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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

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rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

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Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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Hi love, if you're up to it could you write about bf Sirius teasing reader about something, and it actually hurts her feelings quite a lot? maybe she's always thought she's to shy for him, and he teases her about being quiet and it just hurts so much that he sees her just like everyone else does? like she thought he understood her, but instead he's teasing her about something she's rlly insecure abt ?

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader has leg hair

Sirius Black x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You hear Sirius’ ruckus before he’s anywhere near you. Down the hall, shouting and laughter, and then your boyfriend’s voice: “Yeah, I’m on the lookout for my bird. She likes to hide herself away, let me know if you see her?”

Your face warms, humiliation a prickly, unpleasant thing beneath your skin. The kinder part of you thinks for a second to stick your head out into the hallway so he can stop looking for you, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. A few seconds more, and it doesn’t matter. Sirius twists the handle of the door to your refuge, his amused gray eyes finding you in an instant.

“Hey there, sweetness.” His voice is smooth and easy. He closes the door behind him, settling down across from you on the carpeted floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Lily told me you went to go get another drink, but I think you might’ve gotten turned around. The kitchen’s just down the hall.”

“Took a wrong turn,” you say sheepishly. Sirius only smiles.

“My shy girl,” he croons, reaching forward and brushing his thumb over the soft hairs just below your kneecap. “If you were nervous, you could’ve just come and found me, sweet thing. I told you where I’d be.”

He had, but you couldn’t have gone to him. You already feel like such a child.

Sirius had been obviously thrilled with how well you were getting on with his friends tonight. It wasn’t like you hadn’t met them before, but this time Sirius had intentionally maneuvered you so you’d sat closest to Lily and Remus, the least obtrusive of his lot, and it had been going well. You’d been contributing to the conversation more than you were used to, encouraged by Lily and Remus’ gentle friendliness and your boyfriend’s pleased looks. After a while, James had cajoled the majority of the group into playing beer pong in the other room. Remus had stood to go, and Sirius with him, pulling his hand from yours and checking you’d be okay if he left you with Lily.

The way he’d asked it, “Think you can manage on your own for a bit, gorgeous?” all light and teasing and infused with laughter, you’d had no choice but to say yes. Even if you suddenly didn’t feel very confident you could manage, and in the end, you didn’t.

You’d let Sirius’ silly, thoughtless question get to you. Lily hadn’t even seemed to notice what he’d said, but your face had burned all the way to the tips of your ears, and all her kind, patient attempts at conversation were wasted on you. You forgot what you were going to say, stumbled over your words, apologized and awkward-laughed until you’d finally said you were going for another drink and not come back. You’d found this, a guest bedroom as far as you can tell, and hunkered down. You really hope she hasn’t taken it personally.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you tell Sirius now, your voice so soft it’s a miracle he hears. Outside of your sanctuary, the music turns up and shouting begins, the lyrics to a song everyone knows but you.

“You could never bother me,” he promises. He’s lowered his volume to match yours. “I know how you get.”

Shame burns hot and painful behind your eyes. “It’s not—” your voice catches, and Sirius’ thumb stills on your knee. You try again. “It’s not something I do on purpose.”

“Hey, I know.” He scoots closer to you, setting his hands on your tented knees and propping his chin atop them so he’s looking at your face with just a few inches between you. His eyebrows are furrowed. “I know, sweetness. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, you know? Just that I don’t mind taking care of you when you’re feeling nervous or anything like that. You can always come find me.”

It’s hard to avoid Sirius’ gaze when he’s this close, but you manage, looking down at the carpet past your thigh. “It felt a little bit like you minded when you left to go with James and Remus,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head, steadfast in his eye contact even if you won’t reciprocate. It feels like he’s taking an inventory of your reactions as they flit across your face. You wish you were better at hiding them from him. “That upset you?” he asks, genuinely curious. “You wanted me to stay?”

“No,” you say. “Well, yes, but that’s not…it didn’t upset me. You shouldn’t need to stay with me all of the time.”

“I don’t mind,” Sirius interjects.

You look up, and he rewards you with a half-happy uptilt of his lips. His expression is kind and open now, not a lick of teasing about him.

“I don’t need you to stay with me,” you clarify. “It was just the way you asked. It made it sound like I can’t manage without you.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ brows twitch together, recalling. One of his pinkies starts to stroke absentmindedly up and down on your thigh. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Did I embarrass you?”

“A little,” you whisper, shoulders hunching as your body tries to shrink away from him. “But it’s more that I didn’t realize you thought that.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly, voice soft but ardent. “I really don’t, honestly. It was a joke, I was just…I was being stupid. I shouldn’t have made light of it. I know you’re fine on your own, angel, that was just my dumb way of trying to ask if you wanted me to stay and trying to keep it light. I wasn’t trying to tease you.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth. “It’s okay if you meant it,” you say.

“I didn’t,” Sirius promises. “Really, I swear. Can I—can I touch you? Say no if you don’t want it.”

“You’re already touching me.” Some amusement makes its way into your tone. Sirius smiles, but doesn’t move until you say, “Yeah, you can.”

His hands plant themselves on either side of your face, and then he’s jamming your knees apart with his torso, stamping his lips to your face.

“M’sorry, my sweet girl,” he mumbles, mushing the words into the side of your nose. “I was being a prat, and I’m sorry. I can’t believe I made you feel bad.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smiling now. Your face is still burning hot, but the cause of that warmth is growing murky.

“No, it wasn’t nice to make fun.” He pulls back, fondness mingling with solemnity in his gray irises. “I didn’t realize it’d come off that way, but I won’t do it again, I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you reply just as sincerely. “I’m okay now, really.”

“Yeah?” He kisses between your brows. “Okay enough to go back out there, or do you wanna go home?”

You think on this for a minute. “I should probably talk to Lily for a bit before leaving. I feel bad for abandoning her.”

“She’s alright, gorgeous,” Sirius reassures you, but offers you his hands. You take them, and he hoists you up. “We’ll grab you a drink on the way, say you got sidetracked. I mean, that’s basically what happened.”

You roll your eyes, leaning into his side as he starts for the kitchen.

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hazelfoureyes · 3 months

Note

Ok I need a Lucifer x Reader fic based on Griftwood by ghost pretty please ( just listen if you haven’t heard it you’ll understand)

Listen, I went the opposite direction I think you wanted? Lol gonna work on brevity and get more snack sized smut out on weekdays and entrees on he weekends

[Warnings/Promises: snack sized, Lucifer x GN!AngelReader, lil smut smut, Fuck Sera, Luci corrupts absolutely, all hail dat dick, sacrilegious as fuck]

🫸🏼minors DNI🫷🏼

Lucifer avoided the heavenly embassy for obvious reasons. The vast halls, the empty and useless pews, it was, in a word,

“Creepy,” He hissed.

He was surprised to find the reception desk manned. Very rarely did heaven actually send anyone down to hell. Oh, wait.

You were stunned already to see Lucifer, so when he poked your nose you let out a tiny squeal.

“Oh shit! You’re real!” Lucifer took a step back, “Sorry about that! Not used to an … actual person.” He gave a little bow, “Forgive me?”

The fact is no one wanted to go to hell for desk duty, so the job was actually a punishment reserved for the most misbehaved. You had to intentionally set fire to Sera’s robes to get that severe of a scolding. She was reluctant, but it had been threatened (promised) to you last time you (intentionally) caused trouble. Rumors were abuzz about Lucifer, and you just had to see for yourself what the Great Big Boss of Hell was like.

Rosey cheeks, bright sharp smile. He didn’t look as scary as you had imagined. You expected a seven foot eight inch tall behemoth with fire pouring from his mouth and blood stained horns.

The devil, the real one, looked quite sweet.

A tiny existential crisis washed over you. Maybe there was a reason they didn’t want people down here. Why they made it sound oh-so-terrible.

“You still in there?” He leaned over the counter, tapping at your forehead. Your hands flew up, capturing his finger and bringing it down.

Warm.

He froze, a little shocked you would touch him. Your smile went crooked, cheeks blushed.

“Uhhh you good?” He pointed with his free hand to where you still gripped his finger. You nodded, a hum of confirmation. The blush rose up until you were fully red in the face.

The realization struck Lucifer like heavenly lightning, “Oooh, I see what’s going on here.” A wicked smirk taking you by surprise. “Did you want to meet me, little one?”

You broke out into a sweat, “Yes.”

Lie! Why didn’t you lie?!

He leaned over the counter, “Did you do something bad to get sent here?” Was there fire behind his eyes?

Uneven breaths, “… yes.”

Lucifer’s knee came up and over as he crawled onto the desk, “Should the King of Hell reward you for such bad deeds?” His eyes had gone red now, your hand still on his finger.

Your knees began to shake, “Y-yes.”

His face was inches from yours when your legs gave out, both of you falling to the floor.

Horns tall, yellow pupils dilated as he straddled you. “I think you’ll find I’m a generous ruler.”

It made sense. As Lucifer bent you over the reception desk and fucked you from behind, you could completely understand why they made this job posting sound horrid. Heaven would be empty if every winner could freely interact with Lucifer. You’d damn humanity too, if that was the cost. His hips snapped against your ass with divine determination, sweet praises on his forked tongue.

The sounds of your gasps and his skin on yours echoed through the pristine white and gold halls. Like a pastor giving his sermon, he made the most delicious promises as you bent at the altar.

Could heaven hear you? Your chants of “God, Oh God,” shifting to, “Lucifer! Luci—fer”, when one of his hands came down, fingers stroking your heat?

“What do you pray for, my curious Angel?” He growled, a flame you couldn’t see licking past his lips. “I’ll grant you anything”

Your cheek was sliding across the marble, small line of drool smearing on your face. Claws raked down your back, the stimulation making you shake.

Your fingers reached for his thighs, failing to take purchase. Lucifer took both of your wrists in one hand and held them at the small of your back for leverage. Your legs bent up, toes curling as you came around his sweetly punishing cock.

Taking a few deep breaths, you rolled your hips back against him, “More.”

Lucifer laughed and lifted one foot onto the desk to add more force behind his thrusts, “Say please.”

am I too horny? No. No, the cardiologist is wrong.

╭──────༺♡̶༻──────╮ Masterlist ╰──────༺♡̶༻──────╯

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #the band ghost #ghost

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deargojou · 4 months

Text

╔══ஓ๑ 𝐊𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐀 ๑ஓ══╗

∷ 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 ⋯ Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

∷ 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃 ⋯ 3.3K // Fluff. Tiny dirty joke.

∷ 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 ⋯ Gojo is a clingy boyfriend. In twenty-four hours a day, he clings to you all day.

Gojo has always been the clingy, cuddly type. He’s practically attached to you at the hip. Not that you really mind, there’s something comforting about his strong arms constantly wrapped around you.

It starts slowly at first. He finds little excuses to embrace you―coming up behind you while you wash dishes to wrap you in a warm hug, snuggling up against you when you sit together on the couch, cradling you in his arms as you drift off to sleep. His hugs make you feel safe and loved.

Soon, he turns it up a notch. Whenever you’re preoccupied―cooking, reading, working―he’ll sneak up and envelop you in an affectionate cuddle.

As you’re washing up after dinner, you’ll suddenly feel his broad chest against your back as his arms squeeze you into an adoring hug.

Lounging on the couch engrossed in your book, you’ll feel the cushions sink as he plops down and gathers you into his lap, nuzzling into your neck.

Sitting at your desk focused on work, you’ll feel his hands slide across your shoulders as he bends to plant a kiss on your cheek, his chin tickling you. You start leaving your desk chair empty, eager for him to pull you into his lap.

You’ll be reading your book, anticipation building as you wonder when his next sneak attack will come.

In bed, he cradles you against his chest, stroking your hair as you both drift off.

Cooking together in the kitchen, he’ll come up behind you and wrap you in a warm embrace. Or you’ll intentionally let dishes pile up, hoping the chore will lure him over for a back-hug.

The longer you’ve been dating him, you find yourself craving the constant physical affection.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

One lazy Sunday morning, you’re lounging in bed playing on your phone. Gojo is still softly snoring beside you. Your mind wanders as you contemplate getting up to start the day, though your warm blankets beg you to stay curled up.

You feel the mattress dip as he stirs awake. Before you know it, he’s shuffled over and pulled you into a spooning cuddle under the covers, nuzzling drowsily into your neck. “Mmmm... morning,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. His strong arms squeeze you affectionately.

You chuckle and pat his hand resting on your belly. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

He places a few lazy kisses along your shoulder before resting his cheek against you. You lay together in comfortable silence, content to laze in bed wrapped in each other’s arms.

After a few minutes of cuddling, you lightly pat his arm. “Alright, sleepyhead. Time to get this day started.” You make a show of trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hug.

“Nooooo, not yet~” he whines. “Just a little longer.” His arms cling to you like a child clinging to their favorite stuffed animal.

“Satoru, I have to get up and make breakfast, you know?” You try to pry his hands off, but he keeps them locked around your waist.

“But you’re so warm and cuddly...” he protests, snuggling against you. “Like my own personal body pillow.”

You twist around to face him. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his hair endearingly tousled. He gives you a lopsided grin.

Rolling your eyes in mock exasperation, you snuggle into his chest. “Fine, five more minutes!”

His arms instantly cradle you closer as he strokes your hair. You breathe in his comforting scent and melt into his embrace. Five more minutes couldn’t hurt.

Before long, five minutes turns to fifteen, then thirty. But you can’t bring yourself to leave the sanctuary of his arms.

As clingy as he’s become, you’ve come to crave it just as much. There’s no place you’d rather be than wrapped up in his strong hugs and affectionate cuddles.

So you let the morning slip away, perfectly content to be Gojo’s captive cuddle buddy. Chores can wait.

For now, you’re happily indulging in a lazy morning snuggled up with your favorite clinging koala bear of a man.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

You see, back in high school, Gojo had always seemed so aloof and unapproachable. With his attitude and overall reputation, most people steered clear of him. You certainly never imagined him as the touchy-feely type.

But ever since you started dating, you’ve seen a whole new side to him. Behind the tough exterior is a guy who craves physical affection.

The problem is, he doesn’t quite know how to initiate it―in a romantic context, at least. He let himself get comfortable with his close friends―Geto, Nanami, Haibara, even Shoko―just fine.

At first, he kept his hands to himself. Even holding hands makes him nervous. You can tell by the way he awkwardly takes your hand in his, holding it gently as if you might break.

On dates, he maintains a polite distance from you rather than putting his arm around you. When you sit together talking, he doesn’t reach out to stroke your hair or caress your face like you wish he would.

He remains talkative, but his gestures are distant.

You wonder if he finds you undesirable. But the way he looks at you―so tender yet timid―tells you otherwise. He yearns to get closer, but something is holding him back.

One night while sitting closely together on the couch, you broach the subject. “Satoru, can I ask you something?”

He tenses slightly. “Sure, anything.”

You snuggle closer, reassuring him with your body language. “How come you never really touch me much? I mean... romantically. Do you not want to?”

Gojo looks surprised. “What? No, no way. Of course I do!” His cheeks flush pink. “I just didn’t want to mess this up or freak you out by coming on too strong. Being in a relationship is all new to me and I don’t really know how this stuff works...”

You smile at his sincerity. You take his hand in yours. “Satoru… you don’t have to be afraid to show affection physically. I really don’t mind. In fact, I’d love it if you were more touchy with me.”

He smiles back shyly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just start slow and do what feels natural.”

After that conversation, he starts getting more comfortable showing physical affection. It begins gradually―his arm around your shoulders as you walk, an occasional stroke of your cheek when you talk.

Over time, he gets bolder.

Gojo starts finding excuses to hold you in his strong arms. His hands begin to wander, but always tentatively at first, watching your reaction. Light caresses along your arms and back, gentle strokes of your legs. When you sigh contentedly and melt into his touch, he takes it as permission to explore further.

Soon, he can’t keep his hands off you. Playful pats on your butt when you walk by. Smoothing his palms along your body when you embrace. Running his fingers through your hair as you snuggle.

And the kisses that were once nervous and chaste, now confident and passionate. He steals kisses whenever he can―in the kitchen, on the couch, before parting ways for missions.

You adore his newfound eagerness.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

One evening, you’re curled up with Gojo watching tv shows. You rest your head on his chest as he strokes your back. Turning your face up towards him, you ask with a smile, “What happened to that shy guy who was afraid to touch me?”

Gojo grins and pulls you closer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve always been this clingy.” He leans in and captures your lips in a loving kiss.

And a few minutes later, he dragged you out of the blue for a food-hunting date since he claimed that today’s weather is very nice (he gets bored sometimes staying at home).

His hands have barely left your body since you stepped out the door. Not that you really mind, his warm touch makes you feel cherished.

The date starts innocently enough as you walk hand-in-hand down the bustling city streets. But when you pass the first food stall selling piping hot baked potatoes, he immediately drops your hand and darts over to buy one for you and himself.

As he waits for his potato, he sidles back to you, and slides his arm around your waist, pulling you close while watching the vendor prepare his snack.

You chuckle and shake your head. “We’re only at the first stall and you already can’t keep your hands off me.”

He grins and squeezes you tighter. “I need to stay close so I don’t lose you in this crowd.”

You roll your eyes playfully as he collects his baked potato and you continue down the street. He balances the potato in one hand, gives one to you without a word, while his other finds its way back to your hand, fingers interlacing with yours. He takes huge bites of the potato as you walk, making a satisfied “Mmm!” sounds.

“Don’t forget to chew,” you tease. He just winks and leans down to kiss the top of your head, then gulps down the rest of the potato.

Sure enough, you’ve barely walked another block before he’s pulling you towards another food stall, this one selling colorful shaved ice. He orders a gigantic rainbow one topped with mochi and condensed milk. After paying, he turns back to you, wrapping both arms around your shoulders and nuzzling into your hair while waiting for his dessert, as if he hasn’t just been holding you for the past 10 minutes.

“Babe, your food’s ready,” you say, nudging him to collect his massive shaved ice creation.

He takes it in one hand, while his other finds your back pocket, keeping you tucked against his side as you walk. “Let’s share this!” he said, but ended up eating a huge portion for himself.

He alternates between holding you and scooping huge bites of icy dessert into his mouth. You’re astonished at how quickly he’s devouring it.

Over the next few hours, the pattern continues. Gojo stops at every food stall, buying potato croquettes, yakitori skewers, takoyaki, and taiyaki filled with sweet bean paste.

Each time, he maintains physical contact with you―his arm draped over your shoulders, hands on your hips, fingers laced with yours. And somehow, he manages to inhale each snack in what seems like just a few bites as you walk, while keeping you tucked against him the whole time.

At one point, you lightheartedly ask, “Where are you even putting all this food? You have a black hole in your stomach or something?”

“Nah, I just have a separate stomach for street food. Plus I’m a fast eater, gotta savor each bite while finishing quickly so I can get back to holding you.”

After hours of nonstop eating and PDA, he finally seems satisfied, giving his stomach a pat. “Whew, that hit the spot! Did you try any of the food?”

“Of course not! I was a little preoccupied being your human teddy bear all day!”

He smiles sheepishly and pulls you into a warm embrace. “Sorry, I guess I kinda forgot about you since these foods are too distracting.” He bends down for a sweet kiss.

“Oh? So you forgot about me even though you’ve been holding onto me the whole time?” you taunt lightheartedly, looking at him with a feigned frown.

“Aww, don’t be like that, my baby~ I’ll buy anything you want this time. I’ll even carry you if you’re tired already,” he smooches your cheek, waiting for you to agree.

“Fine, fine. Just because you’re cute.”

“Yeay! We passed by some really tasty-looking okonomiyaki over there―”

Don’t worry, he might get distracted here and there, but he buys you every food that you want this time (and another portion for himself again).

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

After lunch, he then takes you to the cinema. From the moment you settle into the plush cinema seats, his hands are on you constantly. Not that you mind. His warm caresses make you feel adored.

The previews start to roll, and he immediately lays his arm across your shoulders, pulling you close. You nestle against his broad chest as he gently strokes your upper arm with his fingertips. When he leans down to nuzzle his cheek against your head, you smile up at him.

“What? The movie hasn’t even started yet and you already need cuddles?” you tease.

“I need to get my snuggles in before the movie distracts you.” As if to emphasize his point, he squeezes you tighter.

You giggle and shake your head. His affection is over-the-top but hopelessly endearing.

As the movie begins, he moves his arm from around your shoulders to hold your hand, interlacing your fingers. He absently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb as his eyes stay glued to the screen. Each time something exciting happens in the movie, his grip instinctively tightens.

During a tender romantic scene between the main characters, you feel his eyes on you. You turn your head to find him gazing adoringly at you instead of the movie screen. Your cheeks grow warm under his affectionate stare.

“You’re way cuter than them,” he murmurs, before leaning in to steal a quick kiss. Then his attention returns to the movie, your held hands now resting on his thigh.

Sometime later, you feel him shift in his seat to lift up the armrest between you. He wraps his arm around you once more, his big palm affectionately stroking up and down your arm. Turning your head, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What? This is more comfy,” he insists with an innocent grin. You have to stifle a laugh at his shameless need for closeness. Not wanting to disturb the other moviegoers, you let him continue cuddling you with no barriers between you.

When the film takes a suspenseful turn, you instinctively grip his knee. He responds by squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. Then his hand begins wandering again, tracing light circles and figure eights along your arm and shoulder.

During an intense action sequence, Gojo gently takes your chin and turns your face towards him to place a soft kiss on your lips. “Just wanted to do that before stuff gets crazy again,” he explains with a whisper. As the action continues onscreen, his arm stays anchored around you, his thumb idly stroking your jaw.

By the climax of the movie, his fingers are tracing delicate patterns on the nape of your neck. Shivers run down your spine at the sensual touch, making it difficult to focus on the movie’s epic conclusion.

As the credits roll, you turn to Gojo with amused exasperation. “Well, I have no idea what happened in that movie thanks to someone’s constant need for PDA.”

He just grins unapologetically and pulls you in for another lingering kiss. “Some things are more important than movies.”

To be honest, his lingering touch and clinginess comes unconsciously, like a muscle memory. He can’t help that he’s just being touchy with you.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

Back at home, in the privacy of your shared space, Gojo’s clingy side really comes out in full force.

Like how he always joins you in the shower under the pretense of ‘helping’ wash your back, when really he just wants an excuse to steal kisses under the spraying water.

Today is no exception.

As you lather up your hair, you feel Gojo’s strong arms wrap around you from behind. “Need me to get your back?” he asks, his deep voice right next to your ear making you shiver.

You pretend to think about it. “Hmm, I guess an extra set of hands couldn’t hurt.”

He doesn’t waste any time, his large palms sliding across your skin in smooth strokes. You close your eyes and relax into his soothing touch. But when his hands linger a little too long around your body, you splatter some bubbly shampoo at him playfully.

“Now, now, don’t get handsy there, or you’ll make us too tired tonight.”

Gojo only chuckles, stealing a quick peck on your cheek before handing you a towel as you step out of the steamy shower.

Freshly washed and dried, you head into the bedroom to get ready. As you rifle through your dresser for something to wear, you feel him come up behind you again, his arms encircling your waist. He pulls you back against his solid chest and you tilt your head up for a sweet kiss, his damp hair tickling your forehead.

“Mm~ you smell good...” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile and playfully push him towards the closet. “Alright you, get dressed before you get us all riled up again.”

Gojo gives you one more tight squeeze before grabbing clothes from his closet. You take the opportunity to get dressed yourself, throwing on a comfortable pajama.

As you look into the mirror, you catch him eyeing you hungrily as he dries his damp body. “See something you like?” you ask coyly.

He strides over and places his hands on your hips. “Yeah… You look good enough to eat for dinner instead,” he growls into your ear.

You lightly smack his arm. “Behave! We’re about to go to sleep. No more actions.”

He sighs dramatically but can’t keep the grin off his face. “Fine, fine. But tomorrow after breakfast, I’m having you for dessert.”

He trails a few soft kisses down the side of your neck.

“Let’s turn in early tonight."

You know that ‘turning in early’ means less sleeping and more cuddling and kissing with him. Not that you’re complaining. There’s something comforting about Gojo’s sheer enthusiasm for physical closeness.

You switch off the light and slide under the blankets as Gojo strips down to just his boxers and joins you under the blankets. He instantly pulls you into his arms. His bare skin is warm against yours as his strong arms wrap around you. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, and his large hand slowly strokes up and down your back.

“I’ve been waiting all day to hold you like this,” he murmurs.

“Huh? That’s nonsense, you’ve been holding me all day.”

Tilting your chin up, you meet his lips in a slow, tender kiss. Gojo sighs contentedly, holding you tighter against him.

When you finally break apart, you lightly poke his chest. “You’re like a big baby koala, you know that? Always clinging onto me,” you tease.

He chuckles, tightening his embrace. “Does that mean you’re my mommy koala? Or an Eucalyptus tree? Wait, I think the tree fits you better since koala bear likes to eat―”

“Hushh! That’s enough!” you clamp his lips between your thumb and index finger. You wrinkle your nose at his reply, but can’t help grinning.

As clingy and talkative as he can be, you find it hopelessly endearing. You snuggle impossibly closer, tangling your legs together.

Gojo trails tender kisses along your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheeks. When he reaches your lips again, the kiss is unhurried and heartfelt, conveying a world of unspoken affection. Your fingers comb through his hair as the kiss deepens, losing yourself in his warmth and closeness.

The rest of the world melts away until it’s just the two of you.

When you finally pull back, he gazes at you like you’re the most precious thing on earth. “You’re especially beautiful like this, all cozy and kissable.”

Propping yourself up on an elbow, you look down at him fondly. “You know, for someone who used to be unapproachable during high school, you sure do turn into a sappy marshmallow now.”

“What can I say, you bring it out in me,” he says with a wink, making you laugh. He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now c’mere, I need more snuggles.”

You settle back into Gojo’s embrace. Your legs tangled together once more as he strokes your back, his heartbeat and breathing pulling you towards sleep.

Just before you drift off, his drowsy voice drifts to you one more time. “Love you, my teddy bear.”

“Mmm… love you too, my koala bear.”

With Gojo, even the most basic bedtime routine becomes an opportunity for touch and connection.

And you love indulging his clingy side.

382 notes · View notes

unsolved-duvall · 1 year

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨) - 𝐞.𝐦. (𝟏𝟖+)

part one | part two

older rockstar!eddie x reader

summary eddie munson was an asshole, you knew that now. and the truth was you hated him, so much so that you couldn't stop thinking about him.

eddie munson hated himself, and he couldn't stop thinking about you. (16.3k)

warnings 18+ minors dni, age gap (reader is 22, eddie is 40), angst, asshole eddie, references to abuse, drinking (reader gets drunk), reader hurts herself (not intentionally!), very brief mention of blood, smut, making out, oral sex, penetrative sex, fingering, an overuse of nicknames. if i have missed anything please politely let me know <3

Seven Months Later.

There’s this theory called the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. It’s the scientific explanation for why you start to notice something, or someone more when your awareness of them increases.

It’s an illusion. Your brain creates a cognitive bias. The truth is that thing was there all along. You just never cared enough to notice it before.

Like Eddie fucking Munson.

The fall air was heavy with a bitter chill as it slinked in through your half-open window. You were barely conscious, your body still heavy with sleep, but you felt the cold wind embrace you in an unwelcome hug and you pulled your thick comforter over your head in a bid to escape it.

You weren’t sure what time it was, your mind hazy as memories of last night came flooding back to you. You attempted to push them to the back of your mind, you didn’t need the self-loathing to begin already, you could get to that after you had managed to at least eat breakfast.

Your arms felt heavy as you lifted them, stretching them above you. Your movements caused your comforter to fall around you, your eyes squinted to adjust to the harsh light that bled through the curtains. They were second-hand and made from really sheer material, they almost made no difference. But you kept them up anyway; you were a young woman living in a city by yourself, so you couldn’t afford to lose the small amount of privacy they granted you.

Dragging your limp body out of bed (fuck you, college) you made your way over to your closet, grabbing the first crumpled-up clothes you saw and throwing them on, not bothering to even look at what you were now wearing.

And no, you didn’t shower, and yes you knew you should have. But quite frankly, you barely had the energy to get out of bed and go to class; asking you to shower and wash your hair was asking far too much from you.

You had two exams today and a shift at the diner afterwards. None of which you were particularly looking forward to, but there wasn’t a lot you could do about that now except grin and bear it.

Which is what you did. It was what you always did.

As you stepped out of your apartment complex you felt the frost-bitten wind caress your face. You swore under your breath, pulling your coat tighter around you in a feeble attempt to warm yourself up.

Looking up your eyes landed on the obnoxiously large billboard that sat opposite your building. And on it, of course, was none other than Corroded Coffin, with Eddie sitting front and centre. Promotion for their upcoming tour.

You stared at it for far too long to be considered a passing glance. And just before you turned on your heel to walk to class you pulled a cold hand out of your pockets and pointedly gave it the middle finger.

Fuck you, universe.

“I’ll tell you what you can do Marianne, you can shove your ideas and fuck-”

“Okay, you’re done” John slammed his hands down on the table in front of him, pushing his chair back as he got up and all but manhandled Eddie, pulling him out before he could add more fuel to the fire, “Get out, come on. Jesus fucking Christ-”

It was early. The sun could have only just risen when he woke up and he could hear the fucking birds chirping kind of early.

It was 9 AM.

He could easily have stopped John from dragging him out of the meeting room like a petulant child, but that would take energy he simply didn’t have. And the energy he did have he was more than happy to use on shouting at people who, in his humble opinion, were being pretty fucking stupid for it being the crack of dawn.

9 AM.

So instead he raised his calloused hands in mock defeat as he let John lead him down the wide corridor, a warning hand on his shoulder, and into another room. The room was identical to the one he had just been in; but there was no one in there, which made it much preferable to him.

The harsh morning light beamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the exterior wall. The wall adjoining the room to the corridor was also made entirely of glass. Eddie leant his body weight against it, running his hands over his face as John shut the door behind them. Eddie’s eyes flicked to him briefly and he saw his body tense. He knew that he’d pissed him off. But he didn’t care, these moments were second nature to the both of them by now.

None of them dared speak first. Both of them quietly assessed the other, figuring out how explosive this was about to get.

Very. If the past was any indication.

Eddie being, well - Eddie, pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, his hands fumbling around his many pockets trying to remember where he had last put his lighter.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

John’s curt voice cut through the thick tension clouding the room. Eddie’s eyes snapped to Johns, fucking insufferable bastard, and his hands halted their searching of his pockets.

“If I don’t smoke I’ll turn into an asshole” Eddie bit out the words, a sarcastic smile painting his face.

“Ah, so no different than usual then? Put the cigarette down and stop being a dick,” John walked over to the meeting table and pulled out a flimsy chair, sitting down with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m tired of playing your fucking father.”

“You’re barely five years older than me.” Eddie’s voice was harsh as he snapped back at John, but his face was heavy with some emotion that even John couldn’t place. He knew bringing up Eddie’s father was a bad idea. He only pulled out that card when he was desperate.

“Exactly. I have two kids at home. You’re old enough to be their father, so don’t make me speak to you the way I speak to them. Shit, they’re better behaved than you are.”

Anyone who knew John knew that he really did care for Eddie. He treated him like a brother, but Eddie didn’t yet return the same sentiment. John figured he probably never would, and he was okay with that.

He knew Eddie’s history. All of it. He understood why Eddie was the way he was. He just wished he could help him. He also knew that if he told Eddie this, he would most likely leave with a black eye if he dared show any ounce of pity for him.

Eddie liked to be treated a certain way. Harsh words shared between people on the most basic level. It made him feel safe. If he never connected with anyone he couldn’t hurt them.

Or be hurt when they left him.

So John never mentioned any of what he knew. But Eddie knew that he was aware of his past, and he hadn’t abandoned him yet, so that was good enough for him.

“You keep pulling shit like this and the label will drop you. It’s as simple as that.”

Eddie scoffed, fiddling with the still unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Okay, listen to me” John leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, feet planted as if he was ready for a fight any minute. “You leave to go on tour in two hours—your first show is tomorrow. Figure your shit out. Drop the asshole facade you’re so desperately trying to hide behind,”

Eddie didn’t say anything, he feared if he did he would only regret it. He simply stayed leaning against the wall, not looking away from John once. His stare was cold, calculated.

“You’re not better than anyone in that room. No matter what the girls you’re fucking every night might be saying to you.”

Eddie held his stare, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

“They don’t usually say a lot actually. It’s hard when they're being fucked dumb, poor things can barely string a sentence together when we’re done”

Eddie was looking for a reaction. He wanted a fight, needed a fight.

John bit his tongue, biting back the words he knew Eddie was waiting to hear. He wanted Eddie to tell him he was an ass. That he was pathetic. That he deserved everything that had happened to him.

He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“What? Do you not get that sort of reaction from your wife after you’ve fucked her? That’s poor show John, I can teach you a few things if you need me to?” Eddie’s venomous tone hit exactly where he intended it to, he could tell by the way John clenched his jaw, “Or I could just fuck her for you.”

“What the fuck’s happened to you, Eddie?” His voice was suddenly soft, concerned. Eddie hated it. “Is this all about that girl, because-”

“Fuck off,” Eddie said with a deafening calm, “I’m going for a smoke.”

And with that Eddie turned and left the room, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty corridor.

“You better not miss the flight later! You can’t fuck up everyone else’s life like you’re doing to your own!” John sighed as the words landed on deaf ears, Eddie already too far gone to pay any attention to him.

It was going to be a long long tour.

Carpe Diem. That was a thing people said right? Well, you were here to tell them that was bullshit.

Seize the day. Whatever that meant - it was certainly not meant for broke college students who had recently been fucked over by a world-famous rockstar, had almost certainly just failed their final exams and now had to endure a seven-hour shift at a diner.

No, that saying was intended for people who already had their life together. Middle-aged moms living in the suburbs with their two children and a perfect husband. Who woke up each morning and decided between going to a new yoga class or a coffee morning with their book club girlfriends.

Those were the type of people Carpe Diem was meant for.

Not you.

You had managed to get caught in the rain on your way to your shift. The cold rain soaking through your clothes and onto your skin enhanced every emotion you were already feeling. The cold wind was biting as you swerved through the bustling crowd on the sidewalk. It was nearing 10 PM, and you wouldn’t be home until the early hours of the morning; you rarely picked up night shifts. You had been working there for almost three years and you could count on one hand the number of times you had worked a night shift. But right now you needed the money, so when the shift was offered to you, who were you to turn it down?

Once you had finally arrived you had almost immediately snapped at your manager when you walked through the heavy doors of the diner; she had made some innocent joke about how you would have been drier if you had swum here.

She quickly realised you weren’t in the mood for jokes and told you she had a change of clothes in the back you could borrow. You nodded your head and forced an appreciative smile onto your face. You liked your manager, she was maybe a decade older than you, give or take, and she always made sure the chefs cooked you some food during a long shift.

You ignored everyone else, one chef and two other waitresses who would be leaving soon, as you made your way to the staff room at the back of the diner, heading straight to your manager's locker and grabbing the clothes she had folded and placed on the top shelf.

You threw on the jeans but hesitated as you unfolded the all too familiar shirt. You recognised the design instantly and you felt a lump form in your throat. You had the exact same shirt at home, although yours was lying abandoned in the back of your closet, and you had been content never to see, let alone wear it, again.

The worn-out corroded coffin logo stared back at you.

Well fuck.

It had taken you all of two seconds to decide that you would rather spend your night in a half-soaked t-shirt instead. When your manager had seen you walk back out, apron tied around your waist and a damp t-shirt clinging to you, she hadn’t questioned it. Instead, she pointed to your area for the night and told you it shouldn’t be too busy, she smiled a genuine smile and rubbed your back, like a caring mom, before leaving you to it. You could tell by the look of concern she tried to hide that she knew something was wrong. You seemed tense, which you never were.

You hadn’t told anyone what had happened. You weren’t the first girl to be fucked over by Eddie and you certainly wouldn’t be the last. You felt ridiculous for being so hung up on what had happened.

But there was just something about him. And you hated him for it.

You saw pieces of him everywhere you went. Heard his voice in every store or cafe you went into, and every time it cut into you a little bit deeper than the last. He had left his mark on you and you had no idea how to get rid of it. The truth was you weren’t sure you wanted to. He made you feel safe. Which was insane given his reputation, but every time he looked at you it felt like a summer breeze wrapped itself around you. He smiled at you and it felt like running into the ocean for the first time on holiday. Like nothing could hurt you as long as he was there.

But then he had been the one to hurt you, so fuck him, right?

Yeah. Fuck him. You had tables to serve, people to pretend to like, and a myriad of awful attempts at flirting to politely ignore for the next… seven hours.

It was going to be a long long night.

The truth was Eddie had tried relentlessly to avoid coming back here. To this city.

To you.

But it hadn’t worked. His team had asked him multiple times why exactly he was so adamant about avoiding this place, but hell would have to open up and drag him down there before he would tell anyone it was because of you.

You had fucked him up more than anyone ever had. And he had spent one night with you.

He barely knew anything about you. He knew your name, and he knew how old you were. He also knew what you sounded like when you came.

He hadn’t told anyone about you. John knew, of course. But every time he would try to mention ‘that girl’ to Eddie he would shoot him a look that said “I am not above punching you in the face” and that was that.

So now here he was. In the one city on earth, he would have happily avoided for the rest of his godforsaken life-

“Do you want to go straight to the hotel? I already made sure the security stopped people hanging around outside, so you don’t have to worry about that.” John’s voice sounded from beside Eddie, although he was barely listening.

The moment the plane landed he felt his heart race. Which was stupid, because as far as he knew you didn’t actually live here. You might have been here on holiday or just came for the concert.

Fuck he hopes you didn’t come just for him.

“You know tour used to be fun, we used to do shit. Get fucked up.” Eddie didn’t turn to look at John whilst he spoke, choosing instead to smoke a cigarette out of the barely open window. The torrent of rain outside still managed to slip in through the open space, leaving raindrops to settle on Eddie’s hair that fell around his shoulders.

Eddie had a habit of avoiding other people’s questions, even simple ones. John had picked up on that fact rather fast. It was best to let Eddie lead the conversation, so that’s what he did.

“I remember,” John replied, staring straight ahead from the back seat, watching the traffic they were attempting to drive through, “That was ten years ago, things change, you know that.”

Eddie did know that. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

When Eddie didn’t bother to respond John cautiously said “they all have families now, Eddie. A wife and kids. Can you blame them for not wanting to get high every night and fuck up a hotel room?”

Eddie clenched his jaw, flicking the burnt-out cigarette out of the window and onto the rain-soaked road, “You have a wife and kids, why are you here with me? Not with them, with your perfect little picket-fence family, huh?”

“Because I’m working. I don’t spend time with you out of the goodness of my heart, you know. You pay me to be here, to make sure some insane fan doesn’t stalk you or some shit.” John tried to sound lighthearted, adding some humour to his all-too-true words. But it didn’t help.

Eddie once again went quiet, whispering something under his breath about it all being “fucking bullshit” but that was it. He hadn’t apologised to John about that morning, the comment about his wife. He couldn’t bring himself to admit he was sorry. And he knew that made him the asshole everyone said he was, but he had been wearing that badge of honour for a long time, he’d be damned if he let it bother him now. Maybe he just was an asshole.

“Do I assume you do just want to go straight to the hotel?” John asked again, he knew not to push Eddie but he really needed to let the poor driver know where he was taking them. Although with the traffic at a standstill, they wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

“No” Eddie’s blunt response would have been enough to have most people stop talking to him.

“Well, where do you wanna go then? I’m not driving around with you all fuckin’ night I’ll tell you that for nothing.” Eddie finally turned in his seat to look at John, although his gaze seemed to be focused on the window behind him instead, “It’s gone midnight, you may be a rockstar but I’m old. I need to sleep.”

“Here. I’m hungry.”

John turned, confusion evident as he furrowed his eyebrows and breathed out a barely audible “what?”. The car had stopped outside a diner, open twenty-four hours, based on the worn-out sign hanging in the window. There was no one inside, except a waitress. This was probably the only place in the city Eddie could go to without being spotted and harassed.

“Are you serious? They have room service at the hotel and-”

“I fucking said I wanna eat here, is that so hard to understand?” Eddie snapped, his hands fiddling with the bracelets and pieces of fabric he had tied around his left wrist. “I- can we just get out here, I’m fuckin’ starving”

“Well if you would have eaten on the plane instead of insulting the food-”

“That shit looked like I could have made it. Would you eat my cooking, John?”

“You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“Exactly.” Eddie took off his seatbelt and waved his hands toward the door on John’s side “let’s go.”

John reluctantly moved to open the door, stepping out into the cold rain. Eddie followed suit, taking in his surroundings as he waited for John to tell the driver something, probably asking him to come back in an hour.

The bell hanging over the door rang out into the quietness of the diner as they both walked in, glad to be out of the rain for the brief time they were in it. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of a radio playing behind the counter. A woman stood behind it, her back turned and windswept hair flowing over her shoulders, an apron tied around her waist. Eddie could see that her shirt was damp and he couldn’t help the pang of guilt that rang through him as he realised she must have gotten caught in the downpour on her way here. Eddie had never had to work a service job before, but he knew damn well if he did and his clothes were soaked through before he had even started, he would have gone home. No questions asked.

He made a mental note to try and be nice to her. He never did that, but he promised himself he would at least try.

John hesitated a minute before walking over to an empty booth and sitting himself down, his eyes trained on the girl behind the counter.

Eddie sat opposite him, stretching his legs out under the table and picking up the menu that was left on the table. He decided on the first thing he saw and threw the menu back down, sliding it over to John, but he still wasn’t looking anywhere except at the waitress behind the counter.

“What’s the matter with you?” Eddie asked quizzically. John’s whole body language had changed the minute they had walked in. Sure, it wasn’t the most high-end place they had ever eaten, but Eddie had never taken him for a snob.

“Okay, you’ve got about ten seconds to decide if you want to just get up and leave.”

“What-”

“Too late,” John said suddenly, his eyes darting back to Eddie “don’t be an asshole.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what the fuck was he talking about? He looked around to see that the waitress had turned, now facing both of them.

And she was looking straight at Eddie.

You were looking straight at Eddie.

There are certain feelings that you’ve never been able to explain to people. You’ve never been particularly good at expressing how you feel because you’ve rarely been able to understand or process your own emotions.

But as you stood in the diner, at 12:46 AM, and saw Eddie sitting across from you. You knew exactly how you felt.

You felt angry.

You felt heartbroken.

You felt confused.

You felt the happiest you had felt in seven months.

And then you felt the world fall out from underneath your feet.

You felt like Eddie was about to rip your heart out all over again.

You hadn’t moved. Shit. What the fuck were you meant to do? Eddie hadn’t moved either. But John had, and he was walking right towards you.

“Hey,” he was tense, you could tell. “Listen, I don’t know what thoughts are running through your head right now. But, I can imagine at least one of them is that you’d like to punch him square in his face, right?” John tilted his head to the side, trying to gauge your reaction. You still hadn’t moved. You weren’t totally sure you were breathing.

“I’m gonna trust that you won’t do that, if I’ve been able to hold off from smacking him every day for the past seven months I’m sure you can too.”

John laughed awkwardly and cleared his throat. Something told you he wasn’t joking.

“Now, there’s a bar over there.” He pointed past you, out of the window, towards the dive bar sitting directly across from the diner “And even though I can’t drink whilst I’m working. I am going to go there anyway. I’ll be gone twenty minutes. Talk to him. Ignore him. Throw him out of here, for all I care. Do whatever you’ve gotta do.”

And with that John turned and walked out of the diner. The sounds of the city filled the diner as the door swung open and shut again. And then it was just you. And him.

And those two old guys sat at a table in the corner. Ignore them.

You shifted your weight on your feet, you wanted to talk to him. Needed to talk to him.

Your feet had carried you over to his booth before you had realised what you were doing. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, and for a second you thought he wasn’t going to say anything, but then-

“John ran out of here as quick as he fucking could, didn’t he?” Eddie… laughed? Genuinely laughed as he said it, a honey-thick smile covering his face.

“Yeah, he basically floored it to the bar over there” you pointed awkwardly, even Eddie was sitting with his back to the window, and couldn’t see. He smiled again anyway, dropping his gaze from you to stare at his hands that were resting on the table.

When you didn’t smile back you saw his whole body tense up. What did he expect from you here? To take him to the back room and fuck him?

“Can you sit down, and talk for a minute, maybe?”

“I’m working if you hadn’t already noticed.” You responded, voice slightly harsher than you meant for it to sound.

“I know- shit, I know. I didn’t mean that you weren't, I just meant,” he was stumbling over every other word, and you know it should have given you some satisfaction to see him like this. To realise that maybe you weren’t the only one who came out of this whole thing scorned. But you felt sorry for him, his eyes were heavy with something sad. His usual cocky facade was nowhere to be seen.

“I can sit for a while, it’s okay.” You hated how soft your voice went, Eddie heard it too, he bit back a smirk and sat up a bit straighter as you sat down across from him.

“Your shirt is wet,” Eddie said, making a vague gesture with his hand. It was still wet, you guessed, although it was much drier than it had been. “They really made you work in wet clothes? They had nothing for you to wear. You must be cold, that’s all.”

“My manager gave me some clothes to wear, yeah. I just kept my top because I didn’t feel like wearing hers.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side, a silent question as to why.

Well, fuck it. “She’s a big fan of yours. I didn’t want to walk around in a Corroded Coffin top all night so, here I am.”

There it was. He had been waiting for it. The moment he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Y/N I’m-”

You cut him off, you weren’t ready to hear whatever sorry excuse he pulled out of his ass. “Sorry? An asshole? A bastard? Take your pick, seriously.” Eddie watched you, his face blank as he took in every word you said.

You saw his jaw clench. The same way it had when he had left you alone in that hotel room.

“You want me to say sorry? For what, exactly?” You physically flinched at his words, the harshness of them. That honey-thick smile was nowhere to be seen, his eyes had gone distant.

“You want an apology because I treated you the same way I treat every other girl I fuck? Listen, sweetheart, you knew what the deal was from the start, don’t act like some fucking innocent party in all of this.” You felt the breath go from your lungs, he had leaned forward as was speaking to you, leaning on his forearms as he broke your heart again.

“You’re telling me you didn’t go around telling anyone who would listen that we had fucked?” Eddie spat at you.

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was quiet but definite. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

Eddie paused for a moment, something flashed across his face. Relief? Confusion? Anger? You truly couldn’t tell. You weren’t sure he could either. “Maybe you should have. Gossip tabloids will pay a lot of money for shit like that” he turned his head, looking away from you. You wanted to get up and walk away. Shout at him. Tell him how much he had hurt you.

“You asked me to sit down so you could insult me, was that it?” you asked him, “well you’ve done that so can I go now?”

“What did you think I was going to do? Profess my undying love for you? Tell you I tracked you down just so I could tell you how sorry I was?” Eddie shot back, he had built that wall back up around himself the minute you had snapped at him. He couldn’t bring himself back from that ledge, no matter how much he wanted to. And he so desperately wanted to.

Because whenever his eyes landed on yours felt his heart break, he truly believed you held the whole world in your eyes, a world he longed to be a part of.

“I thought you could be a decent fucking human being, Eddie.” Hearing you say his name made him feel like he was drowning. Your voice dropped as you decided you needed to get it out of your system. “I thought you would have some respect for me. Do you know how fucked up I’ve been over this? I fucking cried over you.”

Eddie didn’t try to interrupt, he didn’t have any reaction to what you had just said. You could almost believe he wasn’t listening to a word of what you were saying.

He was.

“I get it, okay. This is what you do. Fine. Good for you, if you’re happy like this then please don’t let me, or anyone else, stop you.” You weren’t sure where your confidence had come from, but you felt like this would be the only time he would be sat in front of you again. “I didn’t want to like you. I thought you would be a complete asshole, and I was fine with that.”

Your gaze dropped from his face to his hands, where he was pulling at the jewellery he had on his left wrist. His hands gave away everything he wasn’t saying, and you didn’t think he was even aware of how much he was giving away. A couple of seconds later his hands stopped moving, and he moved them off the table, onto his lap. He hadn’t realised you were watching him so closely. He hated that.

“Eddie, listen to me, I liked you. I felt safe with you” Eddie’s eyes scanned your whole face as you spoke, almost as if he was looking for any proof you were lying. You spoke slowly, determined for him to really hear you, and understand what you were saying. “You’re a good person, Eddie. You are not what everyone says you are. Maybe you try to be that guy, but you’re not. You care about other people, but I don’t think you care about yourself.”

Eddie’s face had softened, he swallowed and shook his head, barely. But you saw him do it, nevertheless.

“I don’t know you, I know that. But I think you want to be happy, you want to be a good person. But you can’t let yourself. I’m not saying this because I want you to fall in love with me, or some shit. But I hope one day you will fall in love with someone. And I hope you’ll let yourself love them.”

All of a sudden it was too quiet. You hadn’t even noticed that the two older gentlemen who had been in the diner had left. A twenty-dollar bill was left on the table. The radio played dimly in the background, the rain clattered against the windows and roof. The muffled sounds of the city nightlife outside. Eddie hadn’t said anything to you. You nodded your head and shuffled out of the booth, prepared to leave him alone until John got back.

You walked back over to the counter, picking up the money as you went. You weren’t sure how long it had been. You had made yourself a coffee and were about to start tidying up when you heard Eddie move. His heavy footsteps echoed off the floor, his leather jacket rubbing against itself. You looked up, expecting to see him walk out. But he didn’t.

“I’m– we’re playing a show. Tomorrow. If you want to come, that would– fuck, um.” you had never heard his voice sound like it did right now. Soft, but still him. That confidence was hidden just below the surface. “Please come. If you don’t want to watch the show, then come when it finishes.”

You were the one not saying anything now. You were so angry with him, he still hadn’t apologised. He had barely said anything to you, apart from the insults he had thrown at you. So why the fuck did you want to go. Why could you not imagine this being the last time you saw him?

“Come to the door, ask security to get John. He’ll make sure you get in okay, I promise.”

You didn’t have time to even nod in agreement before Eddie was heading for the door, he opened it and you couldn’t drag your eyes away from him. Even with the promise of seeing him tomorrow, it felt like too much of a risk to not take him in as much as you could whilst he was there.

“I’m sorry.”

And then he walked out, letting the door shut behind him. Only this time he had said something to you before he left you. And you knew, no matter how much it would make you hate yourself, that you would see him tomorrow.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Genuinely, I’m genuinely asking you, this isn’t a joke anymore.” Eddie knew John would be insufferable on the drive to the hotel, but if he knew he would be like this? Eddie would have walked.

“I apologised to her. I invited her to the show, whatever she does is her decision.” Eddie bit out, John laughed at his words. The kind of laugh that said are-you-clinically-insane? Eddie couldn’t find it in him to disagree with that.

“Eddie, I have known you for almost as long as that girl has been alive-”

“Okay well that’s not what I need to hear right now, John for fuck-”

“No, listen to me. I have known you since you were barely older than her. And I have never ever seen you be so fucked up over someone else. I have never seen you care about someone else the way you do that girl– and don’t try and bullshit me here. Because you do care about her.” John sounded blunt, harsh. But Eddie knew he only sounded like that when he loved someone and wanted them to be okay. He only pulled out that voice when he needed to slap some sense into Eddie.

Eddie had never told him, but he did love John like a brother. He might tell him someday, maybe with you next to him. Maybe.

“For the past seven months, there is not a day gone by where I have looked at you and you weren’t completely zoned out. You were thinking about her, every time. I knew that. So now, here’s your chance. Not everyone gets those, you know that better than anyone.”

Eddie held back a shaky breath. John saw it, but he knew they needed to have this conversation.

“You are not your father, Eddie.” John needed him to truly understand that. “You never have been him, and you never will be. You won’t ever hurt that girl, in whatever way you’re afraid you will.”

Eddie froze, and then– “I don’t want to hurt her. I would never, I promise. But what if–”

“You are not your father,” John repeated “I know the kind of things he said to you, how he treated you. And how he treated your mother.”

Eddie nodded his head, tears welling in his eyes as he let John talk.

“The idea that you are even related to that man is astounding. And, how you got this reputation is beyond me.” John laughed, remembering something “You– you forced me to adopt a kitten you saw outside your trailer when I first met you, told me it needed to live with someone who had a ‘fancy-ass’ house. You gave her to me and threatened to tell my girlfriend if I said no.” Eddie laughed through the tears that were staining his cheeks.

“Don’t let your father win. He’s not around to control you anymore. If you ask me, you should have gotten on your knees and begged that girl to forgive you; begged her to give you a second chance.” The car stopped and John looked out of the window, the lights from the hotel flickering through the rain. John turned back to Eddie as he took off his seatbelt “Now, I don’t know if she’s going to turn up tomorrow. But if she does? Then she could be the happiest girl in the world if you just let yourself be vulnerable.”

Eddie nodded again, afraid that if he spoke his voice would break with all the emotions that were running through him.

“I assume I’m chaperoning this girl during the show tomorrow?” John said as they both climbed out of the car.

Eddie nodded, and John flung an arm around him as they walked into the hotel.

“I do not get paid enough for everything I do for you.”

After Eddie had left the rest of your shift flew by. No one else came in, which was normal for a weeknight. You spent the last couple of hours of your shift trying to distract yourself from the thoughts that were clouding your brain. Once the sun had started to rise and the orange sunlight began to flood through the windows you felt yourself heave a sigh of relief.

Your manager popped out from the back office every now and then, if she was aware of your run-in with Eddie she didn’t say anything. She never worked the night shift (being the manager had its perks), but the other waitress had called in sick earlier, and there was no one else to cover her.

She had told you she would drive you home, there was no way she was letting you get a taxi. You didn’t argue with her, thanking her and telling her you’d give her gas money, considering your apartment was in the opposite direction to yours. She was adamant you would do no such thing.

Just before 5 AM, the morning waitresses came in. You wouldn’t call them friends per se, but they were nice enough. One was in her mid-forties, with mousy brown hair that she always wore in a long ponytail, bouncing with each footstep she took during her shift. The other was around your age, and you were closer to her. You had been for drinks with her a couple of times, she was loud and extroverted so you never had to do much talking, which you were perfectly happy with.

They made polite conversation as they walked in, asking you how the night had been and if anything eventful had happened.

“Nope, it was pretty boring, to be honest.” There was no way in hell you were telling them that Eddie Munson had been sitting not even a foot away from where they were standing.

You politely dismissed yourself and went to find your manager. You ran into each other in the back hallway, she laughed telling you she was just about to come and rescue you.

The drive home was quiet, casual conversation was shared between the two of you, but nothing more. Soon enough she pulled up outside of your apartment building. You thanked her and went to get out of the car, but before you could she placed a hand on your arm.

“Y/N if there’s something bothering you, you can talk to me, you know? You’ve been quiet for a few months now. I don’t want to intrude or push any boundaries, but I care about you. And not just because you’re a good waitress.” You both laughed, and you assured her you were okay. Maybe one day you’d tell her what had been going on. But not just yet.

You went to bed as soon as you stepped foot into your apartment, only making time to pull off your clothes and throw on the oversized t-shirt you slept in. The mattress seemed to swallow you whole as you threw your body down and pulled your comforter over your head.

You only realised you hadn’t set an alarm when you woke up that evening, with a couple of hours left before you needed to leave.

To see Eddie.

Oh fuck.

You stumbled through your apartment to your bathroom and jumped in the shower. The cold water stole a breath from you and made sure you were awake. It took far too long for the water in your building to warm up, and to be honest, you figured taking a cold shower before you saw Eddie couldn’t be a bad thing.

Coming out of the bathroom, a fluffy towel wrapped around you, you turned on the lamps you had dotted around your apartment, the daylight quickly fading.

Your apartment was nice, you were incredibly lucky you had stumbled upon it when you moved here. It was only a studio, but what more did you need when it was just you? You separated your bedroom from the lounge and kitchen with a curtain that hung from the ceiling. It had been there when you moved in and you didn’t question how exactly the previous residents had got it there in the first place.

The rest of the apartment was undoubtedly old-fashioned. With 60’s and 70’s architecture but you made it your own. You brought all of your furniture from thrift stores, leaning into the 60’s look that you had been lumbered with. A variety of rugs covered the floor, lamps were placed on tables and plants were in every corner. It felt homely, certainly far from perfect but it was your own, and that was all that mattered.

You spent an hour or so doing your makeup, hair and getting dressed. You had never been the most confident person, but tonight you felt genuinely pretty. But you barely gave yourself time to let yourself feel that before the nerves took over your body. You felt lightheaded, a telltale sign that your anxiety was about to get the better of you.

So you did what you should never do in those situations. You eyed up the bottle of vodka you had out on your kitchen counter, left over from the other night when your friends had come over.

You told yourself you’d do one shot. Ease your nerves and loosen you up so you could at least talk to Eddie when you saw him.

Now, you would like to reiterate that this was the worst decision you could have made.

After the first shot, you called a taxi. And then you took two more shots before leaving your apartment.

You were a lightweight. This is important to note because you were already tipsy.

You arrived at the venue about five minutes before the concert started, meaning it was relatively quiet outside, everyone else was already inside, excitedly waiting for it to start. You remembered what Eddie had said about speaking to security and asking for John. It was cool outside, but not cold. The soft air hits your face and sobers you up slightly, you rested against a wall for a minute, asking yourself what the fuck you were doing.

Eddie had said sorry only after he had shouted at you. Accused you of telling anyone who would listen that you had fucked him. And maybe you were crazy, maybe you were being stupid. But… you looked at him and you felt like you were wrapped in a warm hug, his eyes were deafening. One look into them and time slowed down, any music stopped playing, and everyone stopped talking, all because you were looking at him.

You couldn’t ignore that feeling. It was the feeling you read about in fairy tales as a child. So here you were, wearing your heart on your sleeve. Trusting Eddie not to break it.

You made your way over to one of the entrances and spoke to the man standing there. You asked him to get John. He asked your name, and when you told him a knowing look crossed his face. He smiled and told you to wait there.

Has Eddie told everyone about you? No, no he wouldn’t do that. He probably told John to let security know you were coming, so they wouldn't turn you away.

Whilst you waited for John you felt the alcohol really take an effect. Oh no.

Before you had time to curse yourself for your decisions John rounded the corner, he smiled at you and waved you forward.

“I really hoped you would turn up. I don’t know why, but I did.” John told you, there was something in his voice you couldn’t place. He sounded happy, amused almost. A complete turnaround from his demeanour when you first met him.

“Eddie could convince anyone to do anything.” your voice was slightly shaky, trying to act sober will do that to a person. John looked at you as he led you to the balcony you would watch the show from, a knowing look crossing his face.

If he knew you were drunk, he spared you the embarrassment of pointing it out “He really could.” John pushed back a curtain and signalled for you to walk through. The balcony was big, and there were plenty of people up there. Some were sitting on the sofas that were dotted along the back wall, others were leaning over the railing watching the concert. It had just started, and the noise was deafening as you walked in, the music was almost drowned out by the screams throughout the arena.

“I’ll come back to get you at the end” you nodded your appreciation and walked over to the railing, a couple of people smiled at you. You assumed they were all family and friends, and suddenly you felt incredibly out of your comfort zone. You focused on the show instead, ignoring the eyes that you could feel staring at the back of your head. You didn’t blame them for being curious as to who you were, you just wished they would stop staring at you.

Twenty or so minutes later someone who obviously worked the bar brought over a tray of cocktails for everyone. Given your already tipsy state, you were inclined to pass on them, but then a sweet woman brought you one over. She was all wide smiles, sparkly eyes and gentle conversation. And soon enough you were downing another cocktail whilst she told you all about herself.

She was the wife of the drummer. They were high-school sweethearts and had a kid together. It was nice, she didn’t pressure you to tell her exactly why you were there which you were grateful for. You weren’t sure how to explain you were a one-time hook-up who was now here for… you still didn’t know what you were here for. But you felt yourself relax as you finished the cocktail and you ended up enjoying yourself far more than you had anticipated, a smile was plastered across your face when the concert ended and John came up behind you, a gentle tap on the shoulder to get your attention.

“Eddie asked me to take you straight out to the car, he’s already there,” John said as he held an arm out around you. You were drunker than you thought.

“Why are we going to a car? Wait–” You turned around comically fast, John held back a laugh when you held your arm out to steady yourself “did you tell Eddie I was… drunk?” you whispered the last word, for some reason.

You were so far gone it would have been funny any other time. Right now you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

“I popped my head in halfway through and saw you down a cocktail. Considering I could smell vodka on you when you got here I made the safe assumption you wouldn’t be sober.” your face dropped at his words and he noticed, “hey don’t worry about it. Eddie is in no position to judge anyone for this, trust me, sweetheart.”

You nodded and let him lead you to the car, the cold night air a welcome feeling on your warm skin. John opened the door for you and you looked in to see Eddie with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh no he’s gonna laugh at me John” you sounded like a child who had been caught eating chocolate when they weren’t supposed to. John couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“Yeah he might, but it will be out of love” you tilted your head at his words. ‘Out of love’ was a saying, but the idea of Eddie loving you made your heart jump and your brain shut off.

John asked for your address, and when you questioned why exactly he needed to know that, he said Eddie was taking you home.

“Okay you’re like Bambi on ice here sweetheart, give me your hand”

You had arrived at your apartment soon enough, the flickering city lights and the motion of the car enough to make your head spin. Eddie noticed and told you to rest your head on his shoulder. You did what he said, practically burying your face in his jacket to stop the dizziness from getting worse. Now you were attempting to make it up to your apartment, which was proving to be a much more difficult task than it should be. You had sobered up compared to earlier, but you were still tipsy and your balance was questionable at the best of times. You were still tipsy enough to be far more relaxed than you were expecting to be around Eddie.

Eddie held a hand out for you and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, balancing yourself as you walked down the corridor.

“I am much more graceful than Bambi ever was,” you told Eddie, trying to search for your keys in your pockets as you stood outside your door.

“If you say so” Eddie laughed, it was a sweet laugh, one that filled your whole body with warmth and made you feel all gooey inside. Gooey was not a word that existed in your daily vocabulary, but apparently, it was when you were drunk.

“Please tell me you have your keys–”

“I have them! These pockets are just– oh! See, I’ve got them!”

“You sure do” Eddie watched you as he kept a gentle arm around you, he wasn’t touching you, he was just ready for you to go down at any minute.

You not-so-gracefully managed to get your keys in the door and swing it open, Eddie was hesitant, waiting outside your door as you swept your apartment, turning on the lamps and closing your curtains. “You can come in, you know”

“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe, that’s all.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to me?” you asked him, had he changed his mind? You felt tears well at the back of your eyes and you silently cursed yourself.

“Tomorrow. If you want to. I’ll give you my number, and you can call me when you’re not drunk, okay sweet?”

“O-okay. '' he watched you search for something for a minute, and then you were signalling for him to come in. He did, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

“Here. Write your number down for me,” you told him as you held out the pad and paper. A smile spread across his face and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“I could just put my number into your phone, sweetheart. I thought I was meant to be the old one here.”

“Shut up, it’s cute this way,” you whispered under your breath, but he clung to every word. You were different in your own home, Eddie thought. More relaxed, although that could be the alcohol. But no, the way that you walked around, comfort seeping into you as you relaxed back into your own space. The way you had slipped your shoes off instantly, your socks padding across the floor as you turned on the lights. It suited you, he thought.

Eddie nodded his head to the table in the corner, asking if he could lean against that to write his number for you, as you had insisted. You mouthed a ‘yeah’ at his request. He seemed to take in everything around him as he walked over to the table, looking at the decor you had lying around. You suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable.

He was in your home. This man was still arguably a stranger. But that pang of vulnerability was soon replaced with a feeling of contentness. Eddie suited domesticity. He fit right into your space, his style a contrast to your apartment, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

You pulled your eyes away from Eddie long enough to try and grab yourself a drink of water. But as you leant your hands on the kitchen counter you placed your hand right on a knife you had left out earlier. In your drunken state, you attempted to pick it up and put it away, but you managed to grab the sharp edge. You pulled your hand back quickly, but there was still a cut on your palm, blood pooling around the injury.

“Oh shit,” you hissed, pain evident in your voice.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie practically jumped out of the chair he had sat in, dropping the pen he was holding and making his way over to you.

“I picked up that knife,” you told him.

“What– why– why did you do that?” Eddie asked you, with genuine confusion in his voice as he gently took your hand into his, looking at the damage you had done.

“Well I thought it would be fun to– I obviously didn’t do it on purpose!” you said defensively, but you were smiling at him despite the pain.

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie hadn’t heard any of what you had just said, you could tell by the flatness of his voice, “come on, let’s get you sorted out.”

You suddenly felt nervous, his hand on your sending heat rising throughout you. “No, it’s okay. You go, I can just stick a bandaid on it. It’s all good.”

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing I left a lady in distress.” Eddie joked, you couldn’t help the blush that flooded your cheeks at his words, “besides your hand could still fall off.” Eddie said in a dead-serious tone. One that made you burst out laughing.

“I think it’ll be okay,” you said through breathy laughter.

“Let me take care of you and we’ll know for certain,” Eddie said. You nodded and he asked you where your bathroom was. You stared at him for a second and then pointed to the only door in the apartment, besides the front one. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the smartest cookie in the jar. But that was okay.

Eddie led you to the bathroom and you sat down on the counter next to the sink, holding your hand out in front of you.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” Eddie asked you gently.

“In the cupboard below the sink,” you told him, moving your legs to the side so he could get to it.

Eddie bent down and grabbed it off the shelf. He stood back up and placed it next to you, opening it and grabbing out what he needed. You moved your legs so Eddie could stand between them. He picked up your hand and looked at it once more before he gently cleaned it. You watched his hands the whole time, the way he was so soft with you, whispering out little apologies when you whispered out a complaint once that it hurt.

Eddie wrapped a dressing around your hand, you asked if it was too much but he said the cut was deeper than you realised. So you simply nodded and watched his hands wrap around yours. Once he had secured the dressing he looked up at you, breathing a “done” and holding your hand in his.

You meant to say thank you, but that wasn’t what came out “You’re really pretty.”

Eddie smirked and dropped his head, you could tell he was trying not to laugh at your brutal honesty. “So are you angel.”

A sickly-sweet smile crossed both of your faces. You wanted to kiss him.

You should kiss him.

You moved your head ever so slightly, but Eddie caught on to what you were doing and brought his spare hand up to rest on your cheek, a sweet movement but one that was intended to stop you from doing what you were about to.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy,” you insisted.

“I’m not gonna kiss you. Not tonight, sweetheart.” You pouted at his words. A childish move and quite frankly it confirmed to him that you were far from sober.

“When I kiss you again, I want you to remember it.” you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his. His hand on your face, and his voice and his eyes and it was all-consuming.

“Come on, get into bed,” you smirked and he swore every time you smiled at him you took a little piece of his heart with you. “By yourself, smartass. Get into bed by yourself.”

“My makeup,” you told him. It was barely a full sentence but it was the best you could do when he was standing so close to you.

“Yeah, I like it.” He said. He rubbed his thumb under your eye and you held back a laugh.

“No– I can’t go to sleep in my makeup.” you clarified. He sighed out an ‘oh’ and then dipped back down to open the cupboard below the sink. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but then he came back up with makeup remover and a washcloth. A smile that tugged on his star-filled eyes flooded his face.

Your heart broke for him all over again but for a different reason this time.

“Close your eyes, angel. Don’t wanna blind you.”

You did as he said, slowly closing your eyes after you saw him tip some of the water onto the cloth. He was incredibly gentle with you, barely applying enough pressure to remove the makeup, but you didn’t tell him that.

After a minute or so you felt his hand leave your face and you hesitantly opened your eyes. He smiled at you and tilted his head, taking you in.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up old man.” you let out an obnoxiously loud laugh. In your defence, in your current state, that was the height of comedy.

“Oh wow. You have a talent for running perfect moments don’t you doll.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not old” You told him, moving to get down off the counter and make your way into bed, “You’re middle-aged”

Eddie huffed out a laugh as he followed you, “I’ll take it.” He sighed, you couldn’t see but his eyes were full of love as he watched you get into bed. You hadn’t bothered to change into pyjamas. That felt… too much. You were drunk enough that you could easily fall asleep in your clothes.

“Do you need to lock the door after me,” Eddie asked quietly.

“The door locks automatically, as soon as you shut it. I’ve been locked out too many times to count,” you told him, your voice muffled by the pillow your head was smushed against.

“Okay.” Eddie ran a hand through your hair that fell around your face. “I’m gonna go, angel.”

You were too tired to verbally respond anymore, sleep had quickly taken over when your body hit the mattress. You heard Eddie move around, but didn’t lift your head to see what he was doing. And then you heard the door open and shut.

Your eyes shut to the sound of his walking down the corridor.

When you woke up the next morning your first thought was of Eddie.

And that was how you knew you were officially fucked.

You sat up and a glass of water on your bedside table caught your eye. You didn’t remember putting it there but you gratefully leaned over and picked it up, taking small sips as you assessed how bad your hangover was.

It wasn’t. That was your saving grace. You were still young enough to avoid bad hangovers; you had a slight headache and the sunlight seemed slightly too bright. But it was nothing a couple of painkillers wouldn’t sort out. Sitting up fully you swung your legs out of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a dull thud.

You put the now-empty glass back down and a piece of paper grabbed your attention. Picking it up you saw a number written down. And an ‘-E’ next to it.

Eddie got back to the hotel to find John waiting outside his room.

“It’s creepy to stalk people, you know?” Eddie announced as he pulled out the card to open the door.

John ignored him, “How was the girl?” heasked, tiredness seeping from him.

“You know her name, what’s with calling her ‘the girl’ all the time?” Eddie asked as he stepped inside.

“I like it. Makes it sound more mysterious.” John said as he leaned in the doorway, watching Eddie make his way down the hallway and into the bedroom.

“She’s passed out in bed,” Eddie shouted loud enough for John to hear him.

“Good. The poor girl’s gonna have a hell of a morning.”

“She’s young, she’ll be fine,” Eddie said, coming back out from the bedroom and leaning against the wall.

“Right. And you? You’ll be fine too?” John asked sincerely.

“If you let me get some damn sleep I’ll be great.” John nodded and pushed himself off the door frame, pulling the door shut behind him.

Eddie didn’t sleep much that night. He tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, finally falling asleep when his body physically couldn’t stay awake any longer.

He was thinking about you. He couldn't stop thinking about you.

Which is why when his phone rang halfway through the morning, he jumped off the couch and practically lunged for his phone that was sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice was loud against the quietness on the other end of the phone, for a minute he worried it wasn’t you calling. His chest suddenly felt heavy, but then–

“Hi. It’s me.” You.

Your voice rang through his head and he would never admit to anyone that a smile graced his face at the sound.

“How are you?” Eddie asked, he swore you could hear his smile in his voice.

“I’m alive.” you said, laughter bubbling up, “No, I’m okay actually.”

“Enjoy it, you won’t be young forever, doll,” Eddie told you as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Yeah– yeah I know.” something deeper seeped into your voice, a seriousness coming through your words. “Can we talk? I know you wanted to last night, and I’m so so sorry, I’m so embarrassed that I–”

“You’re all good, sweetheart,” Eddie responded and he heard you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Do you want to come over? I can send a car for you, come and pick you up?” Eddie asked, holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

“No I can just get a taxi, it’s okay.” Eddie already knew better than to argue with you, so he didn’t. “Where are you? Some fancy hotel for rich people I’m guessing?”

Eddie chuckled, he liked it when you made fun of him, because he could always hear the adoration in your voice as you did, “yeah I’m at uh– the same hotel I was last time.”

“Ah, yeah okay. So it’s okay for me to come over, you’re not busy?” You asked sweetly, nerves peeking their head.

“No. Never.” Eddie told you.

Eddie told you the floor and room number before you hung up.

Shit. Okay.

He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t fuck this up again.

The drive to the hotel was the longest you had ever experienced. Every emotion was running through your body as you rode the elevator to Eddie’s floor. Your leg bounced underneath you repeatedly as you fiddled with the ring on your middle finger. Eventually, the doors opened and you stepped out, smiling at a couple as they walked past you.

You checked the number on each door until you reached the one Eddie had told you was his.

You could still turn around.

No.

You were already knocking on the door. And you heard someone move around through the door. You realised you were scratching your hands and quickly dropped them to your sides before the door opened, and you saw Eddie standing there.

He looked like he always did. Messy hair framed his face. Freckles dotted his nose and under his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice alone could convince you to do anything he asked of you, it was one of those voices that managed to seep into your veins and completely engulf you.

“Hey,” you responded, feeling that calm overtake you. The same calm and safety you felt whenever he looked at you, “Can I come in?” you asked when he didn’t say anything.

He was taking you in. He was also going over everything he wanted to say to you. He was terrified. Truly.

“Yeah– shit, yeah of course,” Eddie uttered, moving to the side to allow you to walk in.

It wasn’t the same suite as last time. This floor was higher up, but it was almost identical. The same layout, the same rooms, the same corridor he had left you standing in.

You walked in and made your way to where you knew the living room was, the same decadence overwhelmed you, and you had to take a minute to get used to it again. Eddie followed a couple of steps behind you - the air was thick with tension, neither of you entirely sure of what the other was about to say or do.

You turned to look at Eddie and inclined your head towards the couch, asking if it was okay for you to sit down. He nodded and you both sat yourselves down on either ends of the couch, enough space between the two of you for another person to fit there.

The TV played silently, a movie playing that you didn’t recognise. The floor-to-ceieling windows that covered the wall to the side of you let sunlight drown the room in a warm golden glow.

“I–”

“Do you-”

You both cut yourselves off as you spoke over one another. It could have been an awkward moment, but the feeling faded into something sweeter. A tender moment that showed each other just how nervous you both were. For some reason, knowing Eddie was just as nervous as you were made you feel better.

“Sorry, I just– I had some… stuff I wanted to to tell you, say to you.” Eddie told you, watching your face ccarefully. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. I’m sorry, go ahead.” You settled back into the couch, lifting your legs and crossing them as you turned to face Eddie.

“Okay I’m not promising I’m very good at articulating myself, or fuckin’ whatever, so you’re gonna have to give me a minute.” Eddie said, his voice shaky.

“That’s okay.” you told him, your voice soft and bareilly above a whisper. His eyes had glazed over with something like fear, you wanted to lean across and rest a comforting hand on his, but you didn’t. Not yet.

“That morning, when I left you–” you tensed up as the memory flooded back, Eddie noticed it too but carried on, “I have regretted that every day since then. I’ve done some really fucking stupid things, maybe one day I can tell you all of them, but that? Leaving you? That is the worst thing I have ever done.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and he coughed before carrying on talking, giving himself a minute to gather himself.

“I thought I would move on. Forget about you– and I know, that makes me sound like a complete asshole, but I’m tryna be honest here. I wanted to forget about you. I needed to. Because the way I felt when I looked at you, scared me so much I didn’t know what to do.”

The emotions you were both feeling were palpable in the comforting silence of the room. You didn’t try and interject, letting Eddie talk. You had never heard his voice sound so genuine. Almost like every other time he had spoken he had been putting on a mask, pretending to be someone else- pretending to be the rockstar everyone so desperately wanted him to be. You liked this version of him a lot more.

“When I was a kid my–” he paused for a minute, unintentional, as if he wanted to speak but he couldn’t form the words for a second, “my mom used to tell me that when you meet someone who makes you feel so happy it terrifies you, you should hold onto them.”

“Because that’s when you know its real. She told me you couldn’t love someone without being scared to death at the same time. Because loving somsone? Fuck, it’s a big feeling, you know?” You laughed gently at that, for someone who famously wrote his own music he really did have an interesting choice of words, but you found it endearing.

“It takes over every part of you and when she would tell me that, I thought she was lying, or something. Because if falling in love was so terrifying I didn’t understand why people would do it.” Eddie was moving his hands as he spoke, punctuating every word with a gentle movement. “And then I never felt that way, towards anyone. In forty years I never looked at someone and felt the world fall out from beneath my feet. And I was glad I didn’t, because I didn’t want to hurt that person.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, your moth dropping open slightly to ask him what he meant. But then he was talking again, and you settled back into listening.

“Sweetheart I am not here to try and emotionally blackmail you into staying, or being with me, or anything, okay?” Eddie’s voice went more serious, his eyes staring into yours in a way that made you think he could see right through you and read every thought that was running through your mind.

“And I’m not going to sit here and tell you some cliche sob story about how I had a shitty childhood and it fucked me up or anything.” You hadn’t realised it but you had moved closer to Eddie, your knees grazing each others as you listened to him talk.

“I did have a crappy childhood- I mean it wasn’t the worst, by any means but it wasn’t an all-American family with a white picket fence, you know? My dad was- my dad was the worst man I’ve ever met in my life, he treated my mom like a fucking piece of shit and I hated him for it. I listened to them fight, argue, I would leave my bedroom door open so I could hear if I needed to go and help my mom.”

You felt tears well in your eyes as he spoke. He was being completely honest with you. You could tell. This wasn’t easy for him to talk about.

He had never spoken about this.

“He’d hit her, do other things too but I remember when he would hit her. I remember the noise it would make. I would try and grab his arm but he would just swing back at me and throw me against the nearest wall– and I was a skinny kid you know? Fuck there was nothing of me, so I had no chance against him.”

Eddie seemed to quickly realise how much he had just said, what he had admitted to you and his face dropped. “Fuck I– I only told you that because one day, after my mom had left, and we were fighting he told me that– he told me that I was just like him.”

“He said when he looked at me, he saw himself. Which I didn’t understand at first, because I was the spitting image of my mom. Hair, the eyes, everything. But then he laughed and told me that one day I’d realise it too, that I was gonna be exactly like him, whether I wanted to or not.” Eddie shifted his body weight on the couch, moving his hand to rest over the back of it.

“So that day I promised myself I would never fall in love with someone, because I would never put someone through what he put me and my mom through.” Eddie wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, he wasn’t crying but he obviously worried he was about to.

When he didn’t carry on talking you said, “Eddie can I say something?” he nodded and you moved your hand to rest it on his knee that was next to yours, his eyes followed your hand movement and then flicked back up to yours when he realised what you were doing.

“You just sat and told me that you’re biggest fear is turning into your dad, right?” Eddie nodded slowly, waiting to see what you were going to say. “But the fact that you just told me that? That means you are nothing like him.”

Eddie swallowed a lum in his throat, “I don’t want to hurt you, in any way. But what if there’s something inside me that is just bad.”

“What if there’s something inside of you that is just desperate to love and be loved?”

Eddie moved his hand to rest over yours, and you interlaced your fingers together.

“There’s more I want to tell you, but I can’t right now, I’m just not ready but I will, soon. And I will spend every minute of every day aplogizing for leaving you, for being an asshole to you at the diner, for everything. I promise you I–”

‘Eddie, I know you will.” you truly did know that.

“Okay.” his voice come out soft, gratefulness tinging his voice as he realised you genuinely meant it. And then an understanding flicked between the two of you.

You two were far from perfect. This situation was far from a fairytale. And maybe to everyone else you would seem crazy for what you were about to do. But you didn’t care. Because when you looked at Eddie you felt the most terrified you have ever felt in your life, because you knew you wanted to see his face every day for the rest of your life.

Eddie knew that too. He knew there was no other option anymore. He had to wake up next to you every morning, he had to fall asleep next to you every night, and there was no other choice expect that.

“Can you kiss me now?” you asked, a smile tugging on your lips and lighting your eyes up in a way that had Eddie falling head over heels all over again.

“Yeah– yeah, sweetheart. Come here,” Eddie leaned forward at the same time you did and cupped your face in both of his hands, you titled your head to the side and then all of the planets aligned and nothing else mattered except the press of his lips against yours.

The kiss started off slow, sweet and deep like you were both trying to saviour this moment for as long as possible. Eddie’s lips moved gently against your own and you reached up to take one of his hands that was cupping your face, and interlace your fingers together.

His lips were soft and you felt like you were floating on a sun-kissed cloud everytime he guided your head to the side, allowing him to kiss you harder, deeper. Soon enough that feeling built up inside you again and you took a leap of faith; opening your mouth and letting your tongue run softly over Eddie’s bottom lip, a desperate plead for more.

Eddie pulled back, you leaned forward trying to chase his lips, and he couldn’t help the love that consumed him at the look of serenity that painted your face. You didn’t want to be away from him for even a second. And neither did he, but he didn’t want to ruin this, or seem like he only wanted one thing.

“Sweetheart– we don’t have to.” Eddie told you gently, his hand caressing your face and his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin.

“You don’t want to?” You asked, if he didn’t want to you would stop, of course you would.

“No! I mean no, yes– I do want to, fuck of course I do. I just don’t want you to think-”

“I don’t think that Eddie, I promise.” you cut him off before he could finish speaking, already knowing what he was about to say, the worry that flashed across his face told you everything you needed to know. A sickly-sweet smile spread across his face before he leaned back in to kiss you. Your lips moving against each others in perfect harmony, like this was what you were meant to do all your life.

Eddie let his tongue run over your bottom lip, you let him deepen the kiss and your tongues met in a cataclysmic way, both of you desperate to taste each other. The kiss was fast and slow, deep and soft, it was everything you had been craving for the past seven months- even when you hated him, you couldn’t forget the way his lips had felt on yours.

You could have been making out for five minutes or five hours, time had no meaning when you were with Eddie, it was all him and nothing else. But then you felt him push you back slightly, he relucatlanly pulled away from you, his lips still grazing yours as he told you to lie down.

You did as he asked you to, clumsily manouvering your body until you were lay flat against the soft couch cushions, Eddie moving to lie on top of you. One of his hands rested on your waist, his fingers grazing the tiny slip of skin that was showing where your jumper had raised up. He rested his weight on his forearm next to your head, carefully moving your hair out of the way before he did so.

You breathed him in as he lowered his mouth to your jaw, planting gentle kisses over your face. His hair fell around both of you, and if kissing Eddie felt like heaven then you didn’t have the vocolabury to describe what it felt like to be underneath him, completely consumed by everything that was so undeniably Eddie.

His curly hair, his soft lips, the little sighs he let out when he kissed a new spot on your body, the way his ring-clad fingers graze your skin. It was as close to a religious experience that you would ever get.

Eddie trailed kisses down your across your jaw and down your neck, you lent your head back further, giving him more room and you felt his lips turn up into a smile against your skin.

Your hand raised to rest in Eddie’s hair as he kissed your neck, instantly finding your sweet spot again, as if no time had passed and every sound you had made and reacted to his every touch came flooding back to him as he tasted your skin.

He was determined be soft with you. Take things slow and savour every moment. You were too, but then Eddie gently grazed your sweet spot with his teeth and you found yourself pushing his head further into his neck, desperate for his touch.

Eddie listened to you, the hand on the back of his head told him everything he needed to know. He gently sucked a lovebite over your pulse point; the breathy moans that fell from your mouth were music to him, he would do whatever it took to hear those noises for the rest of his life.

Eddie continued to mouth at your neck until he needed to kiss you again. He lifted his head from your neck only to be met your heavy eyelids, mouth slightly parted and a look of complete comfort on your face. He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head back up to him. Your noses touching before he connected your lips, and you kissed like the world was ending tomorrow.

This was perfect, but you needed more. You felt that familiar aching start to grow within you and you languidly moved one of your legs to wrap around Eddie’s waist, pulling him flush against you.

Your movement caused Eddie to falter in his kissing you, for just a second. And then he had his hand on your jean-clad thigh and he was carefully grinding his hips down into yours. Determined to keep the soft atmosphere you were both bathing in. You panted into each other’s mouths, neither of you kissing anymore, your lips only moving against each other because of the gentle movement of Eddie rocking against you.

Neither of you said anything, you didn’t need to. Your soft pants and whimpers filling the soothing silence in the room. Both of you perfectly content to just take each other in, feel each other’s bodies move against each other, without any rush for more.

You lasted like that for a while. Sweet kisses shared between the two of you. And then Eddie made one move with his hips that had you moaning louder than you had before, and suddenly it wasn’t enough.

“Eddie,” you managed to breathe out.

“Yeah, angel?” Eddie asked you, his own voice sounding fucked out already.

“Need more,” Eddie pressed a kiss to your lips in response, he would give you whatever you needed.

“Yeah? tell me sweetheart, I’ll give you whatever you need, you just need to tell me.” Eddie’s soft voice settled over you and tightened your grip on him, grounding yourself. Trying to remind you that was real. This was really happening. Eddie made you feel so safe that you didn’t feel any embarrassment in telling him what you needed.

“I need- fuck, need your fingers, please.” Eddie whispered an okay and managed to slip his hands between your bodies, sitting up to undo the buttons on your jeans, his hands were shaking slightly. Yours were too.

“Can you just lift your–” you did what he asked before he got the question out. Somehow, despite him lying over you, he managed to take your jeans and underwear off. You both laughed quietly when it became slightly awkward, both of you moving around as you needed to. Soon enough he had your jeans placed on the floor next to you.

Eddie placed kisses along the top of your thigh, moving up to kiss over your waist and stomach, gently pushing up your jumper once you signalled it was okay for him to do that. He already had your pants off, and yet he wouldn’t even lift your top up without getting your permission again.

Eddie was kissing every square inch of your body, his plump lips leaving sparks everywhere he touched you. As content as you were to bask in the affection, you really needed him to touch you.

You tapped his shoulder and pulled him up to you, moving him where you wanted him, exposing his neck so you could kiss it. He let you, tilting his head to side and letting small breathless whines fall from his lips as yours caressed his neck.

You felt his hand slip between your bodies again and then his fingers fell to between your legs and he ran them through your slit, gathering the wetness he found there and moving them up to your clit.

“Fuck doll, you’re so wet, so fuckin’ perfect for me.” Eddie was breathless just from feeling how needy you were for him. He already knew he would never get over the affect he had on you.

You moaned out in response and Eddie circled your clit. His fingers sedning sparks through your body, “Oh god– Eddie”.

“I know, I know. It’s okay, let it out. Let me hear you.” Eddie cooed at you, applying slightly more pressure and just barely speeding up, and when your back arched off the sofa he smiled, knowing he’d found the perfect way to touch you.

Eddie dipped down to kiss you, and you pulled him closer to you. You werne’t sure you would ever be close enough to him. He kissed you as his hand worked you to your breaking point, he swallowed your soft whimpers and moans, letting out little shh shh shh’s and comforting praise when you got too worked up.

“Fuck oh my god– inside me, please Eds,” The nickname broke his heart and he kissed your forehead before dipping his two fingers down to press them gently inside you.

The stretch of his two fingers was definitely there, but it was clouded by the pleasure that spread through your body, and the relief of him touching you the way you needed.

“You’re okay, sweets?” Eddie asked when he saw your eyebrows scrunched together, eyes closed. But then you moaned and nodded your head with such certainty it would have been comedic if he wasn’t so completely enamoured by the way you were falling apart underneath him.

He slowly started moving his fingers in you, your wetness making it feel even better. Eddie was barely even pulling them out of you, instead he rocked them gently inside you, and when he curled his fingers upwards you swear you died for a second. Your eyes screwed shut and your mouth dropping open in a soundless moan.

You were so despeate you knew from the start you wouldn’t last long, but he had barely been going for two minutes and you felt that knot get tighter in your stomach and you knew you were so close to being thrown over the edge.

Eddie felt you get tighter around his fingers and he was grinding his hips down into your thigh without even realising he was doing it. Feeling his hips move against you was all you needed to send you to your breaking point, Eddie noticed instantly in the way your breath hitched.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” you nodded as he kissed your cheek, your nose, the side of your mouth; anywhere he could reach. “You can come angel, come on. Just let go for me, I’ve got you. Need to feel you come all over my fingers for me”

His words sent you over the edge and you barely even recognised the sounds you let out, your ears were ringing and you were sure your vision blacked out for a second. Eddie never let up, working you through your orgasm, drawing it out for as long as possible, letting you ride it until it got to be too much.

When it did, your hand flew down to his hand, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements. Eddie carefully pulled his fingers out of you and your eyes went wide with need when he raised them to his mouth, cleaning your arousal off of them and dipping down to kiss you.

The taste of yourself on his tongue was all-consuming. Eddie moaned against you and you pushed your hand between you to feel his cock through his pants. His hips stuttered and he swore under his breath.

“Fuck sweetheart, keep doing that.” Eddie practically begged you, and who were you to say no to such a pretty man begging you to touch him?

You kept plaming him over his pants, he was moaning into his neck and when you undid his zipper to slip your hand underneath he almost bit down on the skin he was sucking on to stop himself from distrubing the rest of the hotel with the sounds that were falling from his mouth.

“Shit, okay– I need to be inside you, angel. Is that okay?” Eddie asked, his eyes clouded with arousal and his skin flushed.

You nodded and shorty after Eddie was pulling you up from your position on the couch. Eddie stood up and held his hand out for you. You took it and he led you to the bedroom across the hallway. Time slowed down as he delicately placed his hands on you hips and pulled you against him, kissing you as he placed his hand behind your head and lay you down onto the bed, climbing to rest on top of you.

You kissed him until you felt him tense against you. You bit back a laugh at how desperate he was, he didn’t want to rush you, of course. But he was certain if he didn’t get inside you in the next two minutes he was going to go insane. He needed to feel you around him.

You pushed Eddie’s shoulder and he pulled away from you to see what you were doing.

“Fuck me, Eddie.” you said breathlessly.

Eddie didn’t need to be asked twice.

He backed off you to throw off his trousers and top and grab a condom. You watched him intensely and felt the wetness cover your thighs at the sight of him.

You had almost forgotten how perfect he was. Almost.

He moved back over you, kissing you as he wrapped your legs around his waist loosely. He guided himself into you, rubbing himself over your clit a couple of times until you were whimpering for him to please fuck you.

He remembered the last time. How it took you a second to adjust to him. He was gentle as he pushed unto you a few inches. He stold your breath from you for a second, the stretch not feeling as painful as last time, instead you were already begging for more. Moving your hips to get him deeper.

Eddie smiled and carried on pushing into you. Watching your face for any sign that you were uncomfortable, but it never came. Soft whimpers and moans fell from your lips and your legs tightened around him as he bottomed out inside you.

It felt so right. Nothing felt as right as Eddie being inside you.

“Fuck, good girl– taking me so fucking well.” Eddie praised you as he began to move inside you, pulling out almost all the way and then back into you.

He found the perfect rhythm. One that had you both whispering soft praises into each others mouths and had your nails digging into his back. His forearms were back on either side of his head as held his body weigh off of you.

But when you whimpered out in protest at the small piece of space left between you he lowered himself, his chest flush against yours and his head buried in your neck.

His ring-clad fingers held onto your thigh around his waist- despite the gentleness, you were sure you would have marks there afterwards.

Eddie normally lasted a while, but being inside of you sent him flying towards his release ridiculously fast. He mouthed at your neck and when he hit that sweet-spot inside you, you let out a moan that could have made Eddie come there and then.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good– oh god,” his voice was muffled against your neck, never stopping pressing kisses into your skin.

“You feel so good too, fuck Eddie.”

Eddie wanted you to come again before him, he pushed one of your legs up, holding it against you and the change in position had you clawing at his back and pulling his head up so you could kiss him.

You could tell Eddie was close by the whimpers he was letting out, his head dropping to rest against yours and you could hear him right in your ear, sending your eyes rolling back into your head.

“Fuck I want you to come for me, Eddie,” you whispered against his hair.

He pulled up to look at you, he looked completely fucked out and you wondered how he hadn’t come already.

“Want you to come first, angel, okay?” Eddie asked you, desperation seeping through his words.

“No, no it’s okay. Please I want you to come. I need you to come for me, please baby–”

Eddie mewled and you pulled him down into a fiery kiss, the gentleness that had permeated everything you had done before suddenly disappearing.

“Jesus sweethear, you;re gonna kill me, oh fuck–”

Eddie groaned and you felt his hips stutter against yours as he came. You ran your fingers through his hair as he came. His grip on your thigh loosening and your leg dropping back against the mattress when his whole body went limp.

If he wasn’t already flush against you he would have collapsed.

You both breathed heavily as he came down from his high. You don’t know how long you lay there for, but Eddie slid his arm underneath your back and pulled you impossibly tighter against you as his head found its place back in your neck.

You were glad he was so fucked out, because you didn’t want him to pull out yet. You loved the feeling of him inside you.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie said into your neck.

You ran your nails along his scalp, humming in answer to his question, telling him you were listening.

“Thank you, fuck you’re. I–” Eddie stopped himself when he looked at you.

But you knew what he wanted to say. He just couldn’t yet. You understood.

“I know. I know, Eddie.” You comforted him and he kissed you, his tongue running over your lips and you stayed like that for a while. Soft, deep kisses shared as you both came to terms with what had just happened. What it meant.

Soon Eddie moved off of you, pulling out gently and tidying himself up. You expected him to come back with a warm washcloth to clean you up to. But when he walked back into the room he pulled you to the end of the bed and knelt down in front of you, pulling your legs over his shoulders.

“Eddie, what–”

“You didn’t come, sweetheart. That just won’t work.” Eddie said before he ran his tongue over your sensitive cunt and your hands dived into his hair and your back arched off the bed and the whole world seemed to go quiet again.

His tongue ran through your slit, alternating between sucking on your clit and dipping his tonuge inside you. You mewled and whimpered and he held his arm over your waist to keep your body pressed to the mattress. But leaving you enough space to grind your hips into his face, he mewled and pulled back to tell you how good you were being for him, that he wanted you to use him until you were seeing stars.

You didn’t last long after that. Your hand covered his that held your waist down and you threw your hea back, letting your hips mvoe against him and not hiding the moans that fell from your half-open mouth.

“Oh fuck me, Eddie– I’m gonna–”

“I know, come on angel, come for me.”

That was all it took for you to go over the edge for the second time. Eddie worked you through your orgasm again, only moving his mouth away from you when you were physically pulling back from the overstimualtion.

When you opened your eyes, as you felt the mattress dip around you, you saw Eddie. His star-flecked eyes looking at yours and you held him against you.

No one else could ever make you feel the way he could.

And no one else could make him feel the way you did.

You and Eddie spent the rest of the day in bed together. Limbs tangled and your head resting on his chest. His arms wrapped around you as he softly scratched your back whilst you talked about anything and everything.

It didn’t matter what you were talking about, it just mattered that you two were together.

You had sex a few more times that day, each time taking your breath away just like the first time. It was all slow and intended to show the other just how much you meaned to each other.

You fell asleep that night completely exhausted. You wrapped yourself around Eddie and he felt sure this was how he would fall asleep for the rest of his life.

You weren’t perfect. Neither of you were. But you didn’t want each other to be perfect- you just wanted you to be yourselves. And you were.

There was a lot to figure out, Too many things you had to discuss and learn about each other. But for now, this was enough.

And when you woke up the next morning, the sunlight hitting your faces from forgetting to shut the curtains, you only pulled the comforter over both do your heads.

Eddie stirred awake and pulled you tighter against him, his arms wrapped around you and you settled back against him, your face in his neck as he rubbed his hands up and down your back, lulling you back to sleep.

thank you so much for reading! <3

taglist @harrys-four-nipples @choke-me-eddie @hbaramas @cardiganquinn @etherealeddie @eddies-girl-22 @tlclick73 @c0untryclub @eddiemunson95 @harrys-tittie @bestofbucky @somethingvicked @emma77645 @bebe0701 @bibieddiesgf @ganjas-shit @corkadymu @digitalhearts @specialsnowflake-gabbi @littlestarfighter03 @mandyjo8719 @hargrovesswifee @eddiesguitarskills @sunnytkm23 @bpj519 @ajeff855 @sebastiansstanswhore @marriedtoeddie @manda-panda-monium @kissmyacdc @tayhar811 @husherstan @teary-eyed-egg @ourautumn86 @whenshelanded @alana4610 @tabloidteen @tobesolovelysstuff @damon-loves-pie @georgiapeaches-world @josephsfavoritegirl @angel-jz @kittenslovie @boinkybarness @sadpetalsstuff @sashaphantomhive @winterton-reads @hermadroyalhiney @loveberrie (i'm sorry if you asked to be on the tag list and you're not here, it got chaotic and i tried my best 🤍)

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andypantsx3 · 1 year

Note

ANDY U CANT LEAVE US HANGING I NEED MORE DRAGON SHOUTO?,!?.!. please… i think ill die if u dont elaborate WHAT DO U MEAN WE’RE FACE TO FACE WITH HIM… what does he say… what does he DO… i need to know more omfg

Riffing off of @mhathotfic's tags on my original post, which I absolutely loved.

It happens on a cold January evening, just a few months after you've reached your majority.

You escape out into the frosty winter evening to join Shouto, unable to bear your family's increasingly-regular discussions of your marriageability now that you're of age.

Once you dragged home a dragon fledgling, you'd always sort of imagined that the question of your eligibility would be somewhat moot. Not many men wanted a wife who came with little dowry, and even fewer might want one who came with an enormous fire-breathing lizard who barely let her out of his sight.

You thought Shouto would sooner burn down your husband's house than listen to any sounds of discomfort on your wedding night—you didn't think many men would be willing to consummate a union with that threat lingering just beyond the window.

Not that you wanted to be married to any of the village men. Ever since you were little, you'd always had this feeling—a feeling like there was someone out there for you, just out of reach, like they were just a step beyond the next corner. Close, but somehow impossible to catch. So you'd never wanted a husband from the village, and you certainly don't now.

So once the discussion turns towards the topic of your being married yet again over dinner, you excuse yourself, and go out into the night to find Shouto, who is never more than a few hundred meters away.

You find his enormous form easily, his red-and-white patterned scales glittering in the light of a fire he's set, out in the fields you'd found him in as a child, as if he'd somehow anticipated you'd be coming out to him.

He cracks open a fiery blue eye, watching your approach, and lifts a wing as you near him, crowding you between the fire and his warm scales, creating a sort of tent with his wing to keep the heat in, and keep you close to him.

You absently pat his side, sinking down against him, sticking your hands out to the fire.

"They're talking about husbands again," you say, and Shouto cranes his neck around so that he can rest his head across your lap, nearly as large as you are, heavy and warm. You reach out to rest a hand across his snout, petting the glittering scarlet scales there.

You've always known he can understand you, given his reactions to the questions you ask, the way he sometimes watches you with knowing eyes. But how much of what you say to him he truly understands will forever be a mystery, as you'll never be able to ask him.

You think he understands enough, though, to know you're displeased.

"A husband," you repeat in disbelief, scratching over his scales again, listening to the rumble that builds up in his chest almost like a purr. He always likes to be petted, though you get an intentionally blank look from him whenever you dare to bring it up, as though he does not like to be made fun of.

"When they should know you're the only boy for me," you tell him, teasing.

Shouto's eye blinks open again, and you lean back to watch him watching you, something curious in his gaze. You begin to recognize the look for what it usually is—the precedent to some type of mischief—whether that be digging up a garden when he was still the size of a particularly fat cat, to accidentally setting a man's pant leg ablaze when he'd whistled after you, the evening of your sixteenth birthday.

You make a curious noise, and you're just about to ask him what he thinks he's up to when there's a crackle like lightning, and the hot, burning scent of ozone reaches your nose.

There's suddenly a rush of cold air over you, Shouto's massive form gone from around you, and the weight in your lap is suddenly much smaller and lighter.

When you look down, Shouto's head is no longer across your legs. Instead, your gaze meets the perfect pale skin of a very strong, very naked back. You realize belatedly that there is a stranger in your lap, a man with a mop of red-and-white hair, scarlet and snow, who has one warm, muscular arm curled around your waist.

You let out a scream, scrabbling backwards, but the stranger's arm locks around you, and the man's face tips up to yours, blinking curiously.

You freeze, your gaze meeting eerily familiar grey-and-blue eyes, set into the most utterly perfect face you have ever seen. The man's features are careful and exact, the slope of his nose blade-straight, his jawline strong, his mouth pretty and plush and weirdly captivating in the flickering firelight. You cannot help but feel you know him, though you are incredibly certain you have never seen him before.

There would be no forgetting a man as beautiful as this.

"Who the hell are you?" you demand, shock rendering you frozen and dumb.

The man blinks, slow and catlike and so hauntingly recognizable. His eyebrows scrunch, as though something's confused him, and then he speaks, slowly and carefully, as if he's just getting a feel for the shape of words in his mouth.

"I am...Shouto," he says, his voice so deep and smooth. It reminds you so much of the deep, rumbling purr Shouto had just been letting out moments ago—your mouth drops open, disbelieving.

"You're Shouto?" you echo, thrown. Though you're beginning to realize that this devastatingly handsome, distractingly naked man is horribly familiar in hundreds of different ways—from the timbre of his voice to his eyes to his hair to the way his arm suddenly curls even more possessively about your waist, the way Shouto's tail sometimes does to keep you pressed close to him.

And with Shouto the dragon suddenly gone...

"You're my dragon? My Shouto?" you demand.

The man blinks, shifting in your lap so that's he's fully turned towards you. He props up on one hand, his face drawing alarmingly close as his other arm presses you into him. He looks very much as if he likes the sound of that.

"Yes, your Shouto," he purrs, pupils going darker. Your heartbeat suddenly kicks back to life in your chest, stuttering and tripping over itself as his large, hot palm presses proprietarily at the small of your back, as he leans in to bring his mouth close to yours.

"And you..." he says, his tone going rich and smoky and dark, like dragon fire. "You have always been mine."

#andie's writing #i hope this is what u were looking for anon!!!#character: todoroki shouto #dragon shouto au

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nu-suave · 1 month

Text

SO, WHERE FROM HERE? feat. getou suguru

word count: 2066

summary: you find suguru in your kitchen, months after his defection from jujutsu society. things go better than expected. a/n: sorry if the pacing is weird. i didn't want to beta read because thinking about beta reading reminds me of the assignment i have due in two days

“I hate him,” you say to yourself, alone in the bathroom as your fingers dig harshly into your temples. “I hate him, I hate him, I don’t like him. I don’t want to make friends with him. I don’t want him to apologise to me. I don’t–”

There’s shuffling in your kitchen. Seven minutes ago, there was a knock on your door. You’d known, since you messaged Suguru three weeks ago begging to see him, that he would show up sometime. Well, you hadn’t known, but you’d heavily suspected. He’d left all of you without a word months ago - Satoru, Shouko, you. It was like one day, he was there (albeit depressive and withdrawn) and the next, he was a wanted man. He’d killed a village of people. He and Satoru had a run-in so bad that Satoru still refuses to say his name.

He’s now sitting in your lounge.

Your hands are clammy. What do you do in this situation? You’d been so awfully lonely when you sent that message. All you’d wanted was your best friend back, to talk to him and understand his reasoning and see where he was coming from. Why he did what he did. If he really hated all of you the way Satoru claimed - if, despite everything that happened, he was still the Suguru you miss so dearly.

“I hate him,” you repeat dully. “I don’t- I don’t want to forgive him. I hate him.”

It’s not working. Shouko had told you that manifestation works wonders on an unsettled mind, but she was clearly lying. You don’t know why you trusted her word. She’s studying medicine, not psychology, and what tests she does take she only scores so high because of the cheating tactics she’s refined under three years of Yaga’s vigilance. You try once more. “I hate him.”

Yeah, it’s not working. Your mouth is thick with cotton, an awful churning in your gut that once, you would have mistaken for nerves. It’s still nerves, just not born from that vague fluster he’d incite in you. It’s dread, plain and simple. You’re terrified of things going wrong. Of him being unjustified. Of messing things up.

Not of messing things up, actually, because there’s nothing to mess up. You hate him, remember?

You kind of feel hypnotised as you step out of the bathroom, steps a slow shuffle and vaguely light-headed. Suguru looks different. He’s switched out the uniform he practically slept in for monk robes, and his hair’s been left to grow out. It was always long, but intentionally - now, his bangs aren’t carefully trimmed, his hair isn’t meticulously slicked back into its bun. He keeps it long, and down, falling prettily around sharp eyes.

Regretfully, he’s always been pretty. It’s not until now that you really find yourself wishing otherwise.

“Hi,” you say lamely, “sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry,” he replies, voice surprisingly warm. He’s got one ankle resting on his knee, your most recent book open in one hand as he skims the pages. “My arrival was surprising. I understand.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.” You hover in the lounge, watching him flip through your book as if nothings out of the ordinary. “Right! Do you want something to drink? Coffee?”

“I’m fine. I don’t know if I’ll stay long.” He turns his gaze to you as he says that, characteristically intense and yet unfamiliarly guarded. You settle awkwardly onto the sofa. “You said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.” Your words are too soft - you hate him, you hate him, you hate him. “I didn’t think you’d reply.”

“I was in the area.”

“Right.” Awkward silence lingers between the pair of you. “So, how have you been?”

“Fine. Better than I’ve been in a while.” He pauses. “I adopted two girls.”

“Oh?” Your heart thuds in your throat. “That’s nice. I always thought you’d make a good dad.”

“It’s turning out to be a harder challenge than I expected.”

You’re both silent once more. God, this is awful. “Hey, Suguru–”

“Listen, I–”

You shut your mouth. He shuts his. This atmosphere; stilted, awkward, like you’re strangers struggling for small talk instead of best friend’s of several years finally reunited. Well, he’s your best friend. You know you were always second place to Satoru. You try again. “Suguru.”

He replies with your name.

“I, um,” you lace your fingers together in an attempt to keep them still in your lap. “I just… I wanted to say- that is, um, that I missed you. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before your eyes, he softens; his shoulders relax, his gaze turns languid, his uncomfortable grip on your book changes. It snaps shut, the soft sound echoing through the room. “I missed you too. You… you meant a lot to me. Mean a lot to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.”

“It’s okay,” you huff, even though it’s not. “I don’t suppose you being wanted was planned. Besides, from what I hear, you weren’t the nicest with your goodbyes to Satoru.”

He winces. “...How is he?”

“Not well. He misses you. We all do.”

Suguru hums.. He’s got the perfect voice for it; soft and lilting, a vague hum high in his throat. “I didn’t want to leave. I just…” he trails off.

“Take your time.” You press your laced hands down in your lap. Your arms are stiff against your side. “I, um, would like to know why you left. Why you took such… extreme actions. I wish you’d told me what you were planning. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed it.”

“It’s okay,” he says, about as honest as your own. “It’s okay. It’s just that… Satoru is on another level, you know? He’s the strongest - we can’t reach him anymore. I can’t reach him anymore. We can’t live off his ambition, and I finally found mine. I ended up struggling with it, with deciding what was right and wrong and how I felt about it.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” His eyes flutter shut as he relaxes into the seat. “Non-sorcerers… they have no idea what we do for him. I always thought we should protect them - that they’re weaker than us, so it’s our duty as the strong to defend them. But time passed, Riko - the star plasma vessel - died, Haibara died. It put a lot of things into perspective.”

You nod. Suguru doesn’t see it. He continues anyway. “Suddenly, I was asking: what’s the point in this? In any of this? Why do we have to fight and die and watch everyone around us be killed just for the safety of some… some monkeys that didn’t even know what we did for them? How is that fair to us?”

“Don’t call them that,” you say sharply. His eyes open, jaw flexing as he stares at you. “I never agreed with you on that, you know? It’s never been fair to us but it always felt patronising, the way you’d talk about non-sorcerers. Like they were so weak, you just had to help them because they’d be helpless without you.”

“Wouldn’t they be?” He asks. “Curses are born from their inability to control cursed energy. If they were all dead, there’d be no more curses. No more need to continue this, where everyone’s always dying for them and then those that don’t have kids to die in their stead.”

“I don’t want to fight with you over this. Why’d you kill that village?”

“For my girls.” Suguru’s lips purse, like he wants to continue what was clearly building up to be a fight, but he lets it go. His arms fall slack in his lap. “The village… they wanted to kill them. My girls are both sorcerers, and they picked up on it. They brought me in to exorcise them, and they were kept chained in this small, filthy cell. They were so scared. They hadn’t been fed properly and hadn't been able to shower in weeks. The leader was there, talking about how these two girls - they’re only six, you know that? - were a blight on the village and a bad omen, and they wanted to kill them. I beat them to it.”

How remarkably Suguru, to want to protect those two girls. He’s always been protective of his underclassmen at Jujutsu High, it’s no surprise he’d go this far. And yet, mass murderer. You remind yourself once again that you’re supposed to hate him. “So you killed them.”

“I killed them.” He confirms. “Witnessing that brutality… it makes it hard to feel any sympathy for non-sorcerers. They were like that after Riko, you know? Clapping endlessly at her dead body. Satoru asked me if we should kill them all. A part of me wishes he’d said yes.”

You nod slowly. It’s hard, biting down the immediate revulsion, the way it battles with your trust and affection. “I don’t think this is the right way to go about it, Suguru. The- the complete disregard for life among Jujutsu society, I don’t think the best way to go about fixing it is slaughtering innocent people. It’s kind of a, uh, systemic issue? Killing non-sorcerers isn’t going to stop the higher-ups from sending people to die.”

“What can I do?” He asks, rhetoric. “I’m already wanted.”

You reach out over to him. You hate him, you hate him. You miss him more. Your hand clasps his, half leaning out of the couch. He meets you halfway, and it dangles somewhat awkwardly in the air until you tug on it, gesturing for him to sit beside you. He does. “Yeah. You are. Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know. I feel happier.”

“Okay.” Your thumb rubs patterns into the warmth of his hand, running over the smooth ridges of his knuckles. You keep your eyes focused there, between you, rather than on his face. “I don’t agree with you, but okay.”

“Okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut, breath shuttering in your chest. His other hand moves, grasp fragile, to tenderly cup the back of your neck - to guide it into leaning against his shoulder. God, you missed him. You missed him so much it hurts. “Okay. I can… do you want to talk to Satoru again?”

“No.” Clipped, sharp, immediate. You suppose you’ll have to take what you can get. Feel like a bit of a monster, honestly, for not fighting him on it. “I can’t.”

“That’s alright,” you murmur, words pressed into the meat of his shoulder, cheek rubbing against the fabric of his robes. “Would you be willing to change? To not kill anyone else? At least for now?”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Why?”

“We can fix this,” you swear, even if you don’t know if it’s true. “We can resolve this, I think. We’ll find a way, if you want to.”

“Okay. But no Satoru.”

He’s not so far down this path that he doesn’t see reason. You couldn’t be more grateful. Before you sits Getou Suguru, mass murderer, your best friend. One of those titles holds more weight than the other. “No Satoru,” you repeat, “but you promise not to kill anyone else.”

“If I can help it,” he says, which is probably the best you can get. “And I’m not promising anything else. I don’t… I need to change things. I can’t…”

“I understand,” you soothe. You don’t, not really, but you will - for his sake, for your own, for the chance of your continued friendship. For what remains of the blossoming relationship you had before everything fell apart. “Just try. Please?”

He nods, the weight heavy against your skull.

“And I want to meet your kids.”

“What?”

“Your kids. They need someone aside from you in their life. I want to meet them.”

He huffs, the puff of air soft against your head. “You’re impossible.”

“This is my condition, Suguru. I’m meeting your girls.”

“Okay. They’ve been wanting to meet you, anyway.”

“You told them stories about me? They better have been flattering.”

“How could they not?” The words are tender, caressing the skin of your cheeks and settling deep in your chest. “Don’t be too nice to them. I want to come out of your meeting still the favourite.”

“Hard ask,” you reply. “I’m going to impress the hell out of those kids. Do they like Barbie, or are they more Monster High kind of girls?”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #getou x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #getou x you #suguru x you

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month

Text

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs.

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils.

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear.

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face.

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen.

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found.

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community.

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5.

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?"

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups.

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago.

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?”

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea.

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most.

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands.

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap.

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty.

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up.

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs.

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless.

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon.

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh.

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next.

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak.

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further.

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better.

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth.

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.”

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority.

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag.

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live.

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone?

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him.

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown.

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder.

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you.

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression.

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly.

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?”

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod.

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm.

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs.

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit.

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love.

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does.

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.”

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back.

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #kendall writes

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