#some of them have muscles and that sickens me??????

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 704 | Ngl this was definitely inspired by my own injuries which have had me stuck in the weight room for the past month | But we don’t need to talk about that |

-

The door to the weight room creaked as it was opened, revealing a familiar head of blond hair and blue eyes.

“You in here today too, Bee?” Evan asked, making his way over to where Barty had been busy rowing for the past ten minutes. Barty slowed in his motions.

“Yeah,” he responded. “Coach wanted to rest my ankle before tomorrow’s game. I’m assuming you’re stuck in here because of your shoulder?”

Evan sighed, some of his energy leaving his frame. “Pretty much. I tried to go out for practice, but he took one look at me and told me to turn back around. Something about how a dislocated shoulder is actually a big deal, or something. I wasn’t really listening.”

Barty made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. Being injured absolutely sucked.

“At least you’re here with me?” he offered in an attempt to make light of the situation, and Evan huffed a laugh and went about his workout a little less weary and defeated than he had been. Barty just smiled and resumed his rowing.

An hour later and Barty was back at the rowing machine after taking a stint on the bike, and Evan had decided it was a good idea to do some shoulder strengthening exercises. Which Barty was all for, because he definitely liked the idea of being able to prevent that sickening pop! and tortured expression that Evan had worn when his shoulder got wrenched out of its socket, but honestly, did he have to be doing that right now? Because as Barty’s gaze was once again pulled to his best friend, he couldn’t help but notice the bead of sweat rolling down Evan’s temple, or the fact that his arm muscles were looking positively delicious as he exercised, or that his cheeks were flushed in that lovely way Barty liked so much.

From the corner of his eye, Barty saw the screen on the rowing machine go dim. He’d evidently been staring at Evan too long and the lack of motion had paused the timer. But instead of trying to refocus his attention and begin again, he simply hooked the rowing handle back into place and stood, stepping over the bar where the seat sat in order to cross the room.

Evan didn’t even see him coming up behind him, and he startled as Barty wrapped his arms around Evan’s waist and pulled him into his chest.

“Hey,” Barty said, right next to Evan’s ear. The resulting shiver that went down Evan’s spine was enough to have Barty smiling to himself.

Still, that smile fell just slightly when he took in the way that Evan looked to the left and right, just to make sure that they were, in fact, alone.

“You scared me,” Evan murmured once he had surveyed their surroundings. He turned in Barty’s arms, locking eyes with Barty as he slid an arm around his neck. And what would Barty not give to just stay here in this moment, soaking up any and all extra time they got to themselves?

“Sorry,” said Barty, not sounding sorry at all. “I just couldn’t help it when you were standing here, looking all… like that.”

“Yeah?” asked Evan. His tongue wet his lips, and yet his gaze flicked somewhere behind Barty. Without having to look, Barty already knew what he was looking at.

“We’re out of sight of the door,” he said softly, having checked before he even dared to come over here. Even if someone looked through the small window in the door there was no way they would be able to see Evan and Barty in the corner, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

Which was just as well, because he knew that Evan wouldn’t have leaned in and kissed him if there was even a small chance of them being found out.

As it was, however, Barty simply sighed softly and leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms tighter around Evan’s waist as if to never let him go.

And maybe someday, he would have the opportunity to do this without fear, to hold Evan and kiss him and love him out in the open like it should be.

Maybe someday.

-

[doctapuella]

the past 2 years i've done a post to list my top 9 celeb favs and so this is it for summer 2023 because i love overanalyzing myself and the way i experience attraction and how it changes and whatnot. i'm in a very different brain space this year (wrestle instead of music) but it's still very interesting looking at it in one space like this. weird, but interesting.

[wonpiltual]

I NEED A FUCKING HOBBY !!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[pokechbi]

"I told you not to cum...Didn't I, schatz?"

just a random smut splurge that was on my mind ALL day

(konig x fem reader!)

NSFW !!! MDNI

WC: 1.1k

Fem anatomy used

Your hips spasm against his mouth, your thighs shaking violently as he pumped and curled a thick finger into your sopping pussy, sucking and flicking your clit relentlessly with his tongue. You let yourself in this predicament, sacrificing yourself just for a few seconds of pleasure, letting your orgasm overtake your body when he had specifically ordered you not to. Rookie mistake.

"Was it worth it, du kleine Schlampe?" (you little slut). He lifts from between the lips of your cunt, his lips and jaw soaked with your juices. He'd been down there for an hour and counting, just torturing you. Holding your hips down with his strong arm, the ropes of muscles under his skin flexing every time you moved. He'd quickly slap your clit with an open palm every time you pushed his head away, sending a jolt of electricity through your every nerve and paralyzing you, rendering your fights useless. The stubble on his jaw had rubbed your inner thighs raw, causing the skin to redden and puff with irritation. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with dominance and power over you. He was loving this. And it sickened you. The thought of having another orgasm made you want to puke, cry, scream, pass out. Your body was spent, sweating heavily and feeling the muscles in your thighs and core burn with overexertion.

"Are you ready to apologize, meine liebe?" He asks, rising to your breasts. His searing breath graze your nipples. They were sore and raw, from him reaching his hand up and pinching the little buds between his fingers while he licked your slit relentlessly. In that moment, your brain was fuzzy, swirling from the multiple orgasms that rattled your soul. "B-but I couldn't hold i-ah!" You yelped as he slammed two of his thick fingers into you, resulting in a stomach-turning squelch that was music to his ears.

"Oh, schatz. Wrong answer. You wanted to cum so bad before, hm? Now I will make you cum until you can't fucking see straight" He grunted, his anger coming from the deep parts of his soul. He began slapping at your clit with an open palm, over and over, the pain causing a distinctive warmth to bubble in your core as your hips jerked with every slap. Tears ran down your cheeks, leaving a stain in their wakes as you fight the oncoming orgasm. You yell out in delicious pain as he pushes his cock into you, not giving you a second to adjust before pounding straight into your cervix. You see red when your eyes flutter closed, slurring and murmuring words from your lips.

"Scheiße, mein lieber, you feel so good. So swollen and wet, milking my fucking cum right out of me." (shit, my dear). He breathes, a throaty chuckle searing the skin of your ear. He grabs your knees, pushing them against your breasts as he pumps deeper into you, your walls swollen and tighter from his viscous, barbarian cock rubbing against them on and off for an hour and some time now. You hated that it felt good. You were on the brink of unconsciousness, but couldn't let go of the feeling of his swollen, throbbing dick meeting resistance against your bulgy, enticing walls. You let out a lazy moan, the sounds coming from you not recognizable to your usual timid whimpers and groans. You gripped the sheets beside you, Konig's hips not letting up as you came close to another orgasm. Your mouth hung open in silence, your voice too raspy and broken to moan anymore. He pressed his forehead against yours, slowing his pace and dragging the throbbing veins on his dick against every single nerve in your cunt. Your core contracts and spasms, another orgasm overtaking your very soul. You whimper quietly, not being able to make a noise as he presses his weight into your thighs, smushing your knees against your tits.

"Verdammter, schatz. Feels so good when your sweet little hole flutters around me like that, yes?" He says, a gentler tone in his voice giving you the pretense that he'll let up on you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your lashes fluttering closed and open as you lay limply under him. You had no strength to even grip the sheets anymore, fighting to keep your eyes open as he began to cum himself. "Not gonna ask you again, love. Apologize." He slows his pace, looking down at you as you part your lips to speak.

" 'm sorry daddy. didn't mean 't cum when you..." You sigh heavily, your breath struggling to catch up with your heart. You didn't know if your body was capable of handling another orgasm, and you didn't want to find out. Konig was a big man, and he didn't even look close to tired as he hovered over you, a smug look on his handsome face.

"told me not to. 'm so sorry daddy." You cry, the tears falling down your face, onto the pillow below you. He leans down to your lips, planting a soft kiss on them. He peels the hair from your forehead, slick with sweat. "Such a good girl, schatz." He whispers, pulling out from you, the pressure in your core leaving as you lie there, your head spinning, thighs shaking. He leans between your thighs, pressing a soft kiss onto your swollen clit.

He stands up, smiling down at you as you sniffle. "Let me run my pretty girl a warm bath, yeah?" You nod your head lazily, feeling his thumb over your soft, swollen lips, puffy from crying.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You sit between Konig's legs in the bath, your back to his chest as he scrubs your skin with your loofah. "I'm sorry, my darling. Look at you, can barely stay awake." You smile lazily, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth of the bath and his skin caress your naked form. He wraps his arms around you, kissing your neck softly. You rest your head on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes, half lidded with fatigue, and pure, raw love for the man who had just brutalized your very soul.

"I told you not to cum. Didn't I, schatz?"

[frightwrite]

Orc Mercenary: Gurak

A little something from my old blog. Thought reposting it again would be alright since a lot folks seemed to like it.

NSFW

Female Reader x Male Orc

Business had been slow these past couple of weeks. Most of the usual customers hadn’t been appearing as often as they should and you had begun to assume most of them were either dead or had their nomadic adventures further away from your village. The village you resided in was known for supplying adventurers brave enough to explore the lands. Which you, being prominent in alchemy, found it convenient to work on your craft and bring in as much coin from the adventurers as possible.

That evening was the usual routine. Not a lot of folks traveled that far out to your store when it rained, so you spent most of your time keeping yourself busy. You did a bit of housekeeping. Dusting off the old relics, restocking your shelves with potions, and enchanting jewelry up until you got distracted. The bell had chimed signaling someone had entered your little storefront and you had said your usual greeting before looking up, astonished by the sight of him.

The being in your doorway was an orc and he was as intimidating as you have heard from local travelers.. Long tusks protruded from his mouth, a silver ring was dangling between his nostrils and dark tattoos adorned his deep green arms and chest. His black, braided hair had been soaked with the rain. He was well built, that much was evident with the way his leather armor further accented his muscles. But what had caught your attention was the large gash the orc was clutching on his side, dark blood dripping onto your polished wooden floor. 

“Excuse me,” His voice was hoarse as he spoke, “I heard you may have something for this.” He moved his arm away from his abdomen, revealing the deep gash just under the right side of his ribs.

A sickening feeling filled the pit of your stomach when you saw the wound. Blood oozed out of it, dripping onto your floor. You have seen many wounds during your time as the local alchemist, all of which have always made you feel squeamish. You hated the sight of blood. But this put all the other injuries to shame. 

“You’ll need a lot more than just one potion,” Motioning for him to follow you, you lead him to a side room in the store. You usually keep the extra potions in this room and a makeshift sink for your own personal needs. He seated himself on the small cot, glancing around the small room. You assumed he was looking at the various potions and enchantment scrolls sitting about that you had yet to tidy up.

“You’re a witch?” He managed to croak out while you walked over to assess his wound. You chuckled, moving away from the orc to search around the shelves for the ingredients you needed.

“I prefer the term alchemist,” You returned near him, with some herbal remedies along with a mixing bowl. You sat in silence as you crushed and ground the herbs, mixing some of them with a few drops from a potion bottle until it formed a sticky green paste. You scooped up a good amount of the paste on your fingers and turned to your patient. His dark eyes had been watching every move you’d make very intently. 

“I’m assuming that isn’t going to kill me,” He groaned and gave the paste in your cautious glance.

A playful chuckle resounded from your lips as you began to dab the ointment around his wound. “If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now.” 

His face scrunched up in disdain as he let out a hiss from the sudden stinging sensation. You mumbled a quick apology as you continued your work. You had never had an orc as a customer before. Your usuals mostly consisted of human mercenaries and the occasional elven mage. Orcs were rarer in your parts. They kept to themselves in their strongholds and only ever left if it meant there was a blacksmithing or mercenary job for them in one of the major cities.

Taking the bandaids, you began to wrap the cloth around his abdomen, making sure it was tight enough. You stood back, admiring your handiwork with a satisfied hum. “The sealant will work on its own, no need for stitches or bloody needles.” 

“That’s it? No magic words or shiny spells,” The orc sat up to stretch out his arms, giving you a full view of his chiseled features. You blushed and scolded yourself. You shouldn’t be ogling over your new customer.

“I told you I’m an alchemist. If you wanted magic you could’ve asked one of the mages at the college.” You huffed gathering your items together. “You’re better suited for the road now. I won’t charge you anything since this was an emergency. Think of it as my good deed for the day.”

You walked back towards the front of the store, the orc following right behind you. He stopped in front of your desk, eyeing you closely while you scribbled some notes down on parchment paper. For a while you decided to ignore him, going about your business and shuffling around the front desk. But the longer you worked, the longer he stood there in awkward silence.

You paused to glance up at him, a brow raised in confusion. He smiled, shook his head, and said his goodbyes before leaving your store without another word. It was an odd way to end your encounter, but you shrugged it off. The next couple of days went by as usual. You sold some healing potions to a traveling mercenary and sold some ring enchantments to the local blacksmith. The third day was when the orc returned, this time his wounds had healed and only a faint scar remained. Which you had to admit seemed to suit him.

“Hello, Ms. Witch.” He greeted as he walked towards your counter, placing down a neatly folded blanket made of fur that was much larger than anything else you owned.

You rolled your eyes playfully at the new nickname he chose for you and reached out to touch the pelt. Your fingers brushing over the incredibly soft material.

“Woah, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything this soft.” You said in awe. “Is this for me?” You turned your attention to the orc who quickly nodded.

“It’s a gift for patching me up.” He nervously turned away from you and you could have sworn you saw a faint blush appear on his cheeks. “I thought since winter was approaching you might appreciate this.”

“I do, thank you.” You took the blanket and quickly went in the back to place it on a chair. You returned to the front counter with a small stove and a teapot that usually acted as your tiny, yet portable kitchen. You gathered some simple herbs around your counter’s cabinet to make some tea for your guest. 

You poured water into the pot, clicking the stove on to boil the water. As you created a mixture of chamomile and lavender, you briefly looked over Gurak’s wound. “How are you feeling? Did the wound heal up alright?”

Gurak nodded. “Yes, the wound is fine. It felt like my skin was being burnt off. Thought you really did intend to kill me but it stopped after a few days and I ended up with this scar.”

You snorted at his little jest and began to place the herbal mixture into the boiling water. You leaned over the counter to get a better look at the orc’s scar, humming in thought before leaning back. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up with such a nasty wound?”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you.” Gurak chuckled. He watched as you turned off the stove and placed two teacups in front of you. “I’m sure you’ve had more interesting patrons.”

You poured some tea into two cups, handing one to Gurak before blowing gently on your own. “I doubt I have. So far you’re the only customer that’s piqued my interest.”

“Well, aren’t I lucky? I suppose I could tell you my story.” The orc laughed to himself once more, swirling the contents of his teacup which was dwarfed by his large hand. “Unlike most orcs, I don’t belong to a stronghold. I work as a mercenary of sorts, I go where I am needed. Not many of my kind are in my line of business. Would much rather prefer to deal with our own kind. I left to find a better use for my skills, so I offered my services. I got hired for simple tasks, retrieving lost items, pest control, hired muscle for caravans. That sort of thing. Recently, I was hired to retrieve a man’s sword out of a bandit camp. Family heirloom. I’m sure you could tell how well that job went.” 

You listened intently as he spoke, only breaking eye contact every now and then to sip your tea. “I’m impressed. You managed to take on a group of bandits and only left with that gash in your stomach. I wouldn’t want to see what you did to them in return!”

Gurak beamed at your words which appeared to boost his ego. “I am honored you think so.” 

The bell on your front door rang causing you to flinch and turn your gaze away from Gurak’s. You weren’t even aware you had been staring at him. A dark elf stood in the doorway, your old friend Lilith. Her blood-red gaze shifted from Gurak to you, and a smirk slowly appeared on her face in realization.

“Am I interrupting something?” She inquired.

You quickly shook your head, setting your teacup down on the counter. Gurak did the same, giving you a wave before excusing himself. 

“Is it alright if I return?” He asked.

“Of course. I’ll be here.” You waved him off and you were left with your elven companion. You decided to busy yourself with cleaning up your tea set, avoiding eye contact with Lilith. You could feel her eyes burning into your back as you moved around your counter. After a while, you sighed and decided to humor her a little. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She sang in an overly sweet tone. “Just never took you to be the type to fall for an orc. I always thought you’d end up with a tiefling, especially with that one kink of yours.”

You almost dropped the teacup you had been holding as she spoke. You spun on your heels to confront her. “I didn’t fall for anyone!”

Lilith grinned, the expression silently mocking you as she played with one of your many display jars. “Sure, sure. Believe what you want. But I can tell when love is blooming and there’s something between the two of you.” 

You snatched the jar from her, placing it on the opposite side of the counter. “I’m done talking about it. Now are you going to buy something, or did you just come here to annoy me?”

The elf rolled her eyes before going off to browse around your store for the item she had originally come to purchase. After she left with a few more words of encouragement, you were alone and decided to close the shop earlier since it seemed like no one else was going to show up. 

You saw Gurak the next morning. His face lit up when he saw you behind the counter in your usual spot. Your friend’s words went through your mind and you couldn’t help but feel elated at how happy the orc was to see you. 

“Gurak! I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” You smiled at the orc as he walked up and leaned against your counter giving you a good view of his strong arms. 

“Well, I couldn’t leave my favorite witch alone today.”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks from his comment and also the fact he must’ve picked up on you staring at him. You tried to focus on the potions you were sorting, trying to keep your mind off of the handsome orc in front of you and on the labels of each bottle. Gurak reached over the counter, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, which didn’t help your already flustered state. 

“I came to see if you needed any help around the shop today?” He asked. You took a moment to think it through, wondering what exactly an orc mercenary could do for your little potion shop. 

“Hm, nothing in particular…” You started, before seeing the eager look on his face slowly die down causing you to feel guilty at being the cause of that. “But, I think there were some shelves you could help me tighten down?”

Gurak perked up at your suggestion and he grinned, nodding excitedly. He quickly got to work once you helped him find the toolbox you kept in the back of the store. He started by assessing all the wooden shelves in your store before also taking into account the wooden display tables you have, which had seen better days. Despite you telling the large orc he didn’t have to worry about the tables he insisted, and if there’s something you recall about orcs is their stubbornness when it came to things they had their mindset on.

You went back to casually taking inventory of your potions, reading the labels, and marking them off of your checklist while also writing down ones that needed to be refilled. Every now and then you’d glance over at Gurak, watching as his eyes were fixated on the shelves he reworked. Or the way his hard muscles flexed with each movement he made, especially since the tight gray cotton shirt he was wearing instead of his usual leather armor showed the more defined tones of his abs. 

“Enjoying the view, Ms. Witch?” 

You flinched as Gurak’s voice snapped you out of your daydream, causing you to almost drop the frail glass bottle you held in your hand. After letting out a sigh of relief, you shot Gurak an accusatory look.

“You shouldn’t startle people like that you’ll give them a heart attack.” You scold.

Gurak gave you a sheepish grin as he approached your counter and leaned against it. He mimicked what he had done last time, brushing a strand of hair and delicately placing it behind your ear. 

The large orc chuckled as your face heated up again. “You seemed distracted, I thought it would be cute to tease you.”

“Is that why you show up to the shop so much? To tease me?” You instinctively leaned into his touch, reaching up to caress the hand against your cheek, quickly taking notice of how much larger Gurak’s hand was compared to your own. 

His expression softened as he brought his face closer to yours, his gaze briefly glancing down at your lips.

“Have you not noticed?” He muttered. You lifted a brow at his question, silently urging him to continue. “I have been trying to court you since I first met you. I thought I was being forward about it.”

You stared at him with wide eyes at the realization as you thought back to the little gestures of kindness or the lingering stares you and Gurak had shared. With the way he acted, you always thought he was just being overly friendly, but that wouldn’t explain the little moments between the both of you. 

“I wish you had told me sooner.” You let out a laugh, your hands finding their way to caress Gurak’s face. “If I had known I would’ve kissed you by now.”

The look on Gurak’s face turned to one of complete adoration as he relished the warmth from your hands against his cheeks. He turned to press a kiss against the palm of your hand, his gaze focused on the way you stared at him longingly. He brushed his lips against your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss into the palm of your hand before he caught himself. He stared into your eyes expectedly, waiting to see if you would push him away. You gave him a reassuring smile, making your way around the counter over to where he stood.

You jumped up, hoisting yourself against him by wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms instinctively went up to support you as he lifted you by your waist. Placing both hands on his cheeks, you pulled him into a kiss feeling the way he tensed up in surprise before relaxing. Gurak turned and sat you on the countertop deepening the kiss while you ran your hands through his hair, accidentally pulling on one of his braids. A deep moan rumbled from Gurak before he pulled away from the passionate kiss.

He chuckled, caressing your cheek while his large thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips. “Eager aren’t we, Miss witch?”

Letting out a pleased hum in response, you placed a chaste kiss against his thumb before gesturing toward the front door. “Lock up the front and meet me in the back.” 

Gurak perked up instantly at your instruction as he placed you back onto the floor. He swiftly got to work on closing the store for the day. You sauntered to the back, quickly moving potion bottles and ingredients away to make more space for the large orc. You started to undress, untying the woven knots that kept your work apron in place. Gurak entered the backroom just as you untied the last knot. You grinned, leaning back on the cot as you outstretched your arms to him. The cotton work shirt slides down to the crevices of your arms, showing just enough of your bare breasts to cause Gurak’s breath to hitch. You chuckled at his reaction, finally allowing the simple garment to fall onto the floor with a soft thud. 

“Are you going to keep me waiting longer, Gurak?” You called out to the orc, causing him to snap out of his daze.

He made quick work of his own shirt, tossing it somewhere alongside your discarded clothes. You finally got a full view of his well-built torso, every roll and chiseled perfection of his muscles reminding you of the near-perfect statues outside the mage tower. 

“Like what you see, Ms.Witch?” He asked, lifting a brow in mocking curiosity.

You were about to retaliate until Gurak’s arms pinned you against the cot. “Oh, impatient aren’t we?”

He chuckled as he leaned down to press firm kisses against your neck, his tusks adding a little more pressure. “You have no idea.” 

You grind your hips in an upwards motion, feeling the growing tent in his pants as he let out a deep groan. He wasted no time peppering kisses down your neck to your collarbone, into the valley of your breasts, and then taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He nipped and sucked on the sensitive nipple, using his free hand to fondle your other breast. His hand was large and calloused, easily engulfing your breast in his palm. Your hands wandered to the back of his head, your fingers tangling themselves in his dark braids as you let out quiet, breathy moans. He slowly traverses down your body, stopping at your thighs.

The teasing smile he gave you caused your cheeks to heat up as you wordlessly spread your legs for him. He hummed, pleased at the site of your arousal. His thumb rolled gentle circles into your clit, making you arch your back off of the cot slightly. Your moans encouraged him to use his free hand to trace your entrance, gathering the slick that was already starting to leak from you. He teased your sensitive folds, replacing his thumb with his tongue as he sucked your aching clit. His large finger slipped between your folds, causing you to let out a string of gasps and moans. His finger already felt like it filled out your cunt and you could only imagine how much bigger his cock would be.

He curled the finger inside of you, brushing up against the spot that caused you to roll your hips in an attempt to feel more of him. Gurak’s pleased moans sent pulses of pleasure into your clit, the sensation causing the knot in your stomach to tighten. You chanted his name over and over as you finally reached your climax, your hands tangled in his hair, grasping at the braids as you shivered from your orgasm. The finger that was inside you was replaced with his tongue as he licked up your juices, humming in contentment as the taste of you coated his tongue. Gurak pulled away, licking his lips as he gazed down at your limp form.

“Have I tired you out already?” He teased, earning him a tired scoff from you. His arousal was prominent now, his cock causing a very noticeable tent. You brought yourself up from your resting position, using your elbows to prop yourself as you tilted your head. You chuckled, spreading your legs open again fully on display for Gurak to see. The predatory look in his eyes sent an excited chill up your spine, yet you still managed to smirk up at him. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, I think I still got a little in me.” You answered back sweetly. His hands firmly held the sides of your hips, pulling you closer to him while he worked his cock out of his pants. He could easily manhandle you if he wanted to, but even with how impatient he was now Gurak still tried his best to have some restraint when handling you.

His erection was finally freed from its confines, and his large cock rested against your inner thigh as he positioned himself at your entrance. His thumb wandered down to rub your slick, his brows furrowing in worry. 

You leaned forward to pat his forearm. “Hey, you okay?”

“I might be too big for you.” Gurak’s gaze switched to you as a sheepish grin appeared on his face. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you won’t, I trust you.” You shook your head, gyrating your hips to lightly grind against his cock. “Besides, I can take it.”

He sighed blissfully, gently leading you to lay back down as the head of his dick rubbed against your slit. He slowly pushed in, stretching you full as his cock buried itself deep in you. He waited a moment, experimentally pulling out just a little then slowly pushing back into you. He kept this slow pace up for a moment, grunting at the way your walls squeezed him. 

You moaned, rolling your hips impatiently. “More….keep going.”

He chuckled, his hand fondling your cheek lovingly before he switched his movements. His hips pulled away from you leaving only the tip of his cock in you. He suddenly thrust into you, causing a pleasure-filled cry to escape your lips. Gurak kept thrusting at a fast pace, intertwining your fingers with one of his hands while the other had his thumb brushing against your lips. You opened your mouth, sucking on the finger while his cock relentlessly slammed into you.

“Mmm, look at you, taking me so well.” Gurak’s voice was wavering, his sentences being cut short every now and then by his own grunts and moans. He rolled his hips a certain way, his cock brushing against a very sensitive spot.

You let out another cry, trying your best to speak. “R-right there…Gurak, please don’t stop..!”

“Shhh. I know, beautiful, I know.” He cooed, rubbing your cheek as the tears spilled from your eyes due to the pleasure. His pace quickened again due to your request, his dick hitting you in jus the right spot. Your back arched off of the bed as the knot in your stomach snapped once more. Your orgasm caused you to shake, your walls clenching around the thick cock still thrusting into you. 

Gurak’s pace became more sloppy as he moved both his hands to grip your waist. He pushed into you one last time before he came, his cum shooting deep into you. Some of it gushing out as he finally pulled out of you with a tired sigh. You were panting heavily while Gurak stared down at you. He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead as you tried to regain your strength. You felt a shift in the cot as he got up, moving around the small room before you felt his presence near you again. A warm cloth could be felt between your legs as he carefully cleaned you up, tossing the dirty rag onto the floor while he handed you the cup of water.

“Here, don’t strain yourself, love.” He muttered, helping you drink from the cup.

Gurak finally laid next to you after gently resting you against his chest. A satisfied hum came from you as he rubbed circles into your back. You started to giggle after a while, burying your face into his burly chest.

“What?” The sound of the orc’s confusion only caused your giggling fit to increase. 

“I still can’t believe you thought I’d pick up on your Orcish customs. Usually us humans just ask each other out for lunch and go on from there.” 

He snorted, playing with a strand of your hair. “Well Ms.Witch, despite my slip up you’ve still earned yourself a mate. Congratulations.”

You let out a loud laugh at his sarcasm, leaning up to press a loving kiss onto his lips. The way he looked at you was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “Lucky me.”

[More Monsters]

[b00tyliciousbabe]

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

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your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

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tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Sukuna "asshole to the world, sweetheart to his girl" Ryomen

🎀minors and ageless blogs will be blocked 🎀

Pairing: Yakuza!Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

Genre: Smut, dark hero.

Word Count: 1450

Warnings: first off, fucking sukuna himself is a warning on his own so let's just start there. Possessive Sukuna, dark sukuna, yakuza sukuna, shitty boss, mean fucking asshole boss, violence, against boss, dacryphillia, p in v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, read at your own discretion.

Summary: Sukunas heard you cry because of your boss one too many times. He takes matters into his own hands

A/N: This absolutely SPECTACULAR ART is by @innaillus and you can find the original here.

I want to thank her, not only for allowing me to use this as a banner but also for making such amazing art and sharing it with us. ♥️

This is a purely self indulgent fic. If you don't like it, please don't read it. I had a shitty week and needed a place to cool off.

Sukuna Ryomen glared down at your boss. He’d come in to pick you up and heard the creature screaming at you for something he already knew wasn’t your fault. You’d told him about the trouble you were having with your co-workers who slacked off and your shitty fucker of a boss who for some reason didn’t tell them off, but instead unloaded his anger on you. This would be the last time this pathetic vermin made you cry, he vowed.

He pushed open the door to your small office and stalked in. You stood in the corner trying to make yourself as small as possible, silent tears streaming down your face as your boss kept berating you – not even noticing his presence. One of the other workers tried to step in his way but he shoved them aside like they were nothing more than window curtains. He placed himself in between you and the balding middle aged man who dared to call himself your boss. “Hey nimrod, she doesn’t work for you anymore. Don’t fucking yell at her.”

The man cowered. Sukuna was taller than him and his crossed arms made his thick muscles ripple under his skin.

“Ryo…” you whispered

“Wh-who let th-this man in here? Sir, th-this is an office space. You n-need to leave.” your boss sneered at your saviour.

Sukuna merely smirked at you and pulled you into his side placing his lips on the top of your head in a chaste kiss. “Yeah, don't worry, I’ll be going pretty soon. Breathing the same air as you is making me feel nauseated. Can't believe the patience my baby girl had with your shit-ass, fucker” his first met the man's stomach with a sickening squelching crunch, and your now ex-boss, crumpled onto the floor in a heap.

“I'm gon-gonna call the cops on you asshole’ he croaked out.

Sukuna just laughed. “Have at it, ya great ballsack.”

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When Sukuna came to pick you up from work that day he had planned the night down to a T. He’d wanted to take you to a new movie that you'd been itching to see but hadn't had the time. He would follow that with a fancy sushi dinner at the city's best restaurant and then take you to the outskirts where there was a nice little viewpoint he had discovered where he planned on showing you the stars – in more than one way…

But when you didn't come out at your specified time, nor answer the cute message he’d sent you – Where you at, kitty-kat? – Sukuna decided to investigate and came across your asshole of a boss yelling at you. He’d had enough. You’d been coming home and complaining about him and even once returned in tears. It took everything he had to not rip the bastard’s throat out. But he was done with you being abused. You deserved better. Which is exactly what he told you now as you lay with him on the hood of his car.

The plans had been altered slightly, you would be watching the movie with him the next day. He’d skipped the fancy sushi and instead opted for your favourite comfort food – Chinese cuisine. Slurping down saucy noodles, and munching on crispy gyoza always made you feel better he knew and he found himself smiling at your joy. He’d then driven you to his secret viewpoint. You sat there on the hood of his car with him beside you. In the distance, the pretty lights of Tokyo lit up the horizon and reflected off your lover's red eyes. Above you, the stars twinkled in their own magic…

Something about you had him wrapped around your finger. One of the most feared yakuza, putty in your hands. Of course, no one knew the connection. It was all kept hushed for your convenience.

“Kitty-kat?” Sukuna called to you and you looked up at your man. “You know— you know I’m rich enough to support both of us easily right?”

You hummed. “Yes, but I don’t wanna be some dainty housewife, sitting and waiting for my husband to come home and serve him dinner Ryo! I have a whole ass degree that a lot of money was spent on, I’d like to use it babe!”

“Husband?”

“What?”

“You said, husband. Not boyfriend. Or SO. Or partner. You said husband.”

“Yeah… I said husband…”

“You wanna marry me?”

“I mean, yeah, eventually right?”

Sukuna crashed his lips into yours in a heated kiss; all teeth and tongue. He pulled your body close, pressing against you. “I want you so bad right now, future wife. I want you so fucking badly.” He half growled in your ear.

“You have me Ryo. I’m right here.” you replied. You tugged at Sukunas pants and he unbuckled his belt. Sukuna grinded against your thigh while kissing you. His hands tugged at the buttons on your blouse, undoing them as he went. You could feel the bulge growing in his jeans. He kissed down from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck down to the valley of your breasts.

“I wanna fuck you.” He looked at you with a lidded gaze “May I? I won’t be able to stop if we go further than this kitty-kat.”

You lifted your leg to rub against his clothed cock. “I’d leave you right now if you didn’t, Sukuna Ryomen. So fuck me already.” Sukuna flashed you a fanged smile and dipped his head pulling down your bra and freeing your breasts. He bit and licked and sucked, actions that were sure to leave marks on you. Further south his fingers pushed aside your panties and found entrance. He slowly worked his way into you, rubbing gentle circles in your skin. You allowed yourself to let go and dirty moans slipped out from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his pink hair – so soft, so smooth.

Once he had you dripping, he lay back down and ordered, “Sit on my face, and suck my cock while you’re at it.”

You followed, undoing his zipper and pulling his boxers and jeans off his semi-hard cock. You tentatively licked his head as you positioned your pussy right about his face. Sukuna pushed your skirt up and ripped your panties with a practised ease, pulling your hips down to his face. He loved having you like that. Every time he flicked his tongue against your clit your pussy would visibly tighten. You’d drool down the length of his cock hypnotised. Tongue flat against it as you struggled to maintain composure. It wouldn’t take long for him to make you cum all over his face for the first time. Legs quivering and hips shaking he brought you down again, laying you on the hood for him.

He lined up his cock – now rock hard from your mouth – with your entrance and sank into you. Slowly pushing his bulbous head, followed by his girthy length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sukuna thrust up into you. Your lips were hot and burning. You felt a wave of emotion come through and tears welled up in your eyes.

“Fuck Ryo— feels s’good!”

Sukuna snarled and increased his pace. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Feels good, huh kitty-kat! Gonna make you mine. No man’s gonna dare fuck with you again.” His movements were rough and jagged but drew out the pleasure in your core. The tightly wound knot in your abdomen built up with each movement, each drawn out pull, each hard thrust. You arched your back desperate to have him more, more, more!

Your second climax hit just as Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair. Your cunt spasmed, clasping around him and you cried out his name in a debauched prayer.

Sukuna looked more composed than he felt. His cock throbbed inside you, attuned to the flutters of your pussy. Just because you’d come didn’t mean he would stop. He chased his own release inside of you pulling your hair back, devouring your lips. His cock bullied you to the point of overstimulation. Tears ran down your cheeks again but this time they were those of pleasure.

He came, towering over you, eyes squeezed shut, head buried in the crook of your neck. His giant frame collapsed onto you and he carefully rolled off to the side so he wouldn't crush you.

“So, about that husband thing…”

You turned to look at him, blushing. “Ryo…”

He held up a ring; the ring his father left him. Gold work, carved into a dragon that held a shiny black pearl in its claws.

“I’ll get you a prettier one later, I promise but for now…” he took a deep breath. “Marry me, kitty-kat?”

A/N: please note this was a very hurried creation and edit, if you do find any errors or typos feel free to point them out KINDLY. Thank you for reading.

As always likes and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will earn you kissies!

[oneforthemunny]

Can you do more mafia!eddie and if it’s not asking to much pregnant!reader??

ofc! here's a little blurb <3 slight smut at the end. pregnant!reader x mafia!eddie so some mafia type themes but nothing graphic. mainly fulff!

Eddie huffed, a ringed hand grabbing at his curls, buzzing with adrenaline filled nerves. His voice was beginning to shake from the tightness in his throat with every shout of your name, echoing off the walls without a response.

Panicked thoughts flashed through his mind at rapid speed, sickening what-ifs and other horrific scenarios conspired by his own mind. The damning thoughts overpowered the rational, jumping to every possible worst case scenario about what could have happened to you, to the baby, the dogs that were no where to be found as well.

Eddie was ready to give up, ready to call Gareth, command a search, a war if he had to. Frantic steps towards the phone, his hands shook when he picked up the phone, Eddie was halfway through jamming Gareth's number in when he heard a bark.

Muffled, but loud and defilingly crisp enough to know it was Diablo's. Letting the phone fall, Eddie jogged towards the back door, pulling it open with such a force the hinges groaned. His free hand on his hip, pulling his gun out, flicking the safety off in a fluid motion that was muscle memory at this point.

His eyes scanned the garden, over the pool, towards the spacious back yard, lowering his gun at the sight. The boys running around, yanking and tugging their toy, running beside you to give you their toy for you to run while you walked- marched, was more like it. Arms pumping, heavy, purposeful steps up and down the length of the backyard, not slowing to toss the toy for them to fetch.

Eddie pressed his lips together, shoving the gun back in his holster. "Baby," Eddie called, trying to keep his voice light, a coo. You were sensitive these days, the slightest quip in his tone had you in tears.

You turned, continuing your walk up the grass, knees high with every step, nearly touching your swollen stomach. You were ready to pop, baby Bea due any day now- past due, really. There were talks of a C-Section, of inducing labor if she didn't come on her own.

"Baby," He tried again, walking to meet you. The sun was starting to set, but the heat hadn't eased up.

"What're you doing, sweetheart?" Eddie's voice was still tight, a forced coo to try and mask his heart that was still climbing back to a normal beat.

Vecna jumped up, letting you grab the rope toy, tossing it and sending them all running after it. "Walking." You huffed, a little out of breath from the pace. It was harder now, with a giant baby bump in your way.

Eddie swallowed a groan, taking a deep breath before jogging besides you. "Did you not hear me yelling? I was looking for you. I didn't know you went outside-"

"-I can't stay inside all day, every day, Eddie." You snapped defensively, continuing your stride, trying to ignore the burning in your back and calves. "I needed some fresh air."

Eddie bit back a huffy comment that your doctor told you to take it easy, knowing it would not be received well. Instead, he grabbed the toy from Lucifer when he brought it, flinging it far this time, trying to keep up with you in his Armani shoes.

"I know, I just couldn't find you." Eddie said, a hand reaching out to your lower back out of near instinct. "I just got worried when I couldn't find you."

You seemed to like that answer, eyes flashing and gleaming sweetly at him. A mood swing, there had never been a truer word, Eddie decided.

"I was just out here, baby." You cooed, slowing your pace, chest heaving a little, winded.

"I see that." Eddie looked at you carefully. "What are you doing? It's a little hot. Do you have a water?" He turned scanning for a cup, a water bottle, anything.

"I read that walking can get your water to break." You were nearly shuffling, eyes closed, letting your heart beat settle. You paused, looking down between your feet for anything, any sign that it had broken. "I don't think it worked." You frowned.

"She'll come when she's ready, honey." Eddie cooed, rubbing a hand on your back gently, guiding you towards the patio, desperate to get you to sit down. "You don't need to overwork yourself. It'll happen when it does."

"I'm not overworking myself." You snap, huffing with an eye roll that had Eddie flinching. Still, you let him guide you to the small patio table, settling into the cushioned chair.

"I just want her to come already." You muttered, running a hand over your swollen bump. "It feels like it's taking forever. Like she's never going to get out."

"She'll come when she's ready." Eddie snatched the water bottle of the stairs, putting it in front of you.

"She'll be here soon, sweetheart. Just don't-don't stress about it." Eddie hesitated, watching you carefully.

Your lips twitch in a snarl before bringing the bottle to your lips. Him telling you not to stress when that was quite literally all he had done felt hypocritical, but you decided against telling him that, right now, anyways.

"Maybe I should try the workout tape again." You hummed, spinning the water bottle around on the table lightly. "Or maybe you should just fuck me like the doctor said." You said bluntly.

Eddie blushed, lips twitching in a grin at your boldness. "That is not what he said."

"He said penetration." You glared at Eddie.

"He also said it could hurt you." Eddie countered. "That you're-you're softening down there or whatever-"

You rolled your eyes, scoffing loudly. "I mean, you can't fuck me mean, but you could be gentle and it would be fine." You glared at him for a moment. "But you won't because you think I'm disgusting right now."

"I do not-"

"-Clearly you do." You huffed, lip wobbling, a burning forming in your chest and throat with tears. "You won't even fuck me when the doctor is telling you to."

Eddie fought an eye roll, standing to pull you into him. Your head buried into his midsection, sniffly and furious, but allowing his affectionate touch. Another swing.

"I do not think you're hideous. I have never, not once in my life thought you were hideous, so I don't want to hear you say that anymore." Eddie's tone clipped with authority, your thighs pressing together at the sound. You'd missed it, missed him talking like this.

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"-You won't-"

"-I don't want to." Eddie lifted his voice over yours, pulling back, a hand cupping your chin to bring your gaze to him. "So you have to let me know if it's hurting you. Anything."

Damn those pregnancy books. Of course he'd read them cover to cover, front to back, taking in every bit of information he could. It was endearing, really, until times like this when he handled you like you were glass.

"I will." You nodded, holding his gaze with yours. "I promise."

Eddie relented. Of course he did. Truthfully, he'd been in agony for the past few weeks, willing himself not to fuck you in fear of hurting you and the baby. The oral was good, great even, but just not as good as the real thing.

So Eddie willed himself still, hands gripping your hips, trying to support you while fighting the blinding urge to slam you on his length, when you sunk down on his cock at a painfully slow pace.

[valtsv]

so i’m curious about your enjoyment of pain as someone who also enjoys it. do you like all types of pain? what’s the like. intensity cut off? do you have favorite and least favorite pain sensations? for me personally i sort of like getting zapped, and also getting lightly burned, but not enough to actually leave a burn if that makes sense? like the sensation of having something slightly too warm pressed against my skin for too long is nice but i can’t stand actually healing from a burn wound (there was one time i literally couldn’t sleep due to a burn on my thumb). also bruises are nice. like pressing on them. but i absolutely can’t do cramps of any kind. anywayyyyy i curious about your opinions <3

JAMES CEMETERYTHING PAIN ASSESSMENT (or: i am asking you to get weird with it):

DISCLAIMER: this is a subjective account of my personal experiences with pain, and not intended in any way to dismiss other people's perfectly valid personal experiences, or to promote self-harm or violence towards oneself or others. obviously your body is yours to do with as you wish, but i accept no responsibility for those choices you make. please be kind to yourselves and each other.

- bruises: friendly short-term companions that occasionally stiffen, ache and throb in response to movement and touch. they have pretty privilege but fortunately i like that in a wound.

- scratches: zingy, sharp, and refreshing. like biting into a ripe but still sour berry. sometimes they swell up a little while they're healing. these are the best kind of scratches because they have tenderness and texture that's fun to touch.

- cuts (ie: anything deeper than a scratch, but not puncture/impaling wounds): the pain has a more intoxicating, overwhelming effect than scratches, which can be a good or bad thing. temptingly slippery and reactive to touch, but the risk of infection is a looming threat that takes some of the fun out of the act. cleaning them out can be an enjoyable compromise.

- incisions, stitches, and other consensually inflicted forms of wound (eg: tattoos): the choice and intention you have in the matter makes them more satisfying to experience, and your body's reactions (tensing, gritting your teeth, and breathing sharply through the waves of pain running through your body from the focal point of entry) can be exciting to bear witness to if you allow yourself. please engage in this one responsibly and safely.

- broken bones: immediately nauseating, but the dull ache of a healing bone after it's fractured has an almost comfortingly omnipresent quality to it that i find myself nostalgic for when it's gone. the occasional shooting pains you get when you move wrong, however, are too fleeting and sharp to really enjoy.

- muscle/joint injuries and pains: sickening and hateful. they burrow too deep to easily root out, but remain close enough to the surface to make you feel clumsy and unwelcome in your own body; a throbbing tumour ejecting waves of pain into the world. demanding and ungrateful, relieving them is the only thing they're good for. a notable exception is muscle aches from pleasurable/satisfying experiences, which carry that muscle memory and can redeem themselves in the process.

- headaches: really depends on where and how intense they are. i kind of enjoy the headaches that build behind my eyes, and will roll them and blink exaggeratedly to send little starbursts of pressure-release shooting through my skull. headaches that gather around my temples or build at the bridge of my nose, on the other hand, are unwelcome intrusions.

- impaling/puncturing wounds: perhaps a controversial opinion, but the penetrative aspect is probably the least interesting part to me. the aftermath - having a foreign object lodged inside you, surrounded by shrieking nerves declaring their resentment at the intruder, or a vacant hole of emptiness and strange new sensation where once was untouched flesh - is when things really start to get exciting.

- burns/debridement: generally considered the worst kind of pain, and i'm somewhat inclined to agree. it's hard to find much of a silver lining in having your skin flayed from your body layer by agonising layer. i think it's down to a similar issue to the one muscle cramps present - you're too trapped in the mundane misery of having a body, with no adequate distraction or fascination to make up for it. i do find the way that they heal to be interesting, though. the itching and oozing and peeling is by no means pleasant, but it is a disgustingly welcome relief from what came before. and the shiny new or scarred skin left behind feels like a kind of victory medal. a badge of endurance.

[pure-smut]

adrenaline.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader

contains: fighting, blood, established relationship, public s*x, creampie, Togame is a bit feral

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

MDNI | 18+ content

Togame Jo is the sleepiest, most relaxed boyfriend you’ve ever had.

You’ve been together for six months and it took you a while to get used to his slower pace, his long drawl, his delayed responses. But now you love it – you love that he gives you a second to think clearly before you speak or lets you breathe before a spiral.

You’re used to seeing him pad around your apartment in nothing but sweatpants, slung low to expose the cut of muscle on his hips. You’ll never get bored of watching him, his sleepy yawns and stretches, the muscles in his back moving hypnotically. And when he climbs back into bed, pressing languid kisses against your lips, his hips stirring as he grinds into you, you know you could happily stay at this pace forever.

It takes another two months before you see a different side to Togame.

You’re walking home hand-in-hand from the cinema. It was a late showing and most of the street is crowded with boisterous party-goers, drunk men standing in clumps outside of the pubs and bars.

It used to make you nervous, walking this late at night, but Togame’s large presence next to you is reassuring. You know he’s second-in-command at Shishitoren so the rational side of your brain assumes he knows how to fight, how to defend himself and other people. But it’s at odds with the Togame you know, who wears a lazy grin and takes an additional five seconds to register a sentence. So you clutch his hand a little tighter.

A group of men stare at you as you walk past. You can feel their eyes like lasers on you, despite keeping your own gaze firmly ahead. They’re not Shishitoren, not wearing the signature yellow jackets, so you’re already unsettled by their looks.

Don’t say anything, you chant inside your head, as if they can hear you. Please don’t say anything.

“Hey, sexy!” one of them calls, his friends laughing and whistling.

You grimace, stepping closer to Togame.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!” he calls again and some of the others join in.

“We just wanna talk, baby!”

“Leave that scrub behind and come over here!”

You try to keep walking, keep ignoring them, but Togame stops still. When you look up at him, the smile you know so well is gone from his face. He’s staring back at the men with hard green eyes, his jaw set, as they continue to catcall.

“Jo…”

Togame looks back down at you, his face softening. He points at a nearby alleyway, empty of people.

“Go wait over there for me, sweetheart,” he says. “You don’t need to see.”

You nervously glance between him and the group of men. There’s at least six of them.

“Will you be okay?” you ask, gripping his hand. He gives you a grin, a sliver of the old Togame returning.

“Yeah,” he says and his voice is solid.

With a last squeeze of his hand, you scurry over to the alleyway. Even as you hurry away, you hear one of the men laugh, “What’re you gonna do against six of-”. He’s cut off by a sickening crunch. You turn into the alleyway, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.

You’re too scared to look but all you can hear is a symphony of yelps and cries, “oof!” and “aah!” and the sound of glass breaking. You only chance a peek when you hear the scuffle of several feet and see the group of men running away, screaming.

Your mouth drops open to see Togame standing there, not even out of breath.

“Jo…?” you squeak.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He crosses the street to meet you in the alleyway, pulling you deeper inside. “It’s okay.”

Togame reaches out for you and you see the blood on his knuckles, the skin torn away. You suck in a breath at the sight of it and Togame tips his hands, facing them palm up so you don’t have to see.

Your eyes meet his. There’s a mark high on his cheekbone where someone landed a hit but he’s otherwise untouched. You breathe out a sigh of relief and step into his arms.

Togame wraps you in a bear hug, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he whispers. “I’ll always be okay.”

You pull back slightly to look at him. Now you’re closer, you can see the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes. His pupils are blown out and there’s something about him that looks… intense.

Togame dips his head to kiss you and it’s not his usual lazy pace. This time he kisses you hard, his tongue invading your mouth and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He hugs you tighter, holding you flush to his body, and it’s then you feel the bulge he’s harbouring.

Togame pulls you deeper into the alleyway, into the shadows, and presses you against the wall. He’s breathing hard, his hands grabbing at you, pushing under your skirt to tug your panties down.

You’re pretty sure no one can see you here, cloaked in darkness, but you can hear the buzz of the crowd only a few feet away. It doesn’t seem to bother Togame who’s already grabbing your thigh to lift it, spreading your legs.

“Jo?” Your voice is tentative, unsure, but when Togame dips his fingers between your folds, he finds you already slick.

“I need this,” he breathes. “I need you.”

As soon as you nod, Togame starts sucking rough kisses against your neck. His movements are frantic, desperate, as he tugs his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. You only have a second to feel his fat mushroom tip nudging past your lips before he presses inside you, stretching your ill-prepped hole.

You cry out and Togame claps a hand over your mouth, silencing you. His other hand is under your ass, holding you up as he slides deeper inside you. He wastes no time, not giving you a moment to adjust before he starts to pump in and out of you.

“Stay quiet for me, baby, okay?” he says hoarsely in your ear.

You nod and he lets his hand fall away from your face, pressing his lips against yours instead. His cock drags against yours walls so deliciously and every slam sends a jolt from your clit through your body. You gasp into his mouth to stop from moaning.

Togame tips his head back, eyes closed and face twisted in pleasure. You feel so hot, so wet, so fucking good. He likes to take his time with you, to savour you properly, but not right now. Right now, he needs to fuck, needs to take you hard and fast and dirty.

Adrenaline courses through his veins from the fight and he takes it out on your pussy.

Feral, you think as he tips forward to grunt against your neck. Animalistic.

His cock rubs against all the right spots inside you. That, combined with being forced to stay quiet and the ruckus of the public only feet away, fills you with a thrill. Togame is taking you, needing you so badly he can’t wait for home. He needs you now. The thought only urges you towards an orgasm, your walls clamping down around him.

“That’s it, baby, milk my cock,” Togame groans as he feels your slick pussy squeeze him. “Take my load like a good girl, yeah?”

You whimper quietly, holding tight onto Togame to stop from crying out as a wave of pleasure consumes you. Your thighs tighten around him, your forehead on his shoulder as you cream silently on his cock.

Togame’s movements start to stutter, his breathing turning ragged in your ear. He bites his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood, burying his cock in you. You feel him cum, a hot, sticky flood inside you as Togame grunts softly. He gives a few more shallow pumps before pulling free.

Togame lets his head fall forward on your shoulder, breathing hard.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I just really needed that.”

“It’s okay, Jo.” You press soft kisses against his temple. “I didn’t mind.”

Togame gives you his usual grin, his eyes soft again. You reach up to kiss him, feeling his languid pace return.

“But,” you say, matching his grin. “I might start hanging around after your fights more often.”

masterlist

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[rizsu]

fuck my life; hold me tight. model!gojo satoru ⭒ fem-reader.

satoru came back after his two-week long trip for his modeling gigs. he's the same, but who's this ‘saori’ lady with a thorny stick up her ass? wc : 6.2k · usage of y/n.

+ love ‘su: thou shall not lie, thou shall not cheat! 😝 i left this without the small font bc it's lowkey a lot tbh

one › who's this?

undoubtedly, today’s the most important. you’ve been impatiently crossing off the days on the calendar until satoru returns. familiar with your excitement, he called you prior to hold you back from coming to the airport. it was strange, but nevertheless you thought less of it.

with your day now free, you spent it preparing for satoru. his favorite dishes were made, charcuterie board prepared, and the series you both watched together can be resumed. every time the thought of seeing satoru with your eyes again comes about, you get goosebumps. it’s almost sickening how he’s plagued your mind, becoming the balance-shifting object for your moods.

your eyes shift to the clock, realizing that there’s only an hour until he walks through the door. 4:00 p.m it reads, you’ve yet to shower — let alone choose an outfit. some may say your actions are too much, but nothing is ever “too much” when it comes to satoru. have you lost your marbles? not all, but perhaps you’ve become slightly boy crazy (with justifying reasons!)

4:58 p.m: you’re anxiously switching between apps on your phone, trying your best to not stare at the clock on the top of the screen. it’s insanely tempting, but you won’t give in. there’s no better distraction than window shopping on websites for items you’ll never set free with your credit card.

the door slams open, and soon a cheerful voice follows. they both jerk you out of your trance, leaving you with the pair of a palpitating heart and widened eyes.

“BABY!” a disheveled satoru shouts, recklessly dropping his luggage at the front of the door.

he walk-runs past the furniture, dodging the table corners until he’s nearing the sofa you’re situated on.

“sa-SATORU?!” you’re shocked even though you expected his arrival.

you unconsciously stood up, abandoning your phone as you moved to him. satoru mirrors you, being the first of the two to engulf you into a heartfelt hug. he squeezes you hard, burying his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder. his hand cups the back of your head, pressing softly into your hair.

“i missed you,” he whispers, letting out a shaky breath. “it took an entire week to sleep properly without you.”

“you’re addicted,” you joked, lifting a hand to ruffle his already-ruffled hair.

“not funny.”

“okay, okay, sorry. i missed you too.” you pull away from satoru, smiling at his pouting expression.

your hands move to his shoulders, gripping his puffed jacket to pull them down. he helps you by moving his arms out of it. once it’s off, he rolls his shoulders back, rolling his neck around to stretch his muscles. he’s been cooped up in a sitting position for twelve hours; the last thing he needs are stiff muscles and a sore body.

content with the new, relaxed feeling, satoru looks around. everything’s the same, as expected. nothing changed other than the charcuterie board on the coffee table and the dishes on the dining table. immediately, he recognizes the food. how could he not? it’s the food he labeled as his favorite even when it wasn’t.

in multiple attempts to please your mother on the first meeting, he went along with her words.

the soap opera she’s caught up in? oh, he’s been watching it too!

short videos she found on social media that are painfully unfunny? actually, it’s hilarious!

the lunch she cooked? it’s now something he’s been craving for weeks.

the salad? to you, he hates greens since they’re ‘flavorless’. to your mother? golly! put more on his plate!

he spent the week at your parents’ gaslighting himself until it became the truth. he became a new man after the meeting. lemon water was his new go-to (influenced by your mother) and card games are his forte (influenced by your father).

ever since then the main dish your mother cooked up became his true favorite. maybe it’s because of the warmth that came with it, or maybe it’s because he’s still gaslighting himself. nonetheless, he’ll always eat it.

“did you make all this yourself?” he questions, stealing a bite before you could’ve plated his food.

“hands off,” you slapped his hand, “i didn’t, though. i asked my mother.”

“ah, my mother-in-law. i miss your parents, too. we should visit,” he suggests, rubbing his hand that you heartlessly slapped.

“mhm, soon,” you agreed, sliding his plate to him. “let’s sit and eat.”

──

the plates are cleared, the charcuterie board’s three-quarters finished, and you’re on the final episode of season one of the show. satoru’s head is on your lap, busying his hands by poking at your thigh’s skin. your hand’s following suit, busying itself by playing with his hair strands.

the show was long forgotten, being demoted to background noise the moment you asked satoru to tell you all about the trip. you’ve heard the details beforehand during your calls, but it’s different to hear it face-to-face.

you intently listened as he talked, giving him mhms and yeahs to let him know you’re listening.

“oh, and i met a new co-worker? friend? i dunno but we’re acquainted now,” he speaks, looking up to you.

“really? i’m glad. is he a model too?”

“yeah, but it’s a she.”

you paused for a second. a she? that’s new. you’re not the type to anger yourself over your boyfriend befriending the opposite gender, but you’d still like to see her.

“i’d like to meet her,” you said, looking down at him with a soft smile.

“are you free in two days? i have a meeting that day. she’ll probably be there — no chances though, i never asked about her schedule...” his voice trails off as he ponders, trying to remember if she mentioned anything about being in a meeting after the trip.

“of course i’m free. i took a sick leave on purpose for this week.”

satoru laughs at the new information. you took a sick leave just for him? at your position of head assistant? he’ll never find someone who loves him like you do.

— two days after : the meeting.

you’re walking hand-in-hand with satoru through the hallway. you’re a little — no, incredibly nervous. it’s your first time officially meeting satoru’s business buddies. they know of you, you know of them, but that’s about it.

you dressed yourself up professionally, trying to match the classy rich vibes. it’s times like these you appreciate satoru’s over-the-top, multiple-zeros gifts. you’ll have to remember to give him special thanks for this.

“okay, we’re here,” he says, knocking you out of the nervousness.

“if you start feeling uncomfortable, squeeze my hand, okay? i’ll take you out of there,” reassuring you, he gifts you a peck on your forehead, topping it off with his genuine smile that’s only for you.

his hand turns the door knob, walking in with his model smile as he greets the members. you’re tailing behind him, trying to hide. the sudden energy shift didn’t match yours, so your instinct to hide behind satoru kicked in. unluckily for you, your boyfriend was set to formally introduce you. he uses a hand to hold your wrist, pulling you to the side of him.

“you brought a plus one with you i see,” a guy notes the obvious, smiling at your shyness. he already has an idea of who you are.

his words catch the attention of others. within seconds every pair of eyes landed on you. unfamiliar with the amount of attention, you squeezed satoru’s hand, placing a fake smile to mask your uncomfort.

“nuh uh, get your own. that’s too much staring,” satoru complains, squeezing back your hand. he steps in front of you, leading you both to two reserved seats at the table.

“i’m assuming that lady must be the one you talked everyone’s ears off about,” a lady suggests this time, stretching out her arm to you as she’s on the opposite side, but directly in front of you.

you stretched your arm out to her, accepting her handshake.

“i’m (y/n), pleasure to meet you.”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you too. call me mia,” she introduces herself, ignoring the heated glare of a man who doesn’t like sharing.

similarly, you’re ignoring the gut feeling of someone glaring through your soul. the situation feels similar to your teacher staring at you during an exam when you secretly have cheating materials with you.

the meeting continues on. you were introduced to everyone and met with questions. some complained about satoru to you, and others asked how you’re able to tolerate him. of course, satoru took offense. he flipped them off with the finger that has your matching rings on.

an hour later, you’re in the building’s cafeteria with satoru. it was okay; the atmosphere was friendly — minus that one person who glared at you. you don’t know who they are, nor what they look like as you avoided that corner. your social battery is drained, and you’re hungry for a light snack.

“baby, can you order for us? i gotta let it go. real bad,” satoru says, balling his fingers into a fist to hold back the feeling.

“uh, sure, but what do you mean let it go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“piss, baby. piss. love you, bye!”

with that, satoru speeds off, almost colliding with another worker in the process.

gathering your order, you looked around for an unoccupied table to sit at. unfortunately, they’re all unoccupied. it’s a little awkward, but you’re left with no other option than to ask someone if satoru has his own office.

“ah, mia!” you called out, spotting her outside the smoking room.

“(y/n)! need anything before i smoke?” she smiles, pointing at the door.

“um, do you know if satoru has his own office?” contrary to your nervousness, your voice came out perfectly.

“take the elevator and press number ten. turn left and stop until you’re at the third room; that’s his office.”

“thanks much, mia!” you gave her a bright smile, turning around to find your new destination.

“no problem, (y/n),” she waves you off, entering the smoking room.

you followed mia’s directions, taking the elevator to floor ten and entering the third room on the left. it’s no doubt that the office is satoru’s. the pineapple-framed mirror confirmed it all. that mirror is the same mirror satoru try to convince you that it’s “in style”.

settling down in his office, you can finally be at rest. placing the food his desk, you plopped yourself down on his chair.

‘it’s comfortable, but surely it doesn’t take that long to pee,’ you think, suspecting that satoru may have gotten caught up in a conversation.

the door clicks, opening to reveal someone. your mind thought of satoru, but it was indeed not. it wasn’t even the right gender. a beautiful girl entered; her aura was a cool, mysterious, “i’m better than you” feel. confusion poured down on you. who is she and why is she here?

you don’t strike a conversation. instead, you simply watch her walk into the office until she’s in front of the desk.

“do you need some—”

“you must be gojo satoru’s bitch.”

“excuse me?” not only were you cut off, you were called a bitch. clearly, she’s not on friendly terms, and who does she think she is?

she looks down at you, placing a taunting smile on her lips. you don’t care since you’re the one on his chair, but who is she calling a bitch?!

“compared to satoru, you’re… low, to put it kindly!”

“okay, but who asked you that?” you questioned her, rolling your eyes.

if you were in a fantasy novel, she’d be the main villainess who’s engaged to the male lead for political reasons. you’re the female lead who’ll become victim to the villainess’ antics as the male lead, satoru, fell for you.

flustered at your sentence, she scoffs. compared to the shy persona you displayed at the meeting, you’re all bitchy now.

“i don’t need someone to ask me something in order to speak my mind.”

“oh my god. i didn’t ask you that, nor do i want your input.” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.

“i don’t like you. you’re not good enough for satoru,” she voices her (unwanted) opinions, scanning you up and down.

“it’s gojo to you, missy. who’s the girlfriend here?” you noted her mistakes while making your position obvious.

she rolls her eyes, offended at being called ‘missy.’

“and it’s saori, not missy. get it right.”

“why must you disturb my tranquility with your nonsense ? please exit, missy.”

“i said it’s—”

“saori? why are you here?” satoru enters, removing his coat in the process.

“that’s what i asked her,” you said, looking at her up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“i wanted to meet your girl-friend, satoru!” suddenly her tone changed. the space she put between the word girlfriend didn’t go unnoticed by you either.

this is ridiculous.

he slowly nods, thinking that the deliberate pause between girlfriend might’ve been his imagination.

“oh, i was gonna introduce you guys. you beat me to it,” he pouts, walking over next to you to give you another kiss.

you smiled at satoru but smirked at saori.

irritated, she huffs, “i’ve seen enough, call me when you’re free from that, satoru.”

both of you watch her walk out in silence. satoru’s now confused.

“what’s that about?” he asks, scratching his head.

“is she the friend you talked about?” you answered his question with your question.

“yeah, but i don’t know why she has such an attitude all of a sudden. did her boyfriend argue with her?”

“pfft— she has a boyfriend?” you scoffed, learning that she’s not only the bitch, but potentially unloyal. why else would she bother you, who’s satoru’s girlfriend, if it wasn’t because she likes him?

he nods, shrugging off the curiosity to know what’s with her shift in behavior.

“whatever, let’s eat, baby.”

──

it’s way past your bedtime, and you’ve just arrived home. the day was eventful, minus the missy encounter, but nonetheless you had fun.

although you’re glad to be acquainted with satoru’s peers, you couldn’t shake off the suspicion that sao-whatever-her-name-is has been making advances to satoru while your presence was absent.

you can tell that satoru holds no affection to her, but you’re still worried. satoru’s loyal, yes, but he’s an oblivious idiot. if he nor you isn’t the one flirting, he wouldn’t notice anything. that’s why her behavior change whenever he’s around is seen as “friendly” and not “i want you so bad” to him.

you sighed, shaking your head to rid it of her. what’s important is that satoru isn’t interested in her. you can sleep with that comforting image in mind.

now that satoru’s home, you’ve been attached to each other like the north and south pole of two magnets. inseparable. it’s been like this for a week, but something changed.

two › is it just you or…?

the sao-still-don’t-remember-her-name missy has been ringing satoru’s phone down whether it’s by messages, voice messages, or calls. at this point, it’s annoying. satoru himself was one call away from blocking her, but he couldn’t.

aside from satoru himself, she’s the other key member in the new project. if he suddenly draws a line between them it can become what kills the project. thankfully, the conversations have been limited to work-related topics… or so you believe.

you’re on the sofa, indulging in a new show as you peeled an apple. the show’s plot became so intense that your eyes are glued to the television instead of the apple.

satoru jugs down the stairs, grabbing his car keys and running over behind you. he bends over to place a kiss on your cheek, notifying you that he’ll be meeting up with saori. not paying any mind to him, you bid him goodbye without thinking.

it’s only after he exits the door you register what he said. ‘meeting up with saori? that bitch? ew,’ you shuddered at the thought of her. she’s not scary, definitely not ugly, but sure as hell is a bitch. at least you remember her name now.

──

after that day, satoru’s free time has been occupied with her. you’re now sure it’s not “just work” that’s been going on. you trust satoru, but you don’t trust her.

there’s no reason for someone to meet up with their co-worker every day for work. work is never that interesting. it’s not like they’re in charge of the project either; the project is within the authority of mia and some other guy.

everything about the situation at hand has been bothering you. was she attached to satoru like this during the trip? were they always within arms length of each other? not even you were that clingy to satoru.

the idea to raise alarm bells to satoru crossed you, but the potential argument that may follow is what has you hesitating. you don’t want to suspect satoru’s friend, but her behavior needs to be discussed.

you waited until satoru’s home, showered, and comfortable in bed to bring forth the question. your palms are sweating, but it needs to be done.

“say satoru, can i ask you something?” you hesitated, looking at him.

“yeah, why not?” he replies, eyes stuck on his phone.

“what do you think of that girl?”

“who’s that— do you mean saori?” he laughs, “she’s cool, if i were to be honest. she’s fun to hang around with.”

“has it ever crossed your mind that she likes you?” you cold sweat, worried that he’ll take offense.

“who wouldn’t like me? i’m sexy,” he jokes, winking at you.

you playfully slap his chest. “i’m being serious here!”

“i don’t think she does— or at least i hope she doesn’t. i don’t want to be her boyfriend’s archenemy,” satoru truthfully responds, feeling his pores raise at the thought of a taken man’s enemy.

if you were to like another man satoru would honestly write a will and erase himself from history. so, it’s only natural that he hopes saori doesn’t become her boyfriend’s pain.

you hum, satisfied with his answer. it’s clear as day now. satoru doesn’t view her in any romantic way, but you know she has a thing or two for him.

not wanting to push your luck, you end it there. pulling satoru’s phone away to throw your body on his.

three › wicked witch of the west.

it’s almost as if the conversation with satoru triggered a chain reaction. for whatever the reason may be, you’ve now seen this woman more than your own parents. she invites herself over almost every day.

every time you open the door it’s her snobby face. it sickens you. you ordered a package recently and whenever someone knocks on the door, you think it’s the delivery guy, but nope! it’s the wicked witch of the west!

today it happened again. someone knocked, you opened, missy appears, satoru unwillingly follows her for the sake of the project, you’re left with murderous intent.

it’s time you talk about this with someone. that’s right, you’ve kept your worries inside you but this is just too much! there’s no reason for a taken lady to follow another man like she’s his shadow — far less for a taken man!

frustrated, you phoned your friend.

“hey, utahime.”

“(y/n), my baby! how are you?”

“i’m okay-ish, how about you?”

“i’m good, but what’s up?”

“well… can i come over? i’ll tell you there. i just need to get out.”

“of course you can! you were always here before that thing of a man took you over.”

“all right, i’ll be there in ten!”

──

utahime’s home always brought you comfort; it’s where you go when you needed to escape. due to her dislike for people outside her circle, not everyone knows of her address— especially not satoru.

she engulfed you in a hug the moment she opened the door. you can’t hide anything from utahime, she knew you were out of it from your face.

“i’ll put ramen on the stove, go make yourself comfortable,” she ordered, closing the door behind you.

you followed her words, throwing yourself face first on her sofa. you loudly groaned, annoyed at the idea of saori getting all touchy-touchy with your satoru.

“let’s talk about it,” utahime speaks, pausing the television before she sits on the floor next to you.

you lift your head to look at her, open your mouth, and close it back. ‘let’s not question it,’ you think, knowing that utahime prefers the floor at home ever since you knew her.

“so… there’s this girl named saori—”

“i knew i should’ve ran over satoru yesterday.”

“and then— wait— HUH???” you sputtered, shocked at utahime’s words.

“i saw him crossing the street by himself yesterday. it took a lot of convincing to not floor the gas pedal,” she sighed, knowing she missed the jackpot. “anyway, continue.”

your mouth hangs open for a few more seconds before you regain yourself.

“right… anyway. she’s satoru’s new co-worker and i don’t like her. on our first meeting she called me ‘satoru’s bitch’ and after that she’s been occupying his free time every-fucking-day. she has a BOYFRIEND! like damn bitch! move away from my boyfriend,” you dumped the information on utahime, shoving your head back into the cushion.

“my baby, just said the word,” utahime faces you, moving her hand to pat your back.

“for what?” your voice comes out muffled.

“to put a bounty on their heads.”

a groan leaves you. there’s no hope.

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. we can devise a plan, however.”

your head perks up. your attention has been successfully gained. utahime stands up, a bright smile adorns her face. you have a major feeling that something mischievous is going to play out real, real soon. utahime never smiles so brightly unless she’s plotting something despicable.

you squint your eyes at her, watching her back as she walks to the kitchen.

“‘hime…”

“don’t worry; just trust me.”

6:43 p.m: you’re now being a sack of potatoes on utahime’s bed. the day flew by and you haven’t heard from satoru ever since he left. no way it won’t leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t find the energy to care at this moment.

you're preoccupied on utahime’s laptop, carefully choosing the perfect inner-walls design for the house game you stumbled upon. interior design might just be your new job.

deep into the game, your phone rings. you groan in annoyance, picking your phone up to see who decided it’ll be a good time to bother you.

satoru is calling you.

clicking your tongue, you slid on the green button.

“satoru, what’s up?”

“babe, are you home?”

“i’m not, why?”

“whyyyyy? i brought food for you.”

“i’ll have it when i’m home. sorry i’m not there right now, satoru.”

“oh, i almost forgot. saori’s here too.”

“ew— i mean, okay. don’t let her near my stuff nor our room.”

“yeah, bye baby. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

“that’s so disgusting. get out of my house,” utahime voices her feelings, screwing her face up at the sight of you being lovey-dovey with satoru.

you laughed at her, returning your attention to the game. utahime walks to her closet, choosing an outfit for the night. she’s fresh out of the shower, wet hair wrapped up in a towel. you can hear her grumbling something along the lines of “i hate couples” as she threw clothes on the floor to look for “that one black pajama shorts.”

once successful, utahime threw herself onto the bed. she took over your phone, going into your messages for her chat to send herself photos you’ve long forgotten to send. never will she ever ask you for photos after the hangout.

“by the way,” she says, “what did that man call for?”

you sigh, looking at her with a blank expression, “saori’s gonna be there.”

“does she even have her own life? that saowhore or whatever you said her name is.” utahime rolls her eyes, her mood immediately soured.

shrugging, you click your tongue, “it is what it is. this game is more important.”

──

it took not one, not two, not three, but five attempts to convince utahime to let you go home. she was completely against the idea of letting you drive home alone when it’s 10 p.m.

you would’ve given in if it wasn’t for the dreadful feeling that you need to be home. you basically sped through the roads, and most definitely ran a red light accidentally. nevertheless, you arrived safely.

suddenly, your heartbeat races. a heat creeps up the back of your head; you can feel a headache in the making. something’s telling you that you’ll need to confront a certain someone.

opening the door as quietly as you can, you stepped in, removing your shoes and tiptoeing inside.

maybe you should’ve let utahime go through with her plans.

the sight before you disgusts you as much as satoru disgusts utahime. why, just why, is this woman still here? is she crazy? why are her legs on satoru, and why is he allowing it?

“goodness, if i didn’t know better i’d ask you if you’re homeless,” you sarcastically spoke, taking the remote to turn the television off.

“get,” you took hold of one of her legs, shoving it off satoru. “off my fucking boyfriend.”

satoru watches, shocked at the scene. his eyes are unfocused; it’s evident that he zoned out a long time ago.

saori scoffs, moving her leg back on satoru’s lap. “why should i?”

you tilt your head, smiling angelically. the smile lasted milliseconds before it dropped. you’ve had quite enough and she’ll be subjected to your anger.

grabbing her arm, you roughly dragged her off the sofa. saori wasn’t one to accept such treatment. she retaliated, shuffling her arm around until she’s off your grip.

“are you fucking crazy?!” saori yelled, eyes wide with heavy breaths.

“not quite!” you pointed towards the door. “get out before i drag you myself.”

satoru’s silent. afraid of angering you, he stays put and watches from a distance.

“fuck off,” saori speaks, “satoru, text me when you’re off your dog collar.”

your anger reached its peak. grabbing the closest thing, which happened to be a mug, you threw it in her direction, aiming to miss her but hit close enough to her.

“ARE YOU INSANE!?” saori’s stumbles to the side, clenching her jaw, looking down at the broken pieces of the ceramic mug.

the scene alarms satoru, he decides to do something. standing up, he reaches for your wrist, pulling you to him.

“i think it’s time you leave, saori. i didn’t even know you were still here,” satoru’s voice is calm, but filled with authority. his words hold truth to them, he zoned out a while ago, unaware that saori’s still around.

clicking her tongue, her eyes twitch. she couldn’t muster up anything to say. being left with no choice but to listen to satoru, she saw herself out.

the quietness settles in. you were right about the headache, it’s definitely coming in.

“baby—”

“save it,” you stopped him, “but who the fuck is she to think i have you on a dog collar? i’ll put her on a collar.”

guilt settles in satoru, he shouldn’t have brought her in.

“i don’t why she said that. you don’t have me ‘on a dog collar’ i swear,” he rambles, placing a hand on his chest.

your gaze settled on satoru. you’re tired, a headache is there, and you probably went overboard. you’re not in the mood to hear him.

“satoru, i trust you. but i don’t trust her.”

“i’ll make her apologize.”

“ew, no.” you shivered at the thought of her apologizing. “i don’t want you near her anymore. her intentions are too fucking obvious.”

satoru physically hesitates. swallowing a gulp, his words come out quietly, “i can’t ignore her just like that..”

just as you were about to walk away, your head whipped to satoru as if you were slapped in that direction.

“what?”

“the project’s still ongoing, baby. i can’t ignore her just because you want me too.”

“fucking hell. kiss my ass, satoru. kiss her ass too while you’re at it,” you spat, flipping him off as you walked away.

if he can’t ignore her “just because you said so” then he can be ignored by you. maybe he did said something to make her think he’s on a dog collar.

you hear satoru calling for you, but you gave him no attention. you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

four › satoru’s new piercing idea: a bullet through his head.

satoru fucked up. he knows he fucked up. he should’ve said that after you calmed down. it couldn’t have gotten worse than this. the night flew by with you facing your back to him, the morning came with you acting as if he’s invisible.

sure, he fucked up, but at least reply to his good morning?!

he doesn’t know what to do. this is the first time you were angered to this point. usually, he’d be the one to better your mood, but he’s apart of the reason you’re as mad as you are.

your behavior went on for three days. far longer than satoru had anticipated. he’s given you your space, but now he can’t focus on his job.

his co-workers knew something was off with satoru. he’s not his usual self. they knew something happened the moment he declined a free meal. secretly, they gathered around, holding a confidential meeting to discuss satoru’s behavior.

everyone gave their opinions until an agreement was made: a couple’s argument had occurred.

evidence to support? satoru refrained from mentioning you, gave awkward answers when someone asked about you, and sulked when he looked at his lockscreen which was you.

saori, however, advanced her advancements to satoru. today was another day of her throwing her cleavage at him.

the photoshoot theme included two persons, but they weren’t meant to touch. they needed to act like enemies, but saori’s touching satoru as if he’s an all-you-can-touch event.

her hands slid down his chest, stopping at his abs. satoru doesn’t react— his eyes are empty, it’s clear that he wants the photoshoot to be over.

mia observed the two ever since the business trip, and she came to the conclusion that saori’s craving a place she was never meant to have.

“well aren’t you a little handsy, miss saori,” mia calls out, stopping the cameraman. “had i not known your boyfriend, i would've thought you were single.”

“who asked?” saori gives an attitude, but she moves her hand from satoru. the mention of her boyfriend bothered her.

the staff goes silent. a tension forms in the atmosphere. the calm before the storm, as they call it.

mia walks towards the two, placing a hand on saori’s shoulder when she nears her.

squeezing her shoulder, she leans down to saori’s level, “who’s the boss here? you’re chatty for a little girl who wants others’ belongings.” mia taunts, her voice cold.

saori gulps, slapping mia’s hand off her.

the action doesn’t bother mia in the slightest. instead, she leans to saori’s ears, whispering the unfortunate truth to her, “satoru will never want you, saori. remember that.”

straightening her posture, mia turns around to walk back to her designated position.

“back to work, everyone!”

with her order, everyone returns back to their previous doings. the tension is still heavy, and satoru’s still holds his empty gaze.

──

a thirty-minute break was called. at this moment, to each their own. the staff scrambled around, but satoru stayed put.

“saori,” his voice drags, “let’s talk alone.”

her expression brightens, feeling the butterflies tingle in her stomach. but little does she know, satoru’s about to act out of the character she knows him to be.

“s-sure! let’s do it in your dressing room,” she suggests, pulling satoru there.

once they’re in, she locks the door behind them. satoru sighs at the sight, but he doesn’t say anything about it. there’s something else he came here for.

“saori, do you like me? romantically?” he asks, leaning on the wall with crossed arms.

“i do,” she boldly confirms.

“then stop. you’re getting in between my relationship with (y/n),” he glares at saori, deciding it’s time to draw the line.

“ha, you’re still on that leash i see,” she scoffs, walking towards satoru until they’re face-to-face. “i’m better, satoru. you should choose me.”

satoru unfolds his arms, using one to push her away.

“saori, i’ve thought of you as nothing but a co-worker, a friend. you cannot be (y/n). so please, stop.”

clenching her jaw, saori tugs at satoru’s shirt’s collar, “i don’t give a flying fuck! you should be mine.”

satoru feels disgusted, a chain of chills cover his body. has saori always been like this?

“you have a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake!” he slaps her hand away, moving towards the door.

before he unlocks the door, he stops, turning around to clarify something before he forgets to, “oh, and if anything, the truth is that i’m the one who placed a dog collar on myself. so watch your mouth.”

with that, he leaves her alone, walking to where mia’s positioned.

“mia,” he calls for her.

mia turns to him, eyes wide for a second before she returns to her usual expression.

“need something, lovesick boy?” she teases, raising her eyebrows at him.

“if saori isn’t withdrawn from this project, then i’ll withdraw myself,” he threatens, running a hand through his hair exposing his forehead.

‘i’m not sure if this is unexpected or expected,’ mia thinks, not surprised at satoru’s request. it was only a matter of time.

“i’ll withdraw her. she pissed me off, too,” giving satoru her answer she pauses, and then continues, “but you really need to learn how to tell apart platonic actions from romantic.”

satoru cringes at her words, “ugh, leave me alone. i’m leaving.”

“you’ll be penalized for leaving during working hours!”

“blah blah blah.”

──

satoru’s destination was obvious. it’s your shared home. he would make his business to break the ice first.

messily unlocking the door, he kicks his shoes off, immediately looking for you. you’re not on the sofa, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, where the fuck are you?!

checking off your usual spots, he’s left with one: the bedroom.

quietly opening the door, he peeks in, observing the room for you. once he found you, he tiptoed in.

your back was turned to the door. whether you were sleeping or not was the least of his problems. he’ll wake you up if he has to.

“baby,” he carefully speaks, sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on your blanketed figure.

you don’t answer him, but you do turn around to face him.

“i talked to saori. we won’t be in contact any time soon.”

“oh wow,” you said.

he clears his throat at your sarcasm, “ahem— anyway, i told her off, and asked for her to be removed from the project.”

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

ignoring your snarky remarks, he continues, “i told her about the ‘dog collar’ comment. i even told her to watch her mouth. i’ll cut contact with her on my phone, too.”

“so she’s gone? completely?” you questioned, removing a hand from under the blanket.

“yeah, i received a divine revelation and came to my senses. really, i thought she saw me as platonic as i saw her. i swear!” he confirms his innocence, staring at you with sadden eyes.

“you’re still a bitch,” you said, “i almost allowed utahime to go through with her bounty plan.”

sitting up, you took one of satoru’s fingers in your hand, “i’m glad you did that, but i’m still mad. you made me want to tell you to go fuck her and done with it.”

satoru’s mouth hangs open at the newly gained information.

“i didn’t, as you can see. i still love you so such words would never be spoken.”

“‘still’ she said.”

“don’t push it.”

a laugh escapes him. not listening to your warning, he pulls you into a hug. this time, it was a hug of desperation and relief. his head’s buried in your neck, breathing in the body mist you always wear at home.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“dear god, fuck that bitch i hope she dies,” you comforted satoru, returning his hug and patting his back.

do you have an issue with satoru? no, but he did set you off when he refused to cut contact with her when you asked.

it took him quite some days to see the vision, and you’re glad he did.

hey guys 😣 if anyone’s confused about this part:

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

it simply means “what’s the difference?”

when (y/n) said she thought satoru was glued to saori, satoru responded with “she’s glued to me!”

(y/n) says “tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.” because it doesn’t matter how you pronounce it since it’s the same word. there’s no difference.

satoru was glued to saori and vice versa so what’s the difference fr

hope this helped 😜

[kentopedia]

hi rylie!! thank you sm for the recs! and since you said your inbox is open …

could i maybe request a fic where nanami proposes to you? like a spur of the moment thing where it’s not really the “right time” but he just springs out the question bc he wants you forever 🥹😮‍💨

thank you a bajillion! <3

my everything

FEATURING: nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: after nanami remembers how short life can be, he realizes he wants to spend the rest of his with you.

CONTENTS: takes place during jjk 0, slight angst per usual, marriage proposals, sorcerer!reader, nanami's pov, happy ending

note: thank you for this sweet request!! i kind of took it and ran w it, but this was so much fun to write :) i hope you enjoy lovely!! <;33

Kento couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid.

The gnawing feeling of dread was as heavy as the ring in his pocket, the one that he now regretted hanging onto for so long. Shinjuku streets were drenched in the blood of so many curses, humans, and sorcerers and it sickened him, reminded him that life could be cut short at any moment. There was a reason that he’d quit Jujutsu so many years ago, and he started to wonder if he’d made the right decision in coming back.

Kento sorted through the bodies, scanned the mangled corpses for any sign of your familiar face. He never spotted you, but he wasn’t certain if it was a relief that you were nowhere to be found.

Satoru stood at the edge of the street, his forehead lined with sweat, the pale bandages falling away from his icy eyes. Briefly, he dropped the façade that always lingered, and it was obvious how tired he was. How much everything had beaten him down in the last decade and refused to let up.

In that moment, Kento felt sorry for him. Then, Satoru resumed his usual air of arrogance, straightened his back, and the natural balance fell between them once more.

In just a few strides, Kento was upon him, his hair unruly, shirt wrinkled as the tie remained still crumpled around his hand. His muscles ached and he longed for a shower—though any of those trivial thoughts were outweighed by his incessant need to find you.

“Where is she?” The words hung in the air before Kento realized they’d left his lips at all.

Satoru hesitated, almost unwilling to hand over his confession so easily. “I sent her back to the school.”

Kento clenched his fists, but Satoru was defending himself before any irrational actions could be taken.

“She insisted, Nanami.”

Still, he couldn’t help but wish that Satoru had ignored your pleas, even if Kento was unsurprised that you’d volunteered to stand by the students’ side. You weren’t the type of person to let a few first and second years go up against a special grade on their own, no matter how strong they were.

Satoru was squeezing Kento’s shoulder before he had even noticed the movement. Something in his expression had darkened, and though Kento normally would’ve shoved him off, put some distance between the two of them, he wasn’t sure he could remember a time when Satoru Gojo looked so somber. “I wouldn’t have sent them there if I wasn’t certain they’d be alright. I’m not as cruel as you might think.”

Kento knew that he had never behaved warmly towards his ex-classmate, but his opinion of the man was not as low as Satoru believed. For better or worse, Satoru loved his students, and though he pushed them, Kento knew he would never put them into an undefeatable danger.

He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest as Satoru’s hand fell away from his shoulder. “Just take me to her, Gojo.”

Satoru nodded, his lips curling down into a frown before he was teleporting them both back to the high school. There, the sight was even more dismal than Kento had expected. Many of the buildings had been destroyed and there were clear residuals from many sorcerers and curses. It was chaos, a grim sight to behold, and they weren’t even past the gate.

The anxiety twisted up in his chest, and inwardly, he prayed, hopeful that you were as fine as Satoru believed. That Geto, in every inch of his darkened heart, would hesitate when it came to killing an old friend.

“Hey,” Satoru said, tying up the blindfold once more, tightening it across his snowy hair. “She’s fine. This, I’m certain of.”

Kento’s lips were too dry to even offer a thank you, even though Satoru probably deserved it, for all the sacrifices he made, all the time. Instead, he nodded, and turned away from the tall man, haunted by a memory of him once as young as the students that had been left behind to protect humanity.

The leaves and gravel crunched under Kento’s feet as he ran up to the school, taking in the sheer destruction that had befallen the place he’d once called home. It made him ache with a longing for a simpler time, even though he could never go back, and the boy he’d been was long gone.

It was a brisk night—the kind of night that you normally would’ve spent bundled up inside, a bowl of hot soup between you, a movie running while you rested your head against Kento’s shoulder, dozing off before the credits rolled.

That’s how his night should’ve gone. Instead, he was searching every crushed piece of building, every pile of rubble in case your body had been caught between it.

Kento knew that the life of a sorcerer was a miserable one, that it was easy to lose the people you cared about, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to go on for much longer if he lost you.

The ring was even heavier in his pocket, weighing him down, making it near impossible to move. If you hadn’t survived, Kento would never forgive himself for waiting so long to propose.

He called your name, ripping off his glasses in any attempt to see you better, wondering where you could’ve disappeared to, hoping that you hadn’t died alone.

The grounds, it seemed, had been hollowed out completely, and for the first time, Kento wondered if Gojo was wrong about his old friend.

Panic clawed up his chest, scratching at his throat, sending him into an illogical spiral before a small, shaky voice from behind him brought him back to reality, a light that parted through the black night, so sweet and heavenly to his ears.

“Kento?”

He turned, blinked as you swayed on your feet, making your way slowly down the steps of the main building. You walked awkwardly on your ankle, though you pushed on, heading towards him despite the pain.

For a moment, he watched, and then he was upon you without even acknowledging his movements, two long strides that brought him back to his salvation.

Kento pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the undeniable truth that you were still alive, even as you winced from his stronghold, your arms limp at your sides.

“Fuck,” Kento said, kissing you on the top of the head, your hairline, forehead. His eyes were glossy with tears that had been held back by his remaining shreds of hope. “You scared me there for a second, sweetheart.”

Your hands were on his chest, tracing his bicep before you curled your fingers around his jaw, bringing his gaze to your own. The touch was light, searching for any wounds that hid under his stained button-up. “I’m okay,” you said, softly, even though your face was bruised, your ankle twisted, and you were bleeding from more places than one. “Are you?”

Kento nearly laughed, wondering how you could even think to ask that question when he was untouched compared to you. Though, the amusement died immediately when you looked at him with so much concern that he melted, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance. “I’m okay.”

You nodded, expression serious as you attempted to ingrain the words into your mind, convince yourself that everything would be alright, even though things hadn’t been that way in nearly a decade. You kept your hands on him, as if waiting for some wounds to appear, for him to start bleeding into your palm, even though his injuries went no further than some sore muscles.

“And everyone else?”

Kento pulled you into his chest, running a hand up and down your back, wishing that he could heal you as easily as Shoko could, that a gentle touch could fix everything that had ever soiled your life. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, and as far as he knew, that was true. “A little beat up, but they’re alive.”

You exhaled, nodding into his chest as you rested your weight on him.

Kento would gladly bear it, would carry you all the way home if need be.

Briefly, you were silent, before you squeezed your eyes shut painfully and grimaced. “I got the students to Shoko, but they were all so hurt, so badly,” you swallowed, digging your fingers into his shirt, and Kento suddenly hated that Satoru hadn’t sent him with you, even if he was needed in the city. “Geto—”

You stopped yourself, and said nothing more, heartbroken by a boy you had too many fond memories of to ever see in a malicious light. It was difficult for everyone who’d ever known him back then, even if he hadn’t been that way in a decade.

Kento swallowed and you pushed away your tears, buried whatever conversation had transpired earlier between you and the dark-haired sorcerer.

Though, you’d resolved to be everything that Geto was not. That, at least, had been one positive outcome of his betrayal. “It’s not your fault, love.”

“I should’ve been more prepared to kill him, Kento. I’m not as strong as him, but I should’ve been able to hold him off until Gojo—” You choked back a cry before standing straight, shaking your head. “I tried too hard to reason with him. I left it to a student, and—”

“Hey,” Kento held your cheeks tight in his palms, forcing you to gain a better perspective of the situation. You looked up at him with soft, lost eyes, and Kento was filled with a swell of adoration for you, for the strength that came with the vastness of your heart.

Despite all you’d suffered, you’d managed a smile, been the light in Kento’s life, even when he’d wanted to do nothing but wallow in his own misery. If not for you, he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve come back to being a sorcerer at all. If not for you, Kento would’ve been lost, without an ounce of meaning in his life.

You were so foolish for thinking you hadn’t done enough, when you’d done more for him than he could put into words. Kento’s love for you was enormous, and in that moment, he would’ve let the rest of the world collapse in on itself if it meant you’d be safe and happy.

“Any of us would’ve done the same. Do you really believe that Gojo would’ve so easily killed Geto without speaking to him first? Would I have?”

The look didn’t dissipate from your irises, but you didn’t disagree with him, and that was enough. Kento kissed you, deeply, putting every ounce of affection into that single touch. Everyone had made it out of the night alive, and you’d been there for the students when it mattered the most. That was more than he could say, at least.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else, Kento,” you said, blinking at him once more with those sad eyes, ones that he never wanted to see on your normally bright expression. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, even though he knew that there was no way he could keep it, an oath that was almost destined to be broken. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You and I both know that you can’t be sure of that,” you said, backing out of his embrace to wrap a protective arm around yourself. The smile that graced your lips was sad, defeated. “Our world is not merciful enough.”

Kento knew that better than anyone, and he’d been reminded of it that evening. Reminded of the loss that befell those who wanted to fight for a better world, and even those who didn’t. Death didn’t give any warning, didn’t choose based off anything more than a random draw. “Then I’ll promise to love you until the day I die. That, at least, is a vow I won’t ever break.”

The ring in his pocket was practically vibrating now, reminding him how little the non-necessities of life mattered to him. All this time, he been waiting for the perfect moment, to plan everything down to the very last detail.

It seemed meaningless now.

You squeezed his hand, your face brightening despite your sorrow, lips tugging up sideways. “I can promise the same.” Kento’s heart swelled, and you kissed his cheek before dragging him a few steps forward so the two of you were walking in time together. “We should go check on the students. I want Shoko to check my ankle too. I’ve suffered worse, but it’s starting to swell pretty badly.”

Kento nodded, though his mind was too busy whirling with fears of a wedding that might never happen, that you might never know he was going to propose if he didn’t do it soon. You could be snatched away from him at any moment, or perhaps, he could leave this world with the ring still in his pocket, and you’d only know once you found it on his corpse.

Kento wouldn’t forgive himself, even in death, if he didn’t do what he’d been wanting to do for months.

With one arm around your shoulder, he reached the other into his pocket, twirling the box. He wasn’t even sure why he carried it with him that night when he could’ve so easily lost it in the middle of battle.

Yet, there it was, lingering, the constant weight in his pocket that rested against his hip. He swallowed, and you looked up at him, your lips falling back once more into a frown.

“Hey,” you said, slowing your pace, concern evident in your expression. “Is something wrong? Did something happen in Shinjuku, Kento? I didn’t mean to just brush off—”

Kento shook his head, shushing you quickly. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind, and he wrapped the tiny box up in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head again before holding the box out, presenting it to you calmly, without any spike in his normal tone. “I just was thinking about how I was going to ask you to marry me.”

You stopped completely, your pupils blown wide as you took the box from him with shaky hands, blinking back down at it before meeting his tender brown eyes. “Kento?” you said again, calmly, as if waiting for him to explain.

A beat of silence passed between you. Kento, suddenly, felt nervous around you for the first time in a long while.

“Truthfully, I was going to prepare a long-winded speech and buy you some flowers and take you out for dinner. But,” he cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he flipped the lid of the velvety box, revealing the sparkling ring he’d spend hours searching for. “I love you too much to waste any more time. Somehow, until tonight, I’d forgotten how short life can be. I just want to spend every moment I can as your husband.”

Your eyes became glossy as you stared down at the beautiful gem, lifting the ring out of the box to slide onto your finger. As expected, it fit you perfectly, shimmering in the pale light, the perfect complement to your skin. Kento gently took your hand, kissing the knuckle right below the jewelry.

“I’ll propose again to you properly,” he said, laughing quietly, though if it was because of your silence or the joy lodged within him, he couldn’t be certain. “Without all the blood and the—"

“Kento.” Your lips were on his before he could finish his sentence, harsh and passionate despite your injuries. Fingers curled around his chin, holding him into place, making him forget all the horrors that had occurred that evening. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a grandiose display to know I want to be with you forever. I love you too much.”

Kento’s chest warmed, that bundle of affection within him bursting, making its way through every ounce of his being. There, you seemed to glow brighter, every day making you more beautiful than before, and he wondered how it could be possible that he could feel so much for one person.

He relaxed, unknowingly tense, and kissed you again on the forehead, his arms around your shoulder once more. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

You smiled and caressed the harsh bones of his cheeks, shaking your head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” You laughed, pulling him down by the tie, pressing a kiss between his brows to ease the wrinkle there. “Besides, now you’ve turned this awful night into something special. I don’t have to remember this day with a bitter taste in my mouth.”

Kento returned your smile, but it was still weak, even with all of the adoration he felt for you.

Though, when you beamed at the ring, your eyes soft, all of the previous despair gone, he knew that everything would be alright. Perhaps his timing had been less than ideal, but he would do it over and over again if only to ease away the misery from your face.

“So, then you will marry me?” he said again, wanting to hear the words from your lips, even though there was no doubt in his mind.

You rolled your eyes playfully, noticing his teasing smile and indulged him. “Yes, Kento.” You kissed his cheek, letting out a sharp exhale. “I’ll marry you. I would’ve always said yes, even back when we were silly, lovesick teenagers.” You sighed theatrically, adjusting his tie. “Who knows why. You had such a ridiculous haircut back then.”

Kento’s cheeks grew warm, splitting with the force of his smile, one that only seemed to appear with you at his side. Despite all of the horrible things that had happened in all of your lives, he was grateful that there were good moments too.

“Well, I still managed to win over the prettiest girl in the world, didn’t I?” he said, ghosting the words as he laced his fingers with your own, squeezing tight. “Now I get to call her my fiancée.”

You mumbled something less than kind under your breath, but Kento could feel the warmth on your cheeks, the flush the began from your neck.

He laughed, continuing his path back to the infirmary, where the students were likely waiting for you to return safe and sound. “Come on, I’m taking you to see Shoko. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s injuries to get any worse, would I?”

And though the both of you knew your injuries were minimal, your eyes brightened as the skin around them wrinkled, and Kento knew that whatever happened after this, he would live and die a happy man.

[dvchvnde]

excerpt; best friend's dad | John Price x Reader infidelity. age gap.

He breaks your heart in Greece. Cuts a jagged line down your middle. Spills your wet, sticky blood over the Naxian marble outside of the Temple of Apollo with just a handful of words.

(fitting, you find: you've always considered your aimless pursuit to his heart some bastardised delusion akin to Icarus chasing the immovable sun—)

And you suppose it's kind. Or as gentle as a man like him could ever let himself be. Still gruff, surly. But you've always loved the sound of his voice, haven't you? That sarky growl reminding you of classic muscle cars, American-made; the low, gritty purr of an old Mustang. Enough to make you shiver, even as he's shaping it around these awful, cutting words. It makes you heart flutter, enraptured as he speaks like he's ripping a bandaid off.

Except that now that wound is being filled with salt. Acid. Cauterising itself from the friction burn when the gauze is wrenched off your skin. A permanent scar right in your sternum. A gaping hole spilling all the ugliness out. You wonder if he cares that it's being slashed across his shoes—no sandals, he griped when you teased him in the airport; I hate the feelin' of sand between my toes—that this madness inside of you is finding a home on the hot pavement, rotting under the summer's sun.

"m'thinkin' about marryin' her."

The her in question is ten years older than him. Pettily, you wonder if this is to compensate for the fact that he's nearly two decades older than you. An obscene age gap, you know. But—

It's Price.

Your best friend's dad. The man you've been in love with since you were sixteen. Falling all over yourself after a dumb boy broke your heart, and he offered to drive you home, silent the whole way there before he stopped, a block away from your house, and told you that boys weren't worth your time. Boys. Boys—

Not men.

Foolishly, you let yourself hope. Let yourself become the very thing they talk about in TikTok videos lambasting age gaps and silly little girls who let older men run them into the ground. Why would a man his age have any reason to be interested in a girl yours? Sickening. Disgusting. You're being lead stray, groomed. But you clung to it still, even as you thumbed through the comments on those videos and found pieces of yourself lying among the rubble.

You've always known what they say about girls like that. And you were just delusional enough to believe that you were different somehow.

And now—

"Gettin' older," he grouses out, and you wonder if she finds the ornery lilt to his cadence as comforting as you do. Or if it rubs her all the wrong ways. "Might be time to settle down."

Shamefully, you wish he'd say, but maybe you can convince me otherwise, climb into my lap, and eat this decision from between my teeth until all I see when I open my eyes is you.

But that's not the John Price you know. Mr Price. Single dad. Widower. Untouchable.

Mr Price who sees you for what you are—smarter than them, he'd said when you broke down in his Bronco after a softball game where everyone, your best friend included, went to an afterparty that no one invited you to.

Quiet, thoughtful, even when you spent the evening afterwards (the fight hashed out between your best friend and you; i'm so sorry and me too) thumbing through old vinyl records he kept in his basement, listening to the classics that kids your age just didn't understand, so why the fuck do you?

Weekends spent bonding over golden cinema (movies just ain't what they used to be; there's no romance anymore, it's all so—vapid; you don't talk like a kid; i've never considered myself one, do you? he didn't answer. you didn't expect him to). Listening to music older than your dad. Niche jokes and texts that read like I saw this and thought of you.

Your fault, of course, for thinking you could trick him into loving you if you played your feelings through Johnny Cash, Vashti Bunyan, Fleetwood Mac, and Smokey Robinson. An impossibility you know now.

Mr Price who knows you. Who sees through the thin skin you wear and into the heart, the core of you. Who must have known since you called him in the pouring rain to pick you up when you got too drunk to drive home. A house party in the suburbs. Waterlogged flats he told you to toss.

Said nothing at all when you apologised with your head pressed against the foggy glass. You never told him that your sorry, Mr Price was for kissing a boy and wishing it was him.

But he must have known.

open book. pages spilling out. silly little girl with your heart cupped in your palm—

So he knows. Has known. Hindsight says this is him letting you down gently before you get any ideas about forever with your diploma tucked into your chest like a shield. A trip to Greece with your best friend and her dad to celebrate the rest of your life looming over you like a thundercloud. Your eye slanting sideways, glancing yearningly back at him.

sorry, but no. look the other way—

And you think fine, fine, whatever, so long as this doesn't hurt anymore—but what comes out is, "oh."

What follows is this:

He says he's thinking about marrying her with his hands tucked tight under his arms. He tells you he wants to settle down with his chin tucked against his chest, four lines rucked across the pinch of his brow. An emphasis, perhaps, on just how serious he is.

You taste salt in your throat. Sand between your toes. The sun blisters against the thin straps of this pretty blue dress that match the melting sapphire of his burning gaze. It's heatsickness, maybe. Or just all the years of want building and building, festering and growing, until it can't climb any higher—forever reaching for god that won't spare you a glance—and—

falling down around you. wings of beeswax and bird feathers.

Solemn, he says, "it's what I should do."

(i saw this and thought of you—)

Your fingers knot into the soft cotton of his dress shirt, pulling the fabric taut between your knuckles until it peels back from the seams, curling between buttons.

You've had too much to drink. Whiskey sour. Scotch neat. Somewhere along the walk to the temple, you snatched a puff of his cigar, the nicotine blooming between your teeth. Head full of cotton too thick for you to think. To retreat.

In the morning, when he refuses to look at you, you'll blame it on the drinks. On the sun. On being young and dumb and untouchable under the Greecian sky.

Daddy issues, you can shrug. You have the diagnoses from every single TikTok psychologist embedded between your teeth. See, mine never loved me and now I'm taking it out on you—

But right now, you kiss him.

Or maybe—

Maybe he kisses you.

It's a mess in your head. Everything turned upside down, all askew because when your lips touch his, he shudders. His chest rumbles under your fingers, expanding with the sudden inhale as he breathes you in. Deep. Takes you into his lungs—all salt-slick, and sunburnt—and groans low in his throat, all want. All heat.

He should push you away. He's your best friend's father. Two decades older than you. Dating another woman who's so far removed from the person you are that she might as well be a different species. Mature. Stoic. Poised. Graceful.

The perfect antithesis to you.

Everything about this must be ringing shrill in his ears: abort, abort, do not engage. He should push you off.

And he does.

After a moment of your greedy, unpractised kisses pepper along the bristles hanging low over his lips, he makes another sound. Angry. Whitehot. His hands slip free from the damp prison of his armpits and latch tight onto you. Thick, hirsute fingers curling over your upper arms, and pushing, shoving—

Your back hits the marble pillar. The air in your lungs punched out.

But when you try to siphon more balmy air into them again, you find an obstacle in your way.

His mouth.

Searing, blistering. Slanting hungrily across yours, devouring. Intense, dizzying. Your head cracks against the wall when he shoves his thigh between the silken softness of your inner thighs, blanketed by the dress that made him swallow when he first saw you in it, eyes darkening like a storm.

(bit short, ain't it? he'd groused, and your friend slipped her hand into yours with a huff. stop being such a dad, dad—)

It slots there now like it's owed the right. Thick thigh spreading yours apart on a gasp, a groan. Corded muscle pressed taut to the seam of you that burns hot. Melted wax. Dripping against his leg. He must feel the way he liquifies you, turns you into putty. It drags a sound his chest. The misfire of an engine.

"Fuck," he breathes, all teeth. Salt. He should be saying, no, stop. go back to your hotel room, and we'll pretend this never happened, silly girl. But he pulls you closer instead, his hand looping around to cradle the back of your tender head in the cup of his palm. A small comfort as he delves his tongue between your teeth. "Makin' me lose my goddamn mind—"

The words are growled against your mouth. You taste the tobacco-smoked fury between his teeth when they sink into your lower lip. Angry, maybe, that you're making him do this. That you had to be who you are, and despite that, he kisses you like you're not.

"Price," you whine, arching into his chest when he pulls at your bottom lip still caught between his teeth. Skin tender, bruised. He ruts into you at the sound, nearly purring. You feel it then. The hard press of his thickening cock against you. Mindlessly gyrating against your hip. The turgid length proof of his desire. His want for you. All you. "Please—"

He folds himself over you. Tucks you into the bracket of his chest, his arms. His fingers are iron bars on your skin, holding you tight to him. Unwilling to let go. His hand on your crown; his fingers gripping your thigh, hiking it up his waist. It's good. Better than all of your meagre fantasies combined. You've wanted this since you knew what want was. When he wandered into the kitchen the morning after a sleepover with a towel slung loose around his hips, his hand scrubbing the damness from the wet tangle of his hair, spilling them down his neck where they disappeared into the thick bed of hair on his chest, his belly.

He paused in the doorway when he saw you sitting at the island, eyes wide and drilling holes into his chest.

"Shit," he'd cussed, gruff and mean with sleep. "Didn't think—"

But you did. Over and over again. With your face pressed against your pillow, fingers shoved into the sticky wetness leaking out of your cunt. Thinking of him. Wrong. Wrong. Terrible—

Dad bod, your friend said with a cluck of her tongue that afternoon. And you feel it under your fists as he heaves. As he eats you alive, whole. Because kissing John Price, Mr Price, is a whirlwind. A maelstrom.

He devours. He conquers. He owns.

He licks into your mouth, petting over your tongue, your teeth, until you can't remember anything else except the tobacco and whiskey tang of him. Heady. An elixir you want to sip from for the rest of your life. Damn him—

He tells you he's thinking about marrying someone else. Then whispers, ash-soft, against your chin that he can't get enough of you.

Grunts, "you need to go," as he sinks his teeth down, hard, into the throbbing skin of your pulse. Laying claim as he slowly comes to.

The coarse hair of his beard rubs your flesh raw when he buries his face into your neck. You can feel the thunder of his heart against the knob of your wrist. The heat of his skin burning through you.

"Fuck," he rumbles again, and you know this time it's for good. Ironclad. But the remorse is paperthin. "Shouldn't have done that, should have—"

"I want you," you whisper through bruised, kiss-bitten lips. "I want you so bad. I loved you since I was—"

"Don't."

The sweat beading along his hairline smears across the naked arch of your shoulder and neck when he moves; a shallow shake of his head. Muted and small. Heavy with reluctance.

The man who meets you when he pulls back is frowning with wet, red-stained lips. His eyes are hardened sapphire reinforced with unbreakable obsidian. There's no inch to move. No cracks to squeeze through.

"This—" he swallows. You hope he tastes you still. Whiskey sour. Scotch neat. The drag of his cigar, the one he coached you through, scoffing when you choked, when you cough. You hope he runs his tongue over his teeth and tastes nothing but you. "This shouldn't have happened."

You don't say anything. Can't. The words are staining his lips.

You nod, slow. Cautious. He tells you he's marrying someone else. Thinking about it. Says this shouldn't have happened—

But he holds you like he can't bring himself to let go. Fingers clutching, clenching tight around you. Possessive. Greedy, even he as he slowly unspools from around you. As he pulls away, scouring his hand down his face with a deep, ragged inhale. Rough, worn fingers digging into his jaw until the knuckles under a dense cropping of umber hair turn white, nails pinking under the strain.

"This isn't—"

You nod again. Soft and slow, but you let your tongue flicker out, chasing the smoke drying on your swollen lips. It stings. The burn makes you think of him. Of his hot, heavy hands on your skin.

His eyes drop down to follow the slip of red that teases out between your teeth, blackening as they trace the new wetness left behind. You can feel him twitch against your thigh.

Your name is a broken snarl trapped in the thick of his throat. You've never heard it like that. Never. It does something. Lights you up from the inside out. Supernova in his arms. Icarus burning, crashing down to earth—

Catch me, Apollo—

He pulls away instead. Detaches from you with a heavy groan, as if the distance that now sits between you hurts him just as much.

The silence is broken by the sound of the crowd just beyond the pillar. You can see the moment it settles over him in the flattening of his eyes, the erasure of all affection that bloomed bright in blue. The terse set to his shoulders. The distance, the space, that grows and grows and grows—

He clears his throat. Mr Price once more. Untouchable. Off-limits.

"You should go," he says, and there's not an ounce of give in the rough flatline of his voice. Fixed. Firm. "You should go back to your hotel room. Come on. I'll call you a taxi."

"And you?"

He sucks in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Don't worry about me. Just—go back to the hotel room. We can—we'll talk in the morning."

"Where'd you?" She asks when you crawl into bed, the starchy sheets rubbing against your sunbitten skin.

There is a deluge of things you want to say. Things like—

I'm sorry. I love him. I—

can't let go.

"I think I just got my heart broken," you say instead, and wonder when the tears are supposed to come. At the wedding, maybe. But right now, you just feel numb. Empty.

The bed creaks when she rolls over, facing you in the dark. "Really? Didn't know you were, you know, foolin' around with anyone."

"I wasn't. It's—" your dad. But you can't say that, can you?

There's something painfully nostalgic about loving a man you're not supposed to want. A man who cannot, should not, want you back. An unrequited love in a foreign land. Unconsummated in the summer's heart. Sticky, bittersweet heartbreak.

Or, that's what it's supposed to be.

They are not John Price, though. Your best friend's dad. And they didn't kiss you back—

But he did.

And you think it's the worst thing he could have ever done.

[sinsandsweetness]

CAMERA SHY

(Rick & Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content. extremely filthy smut. not even joking srsly. lots of sex, filming it, unprotected p in v, oral (r!giving), cream pies, fingering, so many pet names it’s kind of sickening, dirty talk, one use of ‘daddy’ cause I just couldn’t help myself, two cocks at once, light choking, cowgirl, little bit of ass play, and spitting. think that’s it <3

notes- thank you guys for all the love on ‘birthday boy’! I’m so glad that so many of you enjoyed it. I thought I’d do a sequel/part 2 for it, where the boys film your alone time. It does occur directly following, but It can be read independently if you want! 3.1K word count.

Please let me know what you think! xoxo

Daryl made his way over to the dresser, no shirt on, just some pyjama pants slung low on his hips. His back still glistening, with water droplets trailing down his muscles. All taut and tan. The sight alone made you shift positions. Moving to your knees so you could squeeze your legs together. How on earth were you still horny?

He ruffled around the drawers contents and pulled out a video camera. A hand held silver one with a flip screen. One of those ones that people would film their home movies on. Christmas mornings and dance parties. Road trips and first steps. Though you’re pretty sure you guys weren’t the only ones using it for something a little less tasteful.

You couldn’t help but look over at Rick while Daryl played around with the thing. Turning it on and checking the battery. Getting it all ready for the movie you were about to make. Rick was biting his smile back. Trying to suppress his excitement about the situation.

They’d talked about this before. How they wanted something for when they had to be away from you. For longer supply runs that left them both a little hot and bothered. Missing you, waiting patiently for them back at home. Thinking about you touching yourself in their clothes. In their bed. Moaning their names and missing them just as much. And it’s not like phones were a thing anymore. You couldn’t call or sext. They just had to wait til they got back to deal with it. To deal with you.

If you were honest, the thought of them filming it, was a little nerve racking. But you wanted your boys to be happy. To always have a part of you available for their needs.

So there you were, sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed, both men standing in front of you, smelling like Irish Spring and laundry detergent. Looking down at you with two sets of the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. Ricks hand was on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your lip and sneaking it’s way between your teeth. Your eyes were on Daryl, tilting the lens down at you. The little red light intimidating you with its glow. You shifted a little, thighs squeezing together even more, with both your hands shoved in between them.

“What are you squirming for, baby? You gettin’ all shy on us now?” Rick asked, with a teasing tone. Your gaze shifted between them. Swallowing hard. Yes. You nodded a little.

“You’re gonna do great, sweetheart. Just do what you always do. You’re always so good for us,” Daryl’s own hand was making its way to the back of your head, fingers finding their way into your hair.

Their praise helped a little. At least gave you the courage to reach for their waistbands, pulling each of them down. You grabbed them both in your hands, already rock hard in your grip. Both of them kept smiling down at you, giving you a little nod to keep going. “Go on,” they motioned in unison.

So you did. You licked at Daryl’s shaft, getting him all wet with your tongue before moving over to Rick, and repeating the same process. Feeling their grips tighten on your hair and the hitch in their breaths was all you needed to step it up a notch. Being sure to look right at the camera, you wrapped your lips around Daryl’s cock and started to move your head back and forth. Sucking him off all sloppy and messy. Just the way he likes it. Blushing hard but forcing yourself to step out of your comfort zone. This was for them.

You could feel a pearl of Rick’s precum drip onto your hand as you jacked him off, so you decided to swap. A string of spit from Daryl’s tip was still connected to your lips as you started on Rick. Keeping your hand on the other man, being sure to give them equal attention. You never wanted one of them to feel left out. Not that they ever did. They both knew how much you worshipped them.

You kept swapping back and forth. Gagging every so often when one of them would push a little too hard on the back of your head. Spit started running down your chin, and little sounds escaped the back of your throat. The whole situation created a pool of wetness in your panties. Surely soaking through the fabric.

Rick took you by the hair, pulling you off of him with a ‘pop’.

“Feels real good, baby. You look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around us.” He started, thumb rubbing all lovingly against your cheek bone. “But I think we’d like to get these panties off and give the camera a good look at some of your other pretty parts.” Rick playfully shoved your shoulder. So you dropped back onto the cool comforter. Knees coming up and crossing your ankles in anticipation, waiting for whatever plans the two were silently deciding on.

“So fucking wet, Daryl. Look at her.” Rick said, hands parting your legs so they could settle in between them. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at their words. Their amused little laughs.

“Soaking right through, isn’t she? Sucking us off turn you on, sweetie? Is that it?”

“Uhuh. So much.” You nodded, propping yourself up onto your elbows. Both men on the mattress in front of you were making themselves comfy. Hands started trailing up your legs and playing with your boy shorts. Tracing the wet spot as your hips bucked. You were just so ready for them. Cunt still puffy and aroused, and even a little sore from your first round. But so, so ready for another.

Daryl made sure to capture Ricks fingers, tracing the wet spot of the cotton, and rubbing circles against your clit. Over your underwear, teasing, poking and prodding. Pulling them to the side when you whimpered a little, and his index finger glided through your slick with ease.

“Always so wet for us. Such a pretty pussy. So fucking pretty.” Rick praised, mesmerized at your swollen cunt. Practically throbbing for their attention. You lifted your hips as Daryl dragged your panties down. Throwing them off to one side of the room. They spread your legs so wide that your muscles hurt. Inner thighs stretched out and knees hooked around either man. Pulling them closer to you and eachother. Not that they minded.

They played with your pussy for a while. Getting you all sorts of worked up. Both of their fingers inside of you, stretching you out and making you groan. Clutching at the comforter below. Rick spat right on your clit, and you just about came right then and there. Unbelievable turned on by their focus. They slowly worked away at you, curling their fingers inside you and rubbing at your sensitive nub with their thumbs, definitely showing off a little for the camera. Taking everything just a a little slower than normal. So that they would have the most footage possible. Capturing your moans and whimpers and the way you moved against them. Desperate for more.

“Please I just- I-” your hips bucked further on to their fingers, and you could see the little look they gave each other. All mischievous and lustful. “What is it sweetie? You wanna cum? Is that it?”

You nodded eagerly. But with your confession, both men’s hands withdrew. Causing the quietest whimper to leave your mouth.

“Ugh,”

“Don’t complain. We just want you to cum on our dicks, that’s all. Isn’t that something you want, princess?”

It was more than ok. In fact it was preferred.

“Wanna cum on your cock, please.” You whined, pulling at Rick’s tee shirt

He groaned. He didn’t mean to. It’s just what your words could do to him.

“You will, sweetheart. I promise.”

You did. And it would have been a lot sooner if it weren’t for the damn camera in Daryl’s hands.

They had you get on top of Rick, straddling him as he sat up against the head board. Daryl started getting creative with his angles, with the camera behind you as he played with your ass, all while you rode Rick’s cock. Bouncing up and down as you held onto his shoulders. Pressed nice and close to his chest. His hands trailed up your shirt, peeling it off so he could grope your breasts, pinching your nipples nice and hard. Eventually his fingers wrapped themselves around your throat and squeezed gently on the sides.

He was stimulating every part of you that he could think of. His tongue was in your mouth the whole time. You stayed moaning against his lips and grinding down against him. Desperately trying to achieve more friction against your clit. It was driving you both wild.

Daryl stayed filming the whole thing. His own hand grabbing at your ass, thumb prodding at your other hole. Threatening to split you open once again. You were shocked he wasn’t touching himself. That he wasn’t getting his own dick wet. That he could actually keep the camera focused, even with the sight in front of him. The pure temptation to join in must have been killing him. Leaking precum all over his plaid pyjamas. That thought made your hips stutter. Along with the fact you’d be riding for what felt like ever. Your legs were starting to wear out. Muscles becoming all heavy and forcing you to switch from a bounce to a grind. Rick noticed you tiring out and decided to start fucking you from below. Hands moving to grip your ass cheeks and help you bounce. An actual cry left your mouth and you both knew you were close.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, I’m- Rick I-” you babbled against wet lips. Trying to hold off as long as possible, but he just kept hitting that damn spot. The spot that made you physically convulse around him. When Daryl’s dick pressed against your ass and you felt his hand squeeze your waist, that was it. You snapped like a rubber band. Cumming all over Ricks lap, your head fell back against Daryl’s chest as your rode out your high. Your body starting to twitch from the intensity of the orgasm. A very shaky sigh left your mouth as you all stopped to a halt.

“Feel good?” Daryl asked, lips brushing your ear, camera over your shoulder and pointed at Rick. The grainy screen was displaying his pretty face, lips parted and wet. Eyes focused on you. The lens moved down to show your hands. The ones still gripping Rick shoulders, tight enough to leave marks. He smiled when he noticed.

“So good. You make me feel so good, daddy. Both of you. Both my-” you were catching your breath. Rambling in your post orgasmic daze and drunkenness. But they weren’t done. And you knew that before you even came. They wouldn’t be done for a while. Even with your pussy practically raw and begging for an ice pack. You should have been begging for a break, yet somehow you were still dripping with need.

“One more, baby, then we’ll get you some rest okay?” Daryl asked all sweet, hand trailing under your shirt to squeeze at your breast.

“Want you both...” You whimpered. Rick’s cock still stuffed inside you. Filling you up and making your walls twitch. Yeah, you weren’t done.

You tried to get up. Figuring that they’d want you in another position. Something to switch it up. But when you pushed on Rick’s chest and tried to lift, they held you down, keeping you on his lap.

“What are you tryna do?” Rick smirked at you, wrapping his hands around your ass and moving your body for you. Grinding yourself against him again. The sound of your wetness squelching and making you blush.

“Was gonna move, I thought-”

“I’m really enjoying this view. Aren’t you?” Rick said, leaning in for another kiss. He always loved eye contact. Loved seeing your expressions and feeling your moans while you kissed.

“Mhm.” You agreed against his mouth. There was really no sense arguing. Even though you’re quads were on fire and you could barely lift yourself off of him to continue riding.

Daryl moved to place the camera on the bedside table. So that the three of you were in the frame. When he came back behind you, hands on your hips as he started kissing down your neck, your shoulders and the top of your spine. All while Ricks hands rocked you against him, fucking into you nice and slow.

“You gonna let us fuck your tight little ass again sweetie? Or do you want to get that pretty pussy all stretched out?” Daryl asked.

You turned to try and look at him. A little shocked at the suggestion. There was no way that would fit. Right?

They both chuckled at your reaction. Daryl’s thumbs already pushing themselves in to your asshole. Stretching out the tight muscle.

“We can do that?” You asked. Never even having considered it. But it was definitely intriguing.

“We can. Might hurt a little though,” Daryl warned you, catching your lips as his fingers moved down even further. Using your excess wetness to push his index in your pussy. Still stuffed full of Rick. You gasped as he hooked his finger upward. Even Rick made a little sound. Surprised by his own dick being touched and your walls stretching even further.

“Wanna try…” you sighed. Trying your hardest to relax your muscles. To allow them to actually ruin you. Split you in half on both of their cocks. You couldn’t imagine a better pain.

“Ok baby, we’ll give it a try. Just tell us if you wanna stop, ok?”

“Go real slow Daryl. Let her get used to it.” Rick told the man.

“Let her get used to it. Or you?”

“Both. Seriously, just go slow. Don’t wanna break her.” You could feel Daryl suppressing a quiet laugh against your skin. Two fingers now moving inside of you, getting you ready for his cock.

“Alright, come down a little,” he retracted his touch and pulled you by your hips. Both you and Rick shifting downward so he could lay back. His head pressed against the pillow. He stayed inside of you as you leaned forward, opening yourself up for the man behind you. Kissing the side of Ricks mouth and up to his earlobe. Knowing exactly how much he loved that.

Daryl spat on your hole. Moving foreword and pressing his tip against you. Pushing ever so slowly as the two of them stretched you out.

It hurt. But you expected that.

“Breath, sweet girl. Gotta breath, ok?” Rick told you, hands wrapping around your ribs nice and tight, holding you up since your legs were completely useless. Daryl’s hands were on your hips. Pulling you down onto the two of you until he managed to actually fit himself inside. All of him. Him and Rick. Inside of you, together. It was hard to even believe. But you were so stretched out, there was no denying that it was possible.

“Oh god,” you mumbled at the realization. At the feeling of being so fucking full.

“Oh god.” Rick repeated with a grunt. It was even better then last round, you realized. At least for them. Having the added pressure of another cock, rubbing up against them both. That extra friction affecting you all.

“You two all good?” Daryl tried to confirm, his breaths a little laboured as well.

“Yes!” You squeaked, realizing that Daryl had started to move. Thrusting slowly into you.

“Y-Yes. “ Ricks eyes were rolled back. The two of you breathing hard. And the sight of him in so much pleasure made your walls tighten. Earning another groan from them both.

“Keep going. Keep fucking me, please.” You asked them politely. Your wetness was running down your inner thigh.

So they fucked you. Rick from below, and Daryl from behind. Completely abusing your pretty little hole.

Rick was in heaven. You could tell by his eyes. All glossed over with his lips parted, breathing impressively slow. He was trying to focus on not cumming so quick. Daryl’s hands gripped your hips real tight. Snapping his own right against your ass. Nails leaving little crescent moons in your skin. Whispering little praises in your ear.

“So fucking tight for us. Such a good girl, always taking us so well. Doing so well, baby. So, so, good.”

You’d never taken them both. Not like this. And having them both together, was intense. Hitting every single spot inside of you. Ones you didn’t even know about. Ones that made you cry out and call their names.

“Still ok, baby?” Daryl asked, becoming just a little concerned by the sounds pouring out of you.

“Gonna cum, Dare, gonna- oh, oh.” You could feel a tear slip onto your cheek. Wet and salty when it hit your lips. The pressure and the buildup catching up to you. Hurting so fucking good. Your core was all hot and tight and your head became fuzzy.

“Don’t stop,” you whined, burying yourself into Rick’s shoulder as your orgasm rippled through you. A burst of heat running down your thighs and up your stomach. Waves of pleasure pulsed through your core.

The two of them moaned your name and a couple other profanities. Honestly, you didn’t hear. A little too hazy to pay close attention. They each came inside of you. Their seed physically flooded out of you when Daryl finally pulled out. Very slowly and carefully, so it wouldn’t hurt you too bad. And Rick too. So gentle and caring. Both boys Immediately getting you to lay down between them. Your pussy was fucking aching. But you didn’t mind too much. They kissed you lots. All over. Asking you a million times if you were ok. If it was too much. If they wore you out too badly.

“Gonna have to give you some time to recover, huh?” Rick asked, coming back from the kitchen. An ice cold glass of water in his hand.

“You’re sure we didn’t hurt you too bad?” Daryl added. Rick picked a towel off the hook on the back of the door. Bringing them both over for you.

“I liked it.” You responded. Not fully answering their questions. You would definitely need a few days. At the bare minimum. Your cunt was swollen, and you could feel it. Rick handed you the water and you drank up. The coolness coating your throat. Gulping a few sips down and passing the rest to Daryl beside you.

“Gotta get you all cleaned up,” Rick started with the towel in between your legs, wiping up the pearly mixture that had coated your thighs.

“Again…” you joked, smiling up at him.

“Bath? Shower? Just the towel? What do you want?” He smiled back.

“Mmmm… bubble bath,” you bit your lip.

“Bubble bath?” Daryl asked from beside you, smoothing some of your hair down. Trying to tame the unruly mess.

“Mhm,”

“Only if we can watch.”

“You can film it for all I care,” you turned to catch his lips. Grinning against your mouth.

They sat down on the vanity stools and watched as you laid your head against the tub. Both of them smiling down at your cuteness. Soapy suds hiding your body under the water. Only the tops of your breasts threatening to breach the surface. The hot water and lavender bubble bath doing wonders for your sore muscles. You were sure they’d give you a massage after, if you asked all nicely.

Despite the undeniable toll on your body, you’d relive the night again in a heart beat. Having them split you open all over their cocks was always ideal. But seeing Rick’s face as you got double stuffed, was the cherry on top. Shuddering beneath you and cumming with an actual moan. Accompanied by Daryl’s stuttering hips and grunts of his own. Each of you fucking eachother into a mess of pure ecstasy.

Thank fucking god they got it all on camera.

taglist: @rickswh0r3 , @elnyrae

[ comments and reblogs are always appreciated ]

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued: 

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate. 

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run. 

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.” 

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it. 

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?” 

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.” 

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.” 

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?” 

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.” 

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go. 

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it. 

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered. 

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?” 

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.” 

~

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks. 

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away? 

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts. 

He sits forward. “Yeah?” 

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again. 

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts. 

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day. 

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed. 

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail. 

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared. 

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-” 

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.” 

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe. 

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.” 

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him. 

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms. 

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then. 

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep. 

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.” 

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.” 

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to.” 

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.” 

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.” 

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.” 

~

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

[pasukiyo]

Hey, I loved your Tom Riddle fanfic, Addiction! Can you please write a part 2 of this where he starts ignoring her after this cuz the ✨scary feelings are getting out of control✨ so she tries to make him jealous and *you can guess what happens next*?

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!ravenclaw prefect reader 4,221 words notes; this can be read as its own imagine. but, for a little more context, you can read addiction here. warnings; smut and a little angst

 “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with that Ravenclaw prefect, my Lord.”

 Tom said nothing, only glanced Avery’s way in acknowledgement over the top of his Potions book. Avery and Lestrange shared an amused grin as they eyed their friend, and Lestrange leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “She’s pretty,” he said, and again, Tom said nothing but he could feel his muscles tense, his jaw locking at Lestrange’s words. 

 Avery smirked over at Lestrange and scooted towards the edge of his seat, tilting his chin down so that Tom may hear what he said next. “She seems to fancy you, you know,” Avery whispered, and Tom glanced over at him again. His brow furrowed at their smirks, but again, he remained silent. “And forgive me if I’m wrong but… it seems that you… feel the same.”

 Tom set his Potions book down onto the table in front of him and leaned back into the cushions of his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap. He eyed the two boys before him, expression blank but still, his actions seemed calculated, as if everything he did was carefully planned. 

 “Since when did how I feel become either of your concerns?” Tom asked, and the two boys in front of him seemed to flush at this, and they both shared a look. A silence ensued, and Tom felt relieved to think that the conversation was over. That was, until Lestrange cleared his throat and leaned forward again. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, but…” he trailed off and glanced at Tom, his gaze sharp and daring him to continue. “…you’ve been spending quite some time with her lately. It almost seems to me, to us, that… you’ve gone soft.”

 Tom blinked at this, could feel his jaw tense again, his fingers curling into his palms to form fists. It was true that he had been spending more and more time with her lately but for them to think that he could’ve gone soft? 

 Foolish. They were foolish to think that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, did not have his priorities sorted. His priority, of course, was seeking information about Horcruxes, and to even begin thinking that she could deter him from this path made him so… so… 

 Tom blinked. What if Avery and Lestrange were right? What if this thing he felt for her— whether that be love or simply infatuation— was making him soft? The feelings he had only really acknowledged just weeks before on the top of the Astronomy Tower, the fluttery feeling he got in his chest when she was near, the panic and dread he felt at the idea that something could happen to her— it was a weakness. He told her that very night, and still, he couldn’t push her away, couldn’t resist the urge to have her as close as possible. 

 It was sickening, the way he felt, that he was even capable of feeling such things. Tom Riddle was many things, but a coward, he was not. But this premonition that he could potentially be falling in love… It frightened him. 

 He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure, pushing himself off of the sofa cushion to look down at the two boys still sitting before him. “I think… that the two of you must be foolish to think so poorly of me,” Tom said, and Avery and Lestrange scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads. “My Lord, that was not our intention—“

 Tom raised a hand to silence them, and the two boys pressed their lips together, practically shriveling away where they stood. “You are to never question where my priorities lie from now on,” Tom stated, and the two boys bowed their heads, their bodies shaking. “And please, don’t the both of you have essays for Professor Slughorn to write?”

 And with that, Tom strode off, heading for his dormitory, leaving both Avery and Lestrange shaking in the Slytherin common room. 

 Tom found that the easiest way to ignore her presence was to not look her way at all. He would usually avoid walking down the same corridor as her altogether, which was easy enough the first few days. But as time went on, he suspected she began to grow worried, and avoiding her seemingly became more and more difficult. So instead, he would walk by without so much as sparing her a glance, always leaving her dumbfounded and confused, wondering whether or not she’d done him wrong.

 She watched as Tom walked by, his expression blank, his eyes set to the hallway ahead. He didn’t even acknowledge her, and she could feel her heart stutter in her chest, and she swore she could even feel a few fragments tear from it and flutter down to the depths of her stomach. 

 Could she perhaps have done something wrong? She searched her brain for anything, anything she said or done that could’ve possibly upset him, but turned up with nothing. She couldn’t help but feel insecure, worried even that she messed up the beautiful thing she thought they had. 

 She had to talk to Tom. It was the only way to ease her growing concern, the only way to piece her heart back together. 

 However, trying to flag Tom down proved more difficult than she anticipated. It certainly was no help that she had no classes with him, since he was a year ahead, and couldn’t even rely on lunch or dinner since he never seemed to stick around for long after she arrived in the Great Hall. He never seemed to be on duty at night when she was, and it wasn’t like she could enter the Slytherin common room herself to track him down. 

 She felt helpless, with absolutely no way of finding Tom or grabbing his attention. 

 Until one night, as she patrolled up and down one of Hogwarts’ many corridors when she swore she saw the end of a student’s robes up ahead. She picked up her pace with the intent of catching whomever it was out of bed, only to find that it was none other than Tom Riddle himself, walking down the hallway. 

 “Tom!” She exclaimed, and she swore she could see his shoulders tense at the sound of her voice, his feet stopping in their tracks. She rushed towards him, stepping in front of him before he could even think to hurry away. For the first time in days, she gazed up into Tom Riddle’s dark eyes, and for a moment, she seemed to relax. Her lips curved up into a smile at the sight of him, and she stepped closer. “You’ve been terribly difficult to catch lately.”

 Tom said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared down at her, and her smile quickly faded. She tilted her head, her hand reaching for his but he did not let her hold him, slipping his fingers away from hers before she could grab ahold of them. She flinched at the action, gazing back up at him. “Is everything alright?” She asked. “You seem to have been ignoring me as of late.”

 Tom’s brow wrinkled as he watched her, her fingers now locked together and fondling with each other, her eyes darting from his down to the floor. “Have I… have I done something wrong?” She questioned, blinking up at him. He noticed the way tears brimmed the outskirts of her sockets, and he noticed the way she tried to blink them away. 

 His heart thud against his chest. Why did he want to hold her? Why did he want to draw her into his chest and feel her close? Why did he feel angry at her tears? Why did he hate that he was seemingly breaking her heart? Wasn’t this what he wanted all along? To keep her away? 

 “Tom?” She said after a while of silence, but she didn’t dare make any more moves to touch him. With the same blank and unchanging expression, he glimpsed down at her, pushing down every sick and wretched feeling he felt towards her. 

 “No,” he finally said. “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

 And with that, Tom walked away, leaving her to stand alone in the hallway more puzzled than ever. 

 Tears made her eyes sting and she rubbed at her eyes, desperate to make them go away. All she could feel now was anger, red hot anger at the boy she was watching walk away. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at his back as he turned the corner, and she glared at the place he once was too. 

 How could he do this to her? To practically admit to her just a few weeks before that he loved her— albeit, in his own strange and confusing way— on the top of the Astronomy Tower, to make love to her and to kiss her and hold her only to push her away? How could he play with her feelings like this, like they meant nothing? How could he be so selfish?

 She pressed her lips together in a firm line as she turned and walked away, patrolling the other empty corridors instead. She had to do something, something to grab his attention, something to make him regret ever taking her and the way she felt for granted. She was not going to let him throw away this thing they had, this thing that she knew had the potential to blossom into something beautiful. 

 And the next day when she caught the eye of a handsome Gryffindor named Warren Collins, she began to work on the blueprint of her plan. 

 Warren Collins was a year above her, a seventh year and Gryffindor’s Seeker. He was tall, not as tall as Tom was but still towered over most of the school. His eyes could make anyone melt, and she’d admit, she felt a little weak-kneed when she first gazed into his dark, angular eyes. They weren't as dark as Tom’s, and certainly didn’t seem almost sinister like his. No, Warren’s irises were warm, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. 

 She caught another glimpse at Warren Collins as he and the other players on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team headed towards the Quidditch pitch for practice, and she knew that this was her chance. She made her way over to the pitch and made her way up into the stands where a few other girls sat, and she wondered how many of them were there to watch Warren in action, like herself. 

 She sat alone at the top and in the far right corner, her hands clasping together between her thighs for warmth. She watched as the Gryffindor team huddled together at the very bottom of the pitch, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the top of Warren’s head, his hair wavy yet well-groomed and as black as a raven. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him when he looked up, staring seemingly in her direction. Her lips curved into a smile when he did, and he may have been far away, but she swore she could see his full, pink lips smile too. 

 It wasn’t long after this that the Gryffindor team hopped onto their brooms and began to practice. She watched as the Gryffindor captain released a used Snitch, and Warren soared through the air like a bird, tracking it down. She tilted her head up as he soared over her head, her skin littering with goosebumps at the chill his broom left in his wake. The other girls on the stands squealed and tried to tame their hair back down to their heads, adjusting their robes as they giggled. 

 And when the practice was over, she made certain that she was the first one to leave the stands, and she sauntered her way over to the entrance of the pitch, trying to make it less obvious that she was waiting for someone. The other girls from the stands soon joined behind her, giggling and murmuring amongst themselves about the players, Warren’s name definitely amongst their uttering. 

 And it wasn’t long after that that the team emerged from the pitch, and so did Warren. 

 She smiled when she saw him, his fingers weaving through his tresses, taming the black waves back down on his head. His skin glistened with sweat and he appeared the slightest bit winded, but he was all smiles, his grin only growing when he found her amongst the small crowd of girls. Two of the other boys teased and shoved at him when they saw her, and she giggled when Warren pushed them away, making sure to flutter her eyelashes as he jogged towards her, broomstick in hand. 

 “First time I’ve seen you out here for a practice,” he commented and she giggled, swiping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and faking shyness as she glanced towards the ground. “I hope I didn’t fly too close to you earlier,” he added, and she shook her head. “Not at all. And I enjoyed it, watching you practice, I mean,” she said and he smiled, cocking an eyebrow. 

 “Yeah?”

 She nodded. He pressed his lips together and hummed, looking her up and down. 

 “Well, maybe you should come to practice more often then.”

 She grinned, ignoring the dirty looks from the other girls when Warren gestured for her to follow him. “Perhaps I should,” she replied, following at his side back towards the castle. His smile widened, and he seemed to be staring, perhaps even a moment too long. She giggled at him and playfully shoved at his arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She questioned and he laughed, shaking his head towards the ground. 

 “It’s nothing, I just…” he trailed off, as if trying to find the right words. “…it’s just funny. We haven’t once spoken to each other in all our time at Hogwarts,” he said, and she tittered. “Plus, I was sure you had a thing for the Head Boy.”

 She flushed at the mention of Tom but made a quick recovery, shifting a little closer towards Warren so that their arms could occasionally touch. “You mean Tom Riddle?” She tittered. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. What I do know for sure is that he’s arrogant and definitely has a stick up his arse.”

 Warren threw his head back and laughed at this, and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he did so, how his entire face seemed to illuminate when he laughed. “Finally, somebody says it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Only been trying to convince the others for seven years now.”

 She smiled, it wasn’t like what she said wasn’t the truth. Tom Riddle was arrogant, and definitely did have a stick up the arse. She didn’t realize that there could be others who noticed it too, however. 

 She and Warren made their way to one of Hogwarts’ many entrances and pushed through the double doors, entering the warmth of the castle. “So, what’d you think of the team, then?” Warren asked as they made their way through the corridor. “You think Gryffindor may have a shot at winning the House Cup this year?”

 She cocked an eyebrow. “You forget I’m in Ravenclaw?” She questioned. “Surely you remember I don’t particularly want you to win?” Warren’s eyes glimmered with amusement at this, and just as he replied with some sort of snarky, but playful remark, she saw him. 

 There Tom Riddle was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as Avery and Lestrange talked to him. But she knew he wasn’t paying attention. Not when his eyes seemed to immediately find hers, flicking back and forth between her and Warren. 

 As Warren talked, she snaked her arm around his and pressed herself closer into his side, which seemed to take him aback at first, the pale skin of his cheeks turning scarlet but his smile widening all the same. She watched as Tom straightened his posture and his jaw clenched at this, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to suppress her smile.  

 Everything was going so smoothly, so beautifully. 

 Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

 She certainly didn’t waste any time, did she?

 Her arm locked with Warren Collins’… it made his blood boil. He knew what she was doing, he knew by the way she locked eyes with him, by the way she kept looking at him as she nestled closer into Warren’s side, by the way she laughed a little too hard at whatever it was Warren was saying. He knew this must be her idea of some game, of some way to tease him and to make him angry. 

 He was ashamed that he was playing into her hands, that the way he felt now was exactly the way she wanted him to feel. His chest burned, it ached with the unmistakable feeling of jealousy. He cursed himself for feeling this way, for wanting her so badly even though he knew he shouldn’t. 

 He cursed himself for waiting in the shadows outside of the Ravenclaw common room later that night, for feeling so obsessed with her that he’d wait for her to come out, which she did, and follow her as she made her way to the prefects’ bathroom. 

 He watched from the shadows as she slipped inside, and after a moment or two, he slipped inside as well. 

 He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her turn on the faucets to the bath, as she ran her fingers through her hair and set her towel down on the edge of the bath. He watched as she began to slip off her dress robes, leaving her in only her undergarments before he cleared his throat and she jumped, her arms instinctively hiding herself as she turned towards where he stood. 

 His eyes were darker than ever now. In the shadows, he looked nefarious. 

 “Tom?” She gasped as he pushed himself off of the door, taking slow, calculated strides towards where she stood, frozen. “What— what are you—“

 “Do you think I didn’t notice the little game you were trying to play earlier?” He asked, and she blinked, her initial shock melting away to give way for the amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyebrows raising. “I didn’t think you’d notice, thought you were still avoiding me,” she replied coolly as Tom stopped before her, towering over her and eclipsing the light behind him. 

 “Really? You think I and the rest of the school wouldn’t notice the way you were practically throwing yourself onto Warren Collins?” Tom scoffed, and she flushed at the comment. “I was not—“

 “You were,” Tom interrupted her, his hand grabbing at her waist and tugging her closer until his breath loomed over her face like fog, until their noses were almost touching when he looked down. “And if you think for a second that I’m going to let Warren Collins of all people think that he has a chance with you, then you are gravely mistaken.”

 For once, she felt intimidated standing in his presence, and she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden, as if Tom just being there made all the air escape her lungs. She kept her lips pressed together and held his heated gaze, but he knew he had already won. She watched as the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk. 

 Damn him. 

 “Yeah?” She muttered. “Then show me who I belong to.”

 Tom inhaled sharply through his nose as he searched her eyes, a raging sea of emotion mixed with anger, with love, with lust. With the hand already on her hip, he tugged her in closer until his lips were on hers, and she knew had lost the second he kissed her. 

 Tom never kissed her like this before, not even on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Never had he kissed her with such fervor, he never did anything that his brain hadn’t already calculated. But he kissed her now with reckless abandon, without any care in the world. 

 He kissed her as if his life depended on it. 

 She mewled into his mouth as he stripped her of her undergarments and he made quick work of stripping his own self down. She grabbed at his hand and guided him down into the bubble bath, his lips finding the sensitive spot on her neck as they settled down into the bath. Her fingers wove through the dark tresses on the back of his head as his tongue dragged along her throat down to her collarbone and down to her breasts, her chest heaving when he collected one of her nipples into his mouth. 

 “Oh, Tom,” she moaned, throwing her head back as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her nipple, kissing his way between the valley of her breasts to give her other breast attention. She could feel his cock against her thigh when one of his hands trailed down her waist, forcing its way between her legs. She tugged at the roots of his hair when the pads of his fingers rubbed against her clit, and all she knew now was that she needed more. “Please Tom, please I need… I need…”

 Tom hummed against her collarbone as he let his fingers slide up and down her slit, teasing her entrance, teasing her aching clit. “What do you need, hm?” He asked and she tried to answer, she really did but when he touched her like this— Merlin, she couldn’t even form coherent sentences in her head. “Do you need me to show you who you belong to? Just like you said earlier?”

 All she could do was nod, and Tom hummed against her throat, kissing her skin, leaving not even an inch untouched. She panted when he drew his fingers away, only to be filled up with his cock in one impatient thrust, and she tugged harder at his scalp. He drew her into his chest and panted as tears brimmed her eyes, droplets beading down her cheeks.

 Tom’s eyebrows knit together as she leaned back against the wall of the bath, and he grabbed at her hips, fucking into her with the image of her and Warren Collins together like the fuel to his fire. Her moans were bordering screams, and her incoherent mumbling permeated the bathroom, bouncing off of each of the walls and playing like a symphony in his ears. He wanted to hear more, to hear his name and his name only from her lips. 

 “Say my name,” Tom murmured into her ear and she cried when he picked up his pace, his thrusts animalistic, inhumane. “Tom! Oh fuck, Tom!” She cried and with one of his hands, he gripped her chin and forced her to stare into his dark, narrowing eyes, his thrusts never once faltering. 

 “No,” he shook his head. “That’s not my name,” he said again and she shook her own head, not understanding as he fucked her closer and closer to her end. “I want you to say my name. My true name,” he whispered against her cheek, his lips right next to ear. “I want you to call me Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.”

 She panted and nuzzled her cheek against his, his lips pressing kisses to the shell of her ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Call me by my name. Call me your Lord.”

 Her chest heaved as her cunt clenched around him, squeezing him so tight that he almost lost his composure for a moment, dropping his head to her shoulder. “SAY IT!” He shouted this time, and she cried out once more. “Please! Let me come, my Lord. Make me yours, Lord Voldemort.”

 Oh, how his name, his true name, tumbling from her lips made him happy, the happiest he thought he ever felt. He thrusted his hips into her harder, harder and harder until her body began to writhe and spasm with quake of her orgasm, and he fucked her through that too, chasing his own. 

 “Tom— Lord! Lord Voldemort!” She cried as he felt himself coming closer to the edge, closer and closer and closer until he spilled himself inside of her, his hips stuttering as they slammed into hers one final time. Tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers and her fingernails were etched so deep into the skin of his shoulders, she knew they would leave marks. 

 Lord Voldemort held her body close, breathed her in like she was the air itself. His palms soothed over the small of her back and her waist, over either of her hips. To think that she could have ever been his weakness seemed foolish to him…

 …because right now, he felt the most powerful he’d ever been.

 She whimpered as she let herself fall deeper into him, let him hold her as she tried to chase air back into her lungs. Lord Voldemort only held her to his chest, whispering into her ear how she was his, and if anyone, Warren Collins included, ever tried to take her away from him, it would be the last thing they’d ever do. 

a/n; i wasn’t originally planning on writing a part two but i actually liked this idea and… ngl i feel kind of proud of my writing here 🙈 ps… thank you for the request anon! i’m so glad you liked addiction!

🥹🤍✨