#hey look its the shapes again…

[p1x1x]

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[aria0fgold]

Seared like a songbird flying to the sun

A belated birthday gift for @misty-wisp ! Tried to combine references for both Swan Lake and Cendrillon >:3 (Linked the English cover I took the lyrics from for the title!)

[turian]

literally used to base my whole diet around the amount i worked out so without the like... 2 hrs a day im just at a loss lmfao

[lovelyrotter]

would yall kill us if we posted alter art

[cruelsister-moved2]

i never feel like autistic coded is the right word though bc where gay coded is that the author had in mind that they were writing a gay character but couldn’t make it explicit, usually bc of censorship of some form, the reason we get autistic ‘coded’ characters is mostly because people are writing from reference from real life traits of people they know (or themselves are) without realising they’re describing autistic traits so its not an intentionally coded attempt to portray an autistic person but basically just like...writing an autistic character who hasnt been diagnosed  & thats also developed into there being a stock ‘autistic coded’ character stereotype that people are referencing instead of from life, which is where you get the stupid and flat ones, but theres also a lot of characters who wouldn’t be flagged up as a stereotypical ‘autistic coded’ character at all, but are just blatantly displaying autistic traits to the point that i feel comfortable just referring to them as an autistic character because never having been diagnosed or not knowing you’re autistic doesnt make you not autistic so like if it walks like an autistic person and talks like an autistic person...

[goxjo]

♥︎ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 ♥︎

⟢ ┈ ﹒꒰ the morning after your first time with him, he’s not quite finished with you FT. gojo, nanami, geto, naoya, toji x fem! reader ꒱

AUTHOR’S NOTE. yeah, this could end up being very sweet or very horny. either way, please mind the warnings uwu. also, gojo’s is longer than the rest just bc <3

CONTENT. explicit smut, some sprinkles of fluff, eepy jjk men. ♡ gojo ♡ pet name: baby, princess, cuddling, early morning banter, frottage, v! fingering. ♡ nanami ♡ food cw, he wears a cute lil apron and you show up wearing only his shirt, v! fingering. ♡ geto ♡ pet name: angel, morning wood, early morning stretch, daddy kink. ♡ naoya ♡ pet name: kitten, consensual somnophilia, cunnilingus, kinda rough, squirting in his mouth sorry not sorry <3 ♡ toji ♡ pet name: sweetheart, consensual somnophilia, waking him up by giving head, 69.

LINKS. GEN. MASTERLIST ┆ JJK MASTERLIST

♥︎ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 ♥︎

ੈ♡‧₊˚ GOJO SATORU

“Satoru, can I tell you something?” You lightly trace your finger down his face. The tips of his eyelashes feel ridiculously soft to the touch, not to mention his glossy lips- ones that have explored your own and your body so thoroughly just a few hours ago, you’ve memorized its shape at this point. His mouth slightly opens when you graze his bottom lip with your thumb. Through his pearly white teeth, warm breath fans the tip of your finger as his chest rises and falls in sync with his light snoring.

“Hm?” For the first time, you’re hit with his raspy morning voice - one you can definitely find yourself getting used to. He catches your hand, peppering lazy, half-asleep kisses at the back of it. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Just- I’m insanely attracted to you, that’s all,” you whisper and his eyes light up at the sudden confession. You haven’t been together long so you saying something like this out of the blue is more than enough to take him aback. Next thing you know, big strong arms wrap around you, piling your weight on top of him.

“This feels nice,” he breathes, sleep finding its way back to his eyes, and you can feel his breaths slow down as he drifts off again.

Flick. “Hey, wake up. Need to hear that voice again.” You lightly flick a finger to his forehead and his eyes flutter open for a few seconds. But that wasn’t enough to fully wake him.

“Can’t. You’re so warm. So soft,” he mutters, tightening his grip around you. He shifts a little, trying to nestle the back of his head into his pillow as he shuts his eyes. “Could stay like this all day long.”

You lean closer to his face, studying his sleeping profile. How could anyone be this perfect? Most people wake up with bed heads, dried up drool on their chin, troll-like attitude, and crusty eyes. Not Gojo Satoru. He’s an angel. He wakes up in the morning looking as if he had a 30-minute head start to his daily skincare routine. As if he even needs one.

“Sooo soft,” he mutters once more, squeezing your sides.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news you big pervert but you have to get ready for class.”

“Wrong!” He jolts awake. “That’s not something someone ‘insanely attracted’ to me would say.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m insanely attracted to you as well, and I say ‘5 more minutes’. Actually, make that an hour.”

You try to brush off his comment, pretending as if heat didn’t just rush to your cheeks at what you’d call a poor attempt at banter. A lie, because of course he’s an expert. “Come on you big baby. Wake up.”

“45 minutes, baby.” A big hand reaches underneath your shirt, soothing your bare back.

“Think you’re being slick, huh?”

“Mmm, shut up and come closer.”

“15 minutes?” you suggest, legs straddling his sides, pussy grinding on his half-hard cock as you draw hearts on his jaw, his hands finding their way to your bare ass.

“Hmm, 30.” He groans and you feel his cock twitch underneath, his hands grabbing the fat of your ass.

“You’re a bad negotiator- mmf.” You purr when he spreads your ass, walls clenching at the slight stretch.

“The worst. So, 30? Actually no. 30 is a done deal if you throw in a little kiss.”

“Deal—”

“On second thought…” his fingers slide down your folds, your mouth pops into an ‘o’ and you know for sure you’re done for the second he slides two digits into your slippery hole. “How ‘bout we make it 30 minutes after round 2?”

You’re definitely going to have to stay in all morning.

ੈ♡‧₊˚ NANAMI KENTO

A wave of confusion hits you when you’re awoken by the sound of something that dropped in a pan, aroma of something frying filling the room. Your eyes dart to the door slightly left open and you’re suddenly aware of the empty space beside you.

You try to look for the clothes you discarded last night but they’re nowhere to be found. So of course, you go for the next best thing.

Coming into the kitchen, you’re met with your partner’s broad and bare back, and your eyes immediately dart to the white lace-trimmed ribbon tied around his waist.

Clad only in pajama pants and that frilly little apron you gifted him as a joke, one that has a pretty pink ‘kiss the chef’ embroidered text at the front, Nanami is way too preoccupied with preparing breakfast for two.

You whistle in a way that’s too flirty for his comfort. Nanami looks over his shoulder, eyes trailing your form up and down, staring way too long at where his signature blue button-down ends just slightly above your upper thighs.

“Careful, your hashes are about to burn.”

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, completely turning off the heat as he makes his way towards you.

“You’re not gonna finish that? Aren’t you going to—” he doesn’t let you finish when he captures your mouth, pulling you into a deep kiss. His hands reach underneath the hems of your (his) shirt, finding your slick folds before pumping you silly with two of his fingers.

“Nope, I’m suddenly craving something else. Sit on the counter, now.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ GETO SUGURU

You’re woken up by the sound of an alarm. Looking at the clock, it reads ‘7:00 am’ and you’re surprised to find a heavy arm around your waist and something hard pressed up against your ass.

You shift to turn off his alarm, to which Geto’s eyebrows furrow, protesting over your sudden escape from his hold. “Come back here,” he groans, voice a tad deeper than his usual key, swiftly pulling you close to his bare chest.

“You sound so sexy,” you whisper, planting lazy kisses on his nose and on his lips, his erection leaking something warm on your stomach.

“Really? You sounded sexier last night. Need to hear you screaming my name again, angel.” He reaches down, knuckles sliding across your slit as you feel his fist pumping his cock at the same time. For the first time, you’re oriented with what mornings with Geto are like.

The head of his cock runs through your slick folds before finding your hole. You purr at the friction as he enters you, giving a whole new meaning to ‘early morning stretches.’

“Ohh, ohh~” you hum. Your core grows heavy with need, forcing you to try to bounce on his cock, clit grinding against his abdomen as you hold onto his bicep.

“So impatient.” Geto chuckles at your eagerness. “Want daddy to pay attention to your clit?”

“Daddy, daddy, n-need you to move pleasepleaseplease,” you whine. He hooks your leg around his waist, fingers digging into the fat of your ass as he bottoms out.

“Good morning to you too.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ NAOYA ZEN’IN

You think maybe you’re having one of those dreams. The best kind- one where a warm, wet muscle runs across your puffy slit before sliding in and out of your hole. It feels so hot, so good. Too hot, too good, you feel an orgasm coming-

“Fuuuck,” you cuss breathily, whines choking back a wake up yawn, and your body arches to the sensation in your pussy in place of an early morning stretch. Your eyes blink away the sleep in your eyes. Looking down, you find that black and white head of hair you love so much in between your thighs. And he doesn’t stop devouring your pretty cunt even as you mewl through your high. “Fuck, baby, fuck me!”

It’s real and it’s definitely his tongue sucking on your throbbing clit, definitely his thick fingers relentlessly fucking your wet velvet walls, definitely your pussy squelching from how good his tongue and fingers play with you at this ungodly hour.

“Grrood, mm-you’re-mm-awake,” he talks as if he’s speaking to your pussy, unwilling to part from your sweet little cunt even for a second. He was also like this last night. He told you the taste of your pussy is so damn fucking intoxicating, he could eat you up like a three-course-meal.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop!” Your fingers rake through his locks, making him use his teeth on your pussy just because he knows how much you like it when he gets rough. He feels so good going down on you like this, you just can’t help but squeeze his head between your thighs.

“Babybabybaby, fuuuuck- shit!” You feel your pussy twitch two or three times before he gulps, and with his lips still glued to your pussy, you could feel him release a deep chuckle at how much you came undone. Worry washes all over you, heat rising to your face when you realize what you’d done.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You taste heavenly kitten, do it again.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ FUSHIGURO TOJI

Toji wakes up to an all-familiar feeling around his cock, something that wasn’t uncommon before he had you but now that it is you and your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, one arm propped on his thigh for dear life-

“God, I fucking love you.”

He absolutely adores the sight of your head in the morning bobbing up and down his hard length, ass perked, other hand struggling to play with your cunt.

“C’mere and turn around sweetheart. Show me that pretty pussy of yours.”

Ass still perked, only now it’s dangerously close to his face. He spreads your folds with his thumbs, stretching your juicy, clenching entrance and huffing out hot air before he drags out his tongue to lick stripes on your cunt.

“Rrmfh~” Your mewls are muffled as you’re gagged with the head of his cock. The feeling of his tongue on your pussy tickles something in you that makes you suck on his cock, releasing a pop when your mouth leaves his length.

“Ohh~ T-toji baby-fuck-let’s cum together.”

“So fucking needy.” Toji kisses your clit a couple times before making out with your lips. He alternates between nipping the sensitive bud with his teeth and flicking it with his tongue, driving you insane while your own mouth is stuffed full of his cock.

“I rarely have breakfast, but this is a nice little treat.”

[globodamorte]

I could hlget a haircut and tattoos and piercings but those things cost money and to be quite honest I just can't be bothered anymore.

[luveline]

Hi idk if u have already written this if u have pls igonore but what about the first time bombshell reader calls Spencer beautiful?

fem, 1k

“Gideon has a new prodigy.” 

Your head rises of its own accord. “Yeah?” 

“He's younger than you. Twenty three, I think Hotch said. Fresh out of college, two degrees and working on a third? Or maybe he was getting his doctorate? I couldn't keep up.” Morgan shakes his head in disapproval. “Overeducated and under-experienced. He failed his physicals. The ones he took, anyways.” 

“Ooh, ouch. A baby on the team before me,” you joke with a smile. “Genius baby, but a baby.” 

Morgan smiles when you smile, he's too nice not to, but he picks up soon enough, crossing his arms where he's stood and wrinkling what was once a finely steamed suit jacket. “I don't know what Gideon's thinking.” 

“Does anyone ever know what he's thinking? What's Hotch say about it all?” 

Morgan reads what you're typing from over your shoulder and corrects a mistake. One day you won't need his help, but for now you take as much of it as you can get. You're not too proud to acknowledge when you mess up, you're a realist. Super sensible (in mind if not action). 

“Hotch lets Gideon do what he wants, mostly. What can you do when he's one of the originals?” Morgan leans heavily onto his desk by the forearms and shrugs. You’re similar in this regard; complain, move on. You're similar in other ways, too. That's why you get along. 

“Well, I want to meet this guy,” you say. “We'll be teammates just as soon as Strauss stops hating me. I'm one strategic boxed bouquet from a full pardon.” He laughs and touches your arm like he believes you. “Is he around?” 

“Here they are now.” 

You spin in Morgan's desk chair slowly. Jason Gideon is stalking through the office with his head in the contents of a manilla envelope, while a new face follows behind him talking a mile a minute. 

“Obviously,” you hear Gideon interrupt as they get close enough. “Agent Morgan can explain that to you. Don't overthink it, Spencer, just try to get through it.” 

He doesn't acknowledge you nor Morgan as he leaves Spencer and hurries up the steps leading to his and Hotch's offices. You aren't expecting much else from him. What little Gideon knows about you he doesn't like. If you ever get over the Strauss hurdle, it's him you'd have to convince next. You don't watch him cross the landing, your gaze focused on the man making his timid way toward you. Your lips part briefly, and then quirk into an overjoyed smile. 

“Oh, you're beautiful,” you say without thinking. 

He frowns at you. 

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, “This is Y/N L/N. She works in the sex crimes division. As you can imagine, we get a lot of crossover.” You stand, holding out your hand. “Y/N, this is Spencer Reid.” 

“I don't shake. Sorry.” 

You press your hand to your chest. “Oh, that's okay. I shouldn't assume…” Your voice melds into a silkiness that has his shapely brows furrowing further, “It's nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. You're really pretty, do you know that?” 

Spencer peeks at Morgan quickly, who laughs good-naturedly. “She's serious, Reid. She's not making fun of you.” 

“You'd know,” Spencer says. It isn't malicious, but it isn't exactly friendly, either.

You twist to frown at Morgan deeply. “Morgan, you're not being nice to him?” 

“I'm being plenty nice, sweetheart, but this is how it works. I gotta haze him a little.” 

“No, you don't.” You tip your cheek toward your shoulder to look at Spencer through your lashes. “He pretends to be worse than he is, I promise. But don't let him neg you, okay? You're smarter than he is–” 

“Hey.” 

“–and he's used to being the office pretty boy. It's jealousy, nothing else,” you finish. Spencer really is gorgeous now you're close enough to see his eyes. A brown like caramelised sugar tented by dark, dark eyelashes. When he smiles, the very slightest hint of teeth shows, and it makes him even prettier. You endeavour to make him smile again. “Sorry if I'm coming off a little strong. It's not my intention.” 

“She's just nervous. You have everything she wants,” Morgan says. 

You sigh forlornly. “Oh, doesn't he?” Spencer's confused pout is even cuter than his smile. “Getting into the BAU is about as easy as walking on water.” 

“For a human,” Spencer says. “Easier if you're smaller. Like a water strider.” 

There's a silence. Morgan is aghast, you think. You're in love. 

“Yeah?” you ask, stars in your eyes as his own spark to life. 

“Because water strider's can transfer their weight, but also due to their hydrofuge hairpiles. Their microhairs.” He catches himself, measuring your expression carefully. “Did you really wanna know?” 

“Do you wanna get a cup of coffee and tell me about it?” you ask. 

His lips part as yours had when you first saw him. 

He's prevented from answering as Hotch's office door opens and the man himself walks out near the railing. “Good, you’re here. I have something to talk to you about.” 

You grin at him. “I'd love to chat, Agent Hotchner, but I'm getting to know your new protégé.”

“I see.” He waits. 

You would ignore him —Hotch has a soft spot for you (or rather, he likes you enough to put up with you, which is more than can be said about other members of his division) and he'd shrug off your dismissal— but you're really keen to hear what he has to say. Perhaps Strauss has changed her mind about your proposed trail basis with the team. 

“I'm so sorry,” you say to Spencer, immediately re-dazzled by his pretty, lovely face. “It was really nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Maybe next time you can tell me more about it.” 

You give Morgan a quick thank you for the help with your paperwork and trust him to log out of your emails. In your rush up the stairs, you hear a wisp of conversation. 

“Was she messing with me?” 

Morgan laughs. “No, kid. That's how she is.” 

"Oh... She's nice."

"You have no idea."

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - A Messy Fight

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

On their way to face Queen, Kris and the Fun Gang run into Tasque Manager, who demands impossible standards of order. Her criticisms might feel a little too familiar to Kris...but at least the rest of the Fun Gang have their back!

YAY, it's nice to finally get another comic all finished! This one obviously had to go on hold for awhile from my wrist injury. While I'm working on recovering, things are still going to be slow for awhile (probably the rest of the year), so it may be another wait before the next scene.

Alt text for these pages under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Kris, Ralsei, Susie and Noelle walk down a long, uniform stone hallway. Eyeless porcelain gargoyles shaped like big cats stand watch from atop pillars in the hallway. As they walk, Ralsei says, “We’re getting closer to Queen’s chambers. Stay on the alert, Kris!”

Panel 2 - Kris responds with a quick “I am.” As the Fun Gang continues down the hallway, one of the porcelain gargoyles turns its head to follow them.

Panel 3 - Im a medium shot, Lancer pops up from within Susie’s hair, and waves at Kris. He says, “Hey human person, is it hard to stay alert with all that hair in your eyes?” Susie grins, and sticks out her tongue in joking agreement. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ even messier.” Unbeknownst to the Fun Gang, in the background, one of the gargoyles starts to climb down the pillar.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris as they brush their long and messy hair out of their face. “I can see just fine,” they respond.

Panel 5 - Two of the gargoyles land on the ground, the panel’s focus on their clawed paws tapping against the stones.

Page 2 Panel 1 - Noelle turns her head, one ear perked up to listen to what’s behind them. She says, “Wait. I hear something…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on the clawed paws of the gargoyles as they charge forward.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they turn at the sound, reaching for their sword.

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the Fun Gang. They suddenly find themselves surrounded on all sides by four porcelain big cats, all snarling as they circle them. Susie glares back.

Panel 5 - Susie turns back to Lancer, still poking out of her hair. She says, “Uugh, more jerks! Better hide again.” Lancer responds with a disappointed “Aw man…” but does as he’s asked.

Panel 6 - “What are these things?” Kris asks, eyeing a gargoyle circling them, and keeping one hand on their sword hilt. “They’re tasques!” replies Ralsei.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Ralsei turns expectantly, looking ahead. “That means that their *manager* must be near…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on an armored boot as it steps into the middle of the hall. 

Panel 3 - The boot belongs to Tasque Manager. She appears as an armored knight with impeccably polished plate armor, decorated with sharp V-shaped emblems. She appears human in stature, except for her head, which is the bleached skull of a big cat, and with pointed ears. She wields a flail with seven spiked spheres on the end of a collection of cords. She holds up her hand, and says, “Halt, interlopers! I will not permit you to approach the Queen!”

Panel 4 - The Fun Gang remain surrounded by the gargoyles, but Kris still looks ready to fight. Susie sneers at Tasque Manager, and says, “Since when do we need *your* permission?” She responds, “I maintain *order* and *cleanliness* in this dwelling.”

Panel 5 - Straight on shot of Tasque Manager’s face, emphasizing her symmetry and sense of order. “Do you truly think you are worthy…of Queen’s presence in your disorderly state?”

Page 4

Panel 1 - Full shot of the Fun Gang just staring back. They all look pretty haggard, unkempt and gross in their own ways.

Panel 2 - Same shot as previous, although now Noelle tilts her head to the side. “Um…yes?” she offers quietly.

Ralsei helpfully gestures to Kris beside him. “Certainly! Kris even bathed just two weeks ago.”

Panel 3 - Tasque Manager is not having it, and yells back at the group: “LIES!! I can see the *filth* all over you, human! I can smell your STENCH!”

Panel 4 - She continues, “You’re unfit for these halls…you belong in the wastes that you reek of!” The insults are especially focused on Kris.

Panel 5 - Kris shuts their eyes, remembering something from their past…

Panel 6 - A series of flashback images, to when Kris was just a little kid, living as an orphan on the streets. They try to sneak around the back of a food stand in the market, looking for something to eat, when they’re spotted by an empire soldier in armor.

The soldier yanks them up roughly by the shirt and yells in their face: “What’re you doing around here, you filthy urchin?! This is a *nice* place!”

The soldier then throws Kris down into the gutter, splashing street water all over them. “Go stink up a gutter where you belong!” the soldier screams. 

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris opens their eyes again, grimacing. This is clearly an unpleasant memory for them.

Panel 2 - They pull out their sword, and point it towards Tasque Manager. “Maybe my stench will give your dull and tasteless halls some character,” they say.

Panel 3 - Extreme close up on Tasque Manager’s unnaturally sharp teeth. “Human…”

Panel 4 - “I’ll flay your filthy skin from your bones!” she shrieks, and pulls the flail tight in front of her, ready to fight.

Panel 5 - Ralsei immediately teleports out of the range of battle with a burst of flame and smoke. Kris and the beasts eye the gargoyles as they begin to close in on them.

Panel 6 - “Susie! Noelle!” Kris begins the fight by giving them the ACT command. 

Panel 7 - Closeup on Noelle as she opens her mouth and uses her icy breath attack, aiming at one of the gargoyles.

Pavel 8 - However, the gargoyle runs just out of range of the incoming frost, and sprints towards Susie’s unprotected right side.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup as the gargoyle leaps onto Susie and sinks its large teeth into her side, latching on like a lamprey eel. 

Panel 2 - Susie roars in pain and anger at the gargoyle, even as another one coming in from her left bites down into an empty space on her chest.

Panel 3 - Wide shot as the beasts struggle to shake off the gargoyles, but they’re too hard to reach. One more bites into Noelle’s flank, while the last circles, looking for another opening. In the foreground, Kris faces Tasque Manager in one on one combat.

Panel 4 - Kris, being less skilled at swordfighting, only manages to block incoming hits from the flail. All the while, Tasque Manager yells at them: “You humans are so *irrational! Unorderly!*” 

Panel 5 - Tasque Manager flings the flail at Kris’s face as she continues: “Wretched, chaotic creatures…it’s horrid how the gods and demons here desire your souls!”

Panel 6 - Kris remains face to face with Tasque Manager, the flail partially wrapped around their sword…way too close to their face. Still, they are curious about her statement. “Horrid? Never come across a human soul pure enough for you?” they ask.

Page 7

Panel 1 - Tasque Manager leans in to grab the flail, as Kris struggles to keep appropriate space between them. “Never. There is no such thing as a pure human soul,” she replies. 

Panel 2 - Noelle runs in a circle with the gargoyle still attached to her flank. Behind her, Susie lashes her tail angrily, trying to shake off the two biting into her own hide.

Panel 3 - In a fit of desperation, Susie finally rolls onto her side, trying to crush the gargoyle against the stone floor. A sound like breaking glass is heard.

Panel 4 - When she raises up again, the gargoyle is now in shattered porcelain pieces on the floor, although it did leave a nasty wound behind.

Panel 5 - Noelle turns her head, noticing the shattered remains. “Oh, Susie! They break like stone!”

Panel 6 - Susie also takes note of the shattered gargoyle, and gets an idea.

Panel 7 - Thinking fast, she goes and snaps her jaws around the gargoyle on Noelle’s flank, and tears it free.

Panel 8 - Still with one more gargoyle hanging from her neck, she swings her head around in a wide arc and tosses the gargoyle in her jaws at the far wall.

Page 8

Panel 1 - The gargoyle hits a pillar by the far wall, and shatters like porcelain.

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager is momentarily drawn away from Kris as she notices her shattered minions’ remains cluttering up the pristine floor. She shakes with rage. “You’re all making…”

Panel 3 - “SUCH A HORRIBLE MESS!” she screams, and rears back to attack Kris with her flail again.

Panels 4-5 - Kris is momentarily struck by another memory, and they wince in anticipation.

Panel 6 - In a flashback scene. Kris has somehow knocked over a cart full of fruits, and they lay scattered across the cobblestones, broken and smashed. An angry vendor stands nearby. 

Meanwhile, another empire soldier is already there, and grabs Kris by the hair. “LOOK AT THIS MESS YOU’VE MADE!” he screams, shaking Kris. 

Panel 7 - Tasque Manager charges forward, the flail coming in fast at Kris…

Panel 8 - And hits home, striking the, in the head, above their eye. Blood bursts from the head wound.

Page 9

Panel 1 - “KRIS!!” Closeup on Ralsei as he yells in alarm, his eyes wide.

Panel 2 - Kris staggers backward, shaking, and pressing their left hand to their temple.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Kris pulls their hand away, and finds it covered in blood.

Panel 4 -  Meanwhile, Susie rolls onto her chest again, crushing the gargoyle on her neck against the floor. It crunches into pieces like the others.

Panel 5 - In the background, Susie gets up and brushes the remaining shards off her neck. In the foreground, Noelle stomps the remaining gargoyle into pieces with her hooves.

Panel 6 - Kris turns and looks up at Tasque Manager. She raises her flail to strike once again. 

Panel 7 - Despite the fact that Kris is bleeding considerably from the head wound, they smile with realization, and charge in towards Tasque Manager. “The best part about human messes…”

Panel 8 - Tasque Manager takes a wide swing with her flail, but Kris swiftly ducks under it, and slides in close to her. 

Page 10

Panel 1 - Kris finishes, “Is that you can *always* make them worse!” Kris leaps up in front of Tasque Manager, and smears the blood on their hand across her polished breastplate. 

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager pulls back and shrieks in horror at the bloody stain on her armor, both arms raised.

Panel 3 - Kris pulls back, their head still bleeding, and points decisively at Tasque Manager. Noelle and Susie are standing ready behind them, and they give the [FIGHT] command.

Panel 4 - Tasque Manager tries in vain to wipe the blood off her armor, temporarily distracted…

Panel 5 - Which is enough time for Susie to come in from above and snap her jaws around Tasque Manager. She screams, and drops her flail.

Panel 6 - In a wider shot, Kris and Noelle look on as Noelle violently shakes her head with Tasque Manager in her jaws, like a dog shaking a chew toy. Pieces of her armor fly out as she’s tossed back and forth.

Page 11

Panel 1 - Finished with her attack, Susie spits out Tasque Manager, now a complete disassembled mess of armor and bone. Her pieces scatter across the stone floor.

Panel 2 - Noelle opens her mouth wide, and uses her frost breath again…

Panel 3 - …And her icy breath freezes the scattered pieces to the floor, leaving no chance of an easy reforming. Kris watches as the cat skull head skids free of the rest of the mess…

Panel 4 - And slides to a stop by their feet. Although broken up and frozen, Tasque Manager’s severed head can still speak, albeit weakly. “So disordered…scattered…filthy…”

Panel 5 - Low angle shot at the skull glares up at Kris with contempt. Kris has won, but she still has last insults to get in: “No wonder…you were discarded…”

Panel 6 - Kris closes their eyes again, another flashback coming back…

Panel 7 - Another series of flashback images to a younger, orphan Kris. They’re hiding in a pile of trash behind some boxes, shivering, terrified of encountering another soldier. Someone else can be seen approaching.

“Hey…” Kris looks up from their hiding position at the sound of a calmer voice. They see a hand being extended to them.

The hand belongs to a younger Asriel, reaching down to help them up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Page 12 Panel 1 - Back in the present, Ralsei approaches Kris again, putting a reassuring hand on their shoulder. He smiles down at them. “Well done, Kris! We’re that much closer to Queen now.”

Panel 2 - Higher shot as the Fun Gang begins to regroup ans start back down the hall again. Susie leans back towards the frozen and broken Tasque Manager with a taunt: “Good luck cleaning *that* up, you stupid snob!”

Panel 3 - Lancer pops back out of Susie’s hair, one hand raised to his head to look around. “Did we win?” he asks.

“Obviously!” Susie replies with a grin.

Panel 4 - Lancer turns to Kris, who is walking at the head of the party. “Wow! I guess you really *can* see through that string bean hair!” Kris is still injured and messy, but doesn’t seem to mind. “Well enough.”

Panel 5 - A shot from behind the Fun Gang as they continue down the dark hall, heading towards the Queen. Behind them lies a giant mess of shattered porcelain, frozen armor pieces and broken bones. “You know…” Kris says, “I think I will let it grow wild and ugly for the foreseeable future.”

[makoodles]

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good. 

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron. 

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to— 

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight. 

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin. 

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left. 

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless. 

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress. 

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed. 

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly. 

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead. 

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back. 

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face. 

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together. 

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give. 

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him. 

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed. 

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had. 

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp. 

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him. 

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again. 

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest. 

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good. 

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical. 

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him. 

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you. 

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face. 

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone. 

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible. 

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive. 

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized. 

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”  

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth. 

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold. 

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer. 

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips. 

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you. 

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated. 

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up. 

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up. 

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

[the-californicationist]

he gives great gifts

Price/Reader - TW: remote vibrator, minor female ejaculation

“Hey, love, I’m home,” Price’s voice called out to you, summoning you to the front door. 

He was carrying all of your packages and mail, along with his rucksack, home for the weekend. You took the mail, helping him leave the worries of the day at the door to join you in the kitchen. You were making his favorite, chicken spaghetti, and you just started the oven. 

Your captain sat at the island counter, opening up the mail and sorting out the bills. He kissed you as you walked past him, his mustache tickling your lip and cheek

“Mm,” he moaned, “How was your day?”

“Good,” you smiled, flirting with him, “Missed you, though. How was yours? Any news from Laswell?”

“No, not yet. Still waiting on the intel. Oh, hey, it came!” He lit up, tearing into a small package with his knife.

“What’s that?” You asked over your shoulder, bending to put the chicken in the oven. 

“Bought you an early birthday present. Come see,” he was holding a black box, lifting the lid to reveal the prize inside. 

“John, I thought we said no gifts? What did you… oh, my God. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he smiled like he had just won a medal, prideful and obviously chuffed, “...and it has a remote.”

You were staring at a lime green, silicone dildo. It was shaped like a curved smile, one large end for insertion and the other smaller end to be nestled on top of your clit. 

“A remote?” You asked, taking out the toy and feeling its smoothness in your hands. It was lightweight, but very solid. It seemed expensive, well-crafted, and like John had spent way too much money on you, as usual.

It buzzed in your hands, coming alive with a low rumble. It shocked you, and you almost dropped it.

“Oh, my God!” You laughed, “What was that?”

He held up a matching lime green remote. It was small, like a car fob, and it had a few different buttons to choose from. Price’s face was full of mischief,

“Put it in, love.”

“I’m making dinner,” you protested, but you didn’t put it down. 

“So?” He whispered darkly, dragging your hips toward him, kissing you deeply, licking your mouth and leaving little love bites down the side of your neck.

You giggled, smiling sweetly. He made it so easy to give in to him. You sighed,

“Okay, okay. Help me put it in, honey.”

Price put the remote down and slid your pants down to your thighs, pulling your panties down with them. He took the toy from you and opened the little packet of lube that came in the pouch, coating the thick end. He hesitated, slipping his own finger into you first, finding you a little too wet and already turned on. 

He made a face, full of delighted surprise, teasing you,

“Someone’s excited, hm?”

Impatient, he slid the toy into you gently, fitting it at your entrance and pressing it up into you. He pulled it back out again and used it to fuck you for a few strokes, making you moan quietly, leaning forward to steady yourself on his huge forearm. 

“Mm,” he groaned, “You like that, love?”

“Yeah,” you gasped.

He settled it all the way in and made sure the front was in the right place before replacing your panties and your leggings back up around your waist. You kissed him again, and went back into the kitchen to finish up with dinner. 

The excitement of knowing he could control your pleasure was building inside of you. You didn’t see the remote on the countertop, and he was busy recycling the boxes, so you thought you were safe. You leaned down again to check the chicken, and then you almost came out of your skin as the toy came alive inside of you. 

Price was unbothered, pouring a few fingers of whisky into his glass, innocently. He saw you looking at him and smiled knowingly, taking a long swig of the amber liquid into his mouth. You glared, but you needed to put the pasta on to boil. So, you turned back around to grab a pot. 

Inside of you, the toy buzzed, low and rumbling, shaking your clit and rattling against your g-spot in tandem, freezing you in place, riding out the waves of sensation. You struggled to bring yourself back to your task, but you wanted to play along, so you brought the pot over to the sink, panting, trying to work through the blinding pleasure, filling the pot with warm water. You had a few seconds to wait for it to reach the top, so you closed your eyes, reveling in the vibrations. 

You let out a moan, eyes still wrenched shut, hands on either side of the sink. 

“Um, love?” Price interrupted your lust, pointing to the pot which was now overflowing.

“Oh, shit,” you turned off the tap, and managed to pour out some of the water without too much trouble.

However, as you turned to walk it back over to the stove, he turned up the intensity. There was now some sort of… rotation… happening inside of you. It honestly felt like you were being fucked, like a cock was thrusting up into you, punishing your core. You stopped in your tracks, gripping the heavy pot for dear life, moaning in full volume. 

“John!”

Everything stopped. You gasped, your eyes flitting to him immediately. The captain was grinning from ear to ear, drinking his whisky and enjoying the show. He chuckled,

“What is it? You alright?” 

You laughed in short, panting breaths, rolled your eyes at him, and put the pot down to open the pantry for the spaghetti. When you reached for the door handle, the sensations were back, sending bolts of pleasure through your pussy, making your panties damp as you gushed out around the unrelenting dildo. You grabbed the handle tighter, steadying yourself against the frame of the door, resting your body against it, keening like a paid whore. Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, inches away from coming, it stopped again. 

“John Price,” you turned toward him, eyes wild, “You did not just - ”

“I’m starving,” he said casually, not even looking in your direction, pretending to scroll through his phone, “Think you’ll have dinner ready soon, love?”

You groaned, opening the door and reaching for the pasta boxes, waiting for him to click the button again. 

There was nothing. 

You waited in the pantry a little longer, baiting him.

Nothing. Not even a little jiggle. 

You barged out of the pantry, and as soon as he saw you, you were sent to your knees. He’d turned whatever setting it was all the way up. You dropped the pasta boxes, crawling on the floor of the kitchen like an animal, screaming out lurid cries and feeling your thighs tremble from the onslaught. 

“Did you think I would let you hide in there where I couldn’t see you?” His question was delivered with cold cruelty. He had left his seat and was now standing over you, remote in hand, watching you suffer at his feet. You begged for mercy,

“Baby, please, God… I need… oh, fuck!”

“Pick up the pasta. Now,” He commanded you, his voice loud and oppressive.

“John, please,” you clutched at the leg of his jeans, feeling like you were coming in waves and waves and waves. 

He reached down with his empty hand and grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull, forcing you to look up at him, 

“I said: Pick. Up. The. Pasta.”

“Okay, okay…” You were trying to breathe. You let go of his pant leg and reached for the boxes, feeling your pussy clench around the toy as it fucked the life out of you. 

Your hands were shaking. The dry spaghetti made the sound of cheap maracas, clattering out of the box and splashing in the boiling water. You tried to open the second box, and you couldn’t. Your hands weren’t following your commands.

Price’s eyes bore into you as he stood next to you, watching you come apart under his control. Very casually, he took the box from you, opened it, and handed it back to you. He was breathing hard, as if he, too, was being subjected to the same sensations. 

Unable to stop yourself, you looked down at his cock. It was pressing against his pants, making a perfect outline of itself, hard as a stone. He caught you looking and palmed himself over the top of the fabric, squeezing the head to relieve some of the tension. 

You were practically drooling for him. But, you went back to the meal, putting the other box of pasta in as gently as you could. The way that this toy was fucking you almost reminded you of having John’s fingers in you while he sucked on your clit. The vibrations and steady rocking movements brought you to completion in a way where you couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the other began. 

As you turned your back to face Price, he moved toward you, pulling you away from the stove and shoving you up against the countertop. He snaked his hand between your legs and pushed up on the toy, forcing it to fuck you deeper than normally possible, shoving it in you mercilessly. 

“John, I’m going to come, please!”

You came, but it was unique. You felt like you were wetting yourself, coming so hard that fluid was squirting out of you, soaking your panties and leggings, along with John’s invasive hand. 

“Mm, fuck,” he growled in your ear, “Did you just squirt for me? Bloody fucking hell.”

“I don’t…” you couldn’t form coherent thoughts, “I dunno. John, help me, please…”

“Sweet girl, do you need this cock?” he pulled your bottoms down, trapping your knees with them, and held you up by your waist. He turned off the vibrator and tugged it out of you gently. You were so slick that it slid out of you without much resistance. Your pussy was throbbing, flooded with come, and desperate for a familiar sort of relief. 

“Yes, please, God,” you begged, tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Alright, love,” he let you feel his hot head at your pulsating entrance, ready to sink into you, “It’s alright, I'm here now.”

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[littlechivalry]

Steddie meet-ugly modern AU no Upside Down

-

Eddie has more than a few pet peeves but the main one is people blocking the sidewalk because they're on the phone. It's inconsiderate and shitty

The guy he's approaching is a prime specimen. Head completely down and walking full speed with no regard for what or who might be sharing the sidewalk.

So Eddie plants his feet. Its a dick move, he knows, but he figures when the guy gets close enough he'll see Eddie and stop short. Maybe raise his head so Eddie can give him a dirty look before they both go back to their original paths.

It doesn't work like that.

The guy never looks up, plows directly into Eddie. Since Eddie was prepared he keeps his feet but the guy goes stumbling. His phone, knocked from his hands, hits the ground with a sharp crack.

Eddie lunges to catch the guy but that brings them both to the ground and an awkward collapse.

"Shit," the guy says, sniffling.

His voice is thick and wet and Eddie is starting to have a real bad feeling.

"Shit, I'm sorry," the guy says. "I wasn't looking where I'm going, 'm so stupid."

He finally looks up and his face is damp and red, hazel eyes welling up with tears.

Eddie is an asshole.

"Hey, no," he says, getting up and helping the guy to his feet. "Its my fault. I didn't realize I was in your way."

The guy stands up, waving away Eddie's help. "No, this is all me. God, this whole stupid day. Of course, of course this would happen."

He's looking at the ground again and Eddie hears the other man hiccup a sob before crouching to pick up his phone.

It's... Eddie's seen worse. But it's in bad shape.

The guy presses the power button but there's no response. Eddie watches him press it again. Then again. He shakes it and tries again.

Nothing.

"Yeah," the guy says. "Yeah. This is perfect. This is actually exactly what I needed."

Oh no, Eddie is the world's biggest asshole.

The guys moves over and takes a seat on the curb, setting his phone on the sidewalk next to him and pressing his face in his hands.

Eddie... doesn't know what to do.

So he sits down beside him.

"You don't need to be here," the guy says.

Eddie shrugs. "I don't have anywhere else to be and it's my fault your day went to shit." The first part is a lie, and Gareth is gonna be pissed if Eddie doesn't get going, but there's no way he can leave now.

The guy shakes his head and sighs, just one soft huff, before he leans back on his hands, tipping his face up. He's not crying anymore and the red flush has faded to pink around his eyes and high on his cheeks.

He turns to Eddie and smiles, chagrined and tired and beautiful, and Eddie... is sunk.

In the face of that expression Eddie has no other choice. "I knocked youdownonpurpose," he almost shouts into that smile. "I was being a jerk and you weren't looking. I didn't-- I didn't think you would fall. I just... I was an asshole."

And the guy... just... laughs.

Eddie doesn't know how to respond. He murnurs an apology. And the guy just laughs harder. Laughs until he's crying again.

"I'm gonna be honest," Eddie says. "I'm not sure what to do here. Are you okay? Is this, like, a breakdown?"

The laughter eventually fades into a few stuttering gasps.

Eddie pulls the bandana out of his pocket and offers it over. The guy takes it and mops at his streaming eyes, dries his face.

The guy turns to face Eddie. The mad light of laughter is gone but so are the tears. Now it's just... calm.

They're still on the curb in the middle of the city. People are passing by, cars and bicycles and other pedestrians. Noise and light and life all around them.

But this moment with this guy feels like...

When Eddie was a kid he was terrified of storms. It felt like every boom of thunder was the moment his home would come crashing around him, like rain would wash his family away, the lightning would burn them all down.

His mom didn't have any patience for him getting upset, more interested in her own nightmares than Eddie's and going to his dad would just make things worse. It wasn't until he moved in with Wayne that storms changed for him.

The first thunderstorm that came crashing down on their trailer sent Eddie screaming into the little hallway, pressing himself to the wall as the lights flickered overhead.

Wayne found him there, curled in a ball on the floor and immediately sat down beside him, gathering Eddie's gangling limbed form into his own lap and rocking him through his sobs until the storm was over.

Once it had passed Wayne carried Eddie out onto the grass in front of the trailer. Eddie remembers pressing his face into Wayne's flannel shirt, letting the soft worn fabric absorb his tears and all the time Wayne humming and swaying them side to side.

When Eddie was ready he looked up. He expected a field of devastation, trailers thrown around like kids toys, trees uprooted, fire and havoc.

But it was quiet. Calm. It felt like the world had just let out a big breath.

Eddie was back in that moment now. This guy had clearly been through a storm and now he was on the other side.

"You wanna get a coffee," Eddie hears himself say.

The guy smiles. "I, uh, I need to get my phone taken care of."

"We can do that first," Eddie says. "Its my fault anyway and i know a guy who can probably fix it."

"Yeah," the guy asks.

Eddie nods. "Yeah. Um... I'm Eddie. By the way."

The guy smiles again, something like the sunrise breaking out across his face. "I'm Steve."

[boiohboii]

The Lost Keychain

(Max Verstappen x f!reader)

When Max loses a key chain gifted to him by his girlfriend, the world realises that a race track isn't the only thing he dominates in.

or

When Max's girlfriend shocks the world about how she has 2 different personalities.

WARNINGS: NOT PROOFREAD, JUST SOMETHING QUICK, A BIT SUGGESTIVE. no actual smut but description of a spicy position in a photo and a suggestive quote engraved on key chain.

Masterlist

Everyone knows how much Max hates media days and reporters invading his privacy, he hates talking about his personal life, especially his girlfriend.

When they first started dating Max tried to keep her away from the media as much as possible, and no one blamed him seeing how sweet, kind and lovely she is, nowadays some of his fans even save her from reporters during race weekends, everyone loved her and they all followed Max's footsteps into protecting the sweet, shy girl.

So maybe this was his fault, actually scratch that, it is definitely his fault, he shouldn't have lost such a precious gift. He feels like everyone is watching his every move much more than usual ever since the incidence at the redbull garage got out, but what can he do, after all a gift like that shouldn't have even been outside of his hotel room.

"Guys, who lost their keychain?"

A redbull mechanic screamed over the noise as he waves the found item around, jiggling sounds from what appears to be multiple house keys and two gate keys gradually drawing the attention of the entire redbull garage.

"Why would anyone even bring their house keys to the garage?" an intern dismissed "none of us have a house in this country man."

Shrugging, the mechanic decided to keep it with him until it's owner realises, and until then he decided to just examine it, maybe there'd be a clue of who it belongs to.

The chocking sound alerted some fellow mechanics, making them get closer to the one who was now red faced with wide eyes looking at the lost keychain.

"Damn," a mechanic said as he took the keychain "that's one lucky motherfucker"

Other mechanics make their way over to the commotion, a crowd forming to see why such an item is taking so much attention.

It was a silver keychain, that much was seen by all the mechanics from afar, what wasn't seen from afar however was what had all of them coughing awkwardly, some even blushing.

On one side of the diamond shaped chain you can see the words 'welcum home. Dinner is ready.' Now, you would think that the pun is just weirdly placed and doesn't match with the sweet message, but the message was intended to be anything but sweet. Turning the chain to its other face, you would see another engravement. A picture. A woman who appeared to be resting on a flat surface supporting her weight on one elbow so that she can lift her torso up, with her legs wide open, palm covering her and a bike helmet on her head. But it wasn't a bike helmet, it was a helmet with an outline that's eerily similar to the design of Max Verstappen's 2021 helmet.

"Holy shit."

"Do you think-"

"Hey, has anyone seen a silver diamond shaped keychain?" The familiar voice of their three times world champion cut through their talking, making them all look like they were 5 year old children with their hand in a cookie jar way past their bedtime. And Max noticed.

Walking closer to the mechanics Max's cheeks got redder and redder with each step, coughing and smiling awkwardly.

"So," clearing his throat in a failed attempt to make things not so tense "that's mine, give it back."

Trembling hands dropped the silver item into Max's awaiting palm before he clenched it around the treasured chain, turning and taking his leave.

"What did you guys do to Max? His face and ears are all red." GP's voice cut through the awkward atmosphere, no one knowing what to say or do.

Noticing the environment and reading the room, GP laughed as he looked at the rest of his colleges. "Did he lose the keychain again?"

[lovelyrotter]

fellow fictives my babes my darlings i am BEGGING YOU to stop tagging your very personal stuff with ships relating to your fictive-shape and then start talking about whether or not you ''condone'' these ships entirely purely based on your personal comfort as if youre talking about law. do what you want with your own irl body and relationships. you are not part of shipping. you are a real person. i am BEGGING YOU PERSONALLY to not partake in the crossing of these lines

[sttoru]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 .

⟣ sypnosis. a nightmare of your lover’s disappearance wakes you from your sleep.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. angst, comfort, fluff. takes place after gojo’s unsealed but before dec 24th, bits of spoilers jjk leaks 236 at the end. mentions of death, blood.

⟣ note. based on it’s happening again by agnes obel. coping rn dhmu . . . not proofread bcs i cant read through my tears anyways hope u enjoy im gonna cry myself to sleep now

everyone has to die at one point — not even the strongest of all could avoid that tragical fate. not even the strongest sorcerer you call your lover.

no, not even him. the universe couldn’t spare him. you thought that maybe, it would. maybe fate wouldn’t apply to him. oh, how wrong you were.

blood splatter—a stream of red liquid. right at your feet. right in front of your eyes. a man in half. and not just any regular man;

“satoru !”

your dark surroundings become blurry with tears, your body jolts out of its current dreaming state. you could feel your heart in your chest—in your throat. your brain shut itself off for a few seconds as your eyes try to make out shapes and figures in the room you’re in. your bedroom.

you only then realises that it was all just a gruesome nightmare. a hyperrealistic one at that; one that will haunt you for years.

“hmmh.. ‘m right here, baby.” a groggy voice next to you replies to your yell in agony. the yell that was the shape of your lover’s name leaving your lips—

you instantly turn your head to the right and there he was; the man whom just met death in your dreams. gojo satoru, all alive and well. in your bed, in your presence, in your life.

satoru’s hand aimlessly pats the space next to him in search of your body whilst he rubbed his eyes with the other, trying to adjust his sight to the dark so he could find you. you seemed to be in complete distress. which he does not like.

“it’s okay, shh, shh,” your lover hums, hand finally finding your arm. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you on top of him—your head laying on his chest.

his body was warm. his heartbeat was there. loud and clear in your right ear.

“satoru. . .” a river of tears flows down your cheeks like a dam that has been broken into. your body trembles, lungs feeling like they couldn’t get any air in them from how hard you were sobbing. the pain of losing your loved one; it all came flowing back to you.

satoru frowns, “hey, hey. look at me — sweetheart, c’mon.”

he instantly sits up and pulls you along with him. his hands find your cheeks, tilting your head up. this time it was his turn to feel his heart break in pieces. you looked absolutely distraught. as if you just went through a traumatic experience of some kind. he hated it.

“shit,” satoru mutters under his breath before pulling you into his embrace again, arms circling your waist with his head buried in the crook of your neck, “it’s okay, i’m here now. you’re safe.”

it wasn’t the first time you had nightmares when he was with you. you had them regularly after satoru had gotten sealed in the prison realm for nineteen days—nineteen days of dread for you. of an empty bed, an empty house and an empty life.

when satoru had finally been released from the prison realm it was like a dream come true. a happy dream, that is. not those repetitive, bad ones you have every now and then. you still get those nightmares of your lover being either taken away from you by force or by death itself. your brain couldn’t give you a break — even after his return.

“take a deep breath in,” satoru instructs and sets an example by doing the breathing exercise with you, “hold it for three seconds . . . breathe out for six. mhmm, good—jus’ like that.”

you repeat it a couple more times, sobbing and shaking throughout the entirety of the exercise, but eventually manage to calm down a little. satoru sighs in relief at this;

“you okay, baby?”

you nod weakly and sniff, wanting nothing more than to be held by the man you thought had vanished from your life forever. you had that scare once, when he was sealed, and you never want to go back to those dark times. ever.

“it’s— i, just—“ you hiccup once, unable to complete entire sentences, “i thought you w-were gone. i thought you had died.”

it was silent after that (except for the sound your silent sobs and sniffles). satoru had guessed by now that you saw him die in your dream — that much was pretty obvious. but, the thought that you were this distressed because of it makes him. . . happy in a way.

happy that someone would mourn over him at least.

“well,” satoru pensively replies, hands rubbing your back up and down soothingly, “everyone has to meet their end one day, you know?”

that sentence was one that was meant to lighten up the grim mood somehow. one of his many lighthearted remarks that were supposed distract you from your tears. it would work during other moments like these — were you’d be too baffled by the things satoru says to care about what you were crying for — yet today it only worsens your misery.

“shut up.” you weakly punch his chest to which the white haired male chuckles softly, his slender fingers instantly interlocking with yours. satoru’s thumb brushes against your wrist before pulling it up to his lips, placing ticklish kisses among your skin.

another silence hangs in the air.

“seriously though. . . if i were to somehow die, i’d want you to live and move on, yeah?” your lover whispers in such a quiet tone that it was almost inaudible. satoru had looked death right in the eye before — he didn’t care back then if it were actually his end.

he does now. he has the world to lose — his world — his everything. you.

satoru wants to live a happy life with you. he doesn’t want to die now that he has you. the love of his life which he wants to grow old with. maybe have kids with. start an own family away from the busy streets, away from the swarming curses in the city and away from all that sorcerer stuff. it was a nice dream.

“shut it!” you huff and satoru takes another weak punch to the chest. his gaze lands upon your tear struck face and he instantly drops the serious ‘act’.

the sorcerer laughs, his usual boyish laugh that makes you feel better, and he flips you both over so that he has you pinned underneath him. satoru grins before kissing your tummy all over, making you giggle from the ticklish feeling;

“i’m playin’, baby! i’m not going anywhereeee!” he promises through wet pecks against your skin, the smile on his evident even if you couldn’t see it — you could hear it in his voice.

satoru leaves your tummy and moves on to your neck and face. he was smothering you in affection in hopes you’d cheer up some way. he just wants you to forget about anything bad happening to him. you didn’t deserve to think about all that stuff — you deserve to be happy and full of joy.

even without him one day.

“i’d never leave my princess all alone.” satoru shakes his head and pouts dramatically, “who else is gonna spoil you? or kiss and cuddle you to bed, huh?”

you finally show an ounce of joy. a tiny smile. that was all satoru had needed to see. he wasn’t going to stop there, however. his goal was to turn that small smile into a full blown fit of laughter.

“i’m one of a kind, baby. you’re never gonna meet a man like me.” he continues with a proud grin, putting all of his body weight on top of you which causes you to groan and grumble a lighthearted complain.

satoru knows you like it whenever he clings to you and thus he uses that piece of knowledge to help you feel better. his head was buried into your shoulder, limbs enveloping your body like a koala.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes and snuggle up to your lover, closing your eyes as the tiredness hits your body after all that crying.

“whatever !” satoru mocks you in a high-pitched tone, followed by a pair of giggles from the two of you. a third and final punch to the chest finally shuts him up for the rest of the night.

the sorcerer made sure you had fallen asleep first before he whispered the next words in your ear, hoping they’d calm your mind and body so that no nightmares would ever bother you again;

“don’t you worry, sweets. i’m not leaving you. ever.”

. . .

those were the same exact words satoru wished he could utter to you one last time before the current date — 24th of december.