out had driven him nearly mad. And Eddie Munson was content with being insane if it meant he was making you feel the way you sounded when he set a slow, but deep, pace inside you on the floor of his van at Lover's Lake. The sound of skin slapping against skin, moans of ecstasy and high pitched whines echoed throughout the van. "Holy fuck, Y/n," Eddie moaned in your ear, the sound making you clench around him, "you feel so amazing." He kissed all along your collar bones, nipping and sucking as he went.

"So fucking good- shit, baby, I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that." He sighed as you pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Faster, Eddie, please," you cried. "Please, please."

Eddie wanted to make a mixtape of your moans and little sounds. "You don't need to beg, sweetheart." His hand came between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit. "I've gotcha."

As soon as Eddie made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, it was over. A scream of a moan ripped through your throat, eyes clenched tightly shut as you came hard around his cock. "Oh fuck, Eddie, yes-yes-yes!"

"Shit, sweetheart, clenching me so-oh-tight, fuck!"

Eddie's hips stuttered as he came into the condom, arms buckling and chest meeting yours. You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him to you. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, panting and trying to collect yourselves. You felt completely content, blissed out. Eddie swiped your hair from your face as he pulled out. You whimpered at the loss of contact.

Reaching for the blanket at the foot of the van, Eddie wrapped it round the two of you and pulled you to his side. He paused for a second, thinking about his words very carefully. "That was-"

"Amazing." You said, snuggling into his chest and leaving small kisses over the tattoos there.

His heart swelled. "Yeah, pretty fucking great."

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, a hand cradling your head. Without saying the words, the I don't want to forget about this, I don't feel this way about anything or anyone else, the two of you had grown closer than ever before.

Eddie chuckled to himself as your eyes drifted closed, head nestled between his neck and shoulder. "Pretty fucking great."