#let's have fun with this and see what happens ^^

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt… right?

Daddy Joel but not in that way

WC 7.8k - Warnings/content: no outbreak!au, domestic fluff, established relationship (Joel and reader are married), husband!joel x wife!reader, some physical descriptions, results of childbearing, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected p-in-v, oral sex (f receiving), breeding kink (even if your eyes are wide open, you don’t need to squint), age gap relationship, reader is 32 & Joel is 46 (met at 19 and 33),

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

You and Joel decide to take your kids for ice cream on a restless night.

Usually the kids were in bed by 9:00pm, but for some reason, the house was wide awake on this particular Saturday night.

Even you and Joel, who usually hoped to be in bed at 10pm since you both like waking up early and enjoying a quiet early morning together.

Your son, who is currently in his “obsessed with daddy” phase (you wonder if any of them would truly grow out of that, seeing as your now 6 year old daughter still favors him over you…. traitors) clings to Joel’s legs as he plays with them, trying to wear off all of the sugar they just consumed.

You watch from the picnic table outside the ice cream shop which happens to stay open until midnight, watching your kids play in the grass. They’re running around and throwing themselves at Joel, who catches them and rough houses with them.

You see him glance over to you as he’s now perched on all fours, his chest heaving from the exertion of playing with energetic kids, the two youngins take this opportunity of distraction to jump on his back. You hear a “humph” of strain from the man who still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. He smiles that devilish smile, the one you know all too well. The one that made three kids to begin with. You roll your eyes and absent-mindedly bite your lip as your youngest watches her oldest siblings from your lap.

You shake your head as he stands up, sliding the two wily children off of him, and motions the two of you over to join the chaos, your son and daughter his biggest cheerleaders in his endeavor. You set your toddler down gently as she wiggles in defiance, attempting to escape your grasp. She makes a mad dash for it (as fast as a thirty-two month old can realistically dash…) and you chuckle, following her over to the grass.

“How’s daddy doing over here with these menaces?”

“I’m not a menace!” Your son says as he grabs Joel’s legs, attempting to take them out from beneath him.

“No?” You hear giggles erupt from your children. They had now somehow managed to get your husband to the ground, and were stubbornly sitting on his back again.

You tsk your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“I’m fine…” Joel grumbles from beneath them, sighing in faux defeat before glancing back up at you and smirking. He’s recruiting you to help ‘get them off me’, his big, brown eyes plead.

You get into character immediately, the infamous lion they call “mommy” emerges as she grabs each youngling and drags them back to her cave which is just a separate patch of grass,“You’re mine now, what will you do!”

They plead for daddy, whilst giggling infectiously. Your youngest reaches her hands up for her dad who is watching with his hands on his hips and a wide grin. “Alright, c’mon…” he leans down to pick her up and extends a hand to help you up off of the ground.

The giggles begin dying down but your son keeps randomly getting bursts of the giggles… and that’s how you know you successfully wore them out.

“Let’s get you little cubs home.”

You look over to Joel whose eyes are already on you, he gently motions his head to your youngest who is already snoozing against his shoulder as he carries her back to the car. Your four and six year old have managed to climb into the car and you give each of them a kiss on their cheek as you buckle them up in their car seats. “You and daddy are always fun…” your oldest daughter grumbles sleepily.

“Well, we’ve got some fun kiddos like you to keep us young.”

She smiles at this and nods gently, “I’m ready for bed now, mommy.”

“So am I, sweet pea, let’s get home.”

Joel patiently waits in the driver’s seat after getting the youngest into her car seat. You climb into the passenger's seat and let out a sigh. “Wore me out…” you lean your head against the headrest and look over to Joel.

He raises a singular eyebrow “too worn out?”

You shake your head lightly, “I could be persuaded otherwise.”

His hand meets your thigh, squeezing it firmly then sliding it higher and higher… “you’re such a good mama.” His thumb trails circles on your thigh, you hum contentedly at his gentle and soothing touch.

“You’re a wonderful daddy,” and he should know how much you adore him. How much you know his true calling is being a dad to the three munchkins now sleeping in their car seats.

“Can I have another one?”

Your jaw slightly opens in disbelief, “Seriously? Four? Could we even handle that?”

“I mean don’t you like the intervals? Two, four, six….” he tilts his head and a sly smile spreads on his face…. “we’re due for another.”

You playfully swat at his arm. “I’d be forty-six when the last one even reaches high school.”

You watch as Joel calculates the numbers and his eyes light up as he looks back at you briefly with a shimmer of mischievousness appearing in them. “Is that a yes?”

You roll your eyes.

“How about once we potty train little miss Ellie and we can… discuss it,” you knew she was getting close to being fully potty trained. She was rounding nearer to her third birthday and it had been pretty smooth sailing. You wanted to make sure no regression would happen if you and Joel decided to have another. That is why you spaced them out in the first place, even if it was only two years between.

“Whatever you want to do, baby… I can deal without too.” He crooks his finger and motions for you to lean closer so the kids can’t hear what he’s about to say. “Just want to see your tight, sexy pregnant body one more time… it will be the last time, I promise.”

Your face flushes red, reminiscing on the absolute ferality that emerges from Joel when he sees the evidence of the seed he planted deep within you take root and bloom. “You said that last time…” you scold, reaching your hand behind his head, your fingernails finding his scalp, scratching and massaging his head just how he likes it.

You hear a groan of approval and appreciation, quiet enough so they kids can’t hear, but loud enough that you could as you lean in closer.

“I think you’re warming up to my idea, aren’t ya.. I’ll take good care of ya, promise.”

And he does take such good care of you, especially when you’re pregnant… catering to your cravings, your insecurities, even helping you exercise since you can’t stand the recovery your body had to go through with your first one. Now that was a rough pregnancy, and the first usually is.

The other two had been seemingly a breeze in comparison. No tears and no leftover scars, the other natural changes you thought were truly beautiful. Stretch marks, a little bit of loose skin that has slowly been going away as you continue exercising, but you know it will never truly be gone. No one told you how strong your arms, thighs, and back would get, you have pretty defined muscles in those areas due to lugging around children and whatever they came with to their different activities and outings. Even your calves looked crazy to you, like you had gone back to your youthful soccer days.

But you still felt insecure about your body, even whilst knowing the reality of “bouncing back” is a misogynist view on childbearing completely… you wish you hadn’t gained the last twenty pounds, even though they do look good on you.

They filled in your breasts and ass, and Joel… well, he surely had no complaints. Evidence of bearing his children and being a realistic mama who was able to bounce back into shape out of necessity for your job and for the energetic kids who now outnumbered you.

You had been a small thing, really, compared to him at least… he had found that sexy as hell too. Meeting a young thing like you so independent and sure of yourself. Melting him and wrapping him around your finger in a way he had never intended but had no regrets. Your preference for older men was rooted in your need for someone who could hold their own against you, who could handle your spitfire mouth, your need for emotional, mental, and physical enrichment. Could handle the fact that you made more money than he did, that you had the ambition that could drive you endlessly.

He had enjoyed your youth and your energy being solely reserved for him and for the first four years of marriage– until you decided you were ready to grow your family, to expand the love you shared for each other into raising children. Pregnancy really did look good on you in every regard. Even in its rougher moments. Being a mom looked even better on you in Joel’s opinions. Even, especially, in its rough moments. Your ability to handle yourself, yet asking for help when you needed it was so fucking sexy to him.

“Just get me home, daddy,” you never said that word in any way but referring to him in front of the kids, or in the context of making him one… you watched as he shifted in the driver's seat, his pants tightening at your words.

He pulls into the driveway a few moments later, his grip causing his knuckles to turn white as he opens the garage door, pulls the car in, and hastily, yet as calmly as he can as to not rouse the children… begins to unbuckle them to take them to their beds. The faster they’re settled, the faster you two can get some much needed alone time.

“Goodnight my little gremlins, sweet dreams,” you heard him from outside their room. The house was large enough for them to have their own rooms when they wanted them, but even your oldest insisted it helped her sleep knowing her siblings were right there where she could hear and see them.

You think she might have a little bit of anxiety, especially since she was the only child who had experienced a death in the family, at least one that she could semi-understand.

Joel’s mother passed away when Sarah was four, she was curious and incredibly empathetic of her daddy who was visibly distraught and mourning the loss. She didn’t quite understand it, how could she? It was confusing to such a young child, going to a funeral and seeing her grandmother who smelled of warmth and cookies… suddenly cold and in a box. It felt almost cruel to bring her, hoping to distract her with the snacks and treats they had provided the family in the back room.

You didn’t want to shield her from reality, that wasn’t the point, but it wasn’t right to force her into processing death when she was just beginning to process life. Artie had only been two at the time, and though you don’t want to discredit his experience as a baby observing the world— you knew he didn’t process it like Sarah did. And you had been pregnant with Ellie, it felt wrong to receive “congratulations” from relatives you rarely saw or had any real acquaintance with. Celebrating new life and the life of a loved one who had passed on simultaneously.

Regardless, Sarah liked keeping her younger siblings under close supervision, and it warmed your heart to know how close she and her siblings were. What would you not give to have a relationship like that with your siblings? And well, Joel and Tommy, as strained as their relationship got at certain points, they had grown up and were as thick as thieves at this point. Tommy, still the trouble maker, but had redirected his tendency for trouble into kid-friendly mischief and your kids adored him for it.

But it wasn’t his brother on your mind right now, it was the ever-capable, supportive, nurturing, and patient brother whom you had fallen in love with. The strong, broad, and stern man who made your legs weak as you watched his tenderness with your little ones.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him lay your oldest down gently in her “big girl bed”, you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face. You’re sure the term to describe the way you looked at him was ‘dreamy’, wondering how the hell you got so lucky.

He gives each kid a kiss on the forehead and makes sure the nanny cam is on, every night…

As he turns to leave, he catches you staring, he always does, and that cocky smirk of his shows up right on cue.

He quirks an eyebrow then raises them playfully, his hands find your hips as he pushes you backwards, and briefly turns back around to close the door to their room gently, leaving you alone again, finally.

“Think we tired ‘em out, they’re out cold” his voice is low and suggestive, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands grip your waist tighter, your back meeting the wall opposite of their door.

You feel his hot breath on your cheek as he gently presses his lips to it.

“I love you,” he presses kisses down your chin and to your jaw, then proceeds to nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His arms wrap tightly around you.

Your fingers run through his hair, the soft, grey curls at the back of his neck were one of your very favorite things in this whole world.

He hums at the sensation, contentedly remaining where he was in the crook of your neck, you press a kiss to his temple.

“You seem tired, baby,” you say softly, your hands cupping his face and bringing him up to where you could see his eyes.

He smiles sleepily, “No ‘m not.” It was the least convincing denial you’d ever heard.

His eyes are searching yours, the sparkle of adoration so visible in those big brown eyes of his. So soft, so perfect.

“Okay, big brown eyes, let’s go to bed,” those same eyes light up and he complies, allowing you to lead him to the master bedroom.

He gently leads you to the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you collapse onto it together. He peppers kisses wherever he can reach, causing you to giggle infectiously. “Baby…” he croons, his arms loosening as his arms start to wander. His fingertips finding the hem of your sweatshirt and slowly… slowly tracing the waistband of your shorts.

You can’t help the little sounds you make as soon as he touches you. It’s an involuntary response that he just adores. His touch is an aphrodisiac to you. Intentionally or not, he melts you.

“Just a… a practice round, yeah?” And those doey eyes looking up at you send a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs, “Please, darlin… I’ll be real good, promise.”

God, and the way he begs. Your hands find his hair and your fingers run through his beautiful greying hair. You pull him to you, his eyes searching yours with that grin pulling at his lips.

“Need to hear ya, baby… you too tired?”

You shake your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he settles between your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your lower belly, causing you to shiver. His eyes enraptured with the sight of his skin against yours.

“Not too tired.” You finally say, perfectly content just watching him.

“What’d’ya say, darlin, wanna get out of these?” His fingers hook under the waistband of your shorts and you nod your head in encouragement, lifting your hips in order for him to slide them down and off your legs.

“Look at’cha… what a mess f’me.” His eyes scan over you as his fingers smooth over the smooth skin of your thighs, humming as he touches you.

He always makes you feel so beautiful.

“Joel, please.”

“Somethin’ ya need, sweetheart? Just enjoyin’ the view.” He leans his head down and presses a kiss to your navel causing you to shudder beneath him. He groans at that, pressing a longer, messier kiss to your hipbone, flattening his tongue against your skin and dragging upwards from your hip.

“Get up here,” your hands cup his face and you’re dragging him up your body. You pull him against you, lips crashing against yours and you groan in satisfaction. His tongue sliding out to open you up for him. You happily oblige, humming contentedly as one hand grips your hip, the other sliding beneath your sweatshirt. You can feel the tension through the denim pressed against your inner thigh and you can’t help but arch into the sensation, but his grip on your hip keeps you flat against the bed.

“I’ll get there, y’know I’ve gotta get’cha ready first, darlin’.” And with that… his hand is trailing down from your hipbone and pushing your legs wider… the back of his fingers teasing up the softness of your inner thigh.

He shimmies down, and looks up at you before dragging his eyes over your spread legs for him.

“Take off your shirt, let me see you…”

You quickly do as he says, sliding off your sweatshirt and your sports bra you had on beneath it.

His eyes immediately drinking you in, his head dipping down to press kisses to your skin again, trailing them up… and up… until he reaches the taut peaks of your nipples, his tongue flicking out to tease them, then gently biting down on one, your body arches into him, unable to help the gasp that rips from your throat.

“Jesus, Joel—” You whisper it like a confession, one hand threading into his hair as he lavishes your breast with his mouth, greedy and unhurried like he’s got nowhere else to be.

He hums low against your chest, dragging his tongue across your nipple before kissing lower. Down your ribs, your belly, every inch of skin he can reach with lips and teeth. You swear he’s trying to devour you in pieces, like if he takes his time, he won’t lose control too fast.

“You’re always so soft here,” he murmurs against the dip of your stomach, hand smoothing over your hip. “Drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

And then he’s settled between your thighs again, pressing a kiss right over your clit before dragging his tongue slowly and deliberately between your folds. You gasp, hips twitching, but he pins you easily with a hand splayed across your belly. His hands are so big compared to you…. covering almost your entire torso below your breasts.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs. “Lemme take my time.”

He moans at your taste, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring it. Then he dives back in, tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles before flattening against your clit. Your back arches into him, chasing that sensation, but his grip was firm in keeping you flat against the mattress.

“Joel, fuck…” Your voice breaks as your hand fists in the sheets, the sensation already too much and not enough all at once,

He grunts against you, tongue fucking into your entrance before he pulls back and slides two fingers in deep and slow, like he’s prepping you for something bigger. Which he most certainly was.

“Gotta get you ready,” he mutters, almost to himself, curling his fingers just right as his mouth finds your clit again. “Get this sweet pussy nice and open f’me. Gotta get you good and full tonight.”

You whimper, thighs starting to shake around his head. He feels it, hears it, and doubles down, licking and sucking, practically wringing the orgasm out of you by force. Like he needs it, needs to taste you fall apart before he lets himself have you.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he growls against you, tongue relentless. “I know you’re close. Wanna feel you cum all over my tongue.”

Your whole body tightens, your orgasm crests so fast you barely have time to warn him before it crashes down on you—loud, breathless, soaking.

He groans as you cum, lapping at everything you give him, not stopping even when you’re shaking and whimpering from overstimulation.

Finally, he pulls back, face wet and eyes heavy. His fingers slide out of you slow, gently, and he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Always so fucked-out just by my tongue…” When he crawls back up your body, you can feel him, hard and hot through his jeans, practically throbbing against your skin.

He’s breathing heavy, mouth slick, eyes wild. He looks at you like he wants to ruin you and worship you in the same breath.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, like it’s a warning. Like it’s the only truth he knows. He presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing yours as he pants. “You hear me, baby? Mine. Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

You nod in agreement, dazed, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. “Yours. Always.”

That does something to him. He growls low in his throat, almost like he hurts with it, grinding his denim covered erection against your thigh. His hands are frantic now, undoing his belt, dragging his jeans down and stepping off of the bed just enough so he could drag his shirt over his head and kick his jeans off. He crawls back over you, his cock thick and heavy against you, already leaking. He hisses as he rubs the head through your slick folds, not pushing in yet, just teasing, watching how you twitch for it.

“Joel, please,” you whimper, trying to lift your hips. But he pushes you flat again, one hand splayed over your lower belly, right where he’s planning on making his seed stick… right where he’ll watch another baby of his grow inside you.

His grin is dark, his eyes filled with adoration and affection, his voice dripping with possession. “C’mon, baby, lemme hear it. Tell me you want me to fuck a baby into you.”

“Please, give me another baby…”

Satisfied with your plea, he drives into you in one smooth, brutal thrust, forcing a sob from your throat as he fills you to the hilt. So deep you feel like he’s split you open, and he fucking loves it, you love it.

“Christ,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder as your cunt clenches around him. “So tight… made f’me.”

He pulls out slowly and slams back in, grinding his hips against you, deep and punishing. “This is mine,” he hisses, fucking you like he’s trying to carve the truth into your bones. “This pussy, this body, this fuckin’ womb‘s mine.”

You’re gasping, clawing at his back, and he doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay steady, possessive, deep enough to bruise. Every time he bottoms out, his hand presses into your belly like he’s trying to make room for what he’s giving you.

“Gonna knock you up tonight, baby,” he groans, voice breaking as his pace falters just a bit. “Gonna fill you up ‘til I see it start takin’, won’t stop ‘til I do.”

“Joel, fuck, give it to me, please…”

“I’m going to,” he grits out, slamming into you one last time and holding, grinding, staying deep. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. Take all of it.”

He moans into your neck as he cums, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling deep. His whole body shudders with it, broken and desperate, like he’s giving you everything he has.

He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t even move. He just stays there, cock still buried inside

“Gonna keep it there,” he mumbles, almost drunk on it. “Keep you like this. Stuffed full.”

—

You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped up in him, the only sounds are your mingled breath and the quiet thump of his heartbeat against your chest.

He’s still inside you, still thick and warm, as you pulse around him faintly. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other tangled in your hair, fingers stroking lazy paths along your scalp like he’s trying to soothe both of you back down to earth.

“Y’alright?” he murmurs, voice gone gravel-soft, lips brushing your temple.

You hum, barely a whisper. “More than alright.”

Joel smiles against your skin, you feel it before you see it.

“Good girl.” His hand drifts lower, resting over your lower belly. Just resting there, like he’s grounding himself in the possibility of what he just gave you. “You feelin’ it too?”

You nod, breath catching when his palm presses just a little more firmly. “Feels warm,” you whisper. “Full.”

His eyes flick down to where your bodies are still joined, and he groans quietly like the sight alone is going to undo him again.

“Gonna take,” he says, almost reverent. “I know it will.”

You reach up to touch his face, fingers brushing his scruff, “You really want another little one, huh?”

He leans into your touch, eyes going a little soft, a little faraway. “Want another you,” he says simply. “Little baby with your eyes and my stubbornness…”

That makes you laugh, your body shaking against his. “We already have three of those.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, curling closer around you. “And I’d take ten more. All of ‘em runnin’ around, lookin’ like you…”

His voice catches there, low and wrecked, and his hand in your hair stills for a moment. “You remember what we said we’d name the next one? If it was a girl?”

You blink up at him, heart lurching. “You remember that?”

“‘Course I do,” he murmurs. “Been thinkin’ about it ever since you told me you’d maybe wanna try again while holding little newborn Ellie in the hospital.”

His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, “Rosalie.”

You feel something tighten in your chest. The way he says it. Soft and hopeful and his.

You whisper it back to him, “Rosalie.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “Rosie,” he tests out the nickname, “God, I’d spoil the hell outta her.”

“You already spoil all of them.”

“Not like I would her,” he says, then adds with a smirk, “She’d be our last. I’d make damn sure she knew she was daddy’s girl. The baby girl of the family.”

You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, you feel him twitch inside you.

He sees the realization on your face and groans. “Shit.”

“What?”

He presses his forehead to yours, “You keep squeezin’ me like that and—fuck, baby—”

Your legs shift around his hips. Just a little. Just enough to make both of you moan at the sensation.

“You gonna fuck another one into me?” you whisper, kissing along his jaw.

His breath stutters, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

This time it’s slower, but not gentle.

He draws back just a bit and thrusts forward again, deeper than before, the kind of grind that feels like he’s trying to fit even more of himself inside you. Your body’s already open, already slick and aching and so sensitive, but he fucks into you like he still needs more. Like his body doesn’t know how to stop wanting yours.

You moan, clutching at his back. “Joel, god, feels so full…”

“Yeah?” He thrusts again, sharp and slow, hips tilting just right. “You feel me there, sweetheart? Right where that baby’s gonna grow?”

Your body clenches around him and he growls, snapping his hips harder.

“Wanna be round with my baby again? Let everybody see what I did to you?” his voice drawls in your ear.

You can’t answer. You’re gone, lost in the rhythm, in the weight of him over you, in the heat and the stretch and the promise of it all.

He kisses you then, slow and filthy, rocking into you like a man in love and in heat all at once. Like he’s not just trying to get you pregnant, he’s trying to become a part of you.

Again. And again. And again.

His tongue brushes yours while his cock sinks in and out of you, slow but heavy. His hands frame your face like you’re fragile, like he’s holding onto something holy.

And still, his hips keep grinding into you, deep.

Your fingers curl into the back of his neck as you whimper into his mouth. “God, Joel, feels so good like this…”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “You were made f’me, made for my cock to fill you up.”

He pulls back just far enough to look down, to watch the way your bodies move together. The way you cling to him. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he murmurs, rough but tender, “All fucking mine…”

His hands slip down to cradle your hips, thumbs brushing the crease of your thighs as he adjusts his angle and fucks up into you just a little harder.

That angle makes you gasp, your body tensing beneath him.

“Right there, huh?” He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

He finds it again. And again.

His cock drags over that spot with every thrust, and you swear you feel him everywhere… not just inside, but in your blood. In your lungs. Under your ribs.

“Joel,” you gasp, hands scrabbling at his back. “I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum… ”

He shushes you softly, nuzzling your cheek. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His pace stays steady, deep and rhythmic, and he keeps whispering to you, low and reverent, coaxing your body toward the edge like he’s guiding you through it.

“Let me feel you cum on my cock. Let me feel this pussy milk me dry, baby, fuck, that’s it.”

Your orgasm tears through you like a wave, blinding and loud, your back arching off the mattress as you cry out his name. Your body clamps down around him and he swears, eyes rolling back.

He groans, fucking you through it. “Goddamn, y’feel that? Y’feel what ya do to me?”

You’re still trembling when he starts to lose it, his thrusts get rougher, deeper, more desperate. His mouth presses to your neck, open and hot, biting down gently like he’s trying to anchor himself to you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grits out, hips stuttering. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna fuck you full—shit—”

You reach up and cup his face, forcing his eyes on yours. “Cum inside me, Joel…” you whisper, pulling his lips to yours and swallowing his moans.

That’s all it takes.

He slams into you one final time and stays there, buried deep as he groans through clenched teeth, spilling into you again with so much force you feel it. Heat floods your core, thick and warm and relentless, and he keeps rocking through it— slow, possessive, like he’s grinding it further inside, fucking his spend further inside you, urging it to stick.

When it’s over, his whole body goes slack on top of you, chest heaving. But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t even think of pulling out.

Just buries his face in your neck and breathes you in.

You both lay there tangled in each other, the room thick with sweat and heat and the scent of sex. His cum already starting to slip from you, and yet he stays, hand over your belly like he’s already guarding something precious.

“I hope it took,” you murmur after a while, dazed and raw.

He kisses your cheek, “It did.”

You smile at the ceiling, tears prickling your lashes from the high of it all, “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” His voice is hoarse, but warm. Certain. “’Cause I want it too bad for the universe not to give it to me. And I’ll fuck you full ‘til it does.”

You both lay there for a while, tangled up in silence, his weight warm and grounding on top of you, cock still nestled deep where he left himself. His hand strokes gently over your belly, thumb moving in soft circles like he’s already trying to calm the baby that might be forming there.

After a few minutes, you speak, quiet and a little breathless. “She’d be perfect.”

“Rosalie,” Joel says, like it’s already real. “A little girl with your smile, my eyes, and your fearlessness… god help us.”

You giggle softly, your fingers brushing through the sweat-damp curls at the back of his neck.

There’s a pause, “But if it’s a boy…”

You meet his eyes. “Then he’d be perfect too,” you whisper. “And loved just the same.”

Joel smiles, eyes crinkling. “Damn right.” He kisses you again, slow and deep, “Think we should try as often as possible,” he murmurs against your lips, “Just in case.”

—

You must’ve drifted off like that, limb-locked and sated, your head tucked beneath Joel’s chin and his arms wrapped around you like you might float away if he let go.

The sun’s just starting to bleed through the curtains when you stir again, a warm, heavy pressure still nestled deep inside you. Joel’s breath fans against your temple, steady and even, his cock still inside you, just barely hardening again with every subtle shift of your hips.

You hum softly, content, and press a sleepy kiss to his chest. He tightens his arm around you in response, voice rough from sleep.

“Mm. Mornin’, baby.”

“Morning,” you whisper. “You stayed in.”

“Damn right I did,” he grumbles, hand smoothing over your lower belly. “Gotta keep it there. Lock it in.”

You laugh, nose scrunching as you curl into him. “That’s not how it works, y’know.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Still tryin’.”

You’re about to reply… something soft, something stupid and married and in love…. when it happens.

SLAM.

“MOMMY!! DADDY!!” a voice shrieks from down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of two smaller sets of feet thundering toward your door. “Can we have pancakes? Artie said you said we could!”

Joel’s eyes snap open.

Your eyes go wide.

You barely have time to gasp before the doorknob rattles.

“Shit, Joel!”

“Goddammit…” he grumbles against the skin of your neck.

He flails out one arm blindly and lobs the nearest pillow straight at the door like it’ll magically lock it on contact. It hits the wood with a thud and flops to the ground uselessly.

You’re already wheezing with laughter, dragging the sheets up over both of your heads as the door creaks open.

“Nope!” Joel yells, voice panicked and muffled under the covers. “No entry! everybody turn around or no pancakes!”

You hear giggles ripple through them as Sarah blocks her younger siblings from breaching the door and closes it again.

Joel hurriedly slides on a pair of shorts, looking back at you briefly and giving you an appreciative once over before he leaves the room to give you time to get decent.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, Joel’s already at the stove, flipping pancakes like it’s a sport. Shirtless, hair still a mess, a little bite mark just above the waistband of his shorts still healing from nights before.

Artie is perched on a step stool next to him, stirring the batter with the intensity of a scientist solving time travel.

“Daddy said I could help if I focus,” he informs you, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m focused.”

Sarah’s at the table, drawing furiously with a red crayon. You peek over her shoulder and smile.

“Whatcha got goin’ on over here?” you ask.

“It’s a menu.” She beams up at you. “For our restaurant. We’re calling it Pancakes and Pickles.”

You glance at Joel, but he doesn’t even look up.

“Ellie likes pickles and pancakes,” Sarah says matter-of-factly.

From her high chair, Ellie yells, “Cancakes!” Close enough.

Joel finally turns, a spatula in one hand, a coffee mug in the other, “I’ve lost control of the house.”

You kiss his cheek, brushing past him to pour juice for the kids, two sippy cups and one regular glass for Sarah, “You never had it.”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes drifting down your body, voice lower, “You’re wearin’ my shirt.”

“And you’re wearin’… not enough.”

He groans and flips the last pancake onto the plate, “Didn’t have the time or the brain power to care enough. Why, got a problem with it?”

You smirk, sliding in close beside him as he adjusts the skillet and turns off the stove. “Not a problem,” you murmur, trailing your fingers just barely along the waistband of his shorts, “just an observation.”

Joel turns his head slightly, catching the curve of your smile, eyes glinting with something decidedly not breakfast-related. “Mm. That right?”

You simply nod and pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your hands leaving his warm body as you turn and help Artie step off of the stool.

It takes some effort, some light wrangling, and one minor debate about whose pancake was ‘most circle-shaped,’ but eventually, all three kids are seated and eating.

Ellie is completely absorbed in tearing apart a pancake with her hands. Artie is humming between bites, feet swinging beneath the table and syrup already on his chin— he’s the messiest eater of the bunch. Sarah dips her pancake in syrup with one hand and reaches for her cup of orange juice with the other.

You and Joel finally sit down, mugs of warm coffee in hand. He exhales and nudges your knee under the table.

“I think we did it.”

You sip your coffee and smile, “You say that now. Wait ‘til the sugar kicks in.”

But for now, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes after a storm of small feet and tiny demands, when every little body is fed and content and distracted by their own mess.

And just like that, the morning keeps rolling, pancakes disappearing, syrup clinging to little fingers and through it all, Joel stays close. Always touching you. A hand at your waist, a brush of his thigh. Not in a rushed way… just the quiet, unshakable comfort of a man who’s exactly where he wants to be.

As soon as he’s done eating, Artie hops down with a bounce and immediately scampers off toward the living room, yelling, “I’m a race car!” as he makes screeching noises and slides across the hardwood in his socks.

Joel watches him go with a slow shake of his head. “He’s gonna crash into the coffee table again.”

“He’ll learn,” you say, handing him a dish towel as you set the syrup bottle back on the counter.

“Will he?” Joel raises a brow, then a thud echoes from the next room, followed by Artie’s cheerful, “I’m otay!” You adored his little ‘otays’.

You wince at the sound of him crashing though, “he’ll learn… eventually. That’s why we don’t have any pointy edges.”

Sarah skips past next, not even looking at either of you as she makes her way to the toy box and grabs an array of plastic food. “We’re playing restaurant in the living room now. I’m the boss.”

Joel steps up behind you as you begin rinsing the plates, his hands settling on your hips, “Remind me again how we ended up outnumbered?”

You lean back into him, sighing contentedly. “Lack of impulse control and your dangerous hands.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He hums, mouth grazing your shoulder, “I still want another…”

“Daddy!” Sarah’s voice rings out from the living room. “We need a customer!”

Joel sighs theatrically, peeling himself away from you with a lingering squeeze to your waist. “Duty calls.”

You finish tidying the last of the dishes and wander into the living room to find Joel seated at the kids’ play table, knees to his chest, while Sarah takes his order with a notepad and Artie stands behind her wearing a blanket-cape, calling himself Chef Lightning.

Joel glances up at you with a smirk, clearly suffering but in that happy, ‘I’d die for these gremlins’ kind of way. “I asked for pancakes and coffee ‘n I’m gettin’ glitter spaghetti and orange juice in a bowl.”

Ellie toddles up to you, and you scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead and settle on the couch, watching your husband pretend to eat imaginary food and nod gravely as Artie explains the “flavor” of a crayon as he pretends to feed it to his Superman action figure.

Joel catches your eye and smiles, slow and warm, the kind of smile that still makes your stomach flutter after all these years. He holds up his fake fork, gestures to the invisible plate, and mouths, ‘best thing I ever tasted’.

You shake your head, grinning widely at the antics of your creative kids, your heart so very full.

Ellie giggles in your lap, Sarah starts setting up a “drive-thru” by the window, and Artie decides he doesn’t want to work in the restaurant anymore and climbs up, then plops down next to you on the couch.

It’s loud, messy, and perfect. It’s yours.

Joel looks at you again, eyes lingering just a second too long, like even surrounded by noise and spilled toys, all he sees is you.

Before too long, Sarah decides her restaurant is short-staffed and kicks Joel out, much to his dismay.

He finds his place next to you and stretches out, legs kicked up on the ottoman.

Ellie’s babbling turns into quiet humming as she settles between the two of you.

You turn your head to find Joel already watching you. His expression is pure warmth. Eyes just a little tired, just a little dazed with contentment. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his hand slide along your thigh, fingers curling gently over your knee.

You lean into him again and let the moment hang there, the two of you tucked into the soft center of the life you built. No rush. No noise you can’t handle. Just love… loud, syrup-sticky, and golden.

And eventually, Joel shifts. Not to get up, not to chase anyone, just to lay back. Arms folded behind his head, one foot still hooked lazily on the edge of the ottoman.

Sarah’s the last to join after she cleans the play kitchen to her standards, which really means she just stuffed things into the ovens, then climbs up at the other end of the couch and curls her legs underneath her.

It’s not silent, it’s not even still as your oldest two argue briefly about who’s going to be the boss next time. But it’s your kind of peace.

And when Joel lets his hand drift across your belly, not suggestive, just… present, you know he’s thinking what you are:

There’s no place else he’d rather be.

—

The late morning sun stretches high by the time the kids are herded outside to enjoy the early fall weather.

Joel’s got Artie on his shoulders who’s arms are out like wings. Sarah’s leading the charge across the backyard with a stick she insists is a wizard’s staff, and Ellie’s tottering through the grass with you .

The backyard adventure starts with fairy hunting, turns into mud stomping, and ends in a dinosaur chase Joel doesn’t remember agreeing to. You’re on lookout duty from the porch now, sipping another cup of coffee and grinning as Joel jogs after Sarah, pretending to roar while Artie hollers from the playground, “Youll never take us alive!”

Ellie is tucked happily into the baby swing, chubby hands wrapped tight around the chains, feet kicking gently at nothing. She watches the chaos around her with that quiet, wide-eyed wonder she’s always had. She’s content to observe, to exist in the stillness while her siblings thunder across the grass.

Joel now keeps a hand on her swing, giving it the occasional gentle push. He leans in every so often to press a kiss to the top of her head, lips brushing over those soft, wild curls.

The same curls he has.

They’ve got the same lazy bend, the same unruly softness that no brush can tame. And there’s something else too, something unspoken but unmistakable in the way she watches the world from behind those big eyes.

She’s like him.

They all carry pieces of him and of you, that’s how the whole thing worked, after all.

Sarah, your eldest, is halfway up the tree in the far corner of the yard, her hair wild, her legs scraped, her voice clear and bossy as she calls down rules for a game she’s entirely making up on the spot for the fifteenth time today alone.

Joel says that’s she’s your mirror. She’s fierce and clever, filled with words and opinions, her independence sharp-edged and bright. She wants to lead everything. Needs to know why, and how, and what comes next. But she’s soft in the ways that matter most, tender with her siblings, always aware of who needs help and who needs space.

Joel watches her sometimes with this quiet awe, like he can’t believe someone that bold came from him.

And then there’s Artie.

Artie, who runs too fast and feels too hard. Who tells stories with his whole body. Who cries big and laughs bigger. He’s dramatic, yes, but his heart is massive. When he loves something, he means it. And he gets that from Joel too, the intensity of it. The way he’ll throw himself headfirst into any cause, any game, any cuddle pile.

He calls Joel his best friend.

He crawls into his lap mid-sentence, and drags his blanket across the house just to sit next to him while he drinks coffee in the mornings before work.

You still can’t believe it… these three little people, formed from your bodies and held together by your love. Bits of you and bits of him, but entirely themselves.

You couldn’t wait to see Ellie’s personality continue blooming into whoever she’s meant to be.

And the thought of it, of another whole little human, another perfect blend of you and Joel growing quietly inside you, made your heart ache in the sweetest way. You’d carry a dozen of his babies if you could, if time and space and biology weren’t pressing in at the edges. But you knew this would have to be the last.

Joel was nearing fifty… he didn’t look it, didn’t act it, still moved like a man years younger, and fucked like he was even younger than that… but the years were stacking. Your own clock ticking even faster beside his.

If it was going to happen… it had to be now.

One more baby. One last time to feel full in every sense of the word.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Quick break from the angst, just wanted a fluffy one-shot for my unapologetic baby fever, I’m ovulating okay!! Heavily based off of me and my husband who don’t have kids yet because just like these two we wanted to wait a little bit to just enjoy our marriage and our youth hehehe. He’s only 37! He’s just a baby!

[itzpookiepooh]

Hey girly! So I had this silly idea of the LaDs guys reacting to the MC having a really close bsf and he sees them acting reeeeeeal fruity with each other (coming from a someone that goes leans to my bsf and makes a kissing sound) <3 lots of love

Ah yes the traditional fruity tootie behavior with the bestie now this I can ace! 🤫

Piece of That

Caleb was in the living room since he came to visit from sky haven however little did he know your childhood best friend, Akasha, was going to be there. They both often fought about who was your favorite. Once you guys were together you were inseparable. You got up to go to the bathroom and a few moments later she followed.

All Caleb heard was, “Peeing all by yourself beautiful?” Before he got up and dragged her away from the bathroom. You barked out laughter before the door shut.

“Whaaaat? I was just joking!” Akasha whines as she’s being dragged away by her shirt.

“I’m going out with Alana today.” You informed him as he got ready for work. He nodded to let you know he was listening and you both walked to the door.

“My love. I have once again caught you with your secret lover.” Alana dramatically says as the door swings open. You gasp as if you were caught making Zayne’s head snap to you.

“My love please it’s not what you think!” Your knees buckle as you clutch your shirt. Alana turns away from you, hurt evident in her features.

“You have cheated on me countless times how will I survive?!” Alana wails clinging to you. Zayne was so confused as to what was happening right now and he would be late finding out.

“You’ll always be my number one.” You say dramatically as Alana sniffs. “Promise me with a kiss.” She puckers her lips.

Zayne nips Alana with his evol making her squeal, “Zayne! You’re no fun!”

“Refrain from kissing my girlfriend please.” He says before kissing you goodbye.

Sylus enjoyed how dramatic you and Enid were together. It was like endless entertainment for him. Now when she invited you out and they both watched you come out in an amazing outfit. Sylus and Enid clapped and Sylus complimented you as usual.

“I wish I was a man so I could treat you right.” Enid groans making Sylus swing his head in her direction.

“What are you implying?” He sounds offended as his hands fall to his knees.

“Oh nothing you’re great Sylus.” She shrugs before cooing over you once more. Sylus just stares at her as if she grew two heads.

Rafayel was a jealous lover, duh. He hated when your best friend Aurora came over. She was always touching on you and flirting with you. He was starting to think he was the third wheel. So you guys were dancing while he was in the other room working on an art piece.

“Have you seen my—“ He looked up to see you guys dancing, sure. However, she was smacking your butt.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” He genuinely asks making you both slowly stop laughing and stand up.

“Rafayel.” Aurora says out of breath as you wave. “You’re cheating on me. AGAIN!” He shouts making Aurora chuckle.

“Rafayel I’d never!” You try to explain making him cross his arms and turn around. You tried to convince him while Aurora teased him the whole time.

Poor Xavier never really knows how to react to you and your best friend flirting with each other. He’s always left confused or stunned. So when Blair came over to hang out he knew he was in for a long day.

“Your boobs look great in that shirt.” Blair commented as she sashays over to you.

“Do they? I just bought this.” You looked down at your shirt. “Mhm…” She looked at you mischievously before ‘hugging’ you. It was all to lay on your chest.

“So soft.” She whines making you burst out laughing. Xavier snatches you away and pulls you into his chest while he glares at Blair.

“Come on Xavier! You have her everyday!” Blair pouts making Xavier roll his eyes.

“I don’t have to share her with you.” He tells her hugging you tighter as they argued over who has you more

I liked doing this ngl 🙂‍↕️

[jj-one]

r/offmychest: gooning to your friend’s/roommate’s girlfriend is a DISEASE !

this is smut, do not interact if under 18 !

pairing: skz x fem!reader genre/tags: smut, crack(?), perv!skz, they’re all losers in this tbh, chan is aged up to 31 bc that’s #hot, lots of gooning (obvi), obsessive thoughts, questionable morals, jealousy, breeding kink, just overall weirdo behavior words: 5.5k

[ note. ] — this is what i write instead of working on my wips LMAO, i’ve always wanted to do a reddit-style fic so this was sm fun to make :3 lmk what y’all think guys, i’m kinda nervous to post this aghhh </3 (i also kinda wanna make a part 2 of this where reader finds out what they’ve been doing but we’ll see lol)

u/Gnab0325 • posted 2h ago

She’s my best friend’s girl and I edge for hours to the thought of breeding her. I think I’ve broken my brain.

I shouldn’t want her. I know that. She’s not mine. She never has been. But the way she‘ll randomly tug at her lip mid-conversation? The way she stretches when she wakes up on our couch? The way she looks at him like he’s everything. God, I’d kill to be on the receiving end of that look..

And it’s not just want anymore. It’s undying need. I jerk off to her like it’s my fucking religion.

I don’t even touch myself normally now, I prepare. Lights dimmed, music low, lotion warmed. I open a private folder that’s titled “hers” which have subfolders that include:

“T-shirt & no bra”

“Sleepy morning voice”

“When she wore my hoodie once and I couldn’t breathe for 3 days”

I’ve got notes, man. I script it all out in my head like I’m directing some porno. Her on top while she’s riding me, nails dragging down my chest, stuffing her little cunt full while she’s telling me, “it’s okay, baby. You can cum inside, I want it.”

That line alone has made me edge for 4 hours straight. No breaks. No finish. Just throbbing, leaking, begging myself like I was under some spell, I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the sun came up. My sleep schedule was already fucked before this but now I’m lucky if I even get 3 hours.

The worst part? I’m not some dumb teenager. I’m (31M), I lift, I meal prep. I give actual advice to friends about love and self-control. But then she shows up in those tight yoga pants and calls me “Chris” all soft and playful and my dick’s like, “time to worship.”

I had to excuse myself last weekend during game night because she licked whipped cream off her thumb and I felt precum soak through my boxers. I lied and told them I had a call. I was in the bathroom for 45 minutes with her Instagram page open, stroking it in silence like a fucking monk.

I’ve whispered her name into my pillow while cumming so hard my vision went white. I’ve imagined hitting it from the back while I pull her hair and slap her ass and she’s screaming, “fill me up, daddy,” like I won’t put in a baby in her.

Sometimes I imagine her going through my phone and accidentally stumbling upon my secret folder, but instead of her being disgusted by it she’s intrigued. She climbs onto my lap saying, “let me help you finish this time.” If that ever happened? I’d probably pass out mid stroke and die with a hard-on. Bury me in it.

She’s not mine. But in my head, she always calls me first.

Top Comments 💬

u/FertilizedToes: The secret stash of folders was sooo real. Every man has been guilty of having doing it but none of us wanna actually admit it. Thanks for your honesty. You are our prophet.

u/TiredLawStudent: so you imagined her watching you jork it and helping you finish? that’s not edging my guy, that’s astral projection into sin.

u/IfYouSeekAmy123: Wait this is so relatable bc I stroked myself to my friend’s wife yesterday. She was sitting around the corner at the kitchen table and I was around the corner in the hallway. It was a little risky but don’t regret it, would 100% do it again.

u/Lino.Saurus • posted 8h ago

I humped a pillow thinking about my best friend’s girlfriend and cried out of frustration after. I’m not okay.

She’s always touching him and it drives me fucking nuts. She’ll just casually grab his arm during conversation and rest her head on his shoulder, whispering shit in his ear that makes him laugh when I know for a fact I would’ve laughed harder.

I shouldn’t even like her. She wasn’t initially my type (not looks wise), it’s just she’s annoying. She talks too much. She calls everyone “sweetie” or “honey” and chews gum way too loudly, but when she walks into a room, I can’t think straight. When she calls me the nickname she gave me in that soft teasing voice, I get hard so fast it makes me dizzy.

Last week was hell for me. It was like she was purposefully provoking me just to get a rise out of me. And it worked. I vividly remember the other day where she leaned over to pick something up, I saw the outline of her panties through her leggings due to how sheer they were and I had to dip out of there before I did something irreversibly criminal.

I can’t even remember how long I was jerking off that night, but I didn’t stop until my hand physically cramped up. I thought about roughly fucking her on my friend’s bed while he was in the shower. Imagined her whispering “don’t stop, don’t tell him” while I’m balls deep inside. I came dry. No lube. Just my palm and pathetic desperation.

I’ve gooned to her laugh, her stupid lip gloss, her chewing the end of a straw, even her biting her nail. I’m so far down the rabbit hole I’m jerking off to things that aren’t even sexual anymore. Her sneezing once turned me on. I wish I was joking.

Two nights ago, I humped my pillow imagining it was her like some freak virgin. I came so hard I got lightheaded. Then I cried into the same pillow that I just violated. Not because I felt guilty, but because I know she’ll never fuck me the way I want her to.

The thing is… it’s not just sex. I’m jealous. I see the little glimmer in her eye when her gaze flickers up at him, looking at him like he holds her entire world in his hands and I want to scream because I want her to look at me like that. I want her in my bed, wearing my hoodie, lying under me as she’s calling me an asshole for making her cheat but continues to furiously make out with me.

But instead, I’ll just keep pretending to be the sarcastic best friend while I edge to her voice memo from two weeks ago like it’s my last drop of water in a desert.

Top Comments 💬

u/IJustStoleUrBitchx: holy shit this is disgusting. no amount of torture would ever get this kinda info out of me. u still got my upvote tho.

u/ChiliChiliCrabCrab: You fantasized about fucking her on your best friend’s bed while he’s in the shower??? Nah dude that’s not horny that’s top ten anime betrayals.

u/WinterSoldier24: tbh i can’t even laugh at this bc i’ve BEEN there. i’ve wept into the same pillow i defiled. i’ve heard my own moans echo off my laptop screen like a haunting. guess we’re all rotting together.

u/Jutdwaee99 • posted 10h ago

I goon to my roommate’s girlfriend for hours like it’s a full-time job and I think I’m losing my grip on reality.

I don’t even know how I got to this point.

It started normal. Just a little crush, harmless admiration. She’s sweet, always super polite. Wears those cute little pajama shorts when she spends the night, has this habit of playing with her hair while she’s talking, calls my roommate cringey petnames in this sugary, sleepy voice that makes me wanna gnaw on drywall.

But now it’s out of control. I edge to her every night. Every. Single. Night. I’m not even horny anymore— I’m possessed. There’s no porn. No nudes. Just the memory of her walking down the hallway half asleep, shirt riding up, no panties, scratching lazily at her thigh. She didn’t even know I was behind her. She didn’t know I stood there, frozen in the dark, watching the sway of her hips like some sick, twisted perv.

I stay up for hours scrolling through her page, looking at her pics. Sometimes I watch the same Boomerangs on loop like it’s some high-art cinema. I even synced one of them to my goon playlist. I set a timer and 37 minutes in, her hair flips in time with the beat drop, and that’s when I tighten my grip and almost pass out.

She kissed my roommate goodbye this morning and I speed ran to the bathroom and jerked off with the hand lotion he keeps under the sink. I’ve been edging for so long my balls hurt and feel like they’re gonna explode in protest.

The most fucked up part of it all is that I don’t even want to stop. I like the torture. I like sitting in my dark room, whispering her name while I stroke it like some goddamn lunatic.

If she ever finds out what I’ve done, what I’ve imagined, I’ll be on a list. Hell, I’ll make the list.

But right now? I’m getting hard again just thinking about her leaving her toothbrush in the sink.

She’ll never be mine yet I treat her like a shrine.

I need help. Or maybe I need her to break up with him so I can ruin her properly.

Top Comments 💬

u/GojosLeftTesticle: Nah that’s a new level of disrespect. You came and moisturized with your roommate’s lotion?? I hope he kicks you out LMAO

u/DeezNuts7: i started this post giggling. then i got scared, then aroused, then scared again. i wish i never read this. you win.

u/SuperSmashUrBro: be honest bro, are you trolling? is this satire? are you karma farming? bc if not… you are edging to boomerangs. like… vertically looped 1.5 second clips. send the flood.

u/HHJThrowaway • posted 5h ago

My best friend’s girl is my obsession and I’ve ruined my life over it.

This will be my first and last post in this sub (hence why I’m using a throwaway account) because I intend on taking this shit to the grave with me. I don’t know if this is a cry for help or some final confession before I self destruct, but it’s been eating me up inside and I need to get it out. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend, but she’s perfect.

The minute she walks in it’s like the lighting changes. I’m not even exaggerating, there was this one day where the sun hit her skin like she was some glowing goddess and I literally forgot how to breathe. Her scents intoxicating, like warm sugar and vanilla. She laughs at all my jokes, even the shitty ones. She called me pretty before and I think I saw God.

And I’ve been edging to her every night since March.

I don’t use porn anymore (not that I watched it a lot anyway). Just the flashback of one night where she licked salt off her wrist before downing a tequila shot. The way she presses her thighs together when she’s cold. The time she hugged me goodbye and the scent of her perfume still lingered on my shirt for two days and I didn’t wash it until I’d cum in it twice.

I don’t just jerk off. I goon. Long sessions. Hours sometimes. I hum her name, talk to myself like she’s watching, I’ve even came to the thought of her crying while coming undone on my cock more times than I can count.

There was one night she fell asleep on our couch in those tiny short shorts she always wears and I stared at her thighs for so long I nearly passed out from holding my breath. I got so aroused that I immediately went to my room and stroked my dick with one hand and held my phone looking at the pics I snapped of her with the other. I just kept chanting , “You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?” to myself like I was in a trance.

She told my friend I’m “sweet” and “artsy” and now I can’t get the image out of my head of painting her nude and licking the brush clean. I’m so far gone that if she ever moaned my name on accident, I think I’d just nut on the spot and die. Heart attack. Instant cremation.

I have dreams where she kisses me in secret, all desperate and trembling, telling me she wishes she was dating me instead. I wake up hard and aching, tip already leaking, so sensitive I have to breathe through it like labor.

I can’t keep doing this. But also? I’ll never stop. I’ll die gooning for her.

Top Comments 💬

u/YoMama43: ngl i once nutted to a voicemail my coworker left me by accident and i thought i was down bad LMAO. but you? you’re the goon king. i kneel to you.

u/ObscureLemonXx: so no one’s gonna talk about the part where he said breathing through his hard-on like labor??? like SIR. why is this the most erotic and deeply upsetting thing i’ve ever read?

u/IFucktUranus: Bro. I read this shit twice. Once as a gooner, once as a romantic. You ever edge so long you feel like you could speak in tongues?? You’re not sick. You’re transcendent. I’ve moaned into a towel while looking at my neighbor’s old vacation photos. You’re not alone.

u/_DoolSetNett • posted 11h ago

I’ve created an entire goon archive for my friend’s girlfriend and idk who I am anymore.

I (24M) think I blacked out the first time I saw her. Not even kidding. She walked in wearing a giant hoodie and the tiniest shorts that barely covered the crease of her ass, I felt faint just from the sight alone. My friend introduced her all casual like, “hey, this is y/n,” and I shook her hand with the same fingers I jerked off with not even ten minutes earlier. I deserve jail time for that.

I told myself it was a one time thing and it would never happen again, but now I have 13 folders— and that’s just on my laptop. There’s more on the cloud, a backup drive, on my phone, etc. I even made a fucking spreadsheet to track them.

They’re all labeled in alphabetical order:

Folder A: candid pics she’s posted (IG stories, old selfies, this one pic where she’s wearing nothing else but his shirt)

Folder B: voice clips I secretly recorded of her saying random shit, laughing, talking to the dog.

Folder C: audios I spliced together to sound like she’s moaning.

Folder D: my own goon notes that include detailed fantasies. I treat them like mini fanfics.

There’s a “date night” folder. A “nap time” folder. One called “bite marks I wish I gave her.” The worst is a private one just called “sacred.” That one has screenshots of the way she sits, the curve of her waist when she leans over, the outline of her tits when she’s not wearing a bra under those thin tank tops she loves.

I edge to her for hours. No music needed, just her voice. I put her on loop. Thinking about her face, wearing those little fucking shorts. I swear she’s doing it on purpose because the entire bottom curve of her ass cheek is always out. Every time she bends down to get something my dick jumps. I’ve memorized the way the fabric rides up. Sometimes I start at 10 pm and don’t cum until 3 am. I’ve hallucinated her saying, “cum for me, baby,” in her cute, whimpery voice. That happened about a weeks ago and I still think about it every time I touch myself.

Half the time I don’t even cum, I just leak and whimper and catalogue. I edge until my thighs tremble, timestamp my leaks and track how many fap sessions I’ve had in one day. I’ve become a professional goon archivist. I’d jerk off to her selfies and pretend like she’s watching. I stare at my screen like it’s a portal, fisting my cock with one hand, breath shallow, and blow my load like I’m marking her. One time I came so hard to her pics I didn’t even aim, I just let it hit the screen. Watched it drip down her face like I’d bred the pixels.

I try and concentrate on other things too but I can’t, all I can think about is fucking her cute little pussy. What it looks like under those shorts, whether or not she’s shaved (it doesn’t matter, I’d still eat her out anyway). She probably tastes so good, I wanna fuck her until her voice is hoarse and her thighs are shaking. I’d be so gentle at first, but once I get inside her? I’d lose my fucking mind. Every time she leans over and her shirt dips low I can’t help but wanna know what it’s like to fuck her pretty tits. I wanna make her cry on my cock and then I’d apologize but still keep going.

I never act suspicious around her, I talk to her normally like a regular person. I held the elevator for her yesterday and when she smiled at me I nearly jizzed in my pants. She hugged me once after I helped her carry groceries and I had to walk backwards out of the kitchen like some Victorian virgin. I was leaking pre all the way to my room.

I know it’s wrong. I know I’m sick. But she’s become this deity that I worship in my head. I serve her. I spill for her without her ever asking. If she ever found my folders, the audio edits, the moan loops? I’d have to legally change my name, burn all my hard drives, go off the grid, and live in the woods.

But until then? I’ll keep building my archive. For her. For me. For the goon gods.

Top Comments 💬

u/NoticeMeSenpai69: Bruh… you’re not alone in this. I goon to my homie’s girl daily. She walks around in those tight ass leggings and calls me “dude” like I won’t nut thinking about it for the next 3 days straight. You’re just chronically down bad, it’s honestly normal. We’re visual creatures. Ain’t our fault they’re walking around looking like bait.

u/1diotS4ndwich: This might be the most mentally unwell thing I’ve ever read. You’re edging to voice clips you secretly recorded?? Man.. that’s not down bad, that’s felony flavored. Go outside. Touch grass. Eat it. Bake it into bread. You need something holy in your system.

u/Rizzler420: yo drop the link to folder C thooo. i ain’t even mad. i just wanna see how real your splice game is maybe we can edge together. virtual goon circle. you bring the audios, i’ll bring lotion and red bulls.

u/Y0ngLixx • posted 9h ago

I jerk off to her laugh. Just her laugh. That’s all it takes.

It started off with pure intentions, just as a joke. I (24M) recorded her once on my phone because she made a dumb pun and my friend (the one she’s dating), wasn’t there to hear it. She has a cute laugh, it was harmless.

Then I listened to it again, and again like it was some lullaby that would put me to sleep.

Fast forward a month later and now I’ve accumulated over 40 audio clips. Its nothing sexual, just her laughing, her soft giggles and stupid jokes. Her doing that little gasp-then-snort combo when she really loses it. There’s one clip I have where she says my name mid-laugh and I kid you not I almost passed out from how hard I got. I thought my cock was gonna split open.

I used to not masturbate a lot, but now I’m doing it practically everyday. Just to the sound of her being happy. I’ll close my eyes, pull up her laugh, and stroke myself into oblivion while whispering things like “you sound so pretty,” and “keep laughing, angel. I’ll make you moan next.” It’s not even about sex anymore. I’m addicted to the idea of her, the sound of her.

One time she tripped over something and fell right into my lap, purely innocent, she’s a clumsy little thing. She looked up at me with those big doe eyes and said, “oops, you okay?” and I just simply said yes, but I got an insta boner.

I edged for four hours straight that night, didn’t stop until my thighs were trembling and my toes were cramping. There were no visual, just her voice on continuous loop. I was begging the ceiling for permission to cum like she had me tied up and giggling over me. She doesn’t even know the power she possesses.

She asked me once if I had a girlfriend. I told her the truth and said no and she was shocked, telling me how someone as sweet as me shouldn’t be single. I smiled at that. Then later, I stroked it raw to the idea of her calling me sweet while bouncing on my cock and tugging my hair.

I have this sick fantasy where she catches me in the act and finds the audio clips. But instead of being mad, she kisses me softly and says, “I’ve always wondered what your moans sound like,” I think I’d cry, or cum, or both at the same time.

I’m a soft gooner.

I light candles, put on a playlist full of her favorite songs, and stroke myself slow and romantic like we’re in love. I know she’s taken, but in my imagination we’ve been dating for months.

Then after I cum, that’s when reality hits. I sit there in silence, staring at my phone screen and can’t help but feel ashamed and disgusted with myself. Her laughter still plays on loop in the background, but now it sounds far away, like I’m hearing her from behind a door I’ll never be allowed to open. I wipe up the mess, lock my phone, then tell myself I’m done.

Until the next time she smiles at me and the cycle continues all over again.

I’ve thought about stealing a pair of her panties. My favorite is the pink lacy ones she likes to wear, I’ve seen the waistband peek out when she wore baggy sweats that sat below her waist. I’ve fantasized about pressing them up to my face, even stroking myself with the fabric wrapped around the base of my cock.

But I haven’t done it, at least not yet. I’m scared she’ll find out, that I’ll get caught or that if I succeed it’ll become a habit. Maybe one day that’ll change and I finally build up the courage.

Or maybe I’ll just keep edging to the sound of her joy, pretending I’m the cause of it.

Top Comments 💬

u/CumSlushiez: Been there before. Not with the laugh stuff but… I’ve got 12 folders for my coworker’s wife. The “I think I’d cry and cum at the same time” line? Too real. You’re not the only building archives. Stay strong, edge long.

u/LonelyyVirgin234: 40 laugh clips is crazy but also… not enough. you gotta diversify the catalog. get some sighs. a yawn. a sleepy hum. build a soundscape. turn her voice into a fucking symphony while you leak into your sheets. this is art tbh, unholy art, but still art.

u/Only1BrainCell: This feels like reading someone’s diary in a psych ward. You’re not soft. You’re sick. You fantasize about sniffing used panties and whispering her name like you’re in a cult. You are one pair of lacy underwear away from a Netflix doc.

u/Minivrse • posted 16h ago

I edge to my roommate’s girlfriend while she reads books on the couch. Fully clothed. I’ve officially lost it.

She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with a coffee stain on it. The blanket was half-tucked under her thighs and had a chipped mug with tea balanced on her knee with a book resting in her lap.

And I came in my fucking boxers just from watching her turn a page.

She hadn’t even spoken a word or anything, just the sound of her breathing and flipping through a paperback was enough. I had to lean against the kitchen counter pretending to scroll on my phone, but my cock was already stiff as a board. I muttered “Jesus Christ” under my breath and shuffled back into my room like I just committed something illegal.

I’ve been gooning to her every night since. Just to the idea of her. Fully dressed and completely oblivious. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and she doesn’t even try.

She’s not just pretty though, she’s extremely smart. Brains and beauty, the complete package. She’s always reading something dense, annotating margins, scribbling thoughts like her brain runs on overdrive. And every time she shares one of those little ideas with me, some fact about dolphins or a throwaway line from a novel, I get hard. Instantly. It’s like she weaponized intelligence and wrapped it in cozy clothes and Burt’s Bee’s chapstick.

She collects these stupid little trinkets that I think are kinda ugly. Like ceramic frogs, miniature teapots, one of them is just a rock with googly eyes glued onto it?? But I think it’s adorable because it’s hers. I want to fuck her next to them on the bed while they watch.

I never really gave a shit about relationships. Never cared to be in one. Until I met her. I’m constantly fantasizing about making her mine in the most depraved ways possible. Ripping her hoodie off, spitting on her tits, fucking her so dumb until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine. I wanna hear her beg, make her say “please” while I ruin her slowly. I wanna press my hand over her mouth while I’m cumming deep inside her and whispering a bunch of filthy shit in her ear.

It’s gotten to a point where I’ve developed a whole routine. 9:30 pm: she usually comes over after work. 9:42 pm: She kicks off her shoes and says something like “God, I’m so exhausted,” and I’m already hard. 10:00 pm: I’m in my room preparing my little set up and edging myself to the sound of her voice echoing from the living room.

Last night I jerked off for three hours just listening to her eat chips and argue about movie plots with my roommate. Once, she laughed so hard she snorted and I had to physically stop myself from jerking off or I would’ve blown my load without permission. I tried to take a break but it only lasted for day and a half, I couldn’t control the urges anymore.

I feel like such a shithead for doing this because she genuinely thinks I’m a good guy. She talks to me like I’m safe. Calls me “the funny one” or “so chill.” One time she ruffled my hair and said, “you’d make such a good boyfriend,” and I blacked out mid-convo. Couldn’t remember what I said back. I just nodded and prayed my boner didn’t show.

I treat her like my girlfriend in my head. Goon scenarios where she climbs on top of me in those baggy clothes she always wears, telling me, “I need you” where she rides me slow and sleepy while my fingers strum down her back and say, “you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

But then I walk out to refill my water and see her cuddling and kissing my roommate. Laughing with him like she’s not the sole reason why I haven’t cum properly in weeks. I just go right back into my room, lock the door, and edge to her reflection in the microwave glass.

She isn’t mine, but my cock doesn’t know that. And at this point, I’m not even sure I do anymore.

Top Comments 💬

u/PizzaSlut662: bros a hopeless romantic and a sex criminal at the same time. “she collects trinkets that are ugly but i still love them bc they’re hers” had me kicking my feet until the next sentence said “i wanna fuck her next time while they watch.” i need to go lie down.

u/StrawberrySodaaa: “9:42pm she kicks off her shoes” Um, are you tracking her like she’s the moon?? I’ve never been this aroused and terrified simultaneously.

u/ChrolloLuciferStan: every day i log into this app thinking “surely it can’t get worse” and then i read shit like this..

u/I.2.N.8 • posted 4h ago

I nutted in my pants when she tied her shoe. I didn’t touch myself, just vibes.

We were walking from the convenience store and she bent down to tie her sneaker. That’s it. I didn’t get a peak of her cleavage, didn’t touch her, nothing. She was just bent at the waist, ass slightly arched while she softly grunted and double knotted her laces. I creamed my pants on the spot. Hands stuffed in my pockets, my sweatshirt covering the damage, but there was a wet spot and everything. I walked back home like I’d been shot in the dick.

She’s dating my best friend and he brings her over all the time like she’s not a walking wet dream designed to destroy my sanity. I’ve always had a thing for older girls so shes literally my type to a T. I’m so fucking jealous of him, I’ve grown resentment towards him for it.

It doesn’t help that she’s always calling me “Innie” like I’m some little boy that she’ll never take seriously, like I wouldn’t ruined her in a hundred different ways. I’ve told her a million times that just my name is fine, but she giggles it off then continues to do it again.

Porn has always been an escape for me, a coping mechanism when college gets too stressful (I know some of y’all can relate). I’ve developed an addiction— multiple tabs open, Twitter accounts bookmarked, late night goon sessions with my AirPods in and my shirt bunched between my teeth to muffle the moans. But now, it’s only spiraled from there, I only search for videos that look like her. Faceless videos, shaky camera angles, any girl with her hair length and skin tone, the more amateur it is the better. I just mute the stupid guy in the video’s voice and whisper my own name to pretend it’s me.

It’s not even normal jerking off. I sit in my room with my headphones in, pillow between my thighs, and I edge to the sound of her existing. Her voice in the hallway. Those little noises she makes whenever she stretches that makes her sound like a dying mouse. I have the most depraved fantasies about her, like full on situations where she straddles me in the backseat and says, “you’re so hard for me, baby, does that mean you wanna cum in me?” and I cry while nodding.

I’ve developed a full blown breeding kink because of her. I get off to the thought of her saying she forgot to take her pill while grinding on me in just a t-shirt and nothing else. I’ve rubbed one out to the idea of putting a baby in her and fucking her so deep while she tells me how I’d make a pretty daddy. I’m aware of how disgusting I am and I fully acknowledge there’s something deeply wrong with me, but there’s no harm in doing it if she’ll never find out.

Yesterday she sat next to me and accidentally brushed my knee up against hers. I was hard for an hour, it was so embarrassing I felt like I was part of some humiliation ritual.

She probably thinks I’m too sweet to have any thoughts like this. Completely harmless. The “shy friend”. But I’ve ruined three pairs of boxers this month alone from dry humping my pillow to the thought of having her lips wrapped around my cock. If she ever saw what I do when she’s not around, if she ever knew how many times I’ve edged to her smile alone… she’d never make eye contact with me again.

And the most fucked up part of it all? I wouldn’t even blame her, but I wouldn’t stop either.

Top Comments 💬

u/GoonGoblin98: This is the final boss of horny. You’ve ascended past porn, past imagination, past logic. Nutting from vibes alone?? You’re a chosen one. I edge to this post about you edging, gooner inception.

u/ILuvHotMilfs: older girls will ruin you. they smile at you once and you’re planning nursery colors and thinking about biting her ankle while you cum. stay strong innie. one day she’ll call you good boy and you’ll never recover.

u/DinoNuggetz333: How do you go back to regular life after this..? You nut to her voice and cry into your pillow and then just?? eat cereal like nothing happened?? This is either genius or the most cursed goon confession I’ve read all week.

honestly, i have no idea why i wrote this LOL. i just got super bored one night and made this idk, i hope no one takes this too too serious or i’ll cri. this was just for entertainment guys i swear </3 but uhhh lmk if u liked this? maybe i’ll do the part 2 if enough ppl liked this idk man >.<

[comicaurora]

O sad to see that myths has been sunsetted. Are the pins also going to stop? Btw have you watched blood of Zeus?

no the pins are not going to stop

no, journey to the west is also not going to stop, it is a Legends Summarized, I have only sunsetted Miscellaneous Myths

the series is not necessarily permanently dead, but it is not currently happening because it stopped being a fun educational diversion for me and turned into a tedious monthly slog

the myths were extremely fun for me to make and research at a certain point in my life, but my focus has since shifted to a broader and deeper-scoped interest in the evolution of storytelling as a whole, making finding and summarizing individual tales without greater context or analysis increasingly unrewarding for me. there's a more in-depth analysis and explanation in the video.

this is also something that really stressed me out at the time because I was worried that by stopping this series I was letting down the people who'd gotten invested in it, which is honestly probably why it took me over a year to accept that I wasn't having any fun making them. they had been fun once, rewarding, energizing, and it really scared me to think I was outgrowing being able to make something so many people liked. I had no idea what would happen. I didn't know how much of our audience was only sticking around for the shortform snark about mythical doofs who died stupid.

that said, there hasn't been a new misc myth in eight months and apparently nobody who missed the announcement even noticed.

[interlink-au]

Y'all, I want you to know that this blog focuses on canon for the purpose of combatting the Mandela Effect or making people feel forced to limit headcanons to what fanon dictates. We can have headcanons outside of the generally accepted fanon. We can disagree about headcanons and sometimes even still enjoy the ones we disagree with.

I'll admit that sometimes (most of the time) I speak very dogmatically, whether I mean it that way or not. It's a trait I've been working on taming for years. Not an excuse, but an explanation for if I ever come off strangely. Please call me out on it so I can do better. Just try not to be mean about it, please?

And I'm not a stickler about canon. I take note of when canon contradicts a headcanon, but that doesn't discredit the headcanon, not at all. I've got headcanons that go against canon, too. In fact, because I'm limiting my story to canon-compliancy, I've had to drop some of those beloved headcanons of mine from the story. I may do AUs of my AU specifically for those dropped ideas. Because they're fun! Completely non-canon headcanons are fun.

And I've done a lot of research, but sometimes I'm wrong about canon or I've missed an important perspective. Please share your thoughts with me! Be warned that I might ask if you have a source, but don't let that scare you off, because even a vague "I think I remember..." can send me off on a research train with some interesting results. I love that stuff.

I want to get into deep discussions, even strongly opinionated ones, as long as it's respectful and the goal is to share information without the intention of changing opinions. "Agree to disagree" doesn't have to be a bad thing. But again, if I ever come off as pushy, please let me know. The 'tism makes it difficult to take a hint, so I appreciate directness. If someone questions me about my decisions, I might come across as defensive, but I'm just stating my own reasoning without the intention of slamming someone's headcanon.

"If you think so, then why are you so insistent about using canon for the basis of your story?" you may ask. It's because a lot of AUs start with the goal to show off the author/artist's headcanons, so I thought I'd go against the grain and see what would happen if I stuck with canon. The answer is, you can do a lot! Since fanon and the Mandela Effect are so prevalent, sometimes people miss some fun canon stuff they can make new headcanons about. Because I think headcanons are more fun when there is a big variety of them. And I think more information about the source subject could have the potential of spawning a bigger variety of headcanons.

Not to say there's anything wrong with the popular ones! I like and read them too! I just hope others get an opportunity to make a choice to go their own way if they want to.

I feel like knowledge is power in this instance. Knowledge means that if someone argues that your idea is silly, you have examples to back it up. Knowledge is the power to say, I know it's this way but I am choosing to specifically go against that idea. That's powerful!

All that is to say, I'm thinking of starting a weekly headcanon thing where I choose headcanons I like and talk about why I like it and how it goes with or against canon. I think it would be a fun way to celebrate headcanons while still acknowledging canon and trying to clear up possible misinformation. I don't know if it will actually be a weekly thing or if it's just something I'll do at random, but yeah. Look forward to my weekly headcanon I guess.

“the fandom has decided - ” “everyone agrees that - ” “we all know that this is the only right way to - ”

[welostheplot]

── blinging on my hotline

a drabble about phone/facetime sex w/ abby (title taken from doja cat's cyber sex).

content: MDNI 18+, slight dom!reader x slight sub!abby, phone sex/facetime sex, dirty talk, a bit of guided masturbation, reader described as having a pussy

word count: 833 (i'm new to this, okay!!)

author's note: baby's first smut! i'm feeling extremely shy about this... but i figured the only way to improve at writing smut is to actually practice. i hope it's at least halfway decent!

you're on the phone with abby when your ears suddenly pick up on the swish of something moving repeatedly against a bedsheet, huffing breaths, and stifled, choked back groans on the other end of the line.

it makes you pause, your rant about that one annoying coworker (who always seems to be the topic of your on-call catchups with her these days) suddenly way less important.

you ask a tentative "hey, are you alright baby?" and are met with a beat of silence before she groans out "yesjustpleasekeeptalkingfuck–" and then its clear:

the poor thing got so worked up hearing the sleepy lilt of your voice she just couldn't help but get herself off to your voice over the phone as she listened to you yap on about your day.

and you think to yourself why let her have all the fun?

you immediately pick up the phone (that was sat locked on the pillow next to your head, intended to stay like that all night while you very innocently slept on the phone together, mind you) and press the button to facetime.

what greets you when she accepts the facetime request is definitely a sight for sore eyes:

she's naked. at least from the chest up, which is as far as you can see from the angle she's got the phone held at, camera shaking slightly from the efforts of her other arm which is clearly hard at work if the rapid shifting of her right shoulder is any indication. what's going on below her waist isn't shown, but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out and you're already getting wet at the thought of it.

her bottom lip (which looks like it's been gnawed near raw from her attempts to hold back her moans this whole time) is clamped firmly behind her top row of teeth and her eyes are hazy, shifting rapidly across the screen of her phone as she drinks in the sight of you all cozy in your blankets and hair bed-ruffled.

her chest heaves as another choked back groan attempts to punch its way out of her throat— a raw, primal reaction to the mere sight of you.

you weren't even trying to appear sexy (or sound sexy on the call, for that matter). apparently, just your presence alone was enough to get her humping her hand, hips bucking beyond her control as she chased her release.

"holy shit you look so fucking hot baby," she mutters, eyes rolling slightly back into her skull as her shoulder shifts even faster and her movements become more rapid and desperate. "that pretty face is gonna make me cum."

and as much as you'd like to drag this out—make her wait as you slipped your own hand into your sleep shorts so you could cum together—it's obvious that she'd been at it for a while. honestly, it turned you on even more to know that while you were innocent and ignorant, chatting on about the happenings of your day, her hand was shoved into her boxers as she got herself off to the sound your voice.

"yeah?" you tease, and it's said almost mockingly. "is my baby going to cum just from the sight of me? i haven't even done anything!"

you can admit there's an intentional tone to your words; you're egging her on, knowing the hints of degradation are what she wants when she's feeling particularly needy like this, even if she's too proud to admit it out loud.

it sparks a sharp blossom of shame in the center of her chest, cheeks burning as she nods frantically. "fuck yes... yeah.. hah–" she's panting now, "yeah i'ms'closebabyplease–" her words begin to slur together as she hurdles closer to the edge.

"mmmmfff-" you can't help but groan a little in response to that, your own thighs pressing together for some sort of relief. she really must've worked herself up if she's begging like that and it turns you on. "thaaat's it, babe. cum for me."

she seems to momentarily forget herself, letting out an uncharacteristically high-pitched whimper that thins out into silence for one...

...two...

...three beats as she dangles on the edge—

—and then her orgasm slams into her like a freight train.

a gritted, strained "fuuuuuuuck" is heard and her eyes go unfocused, mouth hanging slack as she works herself through it, that ever-shifting right shoulder finally going still while her hips take over, grinding hard into her own palm.

you wait patiently, watching the camera jolt and shake during the come-down process, your hand skimming over your chest and trailing past your tummy to reach and push your shorts down and off.

and you're delighted to see that lazy, post-orgasmic grin slide clean off her face only to be replaced with a heated, lustful gaze when you angle your phone right in front of your pussy, delicately spreading yourself open with the fingers of your other hand.

"it's my turn now, baby."

[rosemaryhoney27]

Danny’s (Un)Deadly Detour

Danny Fenton should have known better.

Gotham was not a pit stop for casual road trips. It was the kind of city that screamed “keep driving,” especially for someone with Fenton Luck™. But he’d needed gas, a snack, and maybe a picture of Wayne Tower for Jazz. What he hadn’t needed? To get kidnapped by a clown on bath salts.

But here he was. Tied to a rickety metal chair in the middle of an abandoned amusement park, with cameras pointed at him from every angle. And the Joker—the actual Joker—was monologuing.

Again.

“…and this, my sweet little roaches of Gotham, is what happens when you wander into my city without a sense of humor!” the Joker cackled, his voice sharp and jittery as he zoomed in on Danny’s blank, deadpan face. “Let’s see what the Bat thinks of this fresh-faced nobody!”

Danny sighed. Loudly. “You know, if you’re gonna monologue, can I at least get popcorn? By the way the name is Danny.”

“Rude!” the Joker snapped, flinging a pie at him. Danny let it hit. Custard wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d dealt with today.

But the worst was yet to come.

Joker danced over to a second chair—this one wheeled in by a henchman—and with dramatic flair, yanked the bag off the second hostage.

It was Robin.

Not Nightwing, not Red Hood—nope, the angriest of them all. The one with the sword that had to be taught not to kill.

Robin’s sword was gone, but the glare on his face could cut through steel. “You will regret this,” he snarled.

“Ohohoho!” Joker shrieked with glee. “Isn’t this just delicious! A no-name civilian and Gotham’s pint-sized prodigy! Let’s spice things up, shall we?”

He pulled a lever, and both chairs were suddenly suspended above a vat of glowing green chemicals.

Danny blinked. “You have to be kidding me. That’s actual toxic goo? Like, cliché supervillain-grade?”

“It’s authentic!” Joker sang. “You’re welcome!”

A signal light flashed. Batman was watching the stream.

“Here’s the game, Batsy,” Joker said to the camera, eyes manic. “You choose! Robin, your precious brat—or the poor, sweet innocent who made the mistake of existing in Gotham. Pick one to save. Or I drop them both.”

Robin scowled but said nothing. Batman’s voice came through a speaker—low, angry, calculating. He was trying to buy time. “Let them both go, Joker. This won’t end well for you.”

“Oh, I know, Bats,” Joker giggled. “That’s what makes it fun!”

Danny, meanwhile, had had enough. He rolled his shoulders slightly. The ropes weren’t great—they were tight, but not ghost-proof. And he really didn’t want to risk Robin getting hurt.

Danny exhaled. “Welp. Time to Fenton this up.”

Before anyone could stop him, he broke free of his restraints with a loud snap, flipped forward—and let himself fall into the vat of chemicals.

“DANNY!” Robin shouted, jerking in his bonds.

Even the Joker stared in stunned silence. “Did… did he just—did he really—?”

Batman’s voice cut in, alarmed. “No!”

The vat bubbled.

The camera zoomed in.

The feed went black.

Joker didn’t have long to process the shock. A cold wind whooshed through the funhouse, flickering lights and rattling metal. The shadows stretched too long, too thin.

“Wha—what is this?!” he hissed, looking around. “Where’s my laugh track?!”

Then, behind him: a voice.

“I died,” it said, whispery and echoing, “because of you.”

The Joker spun—and froze.

Floating in midair, eyes glowing toxic green, was a white-haired, fanged apparition. Phantom. Danny. And he looked pissed.

“You killed me,” Danny intoned, letting the lights flicker with every word. “You wanted a show. I hope you enjoyed it.”

Joker stumbled backward, babbling nonsense. “N-no—this isn’t—there’s no such thing as ghosts—!”

Danny opened his mouth and let out a low, haunting wail—enough to shake the floorboards and rattle the Joker’s bones.

The clown's eyes rolled up into his head, and with a pitiful whimper, he collapsed in a heap.

…and soiled himself.

Five minutes later, Batman burst in through the skylight. Robin was already free, sword in hand, glaring down at the unconscious Joker.

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

Robin looked up. “He jumped in. Broke the feed. Then came back as a ghost and scared Joker into unconsciousness.”

Danny floated down behind them and shrugged. “It was either that or listen to another twenty minutes of his monologue. No offense, but your rogue gallery sucks.”

Batman stared at him.

“…You’re a ghost.”

Danny gave a lazy salute. “Half ghost, technically. Long story. Want some popcorn?”

Robin, for the record, was still annoyed. “You could have warned me before pretending to die in front of me!”

Danny grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Moral of the story: Never road trip through Gotham. Especially not with Fenton luck.

[moondustbaby]

Always On Your Side

bsf!Rafe x bsf!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

summary: You walk out of a party after an argument with Topper and Kelce leaves you fuming. But Rafe’s not far behind — because when you’re upset, he’s already halfway out the door to find you.

⸻

You shouldn’t have come to this party.

That was your first mistake.

Your second mistake was letting Rafe talk you into pregaming with the boys—because now you’re standing in a stranger’s kitchen, clutching a red solo cup filled with watered-down tequila Sprite, trying not to lose your shit on Topper.

“Okay, but you literally said—”

“No, you said that!” Topper cuts you off with a loud laugh, pointing at you like you’re some kind of joke. “I said it’s not that deep. You’re the one who made it a whole thing.”

You blink. “Because it was a thing—”

Kelce interjects from the other side of the island, already grinning. “She’s getting mad. Look at her.”

Your blood heats instantly.

You open your mouth to fire back, but Topper holds up his hands like you’re hysterical, voice patronizing. “Relax. Jesus. You’re cute when you’re mad, but like—just take a breath.”

That’s it.

You slam your cup down on the counter and shoot both of them the nastiest look you can muster. “Fuck you. Both of you.”

“God, she’s feisty tonight—”

You flip them off as you spin on your heel and storm out of the kitchen, pushing past sweaty strangers and trying not to scream. You hear Kelce laugh, and Topper say something else—probably another you’re overreacting or calm down—but it’s drowned out by your pulse rushing in your ears.

You barely make it down the front steps before you hear him.

“Hey.”

You don’t stop walking.

“Hey.” He calls again—closer now. “Slow down.”

“I’m fine,” you snap over your shoulder, marching toward the street.

Rafe catches up anyway.

Long strides, slightly out of breath, hoodie hanging off his broad shoulders, baseball hat tugged low. He jogs up beside you, a little frown forming as he sees the look on your face.

“You’re not fine,” he says gently.

You look away, jaw clenched.

“Seriously, talk to me.”

You keep walking, arms crossed tight. “I don’t wanna talk.”

“Okay. That’s fine,” Rafe says easily. “We don’t have to talk. But can you slow down so I don’t have to jog beside you like a golden retriever?”

You crack a tiny smile despite yourself, biting the inside of your cheek.

He sees it. Smirks. “There she is.”

You shake your head, eyes still stinging with rage. “They’re so fucking stupid, Rafe.”

“I know.”

“And they think it’s funny to just—to gang up on me and laugh and treat me like I’m some dumb girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about—”

“I know, baby.”

The word slips out without hesitation. Like it belongs to you.

You go quiet.

Rafe’s voice softens, warm and grounded. “You’re not dumb. And they know you’re not dumb. They’re just dickheads when they’re drunk.”

“They weren’t even drunk,” you mutter.

“Even worse.”

You finally stop walking, turning toward him. You fold your arms tighter, chin tilted up.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Rafe blinks. “I was literally halfway across the kitchen—”

“Yeah, but you always say something. You’re always on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he says quickly. “Always. But I didn’t even hear what started it—by the time I looked over, you were already going full murder mode.”

You scoff. “Nice.”

“Hey,” he steps closer. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“You laughed.”

“I smiled. Different.”

You narrow your eyes.

He’s not smiling now.

He just stands there, letting you breathe.

“You know I’d never let anyone actually mess with you, right?” he says after a second. “I’m not gonna let Topper or Kelce—or anyone—treat you like shit. That’s not happening.”

You swallow hard. Your voice drops. “Felt like it was.”

Rafe’s jaw tenses.

He steps in again—close now, his cologne and hoodie and those sharp blue eyes all wrapped around you like a net.

“Then I’ll talk to them,” he says simply. “I’ll get in their faces. I don’t give a fuck.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

“Rafe—”

“They make you cry?”

You hesitate. “No.”

“Wanna cry?”

You nod once.

He exhales. “Then yeah. They’re getting an earful. Maybe worse.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up. “You gonna fight Topper?”

“If he says one more dumbass thing, I might.”

You sniff, finally letting your arms drop to your sides.

“Thanks for coming after me,” you mumble.

He shrugs. “You stormed off like a main character. What was I supposed to do?”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh my god.”

“No, like—full dramatic walkout. Spinning on your heel, flipping everyone off. I had no choice.”

You hide your face with your hands. “Shut up.”

He’s grinning now. “You looked hot, though. Not gonna lie.”

You nudge him with your elbow, rolling your eyes. “Rafe.”

“What?”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You exhale a quiet laugh. “I really do.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “You good now?”

You nod, still avoiding his eyes. “I just—I hate when they talk to me like that. Like I’m some little sister they get to pick on.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t,” Rafe says, voice suddenly firm. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. You’re not some side character. You’re my—”

He stops.

Then shrugs again, more relaxed this time.

“You’re my person. That’s it.”

Your throat tightens.

“I know,” you say softly. “You’re mine too.”

A pause.

“I love you, y’know.”

Rafe looks over at you, eyes soft. “I love you more.”

You nudge him again, and this time, he tugs you into a sideways hug, arm slung over your shoulders as the two of you start walking back toward the house.

“You still wanna go back in?” he asks.

You shrug. “Not really.”

He nods. “Cool. We’re leaving.”

“Rafe—”

“Nope,” he says, already pulling out his keys. “I’m taking you home. Or—my place. We’ll get food. Watch something dumb. You’re done being mad for the night.”

You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder as he steers you toward the truck. “You’re really bossy when I’m upset.”

“I’m always bossy,” he says, flashing a grin. “But yeah. Especially when someone messes with you. That’s my cue.”

You smirk. “You really don’t have to fix everything for me.”

He opens the passenger door for you, voice quiet as he looks at you. “I know. But I want to.”

a/n: hi hi!! thank you for the request angel! give me bsf!rafe chasing after reader the second she storms off?? absolutely yes. no one gets to make you feel small when rafe’s around. i hope you love this soft, protective moment and as always, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216 @rafesbabygirlx @raineshua @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @angelofcigs @tiaajosephin

[saymyname-aufic]

Phoebe sniffed while Audrey was tying her shoes, "I don't want to go."

Audrey smiled at her, kissing the top of her head, "You mustn't let what happened last night scare you. Go to school, sweetheart. Have fun. And, we'll all be here when you come back."

Phoebe looked up at her mother, "Is it always like this?"

Audrey's smile dropped. She stared at her daughter, noticing the scared little look in her eyes. Noticing the small frame of her daughter.

Audrey shook her head, "Not always. Why don't you come with me?"

Audrey got up, waiting for Phoebe to take her hand. Her small hand grasped her mother's like a life line.

Audrey took her to the porch, bending down to her level, "What do you see?"

"Garden," Phoebe said. "The fence. The tree. Our stuff."

"Exactly,"Audrey said.

She ignored the thousands of faces staring at her and her daughter; hope having replaced the previous disappointment. Audrey only focused on Phoebe and how tiny she had suddenly felt. How young and inexperienced.

Audrey smiled at her daughter, "There's nothing to fear. And, if there is, you'll have me and your dad at your side. Your sister, too."

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[strrykais]

── ☁️ ๑ masterpiece ๑

𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 ² ・・・ most would think after peeping on his best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend - the cam girl mingi used to goon too - would cause some tension. but that tension is the exact opposite of what he thought and even becomes a part of the fun.

꒰ 𝓢ubject ꒱ ──── 𝓑oyfriend! 𝓨unho x 𝓕em.ᐟreader x 𝓕riend! 𝓜ingi ༘⋆ ‎g. smut cw. mouth gag, bondage, marking/biting, voyeurism, threesome, cuckqueanry, dacryphilia, spanking, mingi’s bi awakening if you squint, dom yunho, oral (both m and f), slight mxm, a lot is going on really.. wc. 2.4k ┈┈┈ Ӄfiles ₊꒷꒦˚ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ғᴏʀᴍ

Ӄai’s ¿? masterpiece made me do this … thank you ateez 🙏this is the extra for different sides of the internet, it can totally be a stand alone but i think knowing the history in the making of this helps!

Mingi stirred awake, the blanket that was draped over him falling to the ground as he lifted his body off the couch. Mingi doesn’t actually remember falling asleep. All he remembers is you, Yunho and him were sitting on the couch watching some thriller movie you've been talking about for a couple of days.

Mingi feels awkward sitting in your living room alone, he takes in his surroundings, finding a clock on your wall reading half past 1 in the morning. His place wasn’t far from your guys’ building so he grabbed his phone, cleaning up his mess as quietly as he could trying not to wake either of you up.

Mingi thought he was hearing things when he was walking down your hallway to the front door, and as he took another step he heard it again. Mingi twists his body, letting curiosity get a hold of him.

A soft light coming from out the room with the door slightly ajar. Mingi quietly steps in, eyes focusing on what is inside the room through the opening.

Mingi’s eyes widen when he first sees your hands tied up to the bed post, the red rope tight against your wrists as you pull at them. As his eyes travel down, he sees your face. Your cheeks are red, either from the blush or the heat of the room. Your voice and moans are muffled by the white fabric that is stuffed in your mouth.

Your chest bare, nipples perked. Mingi could see the bites and marks decorating the top of your body, Mingi couldn’t see what was happening to the other half but whatever Yunho was doing was having your nails digging into your palms.

Mingi could feel his breaths coming out heavier, his boxers becoming tighter and tighter as he continued to stare at you.

This is wrong, he shouldn’t get turned on by you. At least not anymore, you were dating yunho, you have been for months now. You stopped your nightly streams. You even deleted all the footage you had on your page.

Your groan pulls mingi out his mind, eyes focusing back to your face seeing that you are staring straight at him. Mingi feels his heart stop with his eyes locked into yours. The tears flooded your eyes, your moans got louder, harsher, faster. Mingi didn’t know what to do, he knows you are watching him. Your eyes leave him as your head falls back against the pillow, you let out a loud moan.

Mingi was frozen to this spot, he didn’t know you looked this pretty when you climaxed, you never really showed your face in your videos. But now that he knows and he doesn't think he is gonna be able to have the image leave his mind. Mingi adjusts his bottoms, his dick aching. Too focused on his throbbing dick, Mingi gets pulled back to reality when the door gets pulled open, revealing yunho.

Yunho knew mingi was behind the door, the way your moans got louder and the way you were clenching around his mouth proved his theory right.

Yunho didn't bother to wipe his face as your orgasm dipped down his face.

“Did she wake you?” Yunho licks at his lips, watching mingi zero in at the arousal on his face.

Mingi couldn’t form words, quickly shaking his head “N-No.. I- uh.”

Yunho tsks turning leaning on the door frame facing you.

Your face wet with your tears from your third orgasm of the night, eyes watching the very dominant one and then shifting to the scared one behind him.

“I told you to be quiet baby or what would happen if you woke up mingi.” yunho walks over to you, grabbing you and flipping you, placing you on your knees, ass in the air. Yunho places one hand on one of your cheeks rubbing the area.

Mingi still stood at the door, he wasn’t sure if he should be watching, but he wasn’t gonna leave unless one of you told him too.

“Can you count for her Min, as you can see her mouth is in use.” he points to the object in your mouth that mingi now realises is your panties.

“C-count what?” Mingi soon got his answer when yunho has reaches up and swings down slapping your ass right in the place he was rubbing before. You moan head falling onto your arms, elbows pressing deep into the mattress.

“Mingi.”

“One.”

“Good boy.” Mingi eyes snap away from you to Yunho.

Yunho smirks at the way Mingi eyes look. Yunho rubs his hand over the red mark and slides down your spine, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “And who is my good girl?”

Your moan muffled but mingi knew what you were replying with.

His body going back to the position it was behind you before he repeated the same motion, hand coming down to your ass.

Mingi swallows the saliva that is forming in his mouth. Mingi felt a little conflicted on who to watch. There was you, a horny, sopping mess. Mouth gagged, hands bounded, arched so prettily and so eager to have yunho touch you.

Then there was Yunho, arms defined as he lifted them. The cool demeanor was intoxicating, the way he handles your smaller body. Touching you that has you squirming. Mingi has never seen this side of him.

“If you are going to continue to waste my time, I'm going to kick you out and you won’t be able to get a reward for helping out.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just count. Or our poor princess here is gonna have to start from one again.”

Mingi could tell you could care less about starting over, but he was curious about his reward so he takes a small step inside the room. “Two.”

Yunho grins continuing this rhythm, the only sounds are the harsh slaps, your moans and mingi’s voice counting.

“Ten.”

You were a mess, your ass was throbbing but it was soon forgotten when Yunho told mingi to come here. Your forehead pressed into clenched fist as you felt the stares they were giving your sopping pussy.

“You would think it's punishment but to a slut like her.” Yunho runs two fingers through your slit gathering up your wetness. Yunho pulls away from you, fingers placed in front of Mingi's mouth.

“Open up.”

Mingi hesitates, this is his best friend. Why the hell are those two little words making his head buzz.

“Come on, she's waiting.” You see Yunho nod towards your direction, Mingi eyes focus on yours, he slowly opens his mouth wrapping around Yunho’s fingers, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks heat up at the way Mingi is falling under yunho’s control. The scene was unreal before you. Mingi was always the loudest in the room but at this moment he is so quiet, so obedient that it sends goosebumps throughout your skin.

“Sweet isn’t she?”

Mingi hmms as Yunho pulls his fingers out his mouth.

“Wanna try it straight from the source this time?”

“Oh god please.”

You watch as mingi slowly places his hands on the back of your thighs, softly rubbing almost like he was making sure this was real. His hands snake around to the front as his hands land right at the lower base of your stomach, holding you firmly before he licks a large stride through your folds.

Your body shakes with the sudden pressure head falling down. Yunho watches as Mingi licks and sucks at your clit, like you were clenching this thirst he never knew he had.

Yunho rubs his hand against your skin, smoothing out the goosebumps running across your skin.

Yunho grips your hair pulling your head, turning your attention to him instead of the boy devouring your entrance.

“How does Mingi feel, baby?”

You choke out a moan, saliva gathering behind the panties yunho stuffed in your mouth when you were moaning too loud.

“You don’t need this anymore.” He reaches with his other hand pulling out your panties and tossing them aside. Your voice rings out music to their ears, Mingi speeds up his pace, tongue licking deep inside you. He can feel your body slightly shake, his and yunho hands hold on you the only thing keeping you up right.

You watch yunho lean down and places a kiss on your lips, swallowing the moans Mingi is causing. The tears in your eyes are threatening to fall, a sign yunho has come to know and love showing that you were close. Yuhno lets go of your hair, and quickly pulls mingi by his hair, pulling his mouth away from you, denying you of the orgasm you were desperately reaching.

You whine looking back to see the spaced out looked mingi was holding, eyes drifting to yunho silently pleading to let you. But you knew better than to just let your eyes do the talking. “Please yunho, please.. I-I'm so close. Please.”

“Should we ask Mingi? Should our baby girl finish on your mouth or on your dick?”

Now mingi was the one to groan out, the thought of him being buried deep in you was always this fantasy and now he was so close to having it his reality.

“Dick, oh god please my dick.” Mingi was practically begging to be in. Yunho sits on a chair telling mingi he could. Mingi was quick to pull down his bottoms and taking off his shirt knees pressing into the bed as he positioned himself behind you.

You turn to your head, cheek resting on the pillow as you see Yunho taking his dick out slowly rubbing it up and down, giving you a smile. You lick your lips while staring at him jerking himself off. You loved Yunho's hands, his gentle touches, his rough ones everything, to you his hands held your world, too focused on yunho, you get shocked when Mingi runs his dick gathering up whatever liquid was left to help slide into easier.

Mingi slowly slides in with ease, you groan at the he stretches you out. Mingi wasn’t as long as Yunho but the girth of mingi makes up for the loss of inches.

“Holy fuck, oh my god yn, you are so wet. I slid right in.” Mingi halts as he lets you settle around him buried deep in you. Mingi can feel the way you are pulsing around him. He was in heaven.

“Mingi please.” He feels you push back on him to cause some sort of friction between you. Mingi looks at Yunho who has his hand at the base of his dick, he nods letting Mingi know he was okay to move.

Mingi doesn’t waste another moment pulling out and slamming back into you. Your mouth agape nothing but air coming out as mingi thrusts in a rhythmic pattern. Mingi was different from Yunho. Yunho loved to take his time, making you beg for more. But Mingi was quick and rough, you know he is losing himself by the way he is gripping your hips, adding to the marks littering your body.

Yunho was matching the speed of Mingi's thrust, soft groans falling from his lips as he watches you get pounded from the back. He quickly gets up, grabbing your face and bringing your mouth to his dick, you tried your best to suck him off without the use of your hands, and the movement mingi was causing.

“Shit baby, your mouth feels so good, you are so good for mingi.” Yunho says reaching behind your head holding it still as he pounds into your mouth. Your moans help stimulate Yunho more as he releases harshly into your mouth. You swallow around him throat sucking everything you can out of him. “Holy fuck.”

Mingi reaches around you harshly pinching his fingers around your clit. You scream out, clenching on him, moaning out as you reach your high, completely ready to cum.

“Cum baby, cum for Mingi.” Yunho says rubbing his thumb over your lips, while your eyes are locked. That's all you needed. You cum hard around Mingi. Mingi hips stuttered thrusts getting harder and slower.

“You can’t come in her mingi.” Yunho says quickly face turning to watch mingi groan out in frustration as he is forced to pull out releasing all over your back.

Yunho slowly places your head onto the pillow, untying your hands rubbing at the red marks from the restraints. Yunho brings each wrist to his lips placing kisses all over the redness.

“You did so well my love, you are so pretty.” Yunho places a kiss on the inside of your palm. Letting you come down from your high with praise.

Yuhno reaches out grabbing the nearest piece of cloth wiping the cum off your back.

“Hey, that's my shirt.” Mingi says from his position next to you.

“I don't care.” Yunho says continuing to clean you up with Mingi's shirt.

You are still on your stomach and you turn to face mingi “so does that mean you like yunho?”

Mingi's frightened face makes you laugh as he stutters out excuses and saying nonsense.

Yunho rolls his eyes as he goes to your bathroom running the tub for you and him.

“You can stay at my apartment and borrow some clothes. I’m gonna stay here with yn.”

“Wait I don’t wanna be alone, can’t I stay here with you.” Mingi sits up as yunho tosses him his boxers.

“If you stay you are the one gonna be tied up to the bed.” You jokingly say as yunho helps you out of bed, walking you both to the bath.

“I'm okay with that.” Mingi says.

You both stop in your tracks turning to see mingi sitting on his heels, dick hard against his abdomen and the most pleading eyes you have ever seen.

You and Yunho share a look, a dark look in his eyes and a smirk on your face.

“Let me get my camera, we are gonna make a masterpiece.” you say.

DSOTI taglist : @mygsis @babrieeee @thisrandombitch @cybergracie @nosungluv @i-kai @igotajuicyass @fandom-freak-geek @champagneconfetti @s4nniebe4r @apophecy @mrsminseochoi @juicyjaxxy @honeyhotteoks @urlocaltrash28 @soupyjoy @blubb0 @seomisaho @lovinjjong @woohwaholic @heelovesmeknot @nislost @kookieswithjung @arigakittyo @lilyscloud @vampwritesstuff @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @lze325 @sparda1234 @kukkurookkoo @blossomflowerpott @yeosrewind @sannieflix @sungjin-spoon-hands @gyusbabydoll @dawn-iscozy @cherryangel-coke @drewsandsebastianswife @pigeonseatmayo @roxhanah

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 : @sxungchqn @chenlezip @kookieswithjung @cowboy-jester @peskybirdysya @jjcanwrite @skysole @champagneconfetti @suckerforv @auroratiseee @dollxkill @bookishcaptain @goldenmellow @kj-kts @imagine-all-the-imagines @lze325 @sellomaybe @va1entinaaa @insbread @d3kstar @atinyrosedoor @corgilover20 @changbinsdwaekkiball @thisrandombitch @jeonginsbaee @torkorpse @grassbutneo @weirdowithaphone @unfxrgetwble @avilio-is-dead @stylishcaprisuns @iarainha @ssunglvr @beomgyusluver @unfxrgetxble @lezleeferguson-120 @wookiebearz @cowboylikemets1989 @kwanspace @peskybirdysya @unbel1ve4ble @bee-gremlin @bussdownflockiana

[musingsofheaven]

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,�� he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I’m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[swordymacaroni]

Break Up With ME, I'm Bored -_-

summary- how do the jjk men react to you saying "lets break up"(as a joke)?

pairings- nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader, geto x reader

warnings- swearing, suggestive?, threats of murder

requested by-@hrts4hanniehae

NANAMI

“noooooo! come backkk” you protest as you sleepily tug on nanami’s arm. you’re both nestled in warm, cozy sheets. that is, until nanami’s alarm beckons him to go do his fuckass job.

nanami looks down at you, his hair mussed and sticking up, a boyish smile softening his features. “can’t sweetheart. i have work. not all of us can be this abhorrently clingy.”

he leans over to kiss your forehead before he sees your eyebrows draw together. you pull the covers over you, thoughtful. 

“what, honey?”

“oh, nothing, ken. you’re right. i’m too clingy and i’m hindering your career. we should break up.”

no alarm clock could wake kento up as fast as that statement did. 

“what? honey, no. oh god, please don’t. i would never mean it like that. you’re-you’re what makes me want to come home after a long day, I couldn’t-wouldn’t do this without you here, sweetheart-”

your cackle interrupts his panicked speech. 

“kennn. i was kidding! go get ready, you’re going to be late.”

he simply lies back down, pulling you into his arms. “go to work? after that? i certainly don’t think so.”

he sends a quick text to his team that he won’t be able to make it today due to an emergency of the utmost importance.

he lounges with you until noon, talking about nothing and everything,  before he makes you  pancakes, caging you between him and the stove, pressing kisses to your shoulders every once in a while.

you assure him that he does, in fact make enough time for you, and he’s free to go to work tomorrow. he asks if you’re sure at least ten times before he agrees.

(he takes you on a two week trip to malasia the very next day)

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

SUKUNA

you stare at sukuna as he sips his tea or (it doesn’t look or smell like tea, but you’ll be happier not knowing what it actually is). 

“what?” he asks without sparing you a glance.

“can i come to the advisory meeting with you?”

“why?”

“because… uh, it’s fun and i like hearing people’s perspectives.”

He smirks. "or is it because you follow me every waking breath?”

you squint. “wow, ok. say that when i break up with you and move to the other side of the country.”

he sips his tea. “no.”

“excuse me?”

his hand comes up to cup your nape, eyes holding yours captive. “you simply cannot escape me. every place you go. i come along. every home you make. i adorn it for you. every man you touch.” his eyes darken. “i erase for you.”

“hey sukuna so what the fuck?”

he brings your hand to his mouth, nipping at your fingers almost threateningly. “you will join me for my advisory meeting. and then for dinner. and then for my evening stroll. i require you beside me at all times. all the time.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TOJI

you chuck a pillow at toji, which he deflects without looking up from where he’s cleaning his gun.

“oh my gosh! if you spent as much time with me as you do with the gun, i’d be pregnant with twins by now,” you pout.

he casts you a sidelong glance. “i can make that happen.”

you let out a shriek of frustration. “put the gun down and come upstairs.“

he tuts. “can't have you getting so needy on me, girl. how do I function with you being a koala?.”

your mouth falls open. “wow. ok. expect my side of the bed to be empty tomorrow. you shall receive an invitation to my wedding with a tall funny finance bro.”

toji laughs, but it has an edge to it. “won’t happen, doll.”

you jut out your lower lip. “hell you mean it won’t? i totally have game, you know-”

“it won’t because every man you look at will end up with a hole in his head. i don’t think you’d want that.”

he cocks his gun nonchalantly. 

“ toji. You know you’re psychotic, right?”

he grins before planting a wet kiss on your cheek. “the better to love you with, doll.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

GETO

you throw your arms around geto with a little sound of joy. he has to drop his cup of coffee to catch you. he tuts, his arms still around your waist. “come on, pretty. so needy you can’t even wait for me to literally enter the house and put my drink down?”

you stiffen as you untangle yourself from him, sighing. “You’re right, geto.”

“he frowns. “geto? what happened to sugu?”

you shrug. “i can’t call my to-be ex sugu.”

his entire body tenses as he looks down at you. “i’m sorry?”

you tug on a strand of your hair. “oh you know, you don’t want me to be so obsessed with you, so i’ll have to respect your boundaries and break up.”

his hands are threaded in your hair as he’s backing you up against the wall. “no, pretty. you’re not leaving. not like this. not ever. you want me to carry you around the village and kiss you like the world is ending in front of my followers? done. no second thoughts.  you want me to abandon them and become a hermit with you for the rest of time? fucking absolutely. just don’t want those words to leave your pretty mouth again.”

you open and close your mouth, shocked. “sugu, I was literally just joking…”

he hums noncomitally as he saunters away. “pass me the mop, pretty? have to clean up some coffee.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

a/n- this is butt booty cheeks but uhh

[anon-sect]

Bryan woke up the next morning. He went to the spare bedroom in the three-bedroom apartment he shared with his roommate, Paul. His brother had come to visit him for a few days. Today was his last day before he was to catch a flight back home. He had planned a lot on the last day before he would have to drive him to the airport for his flight back home.

Bryan went into the guest bedroom but found his brother's things missing and the bed made up. He looked outside and didn't see him out there at all. He wondered where his brother could be. He came into the kitchen to see Paul standing there in just his underwear and socks.

"Hey, have you seen my brother? His stuff isn't in the guest bedroom and the bed is made up." Bryan asked Paul.

"Oh, I saw him early this morning. He took a taxi to the airport. He said it was an emergency." Paul said.

"Strange that he would not wake me up to drive him there, especially since it was an emergency." Bryan paused. "Are you really sure about that?" He asked him. He noticed his brother was staring at his roommate last night when he wasn't looking. He was aware that his brother was gay, but that never bothered him.

"Yeah, I am sure. He said he will call you later once he gets back home." Paul paused. "I am sure things are fine. You shouldn't worry." He added

"I am really concerned that he would leave without telling me." Bryan spoke, still wondering what the emergency could be since his flight wasn't due to leave till tomorrow.

"I am sure your brother is doing fine. You will probably hear back from him soon." Paul said as he walked back to his room. When he closed his door, he had a devious smile on his face.

Devin was powerless to let his brother know where he was. Paul and he had a little fun once Bryan had gone to bed. Paul had enjoyed him so much that he didn't want him to leave. He actually wanted to keep him around. Since that wasn't possible, he was turned into underwear. No matter how hard he tried, Bryan didn't hear a single plea for help.

"Your brother will never know what happened to you, my underwear. This way I get to keep you around and no one will know where you are." Paul whispered down to his underwear as laid down on his bed to watch TV.

Bryan hoped he would hear from Devin soon. He was concerned.

[kuronarnze]

Hihiiii I love your works sm, can you make headcannons with isagi, sae, Rin, shidou, kaiser, reo where they and their s/o watches a horror movie together expecting their s/o to be scared but their s/o turns out to be a nonchalant final boss, and yes and instead isagi, sae, rin (I'm not sure Abt rin cause he likes to watch horror movie and play horror games), shidou, kaiser, reo becomes scared?

THANK YOUU take your time on making this & feel free to ignoreee

- 😈 anon

a/n: HELLOOOO 😈 ANONN !! omg this request is so funny HAHAHAAHAH, enjoyyy !!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Bluelock boys + s/o watching a horror movie together

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Isagi Yoichi

- “It’s okay babe, if you get scared you can hold onto me,” he says confidently.

- Five minutes in:

- sudden jump scare

- “AAH—!!” literally jumps 10 cm off the couch

- Looks at you expecting you to scream—

- You’re calmly sipping your drink, eyes on the screen like it’s a romcom.

- “...Yoichi. You good?”

- Poor boy is embarrassed. “I-I wasn’t scared!! That just caught me off guard!!”

- He slowly starts inching closer to YOU for protection. By the end, he’s clinging to your arm.

- “Y-You’re too calm… seriously how are you not scared?!”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Itoshi Sae

- Picks the scariest movie on purpose. He smirks.

- “Let’s see how long you last.”

- Five minutes later—something grotesque crawls out of the TV—

- Sae flinches.

- You? Deadpan.

- “Weak jump scare.”

- He GLARES at the screen like it betrayed him.

- Gets quieter and quieter through the movie… arms crossed, but subtle tension in his shoulders.

- Meanwhile, you’re casually commenting on the cinematography.

- At the end he huffs:

- “...Tch. I wasn’t scared. You’re just weird.”

(He definitely lost to you in mental strength.)

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Itoshi Rin

- “I watch horror all the time,” he says, totally serious. “You’ll probably be the one hiding.”

- You: “Okay Rin.”

- Movie starts. Very psychological and creepy, not just jump scares—deep tension building…

- After 20 mins he keeps glancing at the dark corners of the room.

- “...Did you hear that?”

- You: snacking calmly “Hear what?”

- He stiffens, trying to act cool—but his hand grips yours halfway through the movie.

- “T-That wasn’t scary. I just thought you were cold,” he mutters.

- He is VERY salty that you didn’t flinch once. Refuses to admit defeat.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Shidou Ryusei

- "HAHAHA this’ll be fun babe—lemme protect ya!”

- The movie starts—within SECONDS a demon face pops up—

- “HOLY SHIT—!!” yeets the popcorn everywhere

- You: “...That was mild.”

- He stares at you in shock. “Huh? You ain’t scared??”

- Spends the whole movie jumping and yelling—

- “DAMN IT—WHY’D IT HAVE TO POP OUT LIKE THAT?!”

- Meanwhile you’re just relaxing, patting his head like “there, there.”

- By the end, he’s pouting:

- “Okay YOU’RE the scary one, babe! my heart can’t take this!!”

- Still loves it and wants to do it again (so he can “redeem” himself).

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Michael Kaiser

- “Tch… scary movies? You’ll probably end up clinging onto me by the first scene.”

- Acts full of confidence.

- ...And then the movie starts getting under his skin.

- Subtle first—his legs cross, arms fold tighter… little nervous swallow.

- A sudden scream and shadow—

- “Fuck—!”

- Glances over—

- YOU are perfectly calm. Almost bored.

- His pride is destroyed.

- “I-It’s just a cheap scare. Pfft. I’ve seen worse.” (yeahlikethetimewhenhisdadbeathimup :()

- Tries to laugh it off but you catch him gripping the cushion like his life depends on it.

- Won’t admit it, but next time he’ll suggest a comedy instead.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Mikage Reo

- “Babe, if you get scared you can cling onto me”

- Starts the movie all smug and teasing.

- 15 mins later: something creepy happens, music goes eerie—

- jumps so hard he almost throws the remote

- “AAAA—!!”

- Turns to see you completely nonchalant, eating chips.

- “Babe?? Aren’t you freaked out?!”

- You: “Nah. It’s fun.”

- Reo ends up clutching your arm the entire movie. By the end:

- “WHY are you so fearless??”

- “...Honestly… kinda hot tho.”

- Now totally views you as “my nonchalant final boss s/o”

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HAHAHAHAHA this was fun to writeee, I hope you enjoy the heacannons and thank you for readingg, have a nice dayyy 🫶🫶

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 10

Chp. 9 - Chp. 10 - Chp. 11

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies(ish) to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, found family, slow burn, fluff, explicit smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers?

wc: 11k

chp warning: Sukuna pov (for a bit), ANGST, death, acts of violence, talk of mental health issues, Yorozu is a big warning this chapter

a/n: have fun getting slapped in the face with Sukuna lore :D

You texted Toji to pick up Nobara and the boys so fast when Sukuna basically threw you on his bike, you didn’t even wait for a response. Your message was short and to the point: “Pick up the kids. Sukuna and I have to talk.” Sukuna just yelled at his employees to make sure to close the place down properly or they were fired.

And off you both went on his bike.

Toji read your message, cussed up a storm, and grabbed his keys. He wasn’t actually mad—just annoyed about what was going to happen between you and Sukuna. He sent you the middle finger emoji (which, honestly, you were surprised he even knew how to find) and headed out to wrangle four kids.

But you’re too busy to see any of that right now. Your arms are wrapped tightly around Sukuna, your head pressed to his back as the world blurs by. It feels strangely normal, holding onto him as he weaves through city streets and out onto the open road. The wind whips past, carrying away all the words you haven’t said.

But then again, it doesn’t feel normal at all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week. After everything with Yorozu, you didn’t know what to do or what to say. Seeing that side of him—raw, angry, vulnerable—had left you rattled. You knew there was a story behind it all, and after witnessing how Yorozu treated him, you believed Toji a little more when he said Sukuna’s past was complicated. But the silence between you two only let your mind wander to darker places.

At first, you told yourself he needed space. That was fair. Then you saw him when you were getting Nobora ready for school, and your nerves made you awkward. You’d squeaked out a shy “hi” that sounded nothing like you, and he’d just stared, unreadable.

After that, you let things drift, trusting he’d come to you when he was ready. But now, over a week later, you’re just a little pissed it took this long. Still, you can’t complain—you’re back on his bike, arms around him, heart pounding with every curve.

You used to be nervous about riding with him, but now you’re ashamed to admit how much you like the adrenaline rush, the way the world narrows to just you, him, and the road. When he finally slows and turns off onto a familiar, secluded path, your breath catches. He’s brought you back to the same place as before—the scenic overlook, where everything feels quiet and safe.

He kills the engine and helps you off, taking his time with your helmet. When he finally sees your face, he smiles, and you turn away quickly, trying to hide your blush. He starts toward the clearing, settling on a ledge that overlooks the field below with a shallow creek at the bottom. The late afternoon sun casts everything in gold, the creek glinting in the distance.

You stumble after him, heels sinking into the soft ground like a newborn deer. It’s not that you can’t walk in hells, you’re actually pretty good at it—it’s just fucking impossible to walk in heels on grass. You give up, slipping them off and letting the cool, damp earth press against your feet.

Sukuna raises a brow, chuckling. “Why would you wear heels if you can’t walk in ’em?”

You frown, plopping down next to him. “I didn’t know we were going to be in the fucking woods, Sukuna.”

You cross your arms, but you can’t help the way your eyes drift over the view. The field stretches out below, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, the creek winding its way through the trees. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is beautiful out here, though.”

Sukuna glances at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, it is,” he says, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You turn to look at him, searching his face for answers. For a long moment, neither of you speak. You study every line, every flicker of emotion, trying to piece together the man beside you.

“So…” you start, the word hanging between you.

“So. What do you wanna know?” he asks, one brow raised, voice soft but open.

Your eyes widen and you stare at him like a deer in headlights. “Oh! I mean, I dunno—” You fumble for words, suddenly unsure how much to push.

Sukuna chuckles and leans his head back, resting against the rough bark of a tree. “Don’t be afraid to ask me, baby. I’ll be honest with ya.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the nickname. You should probably yell at him for calling you that again, but the truth is, you missed hearing it. The way his voice wraps around the word makes your stomach twist with nerves and something sweeter.

“Well, I mean… just tell me what you want me to know. If it’s a little story or a whole novel, I’ll listen.” You offer a small, encouraging smile, and he returns it, the tension between you easing just a little.

You add, “And don’t worry—I had Toji get the kids.”

Sukuna laughs, a deep, genuine sound. “Oh, fuck, he’s gonna be pissed.” The two of you share a laugh at the thought, the awkwardness fading away. Sukuna clears his throat, expression growing serious.

“Alright, this is kind of a long one,” he begins, voice steady but quiet.

You nod, settling in beside him. “And I’m listening.” He smiles, and for the first time in days, it reaches his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, gaze fixed on the creek below and begins talking…

Sukuna was always known as a “rough kid”. He carved out a reputation for doing what he wants, when he wants, and damn anyone who tries to stop him. The only person who could ever really stop him was Jin.

Jin’s four years older than Sukuna. He was a senior when Sukuna was just a freshman. Even then, Sukuna already towered over him, broad-shouldered and strong, while Jin’s lean and wiry, with just enough muscle to keep up but not enough to win any fights.

Without Jin’s glasses, it was surprisingly difficult to tell the two brothers apart—their facial features were nearly identical. That never bothered Jin, but when Sukuna was younger, he hated being mistaken for his older brother.

The confusion only stopped after Sukuna came home one day with bold black tattoos carved across his face (he got them when he was 15 by some underground tattoo artist) . Wasuke was pissed and gave Sukuna a good ass whopping for it. Jin, on the other hand, secretly thought the tattoos looked cool, though he’d never admit it to Sukuna. The last thing he wanted was to encourage his younger brother’s already oversized ego.

Jin was the golden child—responsible, patient, and always striving to do the right thing. He’s the one everyone relies on, the steady presence in the family. And Sukuna was a storm that swept through Jin’s carefully ordered life, unpredictable and impossible to ignore.

Whenever Sukuna does something reckless—making a girl cry, mouthing off to a teacher, getting caught fighting in the hallway, or doing drugs—Jin tries to set him straight. He threatens to beat Sukuna’s ass, but it never works. Sukuna fights people all the time and Jin can’t hurt a fly if he tried. Still, he never stops trying to protect his little brother, even when Sukuna makes it impossible.

After enough failed attempts at physical discipline, Jin figures out the one thing that actually gets to Sukuna. “I’m telling Dad you smoke pot if you don’t chill the hell out, Ryomen!” Jin yells, grabbing Sukuna by the ear as they stomp through the parking lot after school.

It was a cheap shot, and Jin knew it all too well. Still, he told himself, it was better than giving his dad something else to worry about. Every time Sukuna walked through the door, it was as if Wasuke was just waiting to start yelling about something—anything.

The man always seemed angry, and Jin couldn’t exactly blame him. Sukuna, on the other hand, treated it all like a game. He insisted he was just having a bit of fun, and maybe one day he’d outgrow it—that was the plan, at least, or so he liked to say.

“Don’t be a fucking bitch, Jin,” Sukuna spits back, shrugging him off as they head for Jin’s battered old car.

“You’re the one being a bitch,” Jin shoots back, exasperated. “You’ve gotten detention every day this week and I’ve covered for you every time. You need to learn to chill. You’re gonna end up in prison one day.”

Sukuna just rolls his eyes, arms crossed as he slouches in the passenger seat. He stares out the window, bored with the lecture, until something—or someone—catches his eye.

It was Yorozu, walking home with her bag slung over her shoulder, her raven hair shining in the afternoon sun. She spots him, and Sukuna’s mood shifts in an instant. He waves and winks at her, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

Jin just sighs, deadpan. “You’re hopeless.”

Sukuna frowns, genuinely confused. “What?”

“Isn’t she the reason you got in trouble?” Jin asks, raising his voice over the sound of the engine as he pulls out of the lot.

“Some punk ass was talking to her, so I punched him in the nose,” Sukuna mutters, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“And you think that’s okay?” Jin asks, sounding more like a worried parent than a brother.

Sukuna groans, slumping further into the seat. “Dude, just shut the fuck up.”

Jin sighs, the weight of responsibility clear in his voice. “I’m just worried, Ryomen. I’m graduating soon, and you’re not gonna have me to cover for you—”

“Jin, I don’t fucking need you to baby me! I’m fine on my own!” Sukuna snaps, the words coming out sharper than he means.

Jin gave Sukuna a long, searching stare, disappointment and worry carved plainly into every line of his face. The silence between them stretched, heavy and unresolved, until Jin finally reached over and flicked on the radio.But no matter how heated their arguments became, some things between them never changed.

Their routine was a silent agreement neither dared to break. They never missed a stop at the convenience store on the corner before heading home, where they’d buy a single ice pop to share. Even on the worst days, when words failed and tempers flared, they clung to this small ritual.

When they get home, Jin lies for him. Saving his ass once again.

Sukuna was always grateful for Jin’s loyalty, even if he never found the words to say it out loud. Jin hid a lot from Wasuke—more than Sukuna ever realized at the time. Somehow, Wasuke remained oblivious to most of the stuff that happened at school, unless the principal called home or he straight up heard about it. There were too many time loud ass neighbors would say they saw Sukuna drinking or hanging with people he shouldn’t and that’s when Wasuke would snap.

And Sukuna was in deep. He was the main dealer at school, selling weed to anyone who had the cash and the nerve to ask. His reputation made him both respected and feared in equal measure. Fights were a regular occurrence. He never backed down, his knuckles always raw and bruised.

Looking back now, Sukuna can see how reckless it all was—the fights, the deals, the constant defiance. But back then, it was just life—messy, wild, and spinning out of control. Through it all, Jin was always there, quietly trying to pick up the pieces Sukuna left behind, patching over the cracks before anyone else could see.

Jin graduated in June and started college that fall. Sukuna never said it out loud, but he was gutted when his brother left. At first, he spiraled—wilder than ever. He started smoking on school grounds, skipping school completely, going to parties, selling more than just weed- mainly pills and sinking deeper into trouble. His grades tanked, and the people he hung out with only dragged him further down.

People like Yorozu.

Guys were drawn to her, but she never pretended to be anything she wasn’t. She was sharp-tongued, brutally honest, and unapologetically herself, no matter who she offended. Sukuna thought he loved that about her—her fearlessness, her refusal to play by anyone’s rules but her own. At the time, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

Uraume was there too, always trailing after Sukuna. They finally started at his school his sophomore year after being homeschooled forever. They had grown up as neighbors and they have always been really close.

When Uraume started school, Sukuna promised their parents he’d look out for them. He felt like an older sibling, teaching Uraume how to fight, how to stand up for themselves, never letting anyone mess with them. He even made them wait outside when he was selling drugs. Uraume always looked up to Sukuna, followed him everywhere, and they couldn’t stand Yorozu.

“So, are you a girl or what?” Yorozu asked one afternoon, sitting under the bridge as they waited for Sukuna to come back. Uraume ignored her, tossing rocks into the creek, jaw set tight.

Yorozu rolled her eyes, pulled out a blunt she’d rolled earlier, and lit up. “Want a hit?” she asked, exhaling smoke.

Uraume shook their head. Then, footsteps—Sukuna’s. He just got back from a deal. He walked over, ruffled Uraume’s hair. “Hey, Yoro, I’m gonna take them home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiled, genuine.

Yorozu frowned, standing up. “You’re not gonna walk me home?”

He shrugged. “You can walk with us. I’ll drop them off first and—”

She stomped past, shoving Sukuna with her shoulder. “Don’t bother.”

They watch her walk off, “I don’t like her.” Uruame says and stares off.

Sukuna sighs, “Come on, kid.”

He remembered that day vividly because it was his sixteenth birthday. Yorozu didn’t wish him a happy birthday, not once. He acted like he didn’t care, but it stung. The girl he was falling for didn’t even notice or try to care.

He gave her money from his drug deals, did her history homework (because being the nerd that he was, he actually loved history) and gave her weed whenever she wanted. All she gave in return were the occasional make out sessions. Not that he was complaining—he was a horny teenager—but still.

When he got home with Uraume, their parents, Wasuke, and Jin were waiting, surprising him with cake. They celebrated, laughed, and for a moment, Sukuna felt like a normal kid. He was just happy to see Jin, who’d been so busy at college.

After Uraume and their parents left, Jin pulled Sukuna aside. “I got a birthday present for you,” he said, grinning.

“Why?” Sukuna asked, suspicious. Wasuke smacked him on the back of the head. “Be grateful, damn it.”

Sukuna winced, followed Jin to the garage—and stopped dead in his tracks. There it was, a black Kawasaki. His black Kawasaki that his still has today. The one he’d been talking about since he was nine. He’d shown Jin pictures in magazines, pointed out every bike for sale they ever passed. Now it was real.

He wanted to cry, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Jin clapped him on the shoulder. “I know it’s not a car, but Dad and I talked. Once you get your license, she’s yours.”

Sukuna was speechless, terrified a tear might escape if he looked at his brother or dad in the eye. Instead, he just hugged Jin tight.

Jin laughed, hugging him back. “Happy birthday, bud.”

And you better believe Sukuna got his license within a week. His dad bought him a helmet and gloves, and suddenly, he had a new obsession. The bike became his whole personality—he spent hours working on it, cleaning it. He even started mowing lawns to save up for gear and new parts.

The freedom it gave him was addictive. Whenever he had the chance hit the road, eager to chase down new routes and hidden backroads. There was a raw thrill in discovering stretches of pavement that felt untouched, like they were made just for him. But what he loved most was the rush—the surge of adrenaline when he twisted the throttle on a long, open stretch, the engine roaring beneath him, the wind whipping past, and the world blurring at the edges.

That bike changed everything. Once he ran out of his supplies, he stopped selling—he couldn’t drive high anyway, and he didn’t have time for that crowd anymore. He tried to keep his grades at least at a C. He was busy, focused, and for the first time, he felt like he was getting his shit together.

Yorozu hated it. She hated how it devoured all his attention. The bitterness festered inside her, growing heavier with every ride he took. She wanted his eyes on her. So, in a desperate bid to reclaim his attention, she made her move.

After school she saw Sukuna standing around a crowd of people. So, she walked right in front of him, with all the calculated spite she could muster, and locked lips with some random guy. It was reckless, it was cruel, and she hoped it would hurt him just as much as she was hurting.

It worked exactly as she’d hoped—Sukuna’s eyes darkened with fury the moment he saw her. Without a second thought, he stormed over and landed a solid punch square on the stranger’s jaw, sending the guy stumbling back. Then, with a rough grip, he yanked Yorozu away from the scene, his anger radiating off him in waves.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

She shrugged, pouting. “Oh, look who decided to talk to me.”

He was frustrated. He’d been doing so well—no fights, better grades, trying to stay out of trouble for his dad and for Uraume. “Yoro, I’ve been busy. You know that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not important anyway.” She started to cry, and Sukuna’s resolve crumbled. He thought he liked her—at least, he didn’t want to see her cry.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take you on a date this Friday. With the money I got from mowing, okay?”

She squealed, kissed him, and walked off, satisfied.

Sukuna meant it. He genuinely wanted to take her out, to show her he cared, to prove to himself—and maybe to her—that he was changing. But then, one crisp morning before school, he ran into his old plug by chance. They didn’t have any bad blood between them, so Sukuna stopped to talk.

“That’s a nice bike,” the guy said, nodding appreciatively.

“Yeah,” Sukuna replied with a grin, running a hand over the handlebars. “She’s my baby.”

They stood there for a few minutes, shooting the shit, catching up on the usual. Then, out of nowhere, the guy said something that knocked the wind out of Sukuna’s chest.

“So, why’d you and Yorozu split? She’s probably the best piece of ass I’ve had in a while.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, and he turned to face him, eyes narrowing. “Huh?”

The guy shrugged casually. “She came to me about a month ago, crying, saying you were done with her.”

Sukuna just nodded, swallowing hard, not trusting himself to speak. He couldn’t get dragged into another fight over Yorozu—especially not over her hooking up with someone else. That would be pathetic. This guy wasn’t worth it, and neither was she.

“We’ve been fucking for a while now,” the guy added, smirking. “But we cool, right?”

Sukuna forced a weak smile, masking the sting behind his eyes. “Oh yeah, man, don’t worry. I dropped that bitch because she’s got crabs. She’s dirty as hell.”

It was a lie. Yorozu was actually super clean. She’d grown up in a drug house, so she always tried to keep her image spotless. And they haven’t even fucked yet. But Sukuna didn’t give a damn.

He didn’t know what was funnier—the look on the guy’s face when he said it, or Yorozu’s meltdown when she found out later.

After that, Sukuna knew he could never have anything real with Yorozu. But he never left her. Junior year, they hung around each other just the same—still toxic as ever. They fought, made up, and eventually started fucking. Whenever they could.

Yeah, Ryomen Sukuna was a virgin until he was seventeen—if he said otherwise, he was lying. And Uraume will call him out, since they had the unfortunate timing of walking in on Sukuna and Yorozu too many times.

Something else happened to Sukuna when he was seventeen—he became an uncle.

Wasuke and Sukuna had never really worried about Jin when it came to succeeding. Jin always had his act together, always landed on his feet. But when it came to girls? That was another story. Wasuke, for all his gruff wisdom, had been a self-proclaimed manwhore in his day—a respectful one, he liked to add, but still a manwhore. Sukuna, for his part, took out his stress on Yorozu whenever he could, and when that didn’t cut it, he’d make out with other girls just to make Yorozu jealous. It was a mess, but at least he was honest about it.

Jin, though? Jin never talked about his love life. Wasuke used to joke that his eldest would be alone forever, and Sukuna would tease Jin mercilessly, calling him a super virgin until Jin would threaten to blackmail him with all the dirt he had on Sukuna’s own escapades. That usually shut him up.

So, imagine their surprise when Jin showed up at home one evening with a woman who was very obviously pregnant. Sukuna would never forget the look on Wasuke’s face—he honestly thought he was going to have to revive his dad from a heart attack right there in the kitchen.

Jin was still in college at the time, juggling classes and a paid internship at an elite sales company. That’s where he met Kaori. She was sweet—almost too sweet for Sukuna’s taste—but she fit in with the family better than he expected. She had a way of making everyone feel at ease, even Wasuke, who was a grumpy asshole.

Before long, Kaori gave birth to Choso. Sukuna remembered the first time he held the little brat—Choso was tiny, red-faced, and screaming his head off. Sukuna felt something strange twist in his chest, something warm and terrifying. He almost cried right there in the hospital, but his ego made him shove the baby back into Jin’s arms and escape to the bathroom.

No way was he going to cry over some kid, especially not in front of his brother.

Around that time, Sukuna also landed a job at the local auto shop. He started out working after school on Wednesdays and weekends. The place smelled like oil and old coffee, and his boss was a grumpy old man with a permanent grease stain on his shirt, but Sukuna loved it. The work was honest, the kind that left his hands sore and his mind clear. His boss taught him everything—how to change a tire, how to rebuild an engine, how to spot a lie in a customer’s story.

Work became his sanctuary. If he wasn’t with his family or Uraume, he was with Yorozu, and lately, that felt more like a chore than anything else. She always needed attention, always wanted more than he could give. The auto shop gave him a break from all of that, even if he came home exhausted and covered in grease. For the first time, he felt like he was building something of his own—something that didn’t depend on anyone else’s chaos but his own.

Another year passed. Sukuna was about to graduate. His grades weren’t bad at all—not good enough for scholarships, but something to brag about considering where he’d started. Yorozu, on the other hand, only managed to graduate because she paid people to do her homework or bribed them with drugs. She would never leave that life behind.

Sukuna let her play that game alone. He’d already decided he was going to slowly slip out of her life after graduation. He didn’t know what his future held, but he was determined to keep working, to keep trying, until he figured it out.

At his graduation, he could swear he heard Jin and Wasuke cheering the loudest out of the entire crowd. They were so proud of him—especially Jin. Sukuna was more in disbelief than anything else. He hadn’t really believed he’d make it this far.

Later that evening, Wasuke hosted a small graduation party at the house. The kitchen was packed with family, friends, and neighbors. Laughter and the smell of grilled food filled the air. Everyone was there—except Yorozu.

Wasuke had made it clear she wasn’t welcome. He wasn’t stupid. As years passed he knew what his son had been up to, but he had one rule: Yorozu was not allowed at the house. Sukuna didn’t argue. He understood, even if it made things complicated.

Yorozu, of course, didn’t take that well. She’d noticed how quickly Sukuna left after the ceremony, and she’d overheard Uraume’s parents mention a graduation party at his place. That was all it took for her to see red.

She was angry that Sukuna didn’t want to spend time with her. They should be celebrating together. It’s not like her alcoholic, abusive father would do anything for her. So, she decided if she wasn’t going to have a good time, then no one was.

She walked to Sukuna’s house in her cap and gown, mascara streaking down her face from fresh tears. She saw all the cars parked out front and heard the happy murmur of the party inside.

She stood there for a moment, letting her anger and heartbreak simmer. Then she spotted Sukuna’s shiny black bike parked under the carport—his precious bike, the one he always chose over her, the one he’d never let her ride. She hated that bike. Everything changed when he got that stupid fucking thing.

Without thinking, Yorozu grabbed a handful of loose gravel and hurled it at the bike. The pebbles barely left a mark, which only made her angrier. She stormed over and shoved the bike, sending it crashing onto its side with a sickening thud. Fueled by rage, she started kicking, breaking whatever she could—smashing the mirrors, denting the metal, ripping the leather seat with her sharp nails.

Suddenly, she was yanked away from her tantrum and shoved to the ground. Sukuna stood over her, his face twisted in fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled, voice echoing across the yard.

Yorozu gasped, realizing that everyone from the party was now outside, staring at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me—” she started, but Sukuna cut her off, his voice rising even higher.

“What the fuck is your problem? Are you fucking stupid or what?” He was in her face, shaking with anger, when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

Jin was there, calm but firm. “C’mon, Ryomen.” He turned to Yorozu. “We called your dad. He’s on his way.

“Not happening. I’m fucking leaving!” Yorozu spat, scrambling to her feet and running down the road, her gown flapping behind her.

Wasuke sighed, watching her go. “He’ll see her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Sukuna stared at his battered bike, fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out all the frustration and heartbreak. But he just stood there, jaw tight, trying to hold it together.

Jin stepped up beside him, surveying the damage. “Hey, I’m sure we can fix it,” he said quietly.

Sukuna let out a shaky sigh, then managed a small, grateful smile.

After that day, Sukuna and Yorozu didn’t speak. If they saw each other in public, they acted like strangers. In a way, it was sad—but Sukuna sometimes wanted to thank her for breaking his bike. Because of her, he got to spend the entire summer with Jin.

Jin had graduated college by then he lived only thirty minutes away. He got a fancy job at the same place he interned. But he made it a point to visit as often as he could, and together, they set about repairing the bike. The garage became their workshop, filled with the scent of oil and the clatter of tools.

They’d spend hours side by side—Jin handing Sukuna a wrench, Sukuna cursing at stubborn bolts, both of them laughing at old stories and inside jokes. Sometimes Wasuke would wander in, offering unsolicited advice or just watching them work, pride shining in his eyes.

Piece by piece, they restored the bike. They both learned how to fix a bent rim, how to patch torn leather, how to buff out scratches until the paint gleamed again.

Then one night, as they were replacing a headlight on his bike, Jin tossed Sukuna a beer. Sukuna stared at his brother for a moment, suspicion flickering in his eyes—he thought it might be a trap.

Jin laughed, breaking the tension. “We’re celebrating.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Celebrating what?”

Jin’s smile grew wide, full of pride and excitement. “Kaori’s pregnant!”

Sukuna’s face softened into a genuine smile. “Congrats, man! You’ve been keeping busy.”

Jin frowned slightly, but they both raised their beers in a toast. As they clinked bottles, Sukuna felt a rare sense of peace settle over him. He was happy. He had his brother, his dad was healthy, and he had an awesome little nephew—and now another on the way.

A few months later, Sukuna turned nineteen. To celebrate, he, Jin, and their dad went out to dinner. The three of them were a handful, talking and laughing for hours. Sukuna had been so busy with work, saving up for whatever big plan he was cooking up, so he was genuinely glad to spend some time with his family.

After dinner, Sukuna planned to buy a few scratchers and take a ride before calling it a night. As he stood at the counter checking out, a familiar voice cut through the quiet hum of the store.

“Well, hey stranger,” the voice purred, sweet but sharp like venom.

“Oh, hey Yoro,” Sukuna replied, the nickname so ingrained it was impossible to forget.

She gave him a poisonous smile, and they talked for a few minutes. She told him she was attending community college and living with her aunt now. Sukuna was glad to hear it—he knew her dad was a piece of shit.

He kept his updates short and vague, not wanting to get too attached or reveal too much. He was doing too good with her not being in his life and he couldn’t slip up, not now.

“Well, I’ll see you around?” she purred again

“See you around, Yoro,” he said with a smile, putting on his helmet and riding off.

During the drive, he barely thought about her. It was strange how long it had been since they’d seen each other. He didn’t want to risk ruining the good things he had going, so he planned to avoid her as much as possible.

That plan worked—at least for a little while. They ran into each other again, talked a bit, and by the third time, they made a deal. If they were bored and horny, they’d hook up. No strings attached.

Sukuna made sure to emphasize that.

He stayed focused on his vision—whatever that might be—and didn’t let her distract him. Yorozu was just a casual fuck, a way to get off without complications. He didn’t have feelings for her anymore. Sure, he didn’t want to see her hurt, but she was just someone he knew, someone he was used to.

“You’re really messing with her again?” Jin frowned as they drove to the hospital. Kaori was at work when her water broke. Jin hadn’t gotten the call because he was stuck in a meeting and only saw it thirty minutes later. Now, he and Sukuna were speeding down the interstate.

“We just fuck,” Sukuna sighed.

“How classy,” Jin muttered sarcastically.

Sukuna flipped him off. “It’s not like I’m gonna marry her or anything.”

Jin sighed dramatically. “Oh god, please don’t. That would kill Dad. He’d actually keel over and die.” They both burst into laughter.

After the laughter died down, Jin started, “Speaking of marriage—”

Sukuna’s eyes widened.

“I’m going to ask Kaori to marry me next month.”

Sukuna chuckled and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Only took her having two babies for you to ask, huh?”

They laughed and bickered all the way to the hospital. When they arrived, Kaori was already dilated to nine centimeters, screaming for Jin. Like the good man he was, Jin profusely apologized for being late and stayed by her side through the rest of the labor.

Outside the waiting room, Sukuna, Wasuke, and little Choso sat together on a row of chairs. Choso swung his legs restlessly, his sneakers thumping against the metal frame, mumbling a stream of words that Sukuna could only half decipher. Wasuke, meanwhile, had dozed off, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open, snoring softly.

Eventually, Choso couldn’t sit still any longer. He hopped off his chair and began running up and down the hallway, his laughter echoing off the sterile walls as he tried to burn off his excess energy. Sukuna watched him dart back and forth, a small smile tugging at his lips. Honestly, it was pretty entertaining—better than anything else this dreary hospital could offer.

Somehow, Choso had become Sukuna’s little best friend. Whenever he had the chance, Sukuna would take him to the corner shop for snacks, or to the park to chase pigeons and climb on the jungle gym. Once, he’d even tried to give Choso a ride on his bike, but Kaori and Jin had freaked out the moment they found out.

They threatened Sukuna that if he didn’t stop putting Choso on the bike, they wouldn’t let him watch over the kid anymore. Sukuna called them lame and told them to back off, but in the end, he decided it was easier to just keep Choso off the bike.

At least, not until he was older.

About an hour later, Jin emerged with teary eyes. “You guys ready to meet Yuji?”

Choso immediately clapped and jumped up and down. His parents had been talking about him becoming a big brother forever, and now it was finally happening. Sukuna nodded and nudged Wasuke awake, who jolted upright so fast acting like he wasn’t just drooling all over himself.

When Sukuna met Yuji for the first time, it was different from when he’d first held Choso. Yuji wasn’t crying—just wide eyed and impossibly alert for a newborn, his tiny head turning as if he were already trying to take in the world. Sukuna could have sworn the baby smiled at him, a fleeting expression that made his heart ache in ways he didn’t know it could.

He was in love instantly.

What made it even more surreal was how much the baby resembled him. Sure, everyone always said Jin and Sukuna looked like twins, but Yuji—he looked just like Sukuna had as a baby. There was no question Yuji was Jin’s son, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Choso was obsessed with his little brother from the start. He’d hold Yuji every chance he got, chattering about cartoons, bugs, or whatever popped into his head. Watching Jin with his two sons, Sukuna sometimes had to look away to blink back tears.

His brother had built a life for himself—a career, a beautiful family. He was a good man, and Sukuna knew how lucky he was to have him. He tried to cherish every moment, holding them close like treasures he was afraid to lose.

A month passed in a blur. Sukuna worked long hours at the shop, and had been so busy helping with Jin’s big secret. Tonight, Jin was finally going to propose to Kaori at a nice restaurant. Sukuna had made the reservation himself, double-checking every detail. It was the least he could do for his brother, and honestly, it was about time. Jin and Kaori had been together forever and already had two kids. Sukuna was excited to see them finally make it official.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s arrangement with Yorozu continued, casual and detached. They didn’t hang out. If she needed something and it wasn’t out of his way, he’d help, but that was it. It felt transactional, but it filled a gap in both their lives. He didn’t want to lose that, not now.

But today was different. Yorozu called the shop—something she never did, she knew not to because Sukuna would go off on her. The first time, Sukuna’s boss answered, and Sukuna told him to say he was busy. After the sixth call, though, Sukuna finally picked up, more annoyed than anything.

“What, Yorozu?” he grumbled.

“I need to borrow your car,” she said bluntly.

Sukuna hesitated. He had his bike, but Jin had given him his old junker car after upgrading, and Sukuna kept it around for rainy days and not wanting to put so much wear and tear on his bike. It was just luck that he had driven it to work today. He couldn’t imagine why Yorozu needed it—she hadn't asked for a big favor in a while.

“Why?”

She sighed, the fatigue in her voice unmistakable. “I have to get everything out of my dad’s house. When I moved out, I left most of my stuff. He’s getting evicted, so I need to grab my things. I’d rather not carry it all and walk.”

Sukuna let out a long sigh. She never asked for something like this, and he knew her relationship with her dad was a mess. He’d rather let her drive that old car than walk. They were on “good terms” these days, he didn’t want to lose that, so against his better judgment, he agreed.

“Yeah, but I need it back before five. I’ve got family plans tonight.”

Yorozu scoffed. “I will.”

It sounded half hearted, but an hour later, she showed up at the shop. Sukuna handed her the keys, warning her not to mess with anything. If she broke something, she’d never use the car again. She just smiled sweetly and left.

After she was gone, Sukuna got back to work. The day was busy—too many cars, too many customers who thought they knew more than him because he was only nineteen. He proved them wrong, though. He always did.

As the afternoon wore on, five o’clock came and went. Dinner was at 7:00, and Sukuna wanted to get home, change, and be ready on time. By 5:30, when Yorozu still hadn’t answered his calls, he gave up and called Jin, furious at himself for letting his guard down.

This is what he got for trying to be nice. For trusting someone, even a little.

It was his own dumbass fault.

So, he swallowed his pride and called Jin, expecting an earful.

“Hey, Ryomen! I’m getting ready now, gotta pick up Kaori, Dad’s got the boys—”

“I need a ride,” Sukuna said, defeated.

“What’s wrong?” Jin asked, instantly alert.

“I let Yorozu use my car—”

“Are you serious right now?” Jin sighed.

“Can you just come get me, please?” Sukuna huffed.

“I gotta stop and get Kaori, then I’ll be on my way. Just so you know, you’re getting a lecture about this tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever. See you when you get here. Love you.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Love you too, Ryomen. I’ll be there soon.”

Sukuna had never said that to Jin before. They showed it in their actions, never in words. It felt strange, but he was glad he’d said it.

He told his boss he’d close up the shop since he had to wait anyway. He busied himself with shutting everything down, but as the minutes ticked by, a cold anxiety crept in. It’d been over an hour. Jin never took this long. He called Jin sixteen times.

No answer.

That had never happened. Jin always answered on the first ring.

A sick feeling twisted in Sukuna’s gut. That heavy, sinking dread—the kind you get right before the world falls apart.

Then the phone rang. It was his dad.

When Sukuna talked about that call later, he said it felt like a bullet tearing through his chest.

“Jin got in a car accident. it doesn't look too good.”

Wasuke didn’t have time to say anything else. Sukuna just started running. He didn’t know where—maybe he’d find the accident, maybe he’d run into Yorozu or his dad with the boys. He just needed to move, to find someone, to do something before he exploded.

And then, as if fate had led him there, he saw it. A twisted pile of cars, the aftermath of some freak accident. Jin’s silver car was crushed in the middle of it all. All thanks to a drunk driver.

He stood frozen, watching as ambulances, firefighters, and police swarmed the scene, pulling bodies from the wreckage. It was chaos—blood, metal, screams, crying children.

Sukuna knew, right then and there.

As he watched the nightmare unfold, a single tear slipped down his cheek. It felt like a part of him was dying—or already had.

Kaori was pronounced dead at the scene. Jin was rushed to the hospital in critical condition, but the EMTs and police could only offer hollow reassurances to Wasuke and Sukuna. There was no real hope left—not when you saw the look in their eyes, not when you heard the silence that followed the sirens.

The hospital was a blur of harsh lights, antiseptic smells, and the low hum of grief. Sukuna and his father sat numbly in the waiting room, holding Choso and Yuji close. Kaori’s parents sat nearby, their faces pale and hollow with shock. They’d always liked Jin, had hoped for a miracle, but now their daughter was gone, and they didn’t know how to move forward.

Doctors came and went, updating them on Jin’s emergency surgeries. Each time, their words grew more desperate, less hopeful. About an hour later, Jin was pronounced dead. It was as if the world stopped turning. Yuji started crying, as if he understood the loss, and Sukuna rocked him gently, trying to soothe him through his own tears.

Wasuke walked outside to smoke—a habit he’d never had before, but grief makes strangers of us all. Kaori’s parents broke down again, their sobs echoing through the sterile hallways. Choso, still too young to really understand, clung to Sukuna, wide-eyed and silent.

Sukuna has hated hospitals ever since that night.

The next day, Sukuna stayed with the boys while Wasuke and Kaori’s parents made funeral arrangements. He and Kaori’s parents had never been close, but now they were bound by a terrible, shared grief—a bond neither of them had wanted. They moved through the funeral home like ghosts, speaking in whispers, their eyes red and raw.

Sukuna’s mind was blank, numb. He didn’t know what to think, what to do. Yorozu still hadn’t brought his car back, but he didn’t care. She could keep it. He didn’t want to see anything that reminded him of his brother. But he had no choice—every time he looked at Choso and Yuji, he saw Jin’s smile, Kaori’s eyes. Two perfect little boys, now orphaned in a single night.

How unfair was it, Sukuna thought, that both of their parents were taken from them at once? What kind of world did that to children?

He finally put the boys down for a nap and was about to try to sleep himself when he heard the sound of a familiar engine outside.

Yorozu pulled up and ran out of the car, frantic and disheveled. “I am so sorry—”

“Jin’s dead,” Sukuna said, his voice flat and cold.

Yorozu’s eyes widened. “What?”

“He got into a car accident last night. He was on his way to pick me up because you never brought back my car.”

“Sukuna, I said I was—”

“Where were you?” he asked, his voice icy.

She hesitated, swallowing hard. “I didn’t think I’d be that long. I stopped by my plug’s house and lost track of time.”

“I thought you had to move shit out of your dad’s?” He asks coldly.

“I did, but it didn’t take that long and I thought I had time-“ she stops talking when she realizes there’s no point.

Sukuna’s face went blank. He walked up to her, ripped the keys from her hand, and turned away. There was nothing left to say. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to look at himself. He should have said no, should have kept his boundaries. Now, whatever trust he’d rebuilt with Yorozu was gone—and so was Jin.

“Sukuna—”

“His funeral will be this week,” he said quietly, then walked back into the house, closing the door behind him.

Yorozu stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, before turning and walking away. Uraume watched her leave from the window. Once Yorozu was out of sight, they came inside to check on Sukuna.

Sukuna was so numb—so angry, so lost—that he just crawled into bed and slept. It was easier that way. In sleep, he didn’t have to think or feel. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could dream of Jin alive and healthy, laughing like he used to.

Uraume let him sleep all day, quietly caring for the boys—well, for Choso, at least. Yuji slept most of the time because he was only a month and half old. He only woke up to fed or cry for his diaper to be changed. They had to learn quickly how to bottle feed Yuji. Thank goodness he was an easy baby.

This was also the day Uraume discovered they actually liked to cook. They decided to make homemade soup with ingredients they found in the kitchen. When Sukuna finally woke, Uraume forced him to eat something. He’d always remember that small act of kindness. The food was actually good, and for a brief moment, he almost felt human again.

But nothing could fill the hole Jin and Kaori left behind. The house was too quiet, the future too uncertain. Sukuna sat in the dark, holding the boys, listening to their soft breaths, and wondered how he was supposed to go on.

The silence pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the occasional whimper from Yuji or the restless sighs of Choso in his sleep. Every shadow in the house seemed longer, every memory sharper and more painful.

That Friday was Jin’s funeral. Sukuna went with his dad to pick out the casket and flower arrangements. They knew it would be a big funeral—Jin was loved by so many, his presence woven into the lives of friends, coworkers, and neighbors. Sukuna dreaded it, the thought of facing all those people, of seeing Jin’s absence reflected in every tear-stained face.

Kaori’s parents decided to cremate her. Her body had been too badly damaged, and they didn’t want to remember her that way. The first car had struck directly on her side. They told Wasuke they’d give him some of her ashes to place in Jin’s casket, so a piece of her would be with him forever. They’d been excited for Jin to propose—he’d asked for their blessing, and they’d happily given it. He was everything they wanted for their daughter—kind, hardworking, devoted.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair.

At the funeral, Sukuna wore an all black suit, just like his dad. He dressed the boys in little black suits too, and made sure to bring his sunglasses—not to hide, but to shield himself from the endless, pitying stares as he cried.

During the service, he sat beside his father, Yuji sleeping on his shoulder, Choso leaning against his side. Sukuna had never seen his dad cry before, but now he watched the tears slip silently down Wasuke’s face.

Jin’s mother sat beside Wasuke, her face drawn and pale, her eyes hollow with grief. She clung tightly to Wasuke’s hand as people took turns giving speeches and soft music played in the background. It was strange—almost surreal—to see them like this, so small and fragile beneath the weight of sorrow. Sukuna watched them, feeling a heaviness in his own chest. He understood, at least as much as he could.

“You’re not supposed to bury your kids,” Wasuke whispered, his voice strained and broken, barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd. The words hung in the air, raw and aching. Sukuna reached over and patted his father’s leg, offering what little comfort he could as they watched the casket slowly lower into the earth. The finality of it settled over them, cold and unrelenting.

As Sukuna watched his brother’s body sink lower into the earth, something unfamiliar claws at his chest. Regret—raw, suffocating, relentless—crashed over him in a way he’s never known. It’s like being dragged beneath a black tide, unable to fight, unable to breathe.

He wishes—God, he wished—he’d told Jin thank you. Thank you for always standing up for him, for covering his lies without hesitation, for being the kind of brother Sukuna never deserved. The memory of Jin’s quiet loyalty twists the knife deeper. Sukuna can barely stand to remember all those times he brushed his brother off, choosing parties, chaos, and Yorozu’s reckless company over the one person who truly cared for him.

The tears spill relentlessly beneath his sunglasses, hot and unyielding, carving silent paths down his face. There’s no point in trying to hide them anymore—no mask strong enough to hold back this flood. He wishes, with a desperate ache, that he could be buried alongside his brother, swallowed by the earth and erased from the world. He’s never known this feeling before—the raw, hollow urge to disappear, to stop existing.

How is he supposed to go on without Jin? Of course, he understood logically that his brother was gone, but the truth didn’t truly sink in until the crushing realization hit him like a blow. He would never see Jin again. Never hear that infectious laugh that used to cut through the darkest moments. Never get yelled at or teased again.

What a fool he’d been. What a selfish, blind idiot. Each memory is a stone tied to his ankles, pulling him down, down, down. He wants to scream, to claw at the dirt, to turn back time and fix everything, but it’s too late. Jin is gone, and Sukuna is left with nothing but the unbearable weight of his own failures. He can’t stop replaying every missed chance, every careless word, every moment he took for granted. The regret is endless, a spiral with no bottom, and for the first time, Sukuna wonders if he’ll ever escape it.

When it was time, Sukuna took Choso’s hand and led him to the grave. He scooped up a handful of dirt, and Choso did the same, both tossing it onto the casket below. The sound of dirt hitting wood was final and cruel. Sukuna picked up Choso, who didn’t fully understand, but mimicked the sadness in the air. The little boy laid his head on Sukuna’s shoulder, and Sukuna rubbed his back, whispering, “It’s okay. I got you, buddy. Forever.” He held Choso tight as they returned to Wasuke, who was cradling baby Yuji—Yuji, who was babbling and smiling, too young to know what he’d lost.

Sukuna was so caught up in the funeral, he barely noticed Yorozu’s absence. She and Jin had never gotten along, but what stung was the realization that if she’d ever truly cared for Sukuna, she would have been there for him. In that moment, Sukuna understood that she’d only ever used him, and now he would do the same. No more favors. Only use her when he wanted. It was only fair.

Months passed in a haze. Sukuna and Wasuke decided to raise the boys together. Kaori’s parents visited when they could, but they were broken—Kaori had been their only child, and losing her left them adrift. Sukuna finally had a plan. For so long, he’d drifted through life, unsure of his purpose. Now, he knew, he would save every penny, work every hour, do whatever it took to give Choso and Yuji a good life. His father was too old to start raising more babies, but he would help as much as he could.

Jin’s mother would stop by sporadically and check on the boys. Her and Wasuke would talk a lot, keeping each other company. She distracted herself with work. She traveled a lot as time went on. Sukuna always wondered how she felt. He wishes he could’ve talked to her more.

Death brought heartache and wounds that would never heal. It also brought practical problems—money, paperwork, endless decisions. Jin had life insurance, so the funeral and immediate expenses were covered, and Wasuke and Sukuna received a hefty check. Wasuke worried Sukuna would spiral, spend it all on drugs or alcohol, but he couldn’t blame him. Grief made you reckless.

But Sukuna surprised everyone. He bought the shop from the greasy old man he’d worked for, pouring his time and energy into the business. It kept him busy, kept him from drowning. The workers who’d known him stayed loyal, helping Sukuna keep the place running. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt a little better. Not whole—never whole again—but at least he was moving forward, helping his dad, raising the boys, clawing his way out of the darkness.

Uraume visited when they could, having gone to culinary school and started traveling. Whenever they were in town, they cooked for Sukuna and the boys, spending time with him, making sure he was okay. Sukuna was grateful for it, for the warmth and care, for the reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Life settled into a rhythm. Work, home, the boys, his dad. They talked about Jin often, telling stories, keeping his memory alive. They never wanted to forget him, never wanted the boys to forget their father’s love.

One night, Sukuna decided to go to the bar. He felt stable, maybe even a little hopeful. He just wanted to have a drink, maybe flirt, maybe take someone home. His dad offered to watch the boys so Sukuna could have a night to himself.

But fate had other plans.

Yorozu was there. Isn’t this the worse case of Deja vu?

She was like a shadow he couldn’t outrun, always finding her way back into his life. He tried to ignore her, but she saw him, and her words—sweet and venomous—slipped into his mind, filling the cracks left by grief. He was weak, desperate for comfort, for anything that might make him feel alive again.

He hated himself for it, but he let her in. He always did. She never offered sympathy for his loss, never really cared about Jin. She just wanted to fill her own emptiness, and Sukuna let her, because he didn’t know how to say no.

Once upon a time Sukuna had wished things could have been different. In another life, maybe he could have loved Yorozu the way she needed, and maybe she could have been the right person for him. He’d wanted that, once. She was wild and fun, always up for anything. But he saw too much of himself in her, and it disgusted him. She was lost, angry, unwilling to change, always blaming him for her pain.

They went on like that until he met you. You were the light at the end of a tunnel he’d been stumbling through for years. With you, he finally saw what he’d been missing—real connection, real hope. Yorozu had always been a distraction, a way to numb the pain, but it never lasted. She never cared about his brother, never cared about his wounds. They were just hollow, broken people, using each other to fill the void.

He is slowly healing. Letting his life consume him in the best way possible. Letting you consume him as you both got to know each other. But there would always be that wound that would never heal and it haunts him in waves.

Some nights, when the apartment is quiet and the boys are asleep, Sukuna sits alone and lets himself grieve. He misses Jin’s laugh, Kaori’s smile, the family they could have been. He wonders if the ache will ever fade, if he’ll ever feel whole again. But for now, he keeps going—because that’s what Jin would have wanted, and because two little boys are counting on him to be strong, even when he feels anything but.

You stare at Sukuna for a long moment, his profile sharp against the sudden, vivid colors of the late afternoon sky. He’s staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, while you remain caught in the echo of his story. The sun is sinking now, but neither of you noticed it slipping away—the world outside his words had faded for a while.

You realize you started crying while he was talking. He didn’t want to make you sad. He just wanted you to understand, even a little, to glimpse the pain and the love that shaped him. He’s not asking for sympathy, he’s showing you that everyone carries a past, that every life is a story of loss and survival.

“I’m so sorry, Sukuna,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t notice until you spoke, but while he told his story, his hand had found yours, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles over your skin. It’s a quiet comfort, a way to ease the pain as he lets it all out.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he replies, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Thanks for listening.”

Silence settles between you again, thick with emotion. Sukuna finally turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m sorry you had to deal with Yorozu’s bullshit,” he says, regret lacing his words.

You sigh, shaking your head. “And you don’t have to be sorry for her. I’m sorry things never worked out between you.”

He laughs at that, a low, rough sound. “Oh, I’m not. We’re terrible for each other.”

You giggle just a little and nod. “Yeah, I can tell.”

You both turn back to watch the sunset, the sky deepening into twilight. Your fingers are still intertwined, his thumb still tracing those smooth, soothing circles.

“I’m not a bad person—well, I don’t try to be,” Sukuna says suddenly, his voice hesitant.

You frown and turn to him. “And I never said you were.”

“I know, but… I never wanted you to see that side of me. I never wanted anyone to see that side of me. I’m not going to blame it all on Yorozu, because it’s not just her fault. There’s a lot of things I could have done better way before that. It’s hard to admit when I’m wrong or weak.” The strain of his voice was even sent even that was hard to admit.

You give him a small, understanding smile, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. “Listen, I know you’re an asshole—trust me. Some people are just good at pushing buttons and she knew exactly how to push yours. Maybe you could have handled things differently, but let’s just be glad you didn’t do something you’d actually regret.”

He manages a weak smile in return, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. For a long, suspended moment, you simply look at each other, letting the silence and the golden wash of sunset wrap around you like a fragile truce.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” he says suddenly, voice rough but honest. Your eyes widen, caught off guard by his bluntness.

You sit there for a beat, then smirk, trying to act like he doesn’t fluster you. “Well, I would hope not.” A giggle escapes you, but it fades into a gentle sigh. “But you did get sick. I wish I could have taken care of you, the way you did for me.” You pout, inching a little closer, your nerves finally dissolving.

He grins, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “Like I said, it was worth it.” He winks, and your heart stutters.

Your gaze drops to his lips, remembering the way they felt—soft, surprisingly sweet. The memory lingers, tempting, but you hold back. Now probably isn’t the best time to kiss him, not right after he’s opened up to you like this.

But then you really think about the kiss. How it made you felt. All of the confusion that has consumed because of it. You need to say something, at least try to talk about.

You huff and lean back, suddenly feeling exposed. “I’ve never really been in an actual relationship before,” you admit quietly, glancing at Sukuna.

He shrugs, just as blunt as ever. “Neither have I.”

You frown, thinking of Yorozu, but he cuts you off before you can say anything. “Nope. Never took her on a real date or anything like that. I’m not counting it.” He huffs, almost defensive.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a reluctant smile. “Whatever you say.”

He shifts, his expression softening. “So this is new to both of us—” he starts, but he notices the flicker of panic in your eyes.

It’s only been five months. You’ve loved getting to know him, and you feel so comfortable with him, but the uncertainty gnaws at you. Are you moving too fast? Too slow? You have no idea how any of this is supposed to work. You don’t want to push him away, but you don’t want to cling too tightly either.

Sukuna exhales hard, the sound rough around the edges, like he’s been holding onto something too long. He gives you a smirk, but there’s that softness in his eyes that only you ever get to see. His hand moves, calloused fingers brushing your hair aside before cupping your cheek—his touch is firm, like he’s trying to remind you he’s right here.

“We don’t have to rush anything, baby. I don’t expect you to think we do. And if you decide you don’t want anything more, that’s fine with me. I never really knew what a relationship was supposed to be. I still don’t. But I do know I want to keep being with you—however that looks.”

You lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand soothe your frayed nerves. The sincerity in his voice anchors you. His words sink deep. You realize how serious he’s being in this moment

You smile, feeling some of the tension melt away. The uncertainty is still there, but now it feels like something you can face together.

“Let’s just… see where this goes?” you suggest softly.

He grins, eyes brightening. “Yeah. Let’s just see.”

It’s finally dark as you both head toward Sukuna’s bike. He carried you on his back so you wouldn’t have to walk barefoot over the rough ground again. At the bike, he helps you put on your helmet and help slide your heels back onto your feet.

As you settle behind him on the bike, you rest your head against his broad back and close your eyes. The night has turned chillier, and you instinctively press closer, stealing his warmth as he weaves through traffic heading back to the complex.

When you pull up to the apartment complex, Sukuna is quick to help you off the bike—as always. You check your phone and your stomach. You have over thirty messages from Toji.

Oh, fuck. I totally forgot about Toji and the kids.

You scroll through the messages, heart hammering. Toji kept updating you all evening, letting you know he decided to go to your apartment instead of his own—didn’t want to trash his house, and this is what you get for throwing four kids on him out of the blue. The kids were actually pretty good, just happy to see each other, and they all ended up eating instant ramen together.

You and Sukuna walk up the steps, the silence between you comfortable as ever, but there’s still a nervous energy in the air. You’re eager, a little anxious, but mostly relieved you talked things out—there’s understanding between you, and it feels good.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by Toji sprawled out on the couch, passed out, with Megumi curled up on top of his chest. Choso, Yuji, and Nobara are asleep on the floor, surrounded by pillows, blankets, and the remnants of their play session—crayons, toys, and play dough scattered everywhere.

You let out a sigh and smile at the sight. Without a word, Sukuna moves to pick up Choso and Yuji, carrying them with ease across the hall to his apartment and tucking them into bed.

Without even a second thought, you step out into the hallway to say goodnight, your heart fluttering as you wait.

He must have sensed you, because he comes right back out and smiles at you and you smile right back, but the nervousness rises in your chest again.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft with a slight purr. You nod with a small smile, warmth blooming in your chest instead.

He closes the distance between you in one smooth motion, his presence overwhelming yet comforting. With surprising gentleness, Sukuna presses his lips to your temple, the brush of his mouth sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes widen in surprise for just a moment, but quickly, you find yourself leaning into his touch, craving the tenderness.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your skin, his gruff tone barely masking the affection beneath.

“Goodnight, Sukuna.”

summary: hey so I sobbed so much writing this. I had to pause several times. I was up until 4 AM editing this and making sure it was sad. so you’re welcome. BUT HEY WE ARE GETTING SOMEWHERE WITH THESE LOVEBIRDS!

in other news, I am currently incredibly hyper fixated on the throne of glass series and have read four books in less than a week. so please bear with me on the next chapter, I will try to get it out soon as possible. I am using my free time as much as I can.

as always, please let me know how you feel about this chapter. this has been one of my favorite chapter so far. I hope you all are having an incredible week and have a great weekend. I love you guys♥️♥️

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

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[belowablue]

Definitely Not Boyfriend Material - James Potter x Reader

Part 2/3. Everyone say thank you to lilians17 and taypop21 without which this never would have happened. I also split this up so it wasn't ridiculously long, so expect part 3 sometime!

part 1 part 3 <3

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It had been a week since your strange hookup with James Potter, but in that short amount of time your life had seriously deteriorated.  

When you told Lily that you’d slept with James she was firstly shocked that you’d actually gone thought with it and secondly somewhat superficial about the whole experience, which threw you off immensely. She didn’t ask half as many questions as you thought she would and mostly shut the topic down when you tried to bring it up. 

Majorly confused and slightly hurt that your best friend didn’t want to talk to you, you backed off completely. You two still spent a lot of time together, but you stuck to safe conversation topics like Flitwick’s latest essay or the Quidditch scores. You weren’t sure how you were going to talk about the gaping hole in your friendship but thankfully, she addressed it first. 

Cornering you in the library one afternoon she said your name softly, “Look I know I haven’t been the best friend lately.” 

Your brow furrowed, perplexed, but she carried on, “About James.”

You audibly gulped, preparing for a barrage of anger, but Lily quickly clarified, “I’m sorry I’ve let your, err, experience with him come between us I just-“ She sighed, ‘I just can’t understand why you did it.”

“I- what?” 

“Why! I mean, I thought we both hated him, I know after all he’s badgered me I do, so I thought that meant that you would too, but I guess not.”

She said all of that so quickly you had to think about it for a moment. 

“Lily,” You said slowly, “I told you that, if given the chance, I would shag him.” You stared at each other. “And you made no complaints then.” 

“I know,” She dragged a frustrated hand through her hair, “I just never thought you’d actually do it.”

You prickled. “So what, you don’t take anything I say seriously?” 

“No, no, no,” She said quickly, “Fuck no, of course I always take you seriously I just,” She paused again, clearly trying to articulate herself, “It was always something we'd joke about it. I didn’t think it would actually become real.” 

You stared at her, suddenly seeing everything from her point of view. One of her best friends spontaneously sleeps with the guy they’ve been making fun of for tormenting her for years. Yikes. When you put it like that…

“I don’t accept your apology Lily,” You said firmly. 

She gasped and her eyes filled with tears. She began to turn away but you grasped her arm to hold her firmly facing you. 

“I don’t accept it,” You continued, “Because I’m the one who should be apologising. You have done absolutely nothing wrong Lils, fuck I just went and shagged your own personal hell.”

The last line sounded slightly hysterical and Lily opened her mouth but you quickly continued, “I don’t know why I expected you to be okay with it all, fuck I'm so sorry Lily, Merlin please-.“

The look on her face made you pause. Though the tears were still in her eyes, she was smiling. 

You closed your mouth, afraid to shatter what you hoped you’d just fixed.

“It’s okay,” She said softly, “it’s alright.”

You shook your head vehemently. “It’s not alright Lily, I-”

Her expression made you stop again. “It is alright.” She gave a half-laugh, “Maybe it’ll get him off me.”

You cringed at that. 

“It’s not real,” You said firmly. “Sure James has proven he can be nice, but he’s still not demonstrated excellent boyfriend behaviour. He doesn’t help me with my homework or buy me flowers,” You said the next line quietly, somewhat ashamed to admit it to Lily but it was clearly something she needed to hear, “I think I’ve just become another notch in his belt. Another name added to the roster of girls he can call when he can’t be bothered to wank himself.”

Because it did hurt a little to say. After that morning you’d somewhat expected hand-written notes at breakfast or roses on your bedside table, but James had gone straight back to shouting his adoration for Lily from the Astronomy Tower.

You had to shake yourself quite hard to get over that dream. 

Lily sighed. “Well, he’s made us work on our communication anyhow.” 

You giggled and the tension between you two dissolved smoothly. 

She gathered up her things and you did too, feeling a thousand times lighter now you and Lily had talked this out. 

“Not even chocolates after he left those vicious bruises on your hips?” 

You let out a strangled laugh. “Not even then.”

She hummed, “Definitely not boyfriend material then.”

You nodded in agreement, wearily heading towards the exit. 

As you walked side by side, you thought 'fuck James Potter’ and then, even more angrily ‘fuck James Potter and his ability to cause arguments when he wasn’t even there. Fuck James Potter and his inability to grow up.’

Unbeknownst to you, James had caught the tail end of your conversation, having been loitering behind a bookcase once he realised Lily was there. 

Her words were bouncing around his head as he watched you go, ‘definitely not boyfriend material.’ 

Well then, he’d just have to work harder. 

——————————————————————————————————

After you and Lily made up you expected your life to go back to normal, minus the occasional Potter hookup. Merlin you could not have been anymore delusional if you’d actually tried. 

It started slowly. 

Your scarf, that had been missing for weeks, was placed on your bed one evening when you got back from dinner. Your books were organised in alphabetical order. All your hairpins that had become scattered across Gryffindor tower were studiously found and collected in a pretty flowery dish. Your ink pots were always full. Your makeup brushes were cleaned on a weekly basis. Your broomstick was polished after particularly muddy practices. 

It didn’t register for a while that someone was doing these things for you. You had been putting it down to house elves or sheer luck. It wasn’t until Marlene was talking about how her latest boy toy always made sure her water bottle had a slice of lemon in it that something slotted into place in your brain. 

Someone had been doing this for you. 

Someone had bothered to watch you so carefully that they knew what inconveniences you faced in life and magically fixed them all for you in a matter of weeks. 

But the annoying thing was you didn’t have a clue who could be doing this. Was it a crush trying to quietly make themselves known? Was it one of your friends who had suddenly gotten the idea to start doing anonymous good deeds? Or was it actually just overly devoted house elves? 

You didn’t know. After many consultations Lily decided she didn’t know either. You’d both agreed to keep an eye out for anyone displaying suspicious behaviour, but either they were really sneaky or you were really unobservant because you got nothing. 

Still, in someways it was nice to think that someone was looking out for you. Someone cared about you enough to help you out, with such mundane tasks too. And to top it all off, they helped you anonymously. They weren’t looking for praise. They didn’t want your open gratitude. They just wanted to make sure you were okay. That thought gave you a fuzzy feeling somewhere near your stomach and you had to suppress a smile when you were in public. 

However, your fretting over a potential stalker was soon overshadowed by one overwhelming fact. 

——————————————————————————————————

“Shut the fuck up.”

Lily sat opposite you on your bed, eyes shining bright. 

“No fucking way.”

She only nodded again, smiling too wide to utter a response. 

“You have a girlfriend. An actual whole real-life living breathing girlfriend.”

She nodded again. You threw your arms around her. 

“Ohmygod this is so exciting! Have you gone on a date yet?” You gasped loudly, “Have you kissed yet? Oh my days when can I meet her?” 

Lily laughed, pushing you back by your shoulders to face her, “Her name in Daisy. She’s the Hufflepuff I mentioned a while back.” 

You both had to pause then because you were squealing too loudly. 

She continued, “Yes, we went to Hogsmeade the other weekend, no we haven’t kissed.” She paused before adding “Yet.” 

You laughed, so overjoyed for her. “This has to be the best thing that’s happened all year!”

‘Well’ you thought, ‘Not for James.’

——————————————————————————————————

It was late one evening when you came through the portrait hole to see James hunched on the sofa by the fire, a box wrapped in pink paper in front of him. 

You paused. He looked upset. Should you go talk to him? But what would you even say. It’s not like you had any decent conversation starters for you ex friends with benefits. 

James turned slightly at the sound of someone coming in. 

“Oh it’s you.” He said. Your heart skipped a beat. Had he been… expecting you? 

‘Duh’ you told yourself, ‘it’s your common room too, you’d have to come through at some point.’

You didn’t know what to say so you stayed still. He got up, picked up the box and made his way over to you. Your heartbeat grew louder with each step he took, until he was in front of you and all you could hear was blood rushing in your ears. 

Wordlessly, he handed you the box. 

You gently pulled the pink tissue paper off to reveal a box of expensive chocolates. 

You stopped breathing. No way. No fucking way. There was absolutely no way that James had been behind this. That he was the reason your life had been going so smoothly lately. Had he really been creeping into your dorm to sort things out? 

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Oh my god he’s been in your dorm.

You quickly considered it. Had the thought you hadn’t dared to think actually come true? Did James Potter like you back? Oh he did. He must. That’s why he’s been helping you out, like a little helper elf or some shit. Your brain short-circuited, dizzy with excitement. James Potter liked you back! You hadn’t let yourself admit that you liked him in the first place, not when he so clearly felt nothing for you but now, now. Now you knew it was him who’d been acting like your boyfriend, making sure you had everything you wanted-

You looked at him, smiling. “James,” You said softly, reverently, “I-“

He looked up at you and your eyes met. Your smile faltered. He didn’t look anywhere near as excited as you. 

“Give those to Lily would you?” He said tiredly. Your heart dropped. “Or have them yourself I don’t really care.” 

He turned away, carding a hand through his hair. 

You were left standing there, mouth slightly open. “What?”

James laughed humourlessly. “Was gonna try ask her out again with those since she mention them, but I haven’t got a chance now that she bats for the other team.”

The words fell onto your ears and pierced your heart like bullets. Sure the news had gone round the castle but, ‘you thought that meant he would finally take an interest in you’ the voice in your head verbalised. 

Something about your reaction must have registered with James because confusion appeared on his face. You stared back, thinking. 

“You heard us?” You asked, “In the library?” 

James nodded. 

“Has it been you polishing my broomstick? Filling my ink pots?” You had to know.

“Yeah,” he said, still confused. “I thought you knew.”

You blanched. 

“I thought that if Lily heard from a source she trusted about how great of a boyfriend I can be she might warm up to me.”

Shakily, you clarified, “You did all those deeds, tasks, chores whatever for me, in order to show Lily how doting you are?”

He shrugged, “Was pointless anyway wasn’t it.” 

You couldn’t believe it.

Used. That was the only word to describe how you were feeling. James Potter had used you as a way to get at Lily. He had played with you like a chess piece, toying with your heart unknowingly as he made an effort to reach the girl he wanted. 

Something in his eyes cleared. "Wait,” he said slowly, “You didn’t think, you didn’t actually think I was going for you, did you?”

You could’ve died on the spot. Your heart was shattered into a thousand shards on the floor and James had just done a jig on the pieces.

Your silence was answer enough. He sighed irritably, “Listen,” he said your name, “You’re a real cute girl and all but-“

He had to duck quickly or risked receiving a black eye from the box of chocolates you launched at his head. 

“Fuck you James Potter,” you snarled at him, “Don’t you ever speak to me again.” 

You marched past him up to your dorm, willing the tears not to fall in front of him. He would not hurt you more than he already had. Fuck Lily was right, how could you have thought James would ever love anyone but her?

Behind you, James was staring at the staircase you where you had vanished. 

He’d never had that kind of reaction before. He’d expected more of a whining tantrum like the other girls gave when he ended things with them. Because it was always him doing the ending. He would’ve gladly still fucked you, and he was just about to tell you too when you forbade him from contacting you. But now, it sounded awfully like James Potter had been ended, which wasn’t the way things went at all.

The longer James stared, the more he realised he had a chase on his hands. And if there was one thing James Potter knew how to do, it was chase. 

AN: guys just know every time I see someone has interacted with my posts this is literally me on my phone, thank you all so much xxxx