#the way i watched this scene about 20 times

[ziezii]

Zutara Month 2024 ; Scarf

first half of this is entirely inspired by the famous scarf scene from natla! are we surprised even 😂 happy reading everyone!

Zuko opened his eyes, fully expecting himself to be in his bedroom. Only that, he was not.

He looked around, trying to make sense of where he actually was. People chattering amongst themselves, sellers offering their baked and raw goods, large carts being pushed with an assortment of different fruits and vegetables. Zuko figured he's at some sort of marketplace.

He then realized that his scarred eye was covered, a long gray piece of cloth wrapped around his head. Not dwelling on that much further, his uncovered eye scanned around the busy marketplace, almost bumping into people who were walking right in front of him.

“Watch where you’re going kid!” one shouts, Zuko muttering a small ‘sorry.’ and continued walking. After what seemed to be a few minutes, he looked straight forward and found himself staring.

There was a girl, standing not that far from him. She seemed to look confused, well that’s how Zuko felt like she was feeling. The scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders doesn’t hide away from the blue dress she was wearing. She looked, pretty.

Zuko immediately shook his head. Why was he thinking that? He didn’t even know what she looked like. His focus shifted to the point where he almost didn’t see that the girl in front of him was walking to where he stood.

Her shoulder bumped into his left arm, causing him to lose his footing for a small second. The tail-end of her scarf flew upwards as the wind blew, Zuko’s hand shot-up as his fingers grazed through the soft blue fabric as she walked away, his uncovered eye looking to where she was going.

Just as he was about to follow her, a large stand of cabbages was pushed towards his direction. The merchant didn’t seem to realize that there was someone in front of him because his eyes were focused on somewhere else, so imagine his surprise when he heard a grunt and his cabbages all falling on the floor.

The last thing he heard before closing his eyes was a cry from the said merchant, “My, my cabbages!”

…

..

.

Zuko shot-up from his bed, eyes opened. He looked down and saw that he was back wearing his pajamas, well more like his red unwashed shirt with his pair of black sweatpants. He then looked around, he’s back in his bedroom.

He sighed, brushing off what that dream was about and grabbed his phone. The 20+ notifications from Suki and his Uncle asking him where he was immediately made jump out of bed.

“Shit!” he was late, well almost since the tea shop opens in about 30 minutes. Still, he knew Suki would tease the heck about him being late since he’s notoriously famous for being the ‘never late.’ coworker.

Note to self, if your dream starts looking way too good, maybe that’s the time you should wake up.

Forgetting to lock his apartment door, his motorcycle almost getting dented, safe to say that Zuko’s day is going great. He ran to the back doors of his uncle’s tea shop, seeing Suki all dressed with her apron and name-tag eating a sandwich.

He stopped almost in front, panting as he asked, “Am I late?”

Suki looked at her phone, “Nope, almost though.” she said with a knowing smile. Zuko groaned, sitting next to her.

“Before I tease the hell out of you,” she continued, “why were you late?”

He contemplated on telling her, but might as well as he needed to let it off his chest, “Had a dream.”

Suki only looked at him weirdly, “Okay, what kind of dream? You’re not someone who gets distracted, even in your sleep.”

Zuko sighed, he tells her what happened in that dream. Suki listened intently, nodding to show him she was listening.

After telling her, Suki just said, “You never had any sort of dream of her prior?” and he shook his head.

“Well, what if it’s a sign?”

He rolled his eyes at her reply, “What sign? I just so happen to be curious about a girl who appeared in my dreams?”

“Your uncle would certainly say it’s a sign, you never get dreams.”

“Maybe because I don’t tell you guys?”

“If you tell us about this one, then maybe this is your first time dreaming.” she shot back at him, smirking a little. He once again rolled his eyes, he forgot how Suki is a whole hard believer in getting any signs in the form of dreams or visions.

“I don’t think so, I highly doubt it.” Suki just shrugged, by then the two stood up and walked back inside to finally start their shift.

-

“Chan, one jasmine and ginseng tea! Oh, and one cheesecake.” their shift went on as per usual. Zuko was mainly in charge at the dining room, serving and assisting their customers.

Suki too, grabbing their orders up and bringing them to the customers. As Zuko walked to the back of the cashier where his Uncle was sitting, Suki walked and sat next to him.

“Oh! Uncle, you wouldn't believe what Zuko told me.” Zuko immediately threw a death glare at her, but she persisted, “Zuko dreamed about a girl.”

He knew his Uncle was just as adamant as her when it came to his social (well, more-so his love) life so he wasn't surprised when Iroh clapped his hands in pure joy.

Zuko tsk-ed, “Uncle, don't-”

“Why don't my nephew? This is wonderful news!”

“I don't even know what she looks like.”

Iroh smirked, “Well, there must be something that stuck out to you in that dream of yours about her.”

Damn it, Zuko thought.

“So, what was it?” Suki was enjoying the show, also curious since he didn't tell her about this.

He looked back and forth from his Uncle's expectant face to Suki, who grinned his way.

There was no getting out of this, huh.

With a loud sigh, he then muttered, “She was-” but immediately stopped himself when he saw that they had new customers coming in. Not wanting to engage in this conversation any longer, he stood up and walked away from the two.

Iroh laughed, “He never changes.” which Suki nodded and laughed as well.

He grabbed his notepad from his apron's front pocket as their two new customers sat down. Zuko pulled up his small smile as he looked up and asked, “Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon, what can I-”

He stopped. No, it can't be. The scarf. Her scarf.

Noticing the confused looks on him, Zuko shook his head and continued his words, writing down their orders and walking away as he sighed in relief.

He didn't realize he was holding his breath, walking towards the register to type in their orders.

“So, is she the one?”

“Shut up.” Zuko immediately answered, a faint blush on his cheeks giving off his blatant lie.

Suki only laughed, looking over her shoulder to eye on the customer sitting right next to Zuko's dream girl.

Literally.

“Well, you're not the only one eyeing on someone from that table.” Zuko looked at her with a mix of confusion and disgust as he realized what she meant.

“Go talk to her.”

Zuko froze, eyes wide as he looked at her.

“Are you insane?”

“Why not?” she shrugged, “You'll surprise yourself if-”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Two turned around and were greeted by her. The person they were talking about.

Zuko held his breath. After his failed attempts at glancing or keeping eye contact on her when he took their orders, he realizes that this is the first time he's fully seen her.

And damn, was she beautiful.

The scarf wrapped around her neck, her long brown hair let down. Two smaller sections of her front hair pulled back to her hair bun. Zuko knows jack-shit about hair.

Her skin just glows under the orange lighting of the tea shop. He gulped, his eyes darting elsewhere when he realized he'd been staring.

“-And this is Zuko.” he's brought back when he hears Suki. Seeing that Katara was now looking at him, he could only stammer his introduction.

“I, uh,” he gulped, the girl looking at him with this sort of fondness only made it worse, “Hi?”

He groaned, while the two girls just laughed at him.

“Suki, this one's for table 10!”

“Well, looks like this is my queue to leave,” Suki says, patting Zuko's tense shoulder, “If you need anything about your order, Zuko will handle it.”

He was about to protest, but to no avail as Suki already walked away from them. Zuko let out a sigh, before his eyes fell on her once again.

“I'm so sorry, do you, uh, want to add something to your order?” he says a little too fast, but that doesn't stop him from stuttering it all out.

“You're funny.” she chuckled, “Not really for me, but my brother over there wanted to get the cheesecake.”

“No problem, I'll go put that in,” he trails off his words, wanting to continue on what he was saying before she beat him into it.

“Katara.” her smile made him warm, she did know what he wanted to say.

"Alright, Katara." he answers, subconsciously smiling back.

She was about to walk away before Zuko held her arm and stopped her. She turned around, her eyes locked to him.

“I,” Zuko doesn't understand how he gets so nervous when he's talking to her, “your scarf is very, pretty.”

Katara's eyes widen slightly, before she smiles once again and replies, “Thank you, Zuko.”

[rebeccccccaaa]

 My Part of Town

__________________

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

:: After what seems to be a rather confusing and tough case, Hotch finds himself in a dark corner of a club watching the girl he interrogated just days ago captivate him in a way he hasn���t been in years. ::

warnings:: talks about violence (canon type cm kind); reader is described to have tattoos, alt styled extras (not goth specified), etc; age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s), also slight power imbalance? Idk i tried to write it in way that didn’t make it seem like reader fucked her way into the BAU by making hotch a tiny bit subby/pathetic but idk i put the warning anyway sorryyyyyy, no mentions of y/n, sober reader slay, no contraceptives mentioned so stay safe babies, body positivity, mentioned jack at the end for plot lol but he’s not present in the story, not sure what else i should tag

author’s notes:: i originally wrote this with the intention of a certain type of person in mind (me lol) with the tattoos and stuff, i know not all you readers have such but i thought i’d keep the second pov for fun and interactiveness, so i hope that’s ok with y’all, enjoy!!

___________________

Hotch stood at the bar, a drink sweating in his hand. He hardly drank anything, in fact he just wanted to go home at this point. The room smelt of body odor, cheap perfume, and smoke. He didn’t understand how his coworkers could love going out to such a place like this. It was definitely not his scene anymore, but with much begging from the girls and Morgan, they were able to successfully convince him and also Rossi to go and celebrate the success of this last case. He was surprised to even see Reid enjoying himself. 

He never thought in a million years he'd be back in a place like this. He looked around seeing the girls in a small circle laughing and jumping around, Rossi sat at the end of the bar talking to a girl, who was way too young for him, trying to get her away from hims, and Spencer and Derek were standing at the edge of the dance floor wondering who their next flattery target was going to be. Darting his eyes around, they caught a particularly familiar set of eyes that Hotch couldn’t seem to shake until he walked into the overstimulating room of noise and colors, at least until this very moment.

You grinned at him, facing completely towards him now. You dressed in all black, platformed shoes making you much taller than when Hotch had met you for the first time. The silver and gold reflecting the bright lights that scattered over the crowd from your fingers. Your skin covered ink that surprised him just as much as it did the first time he’d seen your decorated skin. And although you dressed in all black, you seemed to stand out more than anyone else in the sea of bodies. 

Hotch tightened his jaw upon meeting your eyes. Your hips swayed effortlessly to the music that boomed through the room. It was like you were dancing just for him. Teasing him, like you did in the interrogation room where you had first met. You were an enigma to the case. You had come from nowhere, had nothing to do with the unsub or the victims, and yet had almost all the answers the BAU had questions for before they could even begin a profile. 

Hotch began to fidget in a panic when you began walking towards him.

Hotch walked in the interrogation room. File in hand. They were in New York City. The infamous concrete jungle. The case involved a long line of girls in their 20’s; their stomachs gutted and filled with dirt, a small white rose planted in place. They hadn’t a long list of suspects but when a security guard mentioned to Hotchner of a strange girl lurking at the scene of the most recent crime they brought her in as suspect or at the very least, a witness. Walking in the room, a girl sat rapping her ring stacked knuckles against the table.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Hotch asked.

You stayed silent. You knew the position you were in. You were studying behavioral analysis and criminal justice yourself. 

You were at the crime scene yesterday, you asked questions to the security guard who ratted you out. It would be a waste of time and effort, and especially money, to know that after all those hours of studying, your skills would be useless when it comes to navigating a real case. You needed to see for yourself. So you asked some questions, awkwardly and suspiciously at best, and now you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room for a crime you actually have nothing to do with. 

“Why were you asking questions to a security guard about the victim? You asked, if anything had changed? You indicated that you have seen the previous victims’ bodies.”

“I have,” you said. 

“Why’s that? Was there something in particular you saw that made you ask those kinds of questions?”

“Am I being questioned as a witness? Or a suspect?”

“Why do you feel like you are being questioned as a suspect?” he asked, making you go silent. Hotch took his sign to leave, leaving you to continue tapping your decorated fingers against the table like before. 

“She’s not really saying anything. Her demeanor tells me that she’s keeping something from us but her body language also is calm and collected. She may not have anything to do with the crime but she knows something, and she is not telling us,” Hotch said to Rossi and Spencer who stood watching the interrogation. 

“I called Garcia to look into her background a bit. She’s also a student at the same college all three of our victims attended. So I asked her to cross-check each of their schedules with hers for any overlap and she came up empty. They don’t even study the same major,” Spencer explained.

‘What does she study?” Hotch asked.

“Get this, Behavior Analysis,” Rossi said. 

“Hey! If you’re still lingering behind the window, I got something to say. But send the grumpy one in,” you shouted. 

“She beckens for you, Agent Hotchner,” Rossi teased. 

Hotch walked back into the room. You sat properly in your chair again with your hands folded politely, completely contrasting the way he left you. You had discarded your jacket too.  Hotch couldn’t help his eyes drifting across your decorated skin. It tells him that you were most likely extroverted, confident. Though the psychology behind tattoos can be varied so his interest peaked briefly. 

“What would you like to share?” Hotch sat across from you.

“Have you built a profile yet?” you asked. 

“We have some working theories,” he responded. 

“So do I,” you smirked.

“Agent Hotchner,” you strolled up to him, “What the hell are you doing in my part of town?”

“Your part?” he joked with you.

“Did you finish the case?” you asked.

“Yes, much help from you. Thank you,” he replied.

“What?” you yelled over the music.

“I said ‘Thank you,’” he responded loudly as you did.

“I’m just kidding, I heard you. I just wanted to hear you thank me again,” you smirked, before leaning over the counter to call the bartender. He may have been right about your tattoos making you a confident persona.

“So, what are you drinking tonight, Agent Hotchner?” you asked him.

“It’s just Hotch, and um, I’m not too sure. My coworker ordered me this drink. But I've hardly drunk it.” he complained. 

“Yeah the drinks here are like gasoline, but at least you’re paying for what you get,” you laughed. 

“What about you? What’s your poison tonight?” he asked you, he could feel his shoulders start to relax a bit.

“Coke,” you winked before grabbing. 

“Really?” he asked with curiosity, he figured a girl your age would be drinking the night away while you were still young.

“I’m sober,” you told him. 

“Good for you,” he told you, a smile creeping unsuspectingly on his face. 

“Not all that crazy, I’m starting my thirties soon and graduating next semester so I have to start taking life super seriously since it won’t for me,” you said.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned. 

“Seriously?” you joked, “Look, I knew my appearance was eventually going to affect my career down the line but I believed life is too short to not celebrate your body and decorate it the way you want. The body is a temple, and what’s a temple without art?”

“I think your tattoos are lovely,” he complimented. 

“I think so too,” you grinned, making him chuckle. You liked amusing him. 

“What do you mean by affecting your career? I understand not everyone likes tattoos in the workplace but you can easily cover them up with the right attire, can’t you?” he asked.

“Of course, but why would I want to burn up wearing a turtle-neck shirt in the middle of summer just to please some old fucks who don’t even work personally on the cases we would be working on?” 

“I understand you,” he debuted.

“I can help with that,” he told you, after a small pause between you two.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

“Well, I can talk to my boss about opening an internship position with the BAU. That way right before you graduate you can have a good reference and experience on your resume for when you start looking for a permanent position,” he explained. 

“Are you serious?” you beamed.

“Yes, you were excellent with my team and incredibly effective. And I think it would be good for you to continue exploring that part of the job, if that’s what you want to do after you graduate,” he told you. 

“Uh, yes! Oh my goodness, if I wasn’t sober I’d take a shot with you right now,” you laughed putting your hand on his chest. 

Hotch could feel the warmth blooming from your hand into his system. His breath became slightly heavier than it was. He doesn’t know what compelled him to do this but he knows you could be very valuable to the team, and working with the BAU would set you up for success after you graduate. Those were the only reasons, right? 

You and Hotch stayed a while at the bar talking and laughing most of the night. You told him stories about your tattoos and he told you stories from past cases. Derek and Spencer had left by then, Rossi was making his way out and the girls were still dancing and laughing as they had been the whole night. Occasionally they would point at him talking to you, they giggle at how unexpected and incredible it was for Hotch to be talking to a girl like you. What felt like minutes was actually hours and you were itching to get back on the dance floor again. 

“Let’s go dance,” you tugged at his arm.

“Oh, no. That's not my thing,” he protested.

“Well, pretend it’s your thing tonight! Come on, I want to dance with you,” you begged. 

“Eh,” he whined.

“Come on, come on,” you dragged him by the arm; it worked since he set his drink down and dragged his feet across the dance floor to bring his body against yours. 

His hands hesitantly went to your hips while your arms instinctively wrapped around the back of his neck. Your chests were pressed against each other and if Hotch focused hard enough he could probably feel your heart beating against his. Maybe you could feel his picking up. Your eyes were closed, like you were trying to focus on only the music but unbeknownst to him you were focusing on his touch. 

Finding confidence, Hotch moved his hands up and down your back. His leg moved in between yours and your hips moved together in sync. Hotch had never danced like this before with anyone. He felt a little lost but you were guiding him well and he was feeling more bold than before. Your fingers started raking through his hair and Hotch couldn’t help but sigh with his eyes fluttering close. It had been a long time since someone had been with him, had touched him in any way that wasn’t a professional handshake or a platonic hug. He had been always busy with work and if not work then taking care of Jack. Haley had been gone for a long time, it almost felt unnatural to feel this way again but Hotch was remembering how good it felt and how much he missed it. 

He let his face bury into the side of your neck and you continued scratching his head, pulling your nails down the back of his neck making him breathe out shakily. You had this man suddenly wrapped around your finger. Hotch became as bold as one could get in the darkness of the club, letting his hands completely cup your behind and pulling your hips impossibly close to his. You pulled slightly away from him before resting your forehead against his. His eyes were only focused on your lips. You turned yourself around, hearing the sigh escape from Hotch when you did, but you made for it pressing your hips against his. 

The girls had taken a break chatting and giggling at the bar. They couldn’t believe the sight before them. Hotch, a widower and single dad grinding up against a woman dressed in black and chains with tattoos up and down her arms and legs in a suit and tie he refused to change out of when he agreed to tonight's outing. 

“I cannot believe what I’m seeing,” Penelope gasped.

“I think I’ve drank too much; I’m hallucinating Hotch having a better time than us,” JJ joked. 

“Oh come on, girls. Leave the man alone,” Emily said before downing the rest of her drink. 

“I would’ve been less surprised if Reid pulled a girl like that,” Penelope jokes.

“Yeah, it’s not so much the situation but rather who. I’ve never seen Hotch like this,” JJ said. 

“You know I can’t deny that,” Emily rang. 

“I think I’m gonna go now, seeing Hotch like this is making me feel things I’ve never wanted to feel from my boss,’ Penelope grumbled. 

“You guys are so dramatic,” Emily laughed. 

“I think I’m actually gonna go,” JJ chimed, “I shouldn’t leave my boys alone all night.” 

“Ok, then let’s all just get out of here,” Penelope chirped, “We should leave Hotch to whatever he plans on doing.”

“I think you mean whoever,” Emily said, as she snapped a picture of you two dancing like there was nobody else there with you. 

“Did you take a picture?” JJ gasped. 

“Oh! He’s gonna kill you!” Penelope laughed out loud.

“Let’s go before he finds out then,” Emily chuckled. 

You and Hotch danced like if the other let go you would disappear never to be seen again. You milked the time you had together in these final hours of the night before the sun set in reality. You could feel Hotch’s lips pressing against your hot skin below your ear. Your chest fluttered and your stomach flipped at the feeling. You were so enthralled in the feeling, you didn’t hear him whispering in your ear. The small puffs of air pulled you from this trance and you quickly turned around to better hear him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he whined.

“Lead the way,” you teased, pulling gently at his tie.

His fingers entwined between yours pulling out of the disco. You nearly tripped over your platforms trying your best to keep up with the man taking you to his home. He opened the door for you and you practically jumped in the car without hesitation. You couldn’t help the giggles coming from you as you heard the quick steps from Aaron rounding the car. 

The drive to his place was quick, or maybe it was long and you were just distracted. He looked so stoic and determined behind the wheel. Not even your light touches along his thigh, or the unbuckling of his belt would shake the fire behind his eyes. His skin was burning up and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Once he got home he was quick to open the door, quick to rid his tie, quick to show exactly where he intended on fucking you tonight.  So quick, he hadn’t bothered turning any lights on. Not that it mattered too much.

You laid roughly on the bed watching Hotch undress above you. You couldn’t help but notice the scars across his stomach, that’s when you noticed the scars along his knuckles; even with how dark the room was. You told yourself you’d ask about it another time. You didn’t want to ruin the moment over something he probably doesn’t want to talk about anyway. You started picking at your rings, twisting and pulling hard and fast to take them off; sometimes they were a bit distracting when you were having sex. 

“No, leave those on,” Hotch gowled, before reaching to you to disrobe your outfit from tonight. 

As he reached for those eye-catching platforms that made you stand out from most of the people dancing in the room, you couldn’t help yourself making a bit of a snarky remark. 

“You want to keep those on too?” you flashed a smile. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he remarked, before his hands left your ankles to flip you over, leaving the shoes on for both your pleasures. 

He peeled your underwear down your legs. His lips kissing the backs of your thighs softly; if you hadn’t been so overly focused on his every touch you wouldn’t have felt them. He stood tall over you, towering like a stoic statue. His hands roughly ran along your spine making you arch your back deliciously, basking in the fiery feeling. Hips pushing backwards to feel every inch of lust from the man behind you . 

You dropped to your elbows, arching your back even more as you anticipated a craving you’ve wanted since he walked into that interrogation just days ago. If someone had told you then that that man would rutting his hips into from behind like he’d never fucked before, you’d had laughed in their face. But you couldn’t be more satisfied with the outcome of it anyway. 

“Oh, Hotch,” you called out breathlessly. 

He grunted behind you as he slowly inserted himself into you, pressure building like a souffle in the pit of your belly. He grunted again, words incoherent, before you realized he was speaking to you. You hummed in confusion, asking to repeat what he said louder, when his hands threaded your hair and pulled you back on your knees effortlessly against his body.

“Aaron,” he growled in your ear. 

Your hands instinctively went up and behind, holding his face close to your neck and he bit and kissed the soft flesh sensually, goosebumps erupting along your arms. You whispered his name in the darkness that blanketed over, your sense of sound and touch becoming overstimulating. Hotch’s hands roamed your body like you were a delicate glass sculpture, contrasting the momentum of his hips that bruised your skin. 

You could feel the intensity building, and your body beginning to buzz when Hotch suddenly pulled out from you to flip you over violently. You smacked down on the bed again like you had before, a playfully shocked giggle erupted from your belly. Your feet felt heavy over the edge of the mattress from the shoes you still had on. Hotch leaned down, stroking his rough hands along your legs from your ankle to your hips before dragging your hips even closer to the edge. He brought his hand to the back of your knee, bending it before he once again entered you with a delicious burn. 

Your hands reached up cupping the back of your neck to pull him closer to you, his damp forehead resting against yours. Your rings felt ice cold against his burning skin. You could see, barely in the blue black darkness, his chest beginning to become red. His hands, although rough, were beginning to feel clammy but you hadn’t minded not one bit; completely enthralled and aroused in his touch. 

You could feel the sweat building between the valley of your breasts. Your back is heating up from the thickness of the sheets that you laid upon. Even more so obvious when you felt the contrasting cold air that swept between when you arched you back in pleasure. 

“Aaron,” you whispered.

“What do you need?” he asked you.

“Kiss me, Aaron,” you begged.

Without hesitation, his lips found yours in a feverous kiss. Your noses bumping against one another blocking your abilities to breath; but with the heightened passion shared between, breathing seemed impractical in a moment like this. Your breasts grazed softly against his chest, your nipples hardening with the friction as he moved swiftly and roughly above you. 

You moaned in the kiss as did he. Your center pulsing, practically sucking him in with each thrust of his hips. The sounds of sex bounced off the walls. The bed squeaked beneath you; Hotch’s hips rutted into you with no particular rhythm. You hand came down from his neck to grip the sheets and you moaned and whined louder and louder as you inched closer and closer to your climax. Hotch breathed heavily above you before dipping head to your neck. Suddenly, without any warning, his hands roughly grab your wrists pinning your arms above your head. 

“Keep them here, sweetheart,” he groaned, before standing straight up again to roughly grab your hips. His fingers dug into your soft skin, bound to bruise the next morning. His hips snapped in and out, in and out, harder and faster than anyone has ever fucked you before. You squealed and whimpered in ecstasy, pleasure. Your thighs squeezing tightly around his hips desperately holding back to climax. 

“Fuck!” His voice was low and guttural. 

“I can’t hold it anymore; can I come, please?” he begged, he reached for your calf pulling your leg over his shoulder. His mouth instantly kissed and bit like he was a rutting animal. 

“Shit! Yes, yes!” you egged him on. Your climax spilling over, waiting for that little drop of water that would break the dam of pleasure. And once you both reach the highest point, your hands grab at each other desperately searching for some stability of any kind to guide through the crashing waves of bliss. His body slumped forward damn near crushing you beneath his strong body. 

“Holy shit,” you sighed, laughter escaping your lips as you felt your entire body and mind buzz with nirvana. No man had ever fucked you that good and you were a little upset that it was over. Unbeknownst to you, Hotch didn’t have any plans of ending your pleasure; at least for tonight. With heavy eyes and a devilish smile, Hotch slid down your body, placing both of your legs over his shoulders with every intention of wearing you out tonight. 

…

You stood in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with a drunken smile you hadn’t seen in years. You were completely naked. Your makeup ran down your face and your hair was practically a bird’s nest, and yet you stared at yourself with admiration. Hours had passed, every inch of clothing ripped or discarded on the bedroom floor of this man. Your shoes were long gone by this point and you felt your face becoming warm knowing you’d never wear those shoes again without thinking about tonight. 

You had taken a quick shower, since Hotch had let you. He left you with a couple of garments he put aside for you to make sure you felt comfortable. You walked under the shower, letting the hot water engulf you and clean you. You looked around for the first and noticed the small toys in the corner of the bath. You stepped out and saw the small green and blue toothbrush beside another larger toothbrush that was also green and blue. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. 

You walked back to the bedroom quickly seeing Hotch sitting peacefully on the bed typing away on his phone in the soft warm light beside him. The small puddle of light allows you to better look at him. He looked so handsome and calm, so different from the harsh fluorescent lights of that interrogation room and the blinding colored LEDs from tonight. He looked up at you smiling when his eyes met yours. He chuckled seeing how different you looked now than when you had when he first saw you days ago; hours ago. You climbed into the bed, instantly snuggling into his side like a cat. Your lips kissing and biting playfully along his jawline.

“How old is your son?” you asked quietly. Hotch raised an eyebrow to look at you, he usually kept Jack’s room closed and his toys put neatly away.

“You’re going to be an excellent profiler,” he commented. 

“You're not wrong but also you have matching toothbrushes in the bathroom and rubber duckies in the corner of the tub,” you remarked, giggling.

“Right. That would be the obvious answer,” he chuckled. 

“He’s 10; I’m going to pick him up from his aunt’s place tomorrow afternoon,” he told you. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by then,” you told him, sinking lower beneath the sheets ready to sleep.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it all. You can stay as long as you like,” he whispered. He craved those little domestic moments again that he had been missing for years. He knew he was crazy for thinking about moments like that, moments of you meeting Jack and whatnot despite only knowing you for such a little time, but he was starving for that kind of intimacy again. He will start thinking rationally again when he wakes tomorrow. 

“I think you ought to take me to dinner first before I meet your kid,” you joked.

“I can do that,” he said seriously.

“Really?” you challenged. 

“Yes, let me take you out to dinner next Friday,” he offered. 

“And if you’re working? If you have to leave?” you questioned. 

“Well, you’ll be coming with us, won’t you?” he grinned.

“Oh, right. Ok, then it’s a date, SSA Hotchner,” you smiled widely before pulling him in a kiss. 

“You’re the only one who can call me, Aaron.”

“You swear?” you laughed.

“I swear.” 

[thedrotter]

sweet sweet re:kinder community... I would like to ask y'all how you came upon the game and your experiences with it because i wanna know. im genuinely so curious to hear about other people's experiences and little opinions about this game because of how wild the game is (/pos) I'd love to hear it. do ramble to me about it

[icewindandboringhorror]

this is not the exact one I watched but I saw one of these "dish scape" things at someone's house who actually has TV (like they pay for dish/cable instead of just watching stuff online) and I think they're meant to be relaxing atmospheric stuff that you mostly ignore, but I sat there for 35 minutes watching absolutely engrossed.. further proof that I genuinely think my brain is incapable of experiencing boredom lol..

[justabunchofdragons]

hello o7

[crossbackpoke-check]

I have to ask about good dog bad dream <3

🥰🥰 oh i was HOPING for this one. ok so y’all may actually know a little bit already because it exists in the tags as tyler borzoituzzi but! good dog bad dream is the working document title/notes compilation for a fic that started with the premise of “well you see that’s actually not a dog that’s my blorbo from my hrpf shifter wolf au—”

and, because i have never formally addressed it or put it anywhere other than the tags, three important details about this fic:

this IS a semi-au fic about the detroit red wings, set vaguely in the 2018-19 season, because the wings sucked that year (but not as bad as 2019-20)

this is ALSO a fic that is mainly about tyler bertuzzi and dylan larkin, with some other wings thrown in because i've never met an ensemble i couldn't shove into a love story

this 100% exists because of mickey redmond calling tyler a junkyard dog every chance he gets and me every time going "okay but what if literally though" -> 🐺

[televinita]

Just watched 65 and am now 65 (million?) times madder about Adam Driver being cast in it, because while on the one hand it loses some points for being overly invested in gross-out content and PG-13 gore, on the other hand it is stacked with ALL OF MY FAVORITE THINGS:

Opening scene: snuggling on the beach with your wife while you fondly look on at your daughter and Woefully discuss the necessity of your impending leave

GIRLDAD

Foster Girldad -- must keep the orphan child alive, She Is Now My Only Purpose

No extraneous characters, it’s just all these 2 all the time, aside from scene 1 and brief video clips

Would you like a nasty abdominal wound and some field doctoring with requisite grimacing through the pain

What about additional injuries and field doctoring as we go

Angst connected to precious video clips of the daughter you haven’t seen face to face in over a year

So. Much. Peril.

DINOSAURS

Fewer dinosaurs than you would think and also a really blatant level of “listen our dinosaur budget is Limited, we can’t just be showing them for extended periods all willy-nilly,” but still DINOSAURS.

I Would Die For You, I Would Kill For You

Comfort hugging

Tears

So little time wasted on setup or context or explaining what is happening. Full “somehow, Palpatine returned” to get to the good stuff. (did I use that right? idk the original context). 

(It does harm the story somewhat to be this confused -- like, this is definitely not Good Writing, despite the DVD cover proudly and specifically touting the pedigree of its writers -- but then you’re just constantly distracted by Danger, Hurt/Comfort, or Dinosaurs, so in practice what this means is I was glued to the screen and not once was I tempted to read so much as a page from my book.)

Did I mention that the girl reminds me of Maisie Lockwood, which did not hurt in the slightest.

But I can’t fully enjoy any of that with Adam “Ratface” Driver at the center of it. Literally spent this entire movie just baffled as to how it was doing EVERYTHING I LOVE IN A STORY, OVER AND OVER, and losing my mind about how much more I could have loved it if they had just cast. like. anyone else.

[strawberrynull]

──౨ৎ ˙💄 ̟ strawberry lip balm

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: niki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After sleeping over Niki's house with some friends the night before, you accidentally left your favorite chapstick behind

──Warnings: cursing, kissing

──A/N: yall this literally took me only one hour

masterlist

You.

You were the only thing on Nishimura Riki's mind ever since he had found your strawberry lip balm sitting on his bathroom sink.

Last night, you and Jake slept over at Niki's place. The three of you had so much fun playing Mario Kart all night and ordering your favorite foods. Niki had watched you put on that strawberry lip balm at least 20 times last night. You were typically the type to leave things at people's house accidentally but he didn't think you would end up forgetting something so important to you.

Niki layed on his bed, staring at the small lip balm. It was pink and decorated with strawberries and pink lettering. He held it in between his fingers, rolling it to read the label for the hundredth time. He contemplated whether he wanted to show up at your door to give you your lip balm now or wait until you noticed it was gone.

The thought of you putting the lip balm on your plump lips flooded his mind once again. The scene played on repeat until it almost annoyed him. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing in frustration. Sure, he kinda liked you and kinda really wanted to kiss you but you were his friend. And his best friend was best friends with you too. Having the image of your blush tinted lips on his mind all day wasn't making his guilt any better.

He was even more guilty knowing that all he wanted right now was to taste your lips. Now he had your lip balm in his hand. It was an opportunity but would he feel super bad about it after? Absolutely.

Niki opened the cap of the lip balm. It had a red tint like a real strawberry and was a bit shimmery as well. The image of your lips flashed in his mind again. Maybe he would just quickly see how the lip balm smelled... He held the small pink lip balm under his nose. As you would expect, it smelled like artificial strawberries and had a hint of honey too.

The phone buzzed making him flinch, quickly closing the lip balm and tossing it to the side. Grabbing the phone, he read a text from you.

Y/n-ie♡Hey I think I left my lip balm at your house Can I come pick it up?

He immediately began typing back, telling you he had found it and he was at home.

Y/n-ie♡great I'll be over in 5

He sat up, feeling his face begin to heat. You had texted him right as he was smelling your lip balm. He felt like a total creep. Past that feeling, the desire to taste your lips still lingered, making him feel even worse.

Niki layed back down and turned to his side, eyeing the lip balm beside him. The idea of using your lip balm on his own lips popped into his mind. He quickly shook off the idea though. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get you off his mind.

Not for long though.

He grabbed the lip balm, quickly pulling the cap off. He observed the way the flecks of glitter shimmered as he turned the lip balm. Hesitantly, he brought it up to lips. He swallowed before swiping the pink lip balm across his bottom lip. He frantically put the cap back on and threw it to the side once again. He felt horrible for using your things without your permission.

Niki licked his lips, tasting a mixture of strawberries and honey. Though he still wanted to know how it tasted on your lips.

Then there was a knock at the door. Fuck. 5 minutes had gone by too quickly. He shot up from his bed, grabbed the lip balm, and dashed toward the door. As soon as the door opened, his eyes darted to your lips. Still plump and pink even without your signature lip balm.

Great, way to go Niki.

"Hey Ki. I'm soooo glad you have my lip balm. I was looking for it all morning. I thought I was going crazy." You rambled as he tried his best to avoid looking down at your pretty lips.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Here." He said quickly, reaching out to hand you your lip balm, still avoiding eye contact. He still felt ashamed for what he had done a few seconds earlier.

You took the lip balm from his hand. Just as he was about to turn away you opened your mouth to speak again. "Riki," Shit, his full name. You noticed already. He snapped his gaze toward you. "Did you use my lip balm?"

"No."

"Yes you did. You have glitter on your lips." Fuck. You had caught him. He stood there in silence with a look of shock like a deer in headlights. You just laughed though. He had totally overstepped a boundary and you just laughed at it. "Ki, why'd you use mine? Don't you have like 30 of your own?"

"Well, I-" He stuttered. He didn't know what to tell you. Oh yeah I used your lip balm like a total freak because I wanted to know what your lips taste like. No fucking way he would tell you that.

You raised an eyebrow at him. In addition, you crossed your arms. He could never lie to you when you did that.

"I'm sorry." he started by apologizing. "I wanted to k- to kiss you but you know... friends don't do that. So uh.. I used the lip balm and I'm really sorry. It was weird, sorry." He stuttered, bowing his head to repeatedly apologize. Again, you just laughed. His guilty expression was replaced with a look of confusion.

"You could have just told me, Ki. Here," you pulled open your lip balm and spread it across your lips. "I gotchu."

Before Niki could process what was happening, you had put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in to kiss him. Your lips were so much softer than he could have ever imagined. The taste of strawberries and honey returned to his taste buds but a hundred times better this time. Just one kiss had him feeling dizzy. Subconsciously, he grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"As good as you imagined?" You whispered against his lips. You felt his arms wrap around you fully, hugging you tight against his body.

"Better." He said before pressing his lips onto yours again.

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[satoruhour]

GO!

a/n: racer jjk men …….. mmgfnghgn..gg.f.. if u can tell i’ve never watched f&f, you would be correct. i only watched tokyo drift for research 😭 also im talking out of my ass by using random car terminology !!!! i don’t even know whether anything i said was possible so just close one eye please :3

warnings: essentially car sex & pet names & unprotected sex for everything, fingering, clit stimulation, praise, public sex, geto listens in on a call, riding, implied p → v penetration, implied creampie / breeding, implied threesome w/ stsg (gojo), clit stimulation, handjob, semi-public sex, p → v penetration, doggy, geto asks and then takes a pic of you, creampie / breeding (geto), praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, pleasure dom nanami, squirting, clit stimulation (nanami), age gap (reader’s early 20s, toji is forty), oral (m receiving) while driving, facefucking, semi-public sex, clit stimulation, daddy kink, implied p → v penetration (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“my, my,” gojo smirks as he looks over to you in his 1999 Nissan Skyline R34 when your hand makes contact with his thigh, “couldn’t wait till we reached there?” on the way to the races that gojo loved to bring you to, it was a silent rule that gojo was one of the people that ruled the underground racing scene in tokyo — that means leaving his opponent sighing at the steering wheel and being the object of your kisses at the end of it.

gojo was talented, but he knew he wouldn’t sit well in the driver’s seat if he didn’t share the victory with you. the racer speeds at any opportunity, but today he takes the time to drive his baby just so he could have more time to fuck her.

sometimes gojo rubs off on you in terms of disposition, because you’ve become fairly good with composing yourself into times of tribulation with your constantly-horny boyfriend. your calmness could be commended, but your breaths still give off your aroused state, his fingers continuing to draw a faint line up your legs which are rubbing and squeezing against each other. even with the aircon on full blast, you still feel undeniably hot.

“so wet…” gojo hums as his hand feels the wet patch that’s pooling in your panties before slipping it to the side, driving unaffected while he keeps his eyes on the road. he’s fucked you so many times already, memorised the feel of your body that it doesn’t take him much to insert his fingers and find that sweet spot. you squeal, hands flying to grab at his forearm. your pussy clenches around his fingers, and it makes him hum, pushing him to adjust his pelvis in his seat. no doubt your cute sounds are affecting him.

“s-satoru! the race?” you panic and hope to distract his attention elsewhere, but gojo’s a master at multitasking.

“what’re you talking about? we’re on the way, princess.” he’s right, taking you through the familiar streets of shinjuku before switching to a lane that takes the car into an underground tunnel. it’s a route you can remember, but you hardly give a shit currently where you can feel your juices pool below you.

“sato—” you whine, your squeezing thighs doing nothing to deter him, “your s-seat’s getting soaked.”

“s’fine, i’ll clean it up later,” gojo grins, sparing you a quick glance where he likes you the most: lips parted with moans escaping, knuckles white from clutching onto the seat and your pussy leaking your juices all over his palm. “c’mon, you’re a good girl, aren’t you? don’t you want to cum?” gojo knows all of your habits, so he taunts you, teases you by slowing down his fingers just a little and plays with your clit. a ringtone doesn’t distract him, easily accepting the call from his phone on the dashboard.

there’s a soft on the way? from the caller, seemingly whispering into the phone like he was hiding from something and you’re struggling to keep from moaning too loud by keeping a hand to your mouth. you’re hyperfocused on your boyfriend’s fingers that you don’t exactly hear what they’re talking about, but you do faintly make it out to be geto on the other end. you’re so close that you might’ve left bruises on gojo’s forearm.

“satoru, you might wanna camp out in a nearby parking lot before comin’ over. officers are patrolling around the starting line.” it wasn’t weird for races to be pushed back, by engines malfunctioning, by police officers doing their nightly patrol but while the black-haired racer is just a little agitated at the delay, you’re surprised to see your boyfriend sporting a shit-eating smile.

“good, that just means i have more time,” gojo pauses to groan when you start to clench around his fingers. he knows you’re close and you want to fucking kill him when he easily reaches the spot that has you seeing stars, all the while having his best friend on the line, “to fuck my lovely girlfriend.”

“oh f-fuck… satoru! ’m cumming mmf…!” you don’t bother holding back on your mewls and whimpers, then, not exactly caring if geto hears cause he’s shared you with him before. gojo fingers you through your orgasm, your pupils blown wide and jaw dropping as you seek refuge in the hot pink seats gojo got for you while you continue to cry out his name.

within minutes, he’s pulling into an abandoned parking lot and swerving the car into a secluded spot before making use of the modification he made to his Skyline, reclining his driver’s seat (courtesy of your suggestion and he was driving off to the mechanic the next day) and beckoning you over with a smile.

you could only return his sly smile as he removes his pants, cock already hard and weeping from its tip from all the teasing he’s done to you, hard from knowing he’s the only one to get you moaning like a bitch in heat. and when you sink down easily, it’s like heaven on earth, the adrenaline giving the both of you a high.

it’s no surprise when gojo easily wins the race later, receiving you with open arms and a sloppy kiss, all while his cum’s leaking from your panties and your cunt still feels a little empty — so when you both receive a message from geto asking for a late-night drive with just the three of you, you’re quick to leave the scene to get stuffed full again.

✶ GETO

“suguru!” you smile as you enter the garage that’s housed suguru’s cars since he was a high school student, the familiar gold and black accents spread throughout the large space. he was lucky to have a father who’s a manufacturer, and despite the many engines and parts he’s gone through, it was a wonder his dad hasn’t exactly uncovered his rising fame in the tokyo racing scene, even if he comes home with some cuts and a roughed up car to match.

“hey princess,” he calls out, still focused on the minute parts of the 13B-REW engine and switching out his outdated intercooler for the Blitz, something that he had to persuade his father with with good grades and exemplary behaviour in his after school activities. “just making some changes to the Mazda. how’s my baby doin’— oh wow.”

your immediate reaction is to grin at him, heat blooming throughout your face as you descend the steps to where his vehicles were, sporting a cute little miniskirt and knee high boots. it’s not that you haven’t dressed like this before, but every time you do, it manages to make his breath hitch. that’s not the main attractive point today, though, eyes dropping to the fat of your thigh where a new tattoo had found its home — a black widow weaving chinese knots and it looks so damn good on you that your boyfriend wastes no time in removing the hood strut and slamming the hood close.

you don’t usually sit on his 1997 Veilside Mazda RX-7 much, but geto is determined to change that when you’re propped up like a doll on the sleek black design of the car, wandering hands slipping under your skirt as you’re humming into the deepening kiss. the other groans against your lips when he finds your clit, rubbing languid circles into it and you spread your legs further to accommodate his fingers, exposing your neck for his lips to suck on while his free hand gets busy with your perky tits.

“you’re so… fuckin’ wet,” geto mumbles into your neck, stifling your moans with yet another kiss. the way he’s rubbing at your bundle of nerves is so distinct, you couldn’t even replicate it if you tried, usually left dissatisfied after cumming on your own fingers. “my pretty angel.”

“yeah? you like me on your Mazda?” you say with a lilt to your voice, and although the pet names bring another wave of shyness and fire to your cheeks, your hands speak otherwise as they trail down his torso to the trousers he’s got on. it’s you against him to see who makes the other break first — geto moans when you fish out his dick, already semi-hard from all the teasing and your hand’s warm like how your pussy usually feels, stroking him in a pace that matches the hand on your clit.

“fucking love you on it,” geto laughs breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your lips and hips bucking into your palm, “love your hands on my cock, too.”

“ditto, baby,” you reply in a breathy whimper, but geto mutters something else along the lines of too bad i need my cock in you now before a surprised yelp leaves you when you’re flipped over suddenly. with hands flat on the hood and a knee propped up, he’s careful not to bring any discomfort to your new tattoo. bit by bit, he’s sheathing himself into your dripping cunt, pleas and obscenities flooding the spacious garage as you beg him to move.

your boyfriend’s a racer, ’course he knows how to do that, but he takes pride in teasing you, letting you feel every last bit of his dick as he bottoms out. “suguru… fuck me, please.”

“planning on it — shit, you’re so tight — let me enjoy your cute lil pussy for a bit, princess.” geto has both hands move down the expanse of your back, appreciating your attractive arch, and then then down to your ass and folds where he’s filling you with his fat cock. and when he starts to move, your mewls become incomprehensible and your fingers grasp at anything, but you’re afraid of scratching the smooth finishing of his Mazda, settling for holding onto his forearms.

“suguruuu… oh my g-god!” you love the way your obscene noises fill the space, juices flowing freely down your thighs as the other finds a steady pace. “right there— f-fuck…”

geto is no different, hypnotised with how his length disappears into your heat that he doesn’t notice your twitching body, but he still knows you’re close by how your clamp around him like a vice, pussy tightening up to make sure he gives you all his cum. by this time, you’re delirious from the squelching noises of your cunt and the slap of his hips into yours that your orgasm comes unexpectedly.

“cumming, cumming, suguru—!” your thighs shake and shiver through the euphoric feeling, still riding the wave of the orgasm before geto wraps his arms tight around your middle, mumbling confessions into your ears until he’s spilling deep into you, too. geto cums so much, and you moan at the feeling of being filled up, body slumping forward. between geto’s help and an aching question, you’re content to lay on the stunning car as he snaps a photo of you before cleaning you up.

it’s not until later when you’re at getting pounded again by him when you see his phone screen light up — the screensaver photo being the one of you on his car with legs pried open and cum spilling out your pretty pussy — that you know you’ve got geto wrapped around your finger.

✶ NANAMI

“mr. nanami?” your father calls out in the deserted shop, empty apart from the clang of metal against metal and the late night radio droning on about some love story sent in by a listener. despite how it’s almost 11 at night, your father was always happy to help with people’s cars due to a love for them since he was young.

even if that someone’s car was a 1968 Dodge Charger with a LS3 engine that he only knew the US had. when he comes around the back, he merely rubs his fingers together.

“this guy’s got money money,” you burst out laughing, landing a hit on your dad’s shoulder at his comment, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. looking out from the supply room, the man standing near the entrance of the shop looked exactly like the part: rich, tall, blonde, hot, and donning an annoyed look as he scolds someone named gojo who’s on the other line.

there’s a firm expression set into his features before he lunges forward at the sound of his surname and his pondering expression melts away to make way for a smile, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. but you have no time for daydreaming, also emerging from the room to collect money and complete the transaction like you usually do with clients.

“my daughter here will take your payment,” the older man nods his head toward you after explaining the changes he made to the engine, specifically the crankshaft which contained newer journals with older webs — this particular combination made the oil system faulty and rigid, and even for a tamer temper like nanami’s, it still irritated him to no end when the Dodge Charger wouldn’t start properly.

this would’ve been a piece of cake to solve, though, if it wasn’t for your dad’s japan-only parts, which function minutely different to american engines. so your dad had promised another day to fix nanami’s car after the parts had arrived, even refusing to accept nanami’s apologies and offers to pay for the america-based engine the first time he came to you guys.

it’s like the initial demeanour had faded, bowing profusely at the kind-hearted nature of your dad and he waves it off, passing it off as a passion that still burned strong within him; he only wrote a receipt for the repair of the engine, after all.

“collect the nice man’s payment and close up shop, okay?” your father places a kiss to your template and bids farewell to nanami as well who’s feeling still a little flustered, “i’ll head off to bed first.”

“thank you, truly,” nanami bowed again to you as he felt around for his card, producing a black card for you to process the transaction.

“it’s nothin’. dad’s usually like that, always so generous with his services and then blames it on his passion,” you laugh a little and nanami does too.

“i understand, tell him thank you again.”

you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, handing him back his card with clammy palms and fidgety fingers. you both know you’re not exactly ready to say goodbye to this fine-ass man so you strike up conversation with a terribly stupid opener.

“so… you drive?”

“i would think so,” nanami chuckles as he makes his way over to his Dodge Charger, loving the way you almost want to dig yourself a hole from what you asked, “i race. actually.”

and you swear you can hear the pulse in your pussy quicken, swallowing a lump in your throat at the vision of being spread out on the hood of nanami’s car, blonde head of hair hidden between your legs.

you just didn’t know that vision would come true today; well — tomorrow, since one question led to a conversation past twelve, led to advances from the both of you and now you’re moaning out nanami’s name as your sensitive core is being devoured by the racer, kneeling at the front of his own car like the hood of his car is your throne.

you voice your concerns about being ate out so shamelessly with the garage door open, voice breaking as he eats and laps at your dripping cunt like a starved man, sucking hard on your clit as he plays with your hole, teasing his thick fingers around your entrance just enough for it to clench around nothing.

“it’s past 12, don’t worry your pretty little head about someone watching,” he reassures you, palms spread out against your stomach. “plus, you taste divine,” nanami groans from your core before he plunges a finger into you, causing you to jerk in shock at the intrusion — it’s so good you forget about your worries. “so tight too, shit.”

“nanami…” you drag out the last bits of his name in a whine, hips bucking up to take in more of his needy tongue and his replied hum sends vibrations throughout your body. you’re so wet that you’re able to take another finger. “just like that. oh my god, your t-tongue.” your hand naturally pulls at his blonde locks, pushing him deeper into your centre; he likes it, squeezing your ass in the process.

“can i cum, nanami?” you plead for it, the unexpected obedience has nanami reeling and he gives you the green light.

“’course you can, such a good girl, aren’t you?” the shop is filled with your moans and the dirty, sopping sounds of your pussy as he flicks his tongue, memorising the way your thighs clench around his head and how sweet you smell and taste. he’s definitely not letting this pussy go, “good girls get to cum.”

“i’m gonna— ooh shiitt…” nanami lets your hips go on their own accord and another groan from the racer is enough to have you cumming on his fingers and tongue, “fuuck, i’m cumming-!” he praises you like you’re his royalty while you gush all over him, squirting your release all over his face as he happily downs your juices like he’s done it before. he’s sure to do it again in the future.

“attagirl,” both the metal of his car and his affectionate names for you sends tremors throughout your body and legs, orgasming so hard you see white and it’s clear he enjoys giving head like his life depended on it.

you catch your breath briefly, brushing your fingers through his hair and admiring the sight before you until he returns to his intimidating and looming height, helping you to sit up and patting your thigh affectionately

“hope that’s enough payment for the parts. or would you prefer instalments instead?” he says the cheesy line with such a calm face you’d think he was in a business meeting, but the stoicism makes you stifle a giggle.

it’s not long before you’re returning your dad the money nanami had insisted on, but more importantly, being all dolled up in the passenger seat, his teasing hand on your thigh and a full pretty lace set underneath your miniskirt.

✶ TOJI

it’s not uncommon to find a veteran on the racing scene. fushiguro toji had his time of fame in the 80s, but now he’s back for more after fathering a whole child — something his close friends back then didn’t think he could do. it was an endearing sight, a large, burly man carrying something as precious as megumi but it didn’t halt his drifting trips on the mountains, taking his 1966 Chevrolet Corvette for a ride every time he needed to clear his mind; on a less safer note, megumi as a toddler was sometimes in the passenger seat.

megumi was already set to follow in his footsteps the moment he was born, showing a keen interest in cars more than robots or barbies (toji did buy one when megumi reached for a doll dressed in all black, though) and that only increased when he accompanied his dad on his drift trips, many times imagining himself in front of the wheel, gliding through the corners easily. even if the corvettes in the 60s weren’t exactly drifting material, he learned to do it perfect. plus, it still held memories for toji.

“who’s that?” your friend could hardly stop her jaw from hitting the floor after her comment, clearly a little flustered at seeing a forty year old stroll through the underground car parks like he owned the place. he did, 20 years ago, but his name seems to still precede him when hushed whispers and murmurs follow him. although he’s here to support his son’s first drifting race, he’s still fairly popular to be getting enquiries from curious mechanics and avid car enjoyers.

“megumi’s dad,” you grin with a hidden sense of satisfaction, because you didn’t just know him from afar. how his hips swayed when he walked or how he loved that stupid compression shirt, that was everyone’s perception of him, but you knew how his hips felt as it grinded against you. you always never fail to recall the raspiness of his voice against your ears as he mumbled the dirtiest things, only for you to hear. it’s why you revel in the way your friend’s jaw drop past the concrete into hell when the older man catches your eye (he always liked to look for you in crowds), and winks, prompting the gossip to only increase in volume.

“you’re in cahoots with megumi’s dad?” you didn’t care much if people suspected something going on between the two of you. even megumi didn’t exactly care, who was a few years younger than you in his last year of high school. he was content enough that his dad wasn’t alone after giving so much of him to raise megumi. anyway, you always had his trust fund to rely on and if anyone fucked you as good at toji did, you wouldn’t give two shits either way.

“hey doll,” toji’s grin matches yours, planting a sloppy kiss to your temple as you both wait at his Corvette, all roughed up from the race the day before. he hasn’t had time to fix it up, driving the familiar route to the mechanics before you sent him a text about how megumi’s got challenged to a race by some newbie at school — it was laughable so much so that it even prompted toji to use those emojis he hated so much.

it was a race worth seeing, especially if one of the contestants was the tokyo drifting king’s son. toji doesn’t need to say much, waving off megumi with a salute before the countdown begins like clockwork. the increasing revs of their engines draw you from your stupor, the newbie looking wrongfully excited despite the failure that’ll befall him in a few minutes. once go is signalled, they take off, giggling at you feel toji’s arm curl around your waist.

“he’ll win,” he’s as nonchalant as they come, but it rings true when he’s the one who had megumi going 15 rounds ’round the docks and mountains every week. with screeching tires, a RB26DETT engine and years of drifting lessons to back him up, megumi finishes the race first. he rolls his eyes when his friends and fans crowd his car like moths to a flame, but he can’t help shoot a wave to his father who smiles genuinely. it was unspoken that megumi was silently thanking him inside, before he drives off to celebrate the easy win.

“c’mon, baby. we’ve had our share. say goodbye like a good girl,” you pull your friend into a side hug who’s still barely able to wrap her head around the two of you, but she’s able to muster a brief goodbye before the rev of his Corvette draws eyes once again, speeding off into the night. it’s clear toji’s on a high from watching his son race and win, seeing it in the way he goes full throttle past shibuya square and down inokashira street with a laugh.

the fire in his eyes, the coy grin he’s got on reminds you of times you’ve experienced the feeling of toji deep in you, clutching onto the sheets on the tatami mats and face shoved into the pillow as he bullies his fat cock into you. the thoughts have you feeling up his thigh, and he doesn’t notice your wandering, needy hands until they come incredibly close to his cock. he shifts gears before grasping onto your wrist, shooting you a look of warning.

but you do anything but listen, rejoicing in your small victory when you feel the car slow down from his speeding spree so it’s safe for you. palming his bulge, you gasp at how hard he already is and he adjusts his lower half, clearly uncomfortable with his tightening pants.

“let me make you feel good, toji,” you mumble, hands fumbling with his belt and zipper before you pull his dick from his boxers, looking so pretty with its mushroom tip that leaks pre-cum. toji pulls lightly on your hair as a second warning before you’re able to twist your body to lean down, eyes flitting up to look at him in faux apology. “sorry, daddy.”

toji sighs once your mouth descends on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and hand squeezing your nape in pleasure. no matter how many times you get his length in his mouth, the size always catches you off guard and it causes you to choke when the car runs over a speedbump. you have to take a second to cough.

“sorry, babylove,” you wordlessly shake your head as a way to say it’s okay, because toji takes care of you without you needing to ask him; it’s only fair he deserves his own fair share of care too. “but your mouth— shit. feels so fuckin’ good on daddy’s cock.”

you suck in your cheeks and pump the places where your mouth can’t reach, sides already aching from the uncomfortable position but you continue to bob your head. toji’s groans and bucking hips has got you soaking your panties, spit and pre-cum dribbling down the sides of his length and you waste no time to lick a stripe to clean up, settling for circling your tongue around his tip.

toji moans out with a number of profanities and a fist tightly clenched around the steering wheel — your mouth is so soft and warm that he decides that he needs to pull over at a quiet parking lot behind a bar so he can focus on fucking your mouth and imagine it’s your tight pussy he’s plunging into, not that he has to imagine. your lips are still on him when the car halts and you feel more stable than ever, both hands pulling apart his thighs to take him deeper into your mouth.

“cock’s so big,” you babble and ramble like a little slut, slurping up your messy job with the help of your hands. just like your walls, the ridges along your mouth feel lovely and when his tip meets the back of your throat, he throws his head back. “need your cum down my throat…” 

“yeah?” toji breathes out, hands tangling themselves in your hair before tapping your skull, a discussed rule for the two of you: two taps on your head when he wants to facefuck you, and two taps on his thigh if you can’t breathe. “i’ll have ta fuck your little whore mouth first, can daddy do that?”

you nod lazily, steadying yourself on the compartment housing the stick shift before his hips lift off the seat and he starts a pace that even he can’t keep up for long. one look at your cute doe eyes has got him whining and mumbling about how pretty you look right now, clutching on your head so hard that it has his knuckle turning white.

toji’s thighs are flexing and contracting from the movement, but you can point out when he starts to fumble and tremble at the mercy of your mouth. his thrusts are getting sporadic, just like how you’re reaching your limit, too, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “g’nna cum down your throat, baby, ya want that?”

you sound a hum of agreement before toji’s hips still and he shoots his load down your throat, thick blobs of cum that spill from his tip, “that’s it, doll, take it all like a good slut,” and you swallow at least twice to get it all down. you show him a small amount of cum left on your tongue before he brings you up to kiss you harshly, giving your ass a firm smack and then you’re plopping down onto the seat again, wiping the side of your mouth like a good meal well devoured.

the wind is immediately knocked out of you as he brings up the speed with a hand inching towards your core, and you’re so glad he’s switched out his 327 small-block for a 427 V8 engine, the lampposts speeding past you and his fingers playing with your cunt enough to give you an adrenaline high to last throughout the night, cause toji’s far from done with you.

okay i digress. / pt. 2 here

[bimbobaggins69]

hii ^^ i looove your writing !! i’m so obsessed with this idea of best friend!eddie teaching virgin!reader how to give head😭😭😭 like maybe they’re watching a movie and a sex scene comes on and out of pure curiosity she’s like “i wonder how it feels…does it feel good?” and omg he would be so vocal, sweet, and instructional😭😭😭

Just call me Mr. Munson

rockstar!eddie munson x virgin best friend fem!reader

⚠️warnings: smut, 18+ mdni, oral (m receiving), slight female masturbation, corruption kink, slight dom!eddie, very dirty talk, honestly just filth, no use of y/n, overuse of the nickname peach and baby, eddie’s soft for us, readers 20 while Eddie is 21, corroded coffin are in the infancy of their career thus nothing has really changed in eddies life.

wc: 3.7k

note: thank you so much @wdsara48 for the request and the kind words! I hope you enjoy, babe 💗 (remember to tip your writers with a comment and reblog)

Your best friend is a rockstar, you always knew he’d make a name for himself with his music, you couldn’t have been more happy for him, but you also miss him like crazy when he’s on tour.

You’d always hang out with the guys when they’d get back; go out for drinks, have game nights at Eddie’s place which usually consisted of dnd, or hit up whatever party was happening that weekend.

The first couple of days were always the best, they would still be in their sex, drugs and rock and roll headspace, trying to adjust to normality after a crazy tour.

You knew all about their sexual escapades while away, of course they weren’t directly said to you, but to each other as you listened in, they’d occasionally throw you a look of remorse as if they’d ruin your virgin ears with their banter. Okay, so you were a virgin, it’s not like you can’t talk about sex though, you more often than not felt like their little sister and it drove you crazy.

You wanted to get some experience and maybe impress them with stories of your own, but when it came down to it, you chickened out. The thought of having sex with a random guy for the sake of gaining experience just didn’t sit right with you, and so you were never able to follow through with it.

You had always secretly hoped that Eddie would maybe teach you some stuff, you would replay possible conversations in your mind of how you’d want to ask him, but you couldn’t follow through with that either. Maybe you just weren’t meant to be experienced in that area, maybe it’s a good thing. Yeah, that’s what you tell yourself but it never really feels truthful.

Tonight you and Eddie have movie night, something you both like to do when he’s just gotten home and in need of ‘his best friend time’ as he puts it. You went and hung out at family video for awhile, Eddie catching up with Steve and Robin while you browsed the new releases, finally settling on some b rated cheesy horror movie and some snacks.

Once back at Eddie’s trailer, you set up the movie while he puts the popcorn on the stove, and unbags the rest of the junk food, while grabbing two beers out the fridge for you both. Throwing the popcorn in whatever big bowl he can find, he makes his way to you, with his arms full.

“Alright, you ready?” He motions to the tv with his head, while trying to gently place everything on the coffee table. “I have a feeling this is gonna be really gory, but yeah I’m ready.” You say before shoving a couple kernels of popcorn into your mouth, “it’s okay, peach. You know if it gets too scary you can always hold onto me.” He beams with a smug smirk. The use of his childhood nickname for you, makes your cheeks bloom a bright red, though it wasn’t out of embarrassment, but an overwhelming sense of pride that no one other than you, knew this side of Eddie, this sweet gentle side. You knew one day he’d get a girlfriend and she’d see this side plus so much more, the thought made your stomach twist in knots but couldn’t think about that, for now you would savor the moments you two spend together.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You jokingly say, you rarely join in on Eddie’s flirting so when you do, it always catches him off guard. He side eyes you with a small smirk. “So, do you wanna smoke before I press play?” He asks while rubbing his palms on his Jean clad thighs. “Yeah, we can smoke.” Smoking with Eddie usually consists of you taking one hit while he kills the rest.

Correction, you took two hits this time, while Eddie took a couple more than you, before putting the joint out in the ashtray and discarding it off to the side, while pressing play on the remote. Something in the air felt different this time, you couldn’t put your finger on it but there was a tension you were never aware of before. Eddie kept sneaking glances at you, but when you’d look, his eyes would be on the screen, aside from the two times his eyes didn’t look away fast enough. You wanted to ask him if something was wrong or if you had something on your face, but the weed almost made you feel stuck or maybe you were too afraid of what would come out of the conversation.

After sitting in silence watching teenagers be picked off one by one, by some psycho killer as you sipped your beer and every once in a while grabbed for a candy or some popcorn. You took one last glance at Eddie, your eyes met but he looked away almost immediately back onto the screen.

When you looked back at the tv, the scene in front of you was a rather erotic one. The couple were in a car at some type of ‘lovers lake’ spot, the girl was bent over the middle console sucking the guys dick, while his head was thrown back on the head rest.

“What does that feel like?” The words leave your mouth before you are even able to grasp what it was you actually asked. “What?” Eddie asked as his eyebrows furrowed. “Getting head, what does it feel like?” You already asked, might as well find out the answer. “Um, well I mean it feels good.” He says, his eyes meeting yours as he white knuckles his beer bottle, taking a swig. “Mmm, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You don’t know what has come over you, almost like the weed has some type of truth serum in it, you couldn’t stop word vomiting your every thought.

Eddie almost spit out his sip of beer, but instead he swallows it harshly before choking. You sit up and pat his back, while laughing. “Shit, are you okay? Here, put your hands up.” You say as you try to help him lift his right arm into the air. “He pulls his arm away while rubbing his chest, “I’m alright.” He says gently, “you just, you can’t say shit like that, peach. Not to me.”

Now your eyebrows furrow, because what the fuck? He’s your best friend, he can talk about different women all day long and how he fucks them side ways from Monday, but you inquire about one sexual question and now it’s “you can’t say shit like that to me.” You roll your eyes and turn your body towards the tv, huffing out a breath in annoyance.

A couple minutes pass by before Eddie is knocking you out of your thoughts. “Listen, peach I-I,” you cross your arms as he talks, before you cut him off. “Eddie, it’s fine just drop it.” Eddie didn’t know how to drop shit, so you knew that wasn’t gonna happen. “Look at me.” He said with a domineering tone, making you turn your head almost immediately. “Listen, I just- I understand you’re curious and as your best friend I shouldn’t be weird about you, ya’ know experimenting and all that but, I don’t know the thought of some creep seeing you like that, I don’t know it just pisses me off.” He says through gritted teeth. “I get it Eddie, you look at me like your little sister or something.” You say as your head snaps back to the screen, screams booming from the speakers as one of the girls tries to outrun the killer.

“A sister?” Eddie says almost as low as a whisper, “I don’t think of you like a sister, peach. If I had a sister I definitely wouldn’t hang out with her as much as I do with you.” His words make your stomach flutter. “You don’t?” You ask in surprise. “No, no I don’t” Eddie says before taking another swig of his beer. “Well, so why does the thought of me doing that with someone piss you off?” You’re genuinely confused now. “I don’t know, it’s just you're so innocent about shit like that, and I don’t want someone taking advantage of you or..” he trails off before you begin talking, “okay? Well I mean I want to learn, I don’t wanna be a virgin forever.” You say as you roll your eyes. “And you will, just make sure he’s the right guy, ya’ know?”

“Isn’t the purpose to be good before you find the right guy?” You snort, “not necessarily.” He says back, while meeting your eyes. “Not many guys want a girl who doesn’t even know how to suck dick, correctly. Let alone a boring virgin.” You gloomily say while shooting him a bittersweet smile.

“Cmon peach, you’re more than your sexual status, you know that right?” He tilts his head closer to you, doing his best silly face to make you laugh, it worked just like it always did. “There she is.” He smirks.

A couple more minutes pass by before you say the words you’ve been wanting to say for so long, no more overthinking it. “Eddie?” You whisper, capturing his attention as he turns to look at you, “can you teach me?” His eyes widen, his mouth slightly drops open and it moves like he wants to say something but the words are stuck, until finally he’s able to get them out “Y-you want me to teach you?” He says in disbelief.

“Well, I mean I trust you more than anyone, and I’m sure you know what you like, so why not?” You shrug and then turn your head back to the tv for a second before you find his eyes again. “Are you sure about that, peach? I mean I want you to really know what you’re asking for here?” His knee begins bouncing before he’s reaching for the leftover joint in the ashtray. “I’m a big girl Eddie, I know what I’m asking for.” You smirk at the fact that you’re able to fluster him like this. “Okay, so you know the only way I can teach you is by, uh by showing you right?” You’ve never seen him this nervous before, maybe you should’ve done this earlier. “Yes, Eddie. How else would you teach me?” You raise an eyebrow, as he lights up the joint and takes a hit.

“Fuck, peach are you positive you wanna do this? I don’t wanna like fuck up our friendship or make shit weird between us.” He stares into your eyes, a look of genuine concern on his face as the smoke bellows from his mouth. You can’t help the insecurities bubbling up inside of you,“Eddie, if I'm not good enough to suck your dick, then just say that.” Your shoulders slump against the back of the couch, you look away because you can’t bear the rejection.

“Not good enough? What the fuck does that mean?” He says while scooting himself closer to the edge of the couch, trying to see your face from where he’s seated, you don’t answer. “Hey!” He almost shouts with that same domineering tone from earlier. He grabs your cheeks, almost pinching them, making your mouth fall open in an “o” shape. He turns your eyes to meet his, “look at me when I’m talking to you, peach.” His dominant voice gets softer at your nickname, the whole thing has you feeling butterflies somewhere else.

“You wanna learn? Okay then, get on your knees for me, and I’ll teach you. Just call me Mr. Munson.” He says with a cackle, making you laugh along.

You get up from your spot and take a couple steps, now standing in front of Eddie’s wide opened legs, he’s now sitting with his back flush against the couch, knees spread. You sink down to your knees, and look up at him for direction. He stares at you for a couple seconds, while his chest rises and falls.

“Okay, first you’re gonna unbuckle my belt.” He says with a low gruff voice, somehow you were able to undo the belt from the handcuff buckle, rather quickly.

You didn’t need to be told how to take his pants off, unbuttoning and unzipping them with fervor, before you put your thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and plaid boxers, but before you began pulling them down, Eddie stopped you— “hold on, baby.” He breathily says as he puts his heavily tattooed hands over yours, “I uh,” his hands are trembling, everything feels like too much in the moment, he’s never called you baby before but also, why is he so nervous? You know he’s gotten his dick sucked more than he probably even remembers yet here he is more nervous than you.

“Peach, I-I uh, you know I really care about you, right?” His gaze is stirring something inside of you, the adoration in his eyes, clear as day. “Yeah, of course I know that, Ed’s. I care about you too.” You beam up at him, from your spot between his legs.

He removes his right hand from yours, bringing his thumb to your jaw, gliding it against your skin inching closer towards your lips, Eddie rubs the pad of his thumb over your pouty bottom lip, moving it back and forth until his finger stops abruptly. “Open” was all he had to say for you to obey, you open.

His thumb instantly on your tongue, you didn’t need any more instruction as you took his thumb into your mouth and sucked.

“Fuck” Eddie panted while holding your gaze, “you’re so fucking pretty, peach.” He took a few more heavy breaths before he continued, “I’ve always wanted to see you like this.” You can’t believe what he’s saying, ‘he’s always wanted to see me like this? Since when?’ But that’s a question for another day, you want this too bad.

Instead you shoot him a little smirk, “are you ready Mr. Munson?” You say in a seductive tone. “Y-yeah, I’m ready baby.” He laughs at the title he threw around earlier. Your thumbs take up their old position, slowly pulling his boxers and black jeans down to his knees. Eddie’s cock springs out, at attention. You don’t know much about dicks but he looks painfully hard, almost purple and throbbing while the tip leaks clear beads of precum, it makes your mouth water.

You reach for his cock, wrapping your dainty hand around his huge length. Eddie moves to sit up more, as if he needs to see everything you’re doing, “mmm, spit on it baby.” He softly commands as he bites his bottom lip. You get higher up on your knees, mouth a couple inches above his cock, letting a glob of spit fall out of your mouth and onto his angry tip.

Eddie shudders, before he continues his instructions. “Good girl, now rub the spit all over the head and shaft before you start the hand job, it can kind of hurt when it’s dry.” He says before yanking up his band shirt and pulling it up over his head, throwing it over the armrest of the couch.

Your eyes rake over his upper body, as you continue to pump him, his array of tattoos, some you’ve seen some you haven’t, along with nipple rings, yeah you’ve never seen those before. Fuck, he looked so good. You continued to gawk until your eyes met his, his cocky smile looking down at you, knowingly.

“See something you like, peach?” His cocky smile turned into a toothy grin. “Maybe” was all you said before taking his tip into your mouth and lightly sucking. Eddie’s hand flies to your hair, gently taking a handful, “fuck, I didn’t tell you to do that yet, did I? You’re supposed to be a good girl and listen, okay?” He says before pulling you off of his cock. “First I want you to lick from my balls up to the tip, do you understand?” He says while he has your hair pulled back and chin pointed up towards him, almost face to face.

You’ve never seen Eddie this way before, so in charge, so demanding, almost mean but so sexy.

You do as he asked, licking a strip up from his balls to his tip, out of pure curiosity you licked the new beads of precum just to taste, “fuck, you’re such a good girl” he growls, the praise going straight to your pussy.

“Okay baby, now I want you to do what you did before, put your mouth around the tip and suck.” You waste no time, putting the tip back into your mouth and sucking a little harder than before. “Fuck, just like that. Now, look up at me, peach. I need to see those pretty eyes, baby.” When you look up at Eddie, you want to commit the sight in front of you to memory and use it every time you're alone in your bed at night. His eyes were lust filled, his jaw was slack, his head was tilted down as he watched you through his lashes.

“Good girl, peach!” He groans “okay, now take it a little deeper, yes! Fuck that’s it, baby. Just like that.” You couldn’t help it any longer, you were so turned on, you snuck your hand inside your shorts, grinding down on your fingers as they slid across your soaked clit. You continued bobbing on Eddie’s cock, he gathered your hair up in a makeshift ponytail as he controlled your movements.

He was trying so hard not to push your head down and begin fucking your throat, like he was use to. No, he had to be gentle with you, his little peach. In high school, he had this fantasy almost nightly, you sucking his cock, on your knees all cute and innocent. Fuck, he felt like a pervert back then because of it. But now, it’s really fucking turning him on, and he’s more than okay with that.

He sits up slightly as he notices your right hand has disappeared, “are you touching yourself?” He asks with a wide eyed gaze. “Yes, I can’t help it, you’re so sexy.” You whine, not even realizing what you said.

“Oh?” He smirked, “you think I’m sexy?” His hips buck, making his tip hit the back of your throat, gagging you. “Fuck, I think you’re so fucking sexy, keep playing with your little pussy baby, cum for me.” He panted, “I wanna see your face when you come, peach. I need to see it.” You slid his cock out of your mouth as you began rubbing your clit harder, “mmm, oh fuck.” You moaned out, eyes rolling back.

“You sound so pretty, too. Can you take your shirt off for me, peach? Can I see your tits?” He begged, you slipped your hand out of your waistband, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, then you unclasp the black bra that cupped your boobs perfectly. Eddie, doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

You pull the bra from your body, and throw it at him, as you giggle. “Goddamn,” he said under his breath as he sat up to get a better look, left hand lazily stroking his cock. His right hand reaches before he pulls it back, “can I- can I touch?” He asks softly. “Yes, you can touch Ed's.” You say with an innocent bat of your lashes.

He used both hands to grab handfuls of each breast, squeezing and pinching at your nipples. “You really are so beautiful, you know that?” He asks, as he looks over your body and face.

“Yeah? You think so?” You ask as you reach for his cock, missing the way it felt between your fingers and in your mouth. “Oh, I know so.” He chuckles

“Teach me more, Ed’s? I wanna make you cum.” You whisper as you move your head closer to his cock, he can feel your breath on him, but it’s your words that are really doing it for him. He never thought he’d hear you like this, no matter how many times he’s fantasized, but now that he has, he’s addicted. He wants to be your first everything, he has to be.

“Fuck, keep touching yourself with my cock in your mouth, baby.” He whimpers, sitting flush against the couch again, with his head thrown back.

You stuff him back into your mouth, sucking and licking while your hand finds its way back into your shorts and over your clit.

“Yes fuck! Deepthroat baby, breathe through your nose and swallow, look up at me. Fuck yes, Jesus your mouth feels so fucking good.” He scrunches his face up in pleasure, letting out little “fucks” and “shits” as you took him deeper in your throat.

“Mmm alright, spit on it again.” He says as he takes his cock in his hand, slapping your bottom lip with it. You do as you’re asked, “fuck yeah, I like my head sloppy, baby.” You can tell he’s antsy and wants to cum and you’re right behind him, as you continue to rub yourself.

“Take your other hand and wrap it around the middle. Mhm, perfect peach, now I want you to put your mouth on me again, just the tip and a little bit of the shaft, yes just like that, fuck.” You’d do just about anything he asked of you right now, especially if he continues with those moans and his sweet words of praise.

“Okay, now I want you to twist your hand and go up and down, while you suck.” At first it was hard to keep the same rhythm as your hand, but you quickly got the hang of it. “Oh fuck! Oh my god baby! You’re fucking perfect.” He begins bucking his ups up towards your mouth, spit covering your hand as you continue your ministrations on him.

you’re so focused on making him feel good, you forgot about getting yourself off.

“Look at me, baby.” The sight of your tear stained cheeks and glossy eyes, got him. “I’m cumming, fuck!” You take it all into your mouth not letting even a drop go. “Holy shit, peach.” He growls “swallow it.” He demands, while watching you. “Let me see.” Another demand. You stick out your tongue, to show him you did as you were asked.

“Good girl, now get up here and let me make you cum.”

Thank you for reading! 🍑

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. 

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love  +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity. 

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s. 

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory. 

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t. 

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

.

.

.

It starts with the little things. 

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23. 

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying. 

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them. 

.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly. 

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy. 

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze. 

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry. 

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji. 

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away. 

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them. 

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in. 

A chuckle escapes you. 

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone. 

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.  

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue. 

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly). 

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing. 

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order). 

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly. 

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly. 

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you. 

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times. 

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick. 

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you. 

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning. 

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage. 

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice. 

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming. 

Is this what it means to be in love with you? 

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you. 

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing. 

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there. 

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will. 

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen. 

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin. 

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own. 

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old. 

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek. 

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this. 

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit. 

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him? 

.

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score. 

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems. 

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely. 

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing. 

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes. 

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this. 

.

.

.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room. 

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into. 

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it. 

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach. 

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’. 

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age. 

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined. 

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines. 

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students. 

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew. 

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly. 

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy. 

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time. 

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced. 

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen? 

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially. 

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully. 

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared. 

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too. 

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing. 

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile. 

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy). 

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since. 

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly. 

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.  

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too. 

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you. 

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked. 

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you. 

.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue. 

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows. 

But it isn’t, and your smile widens. 

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does. 

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

.

.

.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel. 

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you. 

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow. 

“What made him ask?” 

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity. 

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.” 

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever. 

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his. 

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t. 

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders. 

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together. 

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks. 

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed. 

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours. 

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17. 

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you. 

He says it as if it is the simplest truth. 

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll. 

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think. 

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.  

“Something like it.” 

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?” 

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you? 

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’. 

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering. 

Can he see? You’re meant for him only. 

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away. 

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other. 

You cup his cheeks. 

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now. 

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief. 

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile. 

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips. 

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you. 

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together. 

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips. 

You laugh—sprinkled in love. 

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!” 

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.” 

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks. 

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now. 

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true. 

.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage. 

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should. 

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you? 

.

.

.

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give. 

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing. 

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too. 

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface. 

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way. 

.

.

.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry. 

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up? 

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging. 

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through. 

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking. 

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving. 

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you. 

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

.

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you. 

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with. 

He knows it. 

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with? 

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same. 

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face. 

.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak. 

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him. 

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?) 

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today. 

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet. 

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold. 

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you. 

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go. 

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him. 

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it. 

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright. 

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask. 

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more. 

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society. 

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much. 

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him. 

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you. 

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips. 

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly. 

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks. 

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching. 

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry. 

Your grip on him tightens. 

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck. 

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.” 

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder. 

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum. 

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even. 

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately. 

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.” 

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune. 

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled. 

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding. 

You always do. 

.

.

.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today. 

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane. 

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making. 

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything. 

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over. 

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy. 

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky. 

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life. 

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.” 

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you. 

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way). 

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now. 

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. 

He’s shocked too. 

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely. 

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.” 

The little laugh you make has him, completely. 

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too. 

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’. 

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you. 

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him. 

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently. 

The best part about being in love? 

He gets to be in it with you. 

.

.

.

Gojo can’t sleep. 

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will. 

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching. 

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck. 

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m. 

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that. 

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it. 

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island. 

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating. 

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever. 

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling. 

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting. 

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him. 

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.  

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain. 

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it. 

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray. 

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too. 

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like. 

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you. 

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek. 

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret. 

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after. 

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already. 

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep. 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing. 

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin. 

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging. 

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one. 

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone. 

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good. 

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.  

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing). 

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs. 

(And he loves that about you). 

.

.

.

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder. 

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill. 

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice. 

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them. 

He knows. 

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you. 

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only. 

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you. 

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed. 

.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy. 

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides. 

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.” 

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love. 

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night. 

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.  

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong. 

Are you happy with me? 

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!!  of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

All You Have To Do Is Ask

(Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader x Eddie Munson)

Summary: Ever since your boyfriend Steve found out that you lost your virginity to your friend Eddie he can’t stop thinking about the two of you together, the fantasies of you and Eddie tangled together running through his mind on repeat. It starts off with just the two of you but when the fantasies start to evolve and Eddie is touching him too, he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it. WK:9k (idk how that happened)

Warnings: Modern AU, Everyone’s in their mid 20s, Kinda fuck boy Eddie in the beginning, Steve is having major bipanic, Dom!Eddie, kinda Sub!Steve, Sub!Reader, handjobs, oral (both m & f receiving), facial (Steve cums on readers face), cum eating, unprotected sex, threesome, choking, hair pulling, pining all around, kinda angst because Eddie loves reader and thinks it’s one sided, but it happy endings from me always! I think that’s it? If I missed any please lmk! 18+MNDI

A/N: Okay this one took me forever because I kept changing my mind about how I wanted it and I’m still not obsessed with how it turned out but thank you to my lovely betas @bimbobaggins69 @lilthbunny & @reidsbtch for hyping me up, I probably would’ve scraped this entire idea if it wasn’t for you guys.🖤

It was a hot summer day and Eddie was over at you and Steve’s apartment complex to take advantage of the pool and if he didn’t know any better he would think you were trying to torture him. You were laying on your side on one of the lounge chairs in this little black bikini and no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else his eyes kept wandering back to the way your tits were squeezed into the top and the way bottoms fit your ass perfectly.

Then there was fucking Eddie, sitting on the chair across from you dramatically telling a story with his hands. He was shirtless and he had pulled his shaggy locks into a low bun. Droplets from it still being wet dripped down his chest and Steve found himself wanting to lick it off, chlorine be damned.

The way the water and sweat made his skin glisten made Steve think about him being sweaty in other situations.

Like you on your hands and knees while Eddie railed you from behind. Eddie between your legs eating your pussy like a man starved. Or you with your mouth stuffed full of Eddie’s cock, drool dripping down your chin from gagging. The scenes have been playing out in his head like a movie he couldn’t seem to stop watching. He was starting to feel like he was losing his mind.

It all started a few weeks ago when Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan came over to you and Steve’s. You were all sitting in the living room having a few drinks and passing around a blunt Eddie brought when the topic of how everyone lost their virginity came up.

Obviously when it came to Nancy’s story, she didn’t go into detail but her bringing it up in any capacity was enough to make Steve feel a little awkward. But that feeling didn’t last long, Eddie’s story brought on a whole different set of emotions.

“I lost mine on my sixteenth birthday, I had just got the van and I took this really awesome girl out to lovers lake. I wasn’t even expecting anything, we had been close friends for a while and I didn’t think she thought of me that way. But she straddled me and told me she wanted to give me her virginity for my birthday. I remember being such a fumbly idiot because I was so surprised but she was so sexy and confident about it. Honestly the best possible way I could’ve lost it.” He looked Steve in the eyes and smirked like he knew something he didn't.

“Oh my god Eddie! You make it sound like it was so romantic we bumped heads the first time we tried to kiss and then you spent almost 5 minutes trying to get my bra off because you were determined to do it yourself ‘for practice’” You giggled and smacked him on the arm.

“Wait… you guys?” Steve felt his mouth go dry because you never told him this, granted he hasn’t told you about how he lost his virginity either, but still, it seems like this would’ve come up considering how often Eddie is around now.

“Still wouldn’t change it for the world princess. You’re forgetting the part where we went back to my trailer and I made you scream my name all night long.”

“Oh my fucking god Eddie… shut up.” You laughed as you took the blunt from his hand to take a pull off of it.

Steve felt his cheeks grow hot, but not for the reason he was expecting. Normally he would feel jealous to some extent that the guy his girlfriend lost her virginity to was sitting in the living room of their shared apartment telling the story like it was the best night of his life but something about the way Eddie was talking made him blush.

“To answer your question Steve, yeah we did, and not just that time.” Eddie took a sip of his beer, a bit of it not making it into his mouth causing it to drip down his chin and for a split second Steve thought about licking it off... Wait what the fuck?

“Were you guys like… together?”

“No honey, we were just friends with benefits, we still went on dates with and saw other people. But neither of us found someone good enough to keep around, until I met you.” You smiled sweetly at him, pushing back a piece of his hair that came out of place.

“Best friends with benefits, thank you very much. But for me I don’t think I’ll ever find someone good enough to keep around, I’m good on all that lovey dovey shit. Speaking of, this has been wonderful my dear friends, but alas, this girl I've been talking to sent me a nude and asked me what I was doing over an hour ago. So I must bid you all farewell.” How bowed, exiting in a typical Eddie fashion, leaving Steve feeling more confused than he ever had in his life.

The night went on without it being mentioned again, but it was all Steve could think about, even as he laid in bed trying to fall asleep he couldn’t shake the visions of you and Eddie tangled together.

The fantasies keep evolving beyond Steve’s control, at first it was just you and Eddie in various states of pleasure. The first fantasies were focused on you, the way your eyes roll in the back of your head when you cum, those sweet little whimpers you make when he hits just the right spot, the way your tits bounce when you ride him… which were his regular fantasies but the only difference being Eddie was the one fucking you instead of him. Then they started to shift, his mind started to focus on the way Eddie’s hands would look on your body, the faces and sounds he might make, what his cock would look like slipping in and out of your tight wet pussy. They shifted again when he started imaging himself there with you, watching Eddie make you fall apart underneath him, maybe even joining in, fucking your face while he has a perfect view of Eddie taking you from behind. But they truly took a turn when he started to imagine how Eddie’s lips might feel against his, if his hands would feel rough against his skin from years of guitar playing, what his dick might feel like inside him and not just you.

But he didn’t think that was something that could ever happen. What if he made you uncomfortable by bringing it up? What if you thought he was weird? What if you didn’t love him anymore? On top of all of that, even if you were okay with it, he wasn’t sure if Eddie even likes guys.

“Hey baby, you okay?” Steve was snapped out of his trance by the sound of your voice, looking over at you with a look that he hoped looked semi composed.

“Huh? Yeah honey, I’m good. Just thinking about how much I love you.”

“I love you too, silly boy. You sure you’re okay? You checked out for a second there.” You sit up next to him on the lounge chair so you can put your head on his shoulder and rub little circles on his bicep with the tips of your fingers.

“Hmm? Yeah, I think I’m just starting to get a little hungry or something, I’m fine baby, I promise.” He smiles at you sweetly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“You wanna head inside soon and get something to eat?”

“Yeah I-“

“God damn.” Eddie groans, cutting Steve off while looking at his phone with wide eyes.

“What? Another nude? You’re such a hoe.” You snort, at this point you were used to him bragging about his exploits even if it did give you a weird feeling you forced yourself to ignore.

“Yeah. This guy just sent me a dick pic and it’s fucking nice. Wanna see it Steve?” He looks Steve directly in the eyes and smirks.

Steve’s eyes grow wide and he tries his best to compose himself before speaking.

“Do I wanna-? What? Why would I? Why would I want to see it?” Despite his best efforts his voice cracks slightly and he internally scolds himself.

“I don’t know.” Eddie shrugs. “Just thought you might be interested is all.”

Steve’s head is spinning, why would Eddie ask him that? Did he know? Was he too obvious? Eddie likes guys?

“I didn’t - uh - I didn’t know you liked guys.”

“You didn’t know that? I feel like it’s common knowledge that Eddie likes to fuck dudes Stevie.” You laugh knowingly at your boyfriend’s reaction. You had noticed that he’s been acting sort of strange lately, not distant, just kind of spacey like he has something on his mind. At first you thought maybe he was thinking about breaking up with you but the amount of times he’s been railing you into the mattress lately said otherwise. Everytime you asked him if he was okay he said everything was fine, but you knew your Stevie and you knew something was up. So you started racking your brain, observing his behavior, and you finally came to a conclusion.

You started to notice the way Steve would look at Eddie when he thought no one noticed, the way his eyes lingered on his hands for just a little too long, and most of all how flustered Eddie made him. After thinking back on it you realized his behavior changed the night he found out that you and Eddie used to fuck. Then it all clicked into place, Steve has a crush on Eddie. You’ve considered bringing it up to him on multiple occasions but you didn’t want to push him to talk about it and freak him out so you just waited to see if he would bring it up himself.

But it’s been weeks now and you can tell it’s starting to really weigh on him. It didn’t help that Eddie was constantly giving him shit and not so subtly flirting with him.

“Yeah Steve, I don’t just like guys though, I love them.”

Eddie’s brown orbs are still boring into Steve’s hazel ones and he feels like he might actually pass out.

“Oh. Well, that’s uh - that’s cool man, good for you.”

“It’s really good for me, Steve. Have you ever thought about it, being with a guy?”

You bite your lip, imagining Steve with a guy, but not just any guy…Eddie. Ever since you picked up on Steve’s little crush you can’t stop thinking about them together, all of you together, really. You didn’t think it would ever really happen, but in this moment, something was shifting.

“Stevie, will you go upstairs and start the sandwiches? Me and Eds will gather up the stuff and meet you up there.” You cupped his face, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah uh - I’ll go do that.” Steve sighed, relieved that you gave him a way out of this conversation, he stood up and placed a kiss on your head before trying to walk off as casually as he could with the slight boner he was starting to sport.

“Edward Munson, what in the hell was that?” You glare at him, but there’s a glint in your eye and a smirk on your lips that tells him you aren’t really upset at all.

“I was just giving him shit babe, don’t be mad at me.” He looks at you with puppy dog eyes, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“I’m not mad, if anything, I’m intrigued, and a little turned on.”

“Yeah?” His breath picks up and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. It’s one thing teasing Steve but you sitting here telling him it turns you on… well that’s a whole different situation that he’s not sure how to handle. Eddie has gained a lot of confidence since he has last been with you, he feels secure in his ability to be in control and make people want him… but you? You make him feel like he’s a nervous teenager again.

“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lip. “I think it turns Steve on too… he just doesn’t know how to admit it.”

“Well that, I do know. Every time I flirt with him even a little he looks like he’s gonna pass out.” Eddie snorts, his eyes searching your face for any signs that you’re uncomfortable or jealous. But all he sees is lust there and it makes him feel like he’s the one that’s gonna pass out.

“I think… what if… You wanna test something out with me?” Your bare foot reaches out to caress his calf, your eyes are filled with fire and your bottom lip is secured between your teeth.

“What - what did you have in mind?” If it’s what he thinks it is… he might actually lose it.

“I think you know Eddie… but if you want me to lay it out plain and simple I want you and Steve to both fuck me… and each other, while I watch.” Your foot continues to rub little circles along his bare calf and he feels himself growing hard at this small amount of contact alone. He missed the feeling of your skin.

“Do you think he would be fine with that? Or even into it? I don’t want to freak him out or make him think I’m trying to steal his girl or something.” He’s tried really fucking hard to not flirt with you or look at you for too long but if he’s given the go ahead he’s not sure he will be able to hold back.

He doesn’t want to upset Steve, he likes him and not just because he thinks it’s adorable how flustered he gets when he teases him or the way he wants to take a bite out of his peachy little ass but he’s come to really like him as a person and a friend too. But Eddie loves you, he always has, he’s always regretted letting you go, trying his best to fill the void and bury those feelings in person after person. It never worked, he would feel good for a bit but as soon as it was over and sometimes even during his mind would always drift to you.

“He won’t think that… plus it’s not stealing if you share… C’mon Eddie bear… you knowwww you want to.” You giggle as you stand up, turning around to grab your towel off the chair giving Eddie a perfect view of you in your swimsuit from behind. The bottoms sat high on your ass and the way they tightened against you when you bent over made it so he could see the outline of your pussy and he groaned.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You tilt your head over your shoulder to smirk at him, leaning down to grab your bag before walking toward the pool gate.

“You coming?”

“Wait!” He quickly grabbed his towel and ran after you. “You asked me if I wanted to try something, what are we trying exactly?”

“When it happens, you’ll know. Just follow my lead.” You winked at him as you pulled the gate open, leading the way back to your apartment, making sure to swing your hips just a little extra as he trailed behind you.

Once you got inside you decided to take a quick shower to get the sweat and chlorine off of you. It took everything in your power not to let your hand travel between your legs as the warm water cascaded down your body. Your mind ran wild with the thoughts of the two boys just a wall away from you.

You exited the shower feeling pent up, so you decided it was time to put your plan in motion. You dried off before generously applying your favorite lotion all over your body, you take your hair out of the bun you threw it into to keep it dry and fluff it a bit in the mirror happy enough with how it looks since you’re hoping to get it pulled later anyways. You wrap your towel around yourself and walk across the hall into your bedroom without turning your back, but you feel eyes on you. You click the door shut gently, walking over to your dresser to find something sexy but still comfortable.

You decided on your tiniest black spandex shorts with no underwear and a little pink tank top that was thin enough to see the outline of your nipples without a bra. You topped it off with fuzzy black thigh highs and smirked at yourself in the full length mirror. Steve loved it when you wore this outfit.

You take a deep breath, hyping yourself up before exiting the room. When you step into the living area Steve and Eddie are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, both on their phones with three plates sitting in front of them on the coffee table. Eddie had changed back into his jeans but his shirt was off and Steve was still in just his bright red slightly shorter than normal swim trunks. You bite your lip as you walk around the couch and scoot past Eddie, your ass practically swallowing those little shorts stopping in front of his face for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Hi boys, you didn’t have to wait for me to eat.” You say as you plop down between them, your thighs and tits bouncing deliciously in the corner of each of their eyes.

“You know I like to eat with you baby.” Steve leans into you, placing his large hand on the sliver of skin between your sock and your thigh.

“You guys are kind of disgusting, cute, but disgusting.” Eddie says as he picks up his sandwich, taking a large bite.

“Awww don’t be jealous Eddie bear, I’m sure Steve would grab your thigh too, if you ask nicely.”

Eddie inhales a piece of his sandwich, coughing as it hits the back of his throat, he grabs his water off the table and eagerly takes a drink.

“Wha-? Why would I? What?”

“Why would you do that? Because I know you want to…” You place your hand over his, pushing it slightly higher on your thigh as you clench them together.

“I don’t - I mean -“ Steve runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Why are you being so casual about this?”

“About what honey?” You ask innocently.

“You know what… How did you know? Are you mad? I’m sorry. It’s okay if you don’t-“

“Steve! Calm down. I know you like Eddie because you aren’t as sneaky as you think you are. I caught on about a week ago that you’ve been acting strange ever since you found out Eddie and I slept together. Also no I’m not mad, I already told Eddie it turns me on.” You bring your leg up to rest over his thighs, giving him a perfect view of your pussy in those tight little shorts. If they weren’t black he would be able to see how wet you are.

“You told him? You guys… talked about me?” There was a panicked look in his eyes that you wanted to soothe immediately.

“Yeah we did pretty boy, we talked about how cute you are when you get all flustered… and if you want to put your hand on my thigh, be my guest.” Eddie smirked, patting his large ringed hand against his jean clad thigh. “As long as it’s okay with your lady, that is.”

“Mmm that’s okay with me, as long as I get to touch you too…” Eddie took note of the fact that you just said touch in the general sense this time, nothing about his thigh.

“Yeah - uh - as long as that’s okay with Steve too…” The thought of not just Steve but you touching him was making him squirm.

“Yeah I - um… I think I’d be okay with that, yeah.” Steve sighed, and his grip on your thigh tightened.

“Yeah?” You looked him in the eyes, searching for any signs of doubt but you didn’t find any. Definitely some nervousness, but above all you saw a hunger in him that you’ve never seen before.

“Yeah.” He said more confidently this time.

“Cool.” You smirked as you turned your head towards Eddie, your eyes not leaving his as you brought your hand to rest as high on his thigh as it could be without fully palming his cock. “Eddie.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me.”

He feels like he’s been waiting years to hear you say those words again, because he has and he doesn’t wait another second to take your face in his hands and crash his lips against yours. Your hand leaves his thigh and snakes into his hair like it has many times before, you pull slightly causing him to moan into the kiss. You feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip but instead of granting him access you pull away, leaving him to subconsciously chase after your touch.

“Now kiss Steve.” You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and give him this look that makes him feel like he would do anything you asked in that moment, maybe even whenever you wanted. He’s never felt like that about anyone besides you.

You turn your head towards Steve, bringing your other hand to the back of your boyfriend’s neck.

“Would you like that baby? You want Eddie to kiss you, just like you’ve been dreaming about?”

“Uh huh - yeah.” Steve nods dumbly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this was really happening right now.

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice, he reaches across you to grab Steve’s face and pull his lips into kiss. Steve moans, the kiss feels like letting go of a deep breath he’s been holding for weeks and he wants more more more. His hands come up to Eddie’s shoulders to pull him closer and they’re practically squishing you but as you watch Eddie’s tongue dart into Steve’s mouth you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Your hand snakes between your legs and you start to slowly grind against your palm, watching as Eddie practically devours your boyfriend. Steve is letting out these little whimpers you’ve never heard before and Eddie’s groans are something you don’t even realize you missed. A breathy moan escapes your lips and it causes the boys to break from their kiss, their eyes turning to look at you.

They both groan in unison at the sight of you, your tiny shorts hugging your body just right as you grind against your palm, your tits practically spilling out of that little top, breathy gasps leaving your mouth as your chest rapidly rises up and down.

“Awww it looks like someone’s feeling a little needy? You always were such a needy little slut.” Eddie's hand comes up to your jaw and cups your chin causing you to moan at the same time that Steve’s gaps, his eyes going wide in surprise.

“What? Do you guys not play like that? Does Stevie not know how naughty his little sweetheart really is?”

Steve is speechless, trying and failing to find words, he’s never been this hard in his life.

“Tell him princess, tell him how much of a little cock slut you are.” Eddie’s grip on your chin tightens slightly, causing your lips to pout, using his hand to tilt your head so you’re looking at your very flustered boyfriend.

“I’m a little - fuck - a little cock slut.” No one but Eddie has ever made you feel this way. Steve was rough with you sometimes but he was more of an attentive lover. You never trusted any of your other partners enough to give them this kind of power over you but Eddie immediately had you slipping into that space with him like you never left. His hand leaves your chin only to wrap loosely around your neck and pull you close to his chest.

“You don’t play rough with her pretty boy? She’s really fun like this.”

“I mean I do… just not… like that.” Steve’s eyes are all over the place, Eddie’s hand on your throat, the way his arm is pressed between your tits, Eddie’s bare chest. It was like his fantasy come to life but better.

“You gonna be a good girl for us, huh princess?” Eddie's grip on your throat tightens and it causes your eyes to roll back.

“Mhm.” You nod the best you can against his grip, your head starting to go fuzzy in the best way. Eddie’s hand leaves your throat to leave a harsh slap on your thigh that causes you to yelp.

“Use your words, or have you forgotten everything I taught you?” Eddie’s voice is a growl in your ear but his eyes are still boring directly into Steve’s.

“Yeah, yes, I’ll be a good girl.”

“You hear that Stevie? She’s gonna be a good girl for us, gonna let us play with her just how she likes. I think you’re going to be learning some things about not just yourself but your girl too tonight. You want that, want me to teach you?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Steve’s hand comes down to palm his cock that feels like it’s about to bust out of his shorts.

“Alright. Get on your knees baby, now.”

Eddie releases his grip on your neck, his hands leaving you completely as he backs up to give you space to get up. You slide off the couch and onto your knees, deciding to tease them a little you crawl a few feet forward. Your tiny shirts are gripping your ass, the socks are hugging your thighs just right causing two different groans to sound behind you. You turn around to face them, tucking your legs under you as you sit on your knees with your hands folded in your lap, putting on your best “good girl” face.

You look between the two men, both of their eyes eating up every inch of you. Steve looks like he’s about to combust, his cheeks are flushed and his dick is so hard it looks like it’s about to rip his shorts open at the seams. Eddie’s more calm with a cocky look on his face but the slight dusting of red on his cheeks and the way his pants weren’t looking like they were holding on much better than Steve’s gave you a tiny glimpse of that fumbling teenage boy that you fell for that night in the van.

They were still sitting on opposite ends of the couch and you wanted them closer. You weren’t exactly sure if you wanted them closer to each other or you, but preferably both.

“Okay princess, want me to show your pretty boyfriend how you like to be played with?” Eddie leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his chin coming to rest on top of his folded hands. You wanted to bite his bare shoulders and suck his fingers into your mouth. He was so fucking hot.

“Yes, please sir.” You clench your thighs together and a whimper involuntarily leaves your mouth.

“I will baby, I’ll show him just how you like it. But first I’m gonna teach Steve how to play with me.” Eddie scoots across the couch quickly closing the distance between him and your boyfriend. His hand came to rest on Steve’s bare upper thigh. “You want that, pretty boy?”

“Yeah - yes.” Steve’s chest is rising up and down rapidly as his breath picks up, his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows and his dick twitches in his shorts. You could almost cum just looking at him. You watch as Eddie’s other hand comes up to tangle his fingers into Steve’s hair. He pulls Steve close to him, smashing his lips against his in a way that could only be described as hungry, starving even. Steve’s arms wrap around Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, you see their tongues dart into each other's mouths and god this was hotter than you ever imagined.

Eddie’s hand inches up to palm Steve’s cock and you hear him moan into the kiss. Eddie palms him for a few seconds before grabbing him through the fabric causing Steve to break the kiss and throw his head back. This was one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen, and even though you know from your time playing with Eddie that you weren’t supposed to touch yourself without permission, you just couldn’t help yourself.

You slide your hand into your shorts, running your fingers through your wetness before bringing them up to rub circles around your clit. Eddie shoves his hand down Steve’s shorts almost in tandem with you and it only eggs you on more. You tried to hold your moans in as best you as you could, they were so lost in each other they hadn’t even noticed what you were up to.

Eddie has Steve’s shorts pulled down enough for his cock to be on display, fully jerking him off now and the sight causes you to slip up, a small whimper escaping you.

Eddie’s eyes snap toward you and as soon as he catches sight of your hand down your shorts he fucking smirks.

“Aww is somebody getting a little worked up over there? Feeling a little left out?” He mocks pouts at you.

“I mean left out wouldn’t be the right word, I’m kind of enjoying the show if I’m being honest.” You hadn’t stopped rubbing your clit, and Eddie was still jerking Steve off like it was his job. Steve was just focusing on not cumming, between the dynamic that you and Eddie were displaying, your hands down your pants, and the speed Eddie was jerking him off he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Why don’t we give you a front row seat then?” Eddie stands to his feet, leaving an edged Steve sitting on the couch trying to catch his breath. Eddie walks over so he’s standing above you, looking down at you like prey. “Steve, get over here.”

Your eyes dart over to Steve as he walks towards you looking bashful, kicking his shorts off on the way.

“Hey baby.” You smile up at him sweetly, running your hand up his thigh, your other still rubbing tight circles over your clit.

“Hi honey.” He reaches his hand down to cup your face and runs his thumb across the apple of your cheek. “You look so pretty down there… you know I love it when you wear this.” His hand runs down your neck to your shoulder where he tugs lightly on the thin strap of your top.

You clench your hand between your thighs, rocking against it as you make direct eye contact with your boyfriend. You feel a hand in your hair jerking you the opposite direction causing your eyes to snap over to the other man in the room.

“Aren’t you guys sweet? I thought we were playing rough tonight? Also were you given permission to touch yourself?” Your hair is wrapped around his fist and he shakes your head from side to side in a taunting manner. You want him to fucking destroy you.

“No - no sir, I’m sorry.” Your hands movements pause but you don’t remove it from your shorts.

“Fuck.” Steve curses under his breath, you calling Eddie sir was doing things to him he never thought it would. He thinks he might want you to call him that one day.

“I guess you’ll just have to get yourself off while I play with Steve then? Since you wanna touch yourself so bad. You remember the traffic system?”

“Yes. Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop.” You nod your head the best you can against his grip.

“Good girl. Take your clothes off.” He releases you from his hold and turns to Steve as you hastily remove your clothes, leaving the socks on because you know it drives your boyfriend crazy. “You gonna be good for me too Stevie?” His hand reaches out to run down Steve’s broad chest, stopping just before his cock. Eddie runs the tips of his fingers across Steve’s abdomen and it makes him shiver.

“Yeah, I - uh - I’ll be good…” Steve’s face turns bright red and his breath starts to speed up again. Eddie turns to you with a fire in his eyes, spitting on his hand and bringing it to Steve’s cock, pumping him slowly.

“Okay. So here’s what’s going to happen… me and your pretty boyfriend are gonna get each other off and you don’t get to touch anyone but yourself, and then he’s going to cum on that pretty little face of yours. If you’re good, maybe I’ll give you a treat after.”

He reaches for the button on his pants, unzipping them and pulling them off in one swift motion, his cock springing out directly in your face. It makes you salivate, it’s even prettier than you remember. You want to lean forward and wrap your lips around him, you want them to both shove their cocks in your mouth as far as they will fit. But you also really fucking want them to touch you so you spread your legs further and bring your fingers back to your folds, rubbing your wetness around.

Neither of them seem to notice as Eddie takes Steve’s hand in his free one, spitting on it and bringing it to his cock. Steve lets out a groan, his hips thrusting into Eddie’s hand.

“Traffic system goes for you too, pretty boy.”

Steve nods and Eddie reaches his hand out to grab Steve’s throat, pulling him in to attach their lips. You watch as beads of precum start to drip from both of their tips, their hands jerking each other off in tandem. You reach down to insert two fingers inside yourself, your other hand joining it, continuing to rub circles against your clit.

Their moans and the way they’re grabbing each other is driving you crazy, and as much as you wish their hands were on you too the sight already had you close to the edge.

“Fucking shit, you guys are so hot.” Your moans increase in volume, your fingers speeding up as you rock against them.

Eddie breaks the kiss to look down at you, that damn smirk spreading across his lips.

“Did I say you could talk, slut?” He grips your cheeks, squishing your lips together and you whimper out a no.

“Looks like we’ll just have to shut you up then.”

He lets go of your face and brings his fingers up to Steve’s lips.

“Suck.” Steve eagerly wraps his lips around the digits, sucking greedily.

Eddie looks at him and sticks his tongue out expectantly. It takes Steve a second to catch on, the feeling of Eddie’s thick fingers in his mouth combined with how fast he was jerking his cock clouding his mind. Once he did he brought his own fingers up to Eddie’s mouth, moaning around the curly haired man’s fingers at the feeling of his tongue.

Eddie pulls his fingers from Steve’s mouth, rubbing his slick fingers against your lips. You’re quicker than Steve, taking the hint and immediately sucking his fingers into your mouth. He pulls his head back so Steve’s fingers slip out of his own mouth and your boyfriend is quicker this time, his fingers joining Eddie’s as you take all four digits into your mouth.

The feeling of your mouth being so full, the way they had started kissing loudly again above you, their hips thrusting into echoing others fists, and your own fingers pushed you over the edge. You cum hard, moaning and drooling around their fingers. You lock eyes with Steve as your orgasm crashes over you, your hips rocking against your own fingers as you moan around theirs.

“Good fucking girl, cumming for us like that. Isn’t she a good girl, Steve?” Eddie’s voice comes out a breathy groan, Steve’s hand still wrapped tightly around his cock.

“Yeah - she’s so - fuck, she’s so fucking good.” Looking at your boyfriend you can tell by the way the speed of his hips has picked up as he thrusts into the other man’s hand and the moans leaving his lips that he’s close.

You pull your fingers out of your pussy but continue to run small circles over your clit, feeling sensitive after you just came. You moan around their fingers, drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest. You wrap your lips tighter around them and roll your tongue along the bottoms of the digits causing Steve to let out a loud groan.

“You gonna cum for us baby boy? Come on, cum all over her pretty little face.” Eddie pulls his fingers out of your mouth to grip your jaw and it causes Steve’s to fall from your lips as well. His grip is strong, holding you in place while he continues to send your boyfriend closer and closer to the edge. “Stick your tongue out.”

Steve is a mess, Eddie’s hand is slick with spit and precum against his cock, you’re staring up at him with your tongue sticking out, your eyes are glazed over and Eddie’s hand looks just how he imagined it would on you, you still have drool coating your lips and chin and Steve can’t take it anymore. He cums hard, his cum coats your tongue, dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

“Holy fucking shit.” Steve groans when Eddie’s hand releases his over sensitive cock, his hands coming up to run through his silky locks. Your tongue is still out, more cum starting to slide down onto your chest. Eddie looks at you entranced for a moment before getting down on his knees in front of you, leaning down to run his tongue between your tits, stopping to lick across your chin before sucking your tongue into his mouth, intertwining it with his.

He greedily takes Steve’s cum into his mouth, moaning into the kiss.

“Mmm I just had to find out what pretty boy tastes like.”

Eddie pulls away from you, your face is in his big hands and the look in his eyes is that same one from earlier that almost takes you back to your first time with him. He was looking at you with adoration. Even though he just ate your boyfriend’s cum from your mouth, this somehow felt more intimate.

“You gonna let me fuck you now baby? While Steve watches? Just like all his little fantasies.”

“Yeah, please, please fuck me Eddie.” Your voice came out a whine and you didn’t even have it in yourself to be embarrassed about it, you weren’t above begging at this point.

“Okay, hands and knees, face the couch so Stevie has a good view while I fucking ruin his little princess.”

Steve shuffled towards the couch and took a seat on the middle cousin while you turned towards him on your knees, your back arched and your ass in the air giving Eddie the perfect view of your dripping wet pussy.

“How are you doing baby? Are you good?” You smiled sweetly at your boyfriend, who was still flushed from how hard he came minutes ago, but somehow it looked like he was already getting hard again. Steve had good stamina but this must really be doing it for him.

“Yeah honey, I’m good, great even. You look so fucking sexy. You both do.” You watch Steve’s eyes travel behind you and you can only assume he’s locking eyes with Eddie. What you didn’t see was the flustered look on his face when Steve complimented him for the first time.

You felt large ringed hands grab your ass, spreading it apart, right before you felt Eddie’s tongue dive directly into your pussy. You cry out at the sensation, knowing you would’ve felt forward if it wasn’t for Eddie's strong grip on your ass. His tongue ran circles along your clit before he took it into his mouth, sucking hard. One of his hands leaves your ass and you feel his large fingers circling your entrance before he pushes two deep inside you, immediately curling them just the right way.

“Fuck! Eddie oh my god, that’s so good fuck! That's so good.”

You start rocking back against his fingers as you open your eyes that fell closed to look at Steve, he’s almost fully hard again and he looks fucking feral. His eyes are dark and he’s biting his lip so hard that it looks like he could break the skin. He brings his hand to his cock to run his palm over his shaft, letting out a little groan at the feeling. Eddie continues licking and sucking your clit as his fingers drag against that perfect spot. You were so lost in just how good it felt, the feeling of finally having one of them touching you after waiting for what felt like hours that your orgasm snuck up on you.

“Oh my god - oh my god - I’m cumming I’m cumming fuuuuck.”

Your arms give out causing your face to hit the plush carpet but you’re too lost in pleasure to care. Eddie continues fucking his fingers into you through your high before pulling away. He looks Steve directly in the eyes as he brings his fingers coated in your wetness to his mouth, sucking them clean. You had barely come down from your high when you felt Eddie’s dick run through your folds.

“You taste even better than I remember, do you feel just as good too?” Eddie asked you as he pushed the head of his cock inside you. He pulls it out and pushes it back in a few times before shoving his cock halfway in you in one thrust. “Fuck, you feel even better than I remember.”

You know he is just trying to give you time to adjust but you can’t wait anymore, you need him inside you again. Now. You push back against him, the rest of his cock nestles deep inside you and you moan loudly at the feeling.

“Fuck Eds, you feel so good, please don’t hold back, I want you to ruin me.”

Eddie growls, grabbing onto your hips as he starts fucking into you at a brutal pace. You push back up onto your hands so you can look at Steve and he’s fully hard now, his hand wrapped around his cock as he drinks you and Eddie in. His eyes don’t know where to settle, the look on your face, the way your ass jiggles as Eddie’s hands move to grip onto it, Eddie’s hands. He could see the way his cock was slipping in and out of you and the mixture of the sounds of your skin slapping together and the sounds leaving both of you making him crazy.

“This what you wanted Steve? Just wanted to see me ruin your girl?” Eddie’s hands leave your ass, one snaking around to rub your clit and the other yanking you up by your hair so your back was flush against his chest. This new angle had him hitting deeper, his fingers slipped along your dripping pussy in tandem with his thrusts and you felt yourself already getting close again.

“Yeah this is what I wanted, it’s been better than I imagined, fuuuuck.”

You watch as your boyfriend tilts his head down to spit on his cock, his moans getting breathier. Eddie continued to pound into you, the hand in your hair coming to wrap around your throat and your third orgasm of the night hit you light a freight train.

“God damn this pussy is so fucking tight, feels so good when you clench around me like that baby, shit. Can you be a good girl and do it again for me, huh?” Eddie’s voice is rough in your ear and if he kept it up how he was going you were going to be cumming again very soon.

“Yeah - yeah I’ll be - fuuuuck oh my god! I’ll be good, I'll be such a good girl for you and Stevie wanna be your best girl.”

“Turn around, I wanna watch you when you come undone under me again.”

Eddie pulls his cock out of you and scoots back to give you room to turn around. You lay on your back and look up at him, his hair is all over the place, his eyes blown wide, there’s a sheen of sweat on his broad chest that made his tattoos almost shine. He was beautiful, in that moment you realized how much you missed this, missed him. You couldn’t help but think that you didn’t want this to be a one time thing, you wanted more. You wanted them both all the time and you almost felt greedy for it but before you had too much time to linger on those thoughts Eddie was gripping your thighs and throwing them around his hips. He takes his cock in one hand, pushing it deep into your pussy in one thrust. He resumes fucking you as hard and fast as he was before, causing your eyes to roll back.

Meanwhile Steve was going insane, he has a better view of Eddie’s cock now, it’s coated in your cum and sliding so deliciously in and out of you. But his eyes keep traveling back to Eddie’s face, he would hold eye contact with him each time, the moans Steve had been dying to hear for weeks, he was licking and biting his lips and Steve could not stop thinking about them being wrapped around his cock.

“If you want me to suck your cock pretty boy, all you have to do is ask.” Eddie smirks at Steve, he could see the way his eyes kept lingering on his lips and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want his mouth on him.

“Yeah? You sure it’s me that wants it and not you? You did say you loved guys. Prove it.”

Eddie’s thrusts momentarily falter at the tone of the other man’s voice, Steve seemed so nervous before but the way he was looking at him now made him feel like he was gonna bust.

“Come over here then.” He sticks his tongue out, his thrusts picking up again.

Steve stands to his feet, walking over to stand over Eddie. He grabs his cock in his hand and taps it on the metal head's tongue a few times before pushing it into his mouth with a groan. Eddie starts eagerly bobbing his head up and down on Steve’s cock while he continues to pound into you.

“Fuuuuuckkk, oh my god, yeah that’s fucking - that’s so fucking good.” Steve feels like he’s going to cum again already. You’re looking up at him while profanities leave your lips and Eddie’s big brown eyes are locked on Steve’s face. One of his hands comes up to cup Steve’s balls and he loses it. Grabbing two fistfuls of Eddie’s hair and shoving his cock deep into his throat.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth, you want that? You seem like you’d be into that.” Eddie nods as best as he can and Steve takes that as the go ahead, thrusting in and out of the other man’s mouth. “You look so good baby, taking Eddie’s dick so good, look at you. Fuck! Yeah that’s so good, fuck, you’re fucking her so good. You guys are so fucking hot.”

“You guys are so hot too fuck. Fuck Eddie you feel so good, just like I remember. I want you to fuck me full, I wanna make you cum.” Eddie’s hand that isn’t on Steve’s balls comes to rub your clit and angle your hips so he’s hitting that perfect stop again. “I’m gonna fucking cum! Shit! Cum with me please please I want you both to cum with me.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” Steve shoves his cock far down Eddie’s throat, causing him to gag and the feeling sends him over the edge, spilling down his throat. Eddie pulls off his cock, turning towards you to grab your jaw.

“Open” You stick your tongue out and he spits Steve’s cum into your mouth, sharing your boyfriend's cum with each other for the second time that night. “Good fucking girl, you’re such a good girl.”

You cum the hardest you have all night, your walls clench around Eddie’s cock and the feeling sends him over the edge. Hot ropes off his cum spilling inside you he fucks you through it until his thrusts falter and he collapses in top of you. After a second rolls off of you onto his back on the ground, the feeling of him slipping out of you makes you feel empty. Steve gets down on the ground next to you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you passionately. You turn towards him, letting your fingers tangle into his hair. You get lost in the kiss for a moment and then you hear Eddie shuffle beside you.

You remove your lips from Steve’s to look over at him and he’s already standing up. Grabbing his pants and pulling them up his legs. You watch as he walks toward the chair that his shirt was laying on, and you push yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. He pulls his shirt over his head and starts walking towards the door to his shoes.

“Eddie? Where are you going? Are you leaving?” You scramble to your feet, hastily walking over to him.

“Uh - yeah? I don’t wanna linger, I'm sure you guys have shit to do.” He starts pulling his socks on his feet and you rip them from his hands.

“What do you mean linger? You want to leave?” You look at him with your brows knitted together, a pout on your lips and Eddie thinks he would give you just about anything. But you aren’t his, and he can’t stay here and watch you with Steve. Not after that, at least not right now.

“I mean, I figured this was just a one time get it out of your system kinda thing. I don’t usually stick around after hookups.” Eddie shrugged, trying to keep his face nonchalant.

“That’s all this was to you? A hookup? I thought…”

“Was it more than that to you?” His voice came out soft, almost nervous.

“I mean I was hoping we could, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.” You sighed, letting your head drop in frustration. You wanted him to stay.

“We want you to stay. If you want to. It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. I know you both don’t want it to be, and I don’t either. I might not be sneaky but you aren’t either, I see the way you look at each other.” Steve comes up behind you, his hands running up and down your arms, reassuring you with his touch.

“I - what do you even mean? You want me to be like your boy toy or something? I don’t know if I’m up for that.”

Eddie shakes his head, he can’t handle being someone you just fooled around with sometimes. He tried to shove the feelings down for so long but today just proved to him that he couldn’t just pretend he didn’t love you anymore. He also really likes Steve, he could see himself loving him one day and that terrifies him.

“No, I was thinking more like… boyfriend.” Steve wraps his arms around your shoulders pulling your still naked body against his. “That’s what you want, isn’t it baby? You want Eddie around all the time?”

“Yeah but-“

“No buts, I’m not jealous or upset, I know you love me. I want him too, I wouldn’t say anything if I wasn’t okay with it, if I didn’t want it.” He runs his nose along the side of your throat before bringing his lips up to place a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I - uh - yeah, okay. Only if Eddie wants though.. I know he doesn’t do relationships and this is a really weird situation and-“

“Hey. Baby.” Eddie walks up to you now, taking your face in his hands. “You wanna know why I don’t do relationships? You. It’s always been you. Yeah this is a weird situation but if I get to have you? And I get to have a boyfriend with a cute little ass too? Doesn't sound too bad to me…”

“Yeah?” You look at him with a twinkle in your eye, like he hung the stars just for you, he missed you looking at him like that. He wouldn’t mind getting used to it. “How would that even work?”

“Don’t worry about that right now honey, we will figure it out together, okay? For now I think we should all get cleaned up. Take a nice shower, we can DoorDash some food and find a movie on Netflix.” Steve’s voice is soft and sweet, they are both touching you like you might break and their words make you want to cry tears of joy.

“Can I suck you guys off in the shower? When you had your fingers in my mouth I had this thought…”

“You are insatiable, there will be plenty of time for that. For now, let’s just be together. Yeah?” Eddie chuckles, squishing your cheeks playfully before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“So, you’ll stay?” You bring your hands to rest over his, nuzzling your face into his palms.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me too baby.”

“Even if it’s forever?” Steve’s voice comes from behind you and it warms your heart and soul.

“Even then.” Eddie smiles at him, pulling him in for a kiss.

You spend the rest of the night just being together, laughing and kissing, making plans and promises. It felt like the beginning of something beautiful, the beginning of forever, with your boys.

Taggies: @onegirlmanytales @taintedcigs @jamdoughnutmagician @laylaloves-ed 🖤🖤

[biboomerangboi]

My friend was watching the show for the first time and they brought up a misconception that I think we see a lot in fandom. So I want to talk about The Gamblers Den and specifically this scene in particular:

My friend genuinely wondered what Hua Cheng would do and then when they heard his explanation they were even more confused:

They basically messaged me saying, wait Hua Cheng would have made the bet. He bets people’s lives and some how Xie Lian is okay with that. How???

And to anyone else who’s thinking the same thing or falling for the Demon King vibe Hua Cheng is trying to sell here I am here to tell you, you have all been duped.

What’s import to understand is that Ghost City actually came from making one of Xie Lian’s ideas work:

Xie Lian is talking about a specialised market here, a place where the common people couldn’t just stumble into without reason and that’s what Ghost City is and The Gambers Den is the foundation of it. While Xie Lian didn’t say hey go gamble, Hua Cheng is taking a risk and playing into his greatest strength and then showing of for his crush is the most dramatic way possible when talking about it.

For Hua Cheng the house always wins! Literally. Or at least what he wants the bet to be will always happen. His luck is just that good. If the gambler wins it’s genuinely because Hua Cheng let him.

In the Den he is acting as Judge and Jury with Xie Lian as his moral code but he can’t just turn down the deals. If he does then these people could go to less safe options (looking at you Qi Rong) to get what they desire which negates the reason he built Ghost City in the first place.

Hua Cheng has to let these people play by his rules if he wants to follow his Gods wishes. So he has to be creative and look at loop holes, phrasing and Xie Lians most important teaching finding the third path.

For this moment specifically giving the options I think Hua Cheng would have taken the 20 years of his daughter’s life. Why you may ask? Well the phrasing is easier to manipulate. While the eradication of his competitors is pretty well laid 20 years of his daughters life is pretty vague.

Option 1) Hua Cheng could take her away from her shit father and put her in an apprenticeship and marry a man of her choosing since her hand is now her own to decide since Hua Cheng doesn’t want it.

Option 2) She has to work in Ghost City for 20 years and is married to Yin Yu in name only (because Hua Cheng can’t have a wife at all or he won’t win Gege) then gets pleasantly divorced and giving a severance payment after 20 years.

Option 3) He could decide life is a vague term and after she dies she has to spend 20 years in Ghost City and matchmake a future marriage between her and another ghost.

Option 4) He could decide what she has to do with the next twenty years of her life which could include an actual good marriage and education. Where she has to worship his shrine and be only his devotee for 20 years.

Option 5) He can literally say I’ll collect when I decide and never cash in.

He can do anything because the wording is so fluent and for Hua Cheng debater and Civil God Killer it’s probably easy. He’s not a demon king, he’s a crafty trickster spirit basically a fae lord.

He’s playing the system and he’s winning that’s what Xie Lian figured out and why he supports it. He knows Hua Cheng well enough even back then to trust that he would make the right decision because he believes in Hua Cheng and he’s right too.

[lonicera-caprifolium]

Body-swap theory!!

okay, just putting this all together for ease of access, since it's been spread out across several posts now--

The day after it aired I watched the ending like actually 30 times and I became fully 99.999999% certain they switched places. I was initially thinking during the kiss, cuz of how the camera angle changes, but after watching an additional 20 times a few days later, I'm personally leaning much more towards them stopping time in the instance after "no nightingales".

Before the kiss, Aziraphale is saying "nice" things about the Metatron, but his face and voice keep switching to broadcasting distress, and they make it a point to show in ep 1 that Crowley can read him just from tone of voice

As they're pulling away after the kiss, they lock eyes and "Aziraphale's" expression shifts in the teeniest tiniest way, like a confirmation glance, before they shift back (and Michael Sheen is a master, so no chance it's not on purpose)

---(Like really, go back and watch how Aziraphale's expression shifts literally *a second* before "I forgive you" cuz the change is SO minute, but entirely different emotionally.)

Also the way he moves his jaw right after he pulls his hand away from his lips, is a bit from MS's Crowley (you can see it in the very last two seconds of this vid- link)

Aziraphale's hands -stay by his sides- after that, he doesn't clasp them at all, and it's particularly noticeable while he's walking to the elevator with Metatron. The way he walks is very stiff and precise, similar to after the swap in S1.

We don't see the underside of Crowley's jacket collar after the kiss, at any point (it is for sure red at the beginning of the ep, you can see it right before he changes in Heaven)

The Bentley drives away SLOWLY, which is how Aziraphale drives, and we're specifically shown that it only plays other music for Aziraphale

the seats in the Bentley are black as it drives away. They're usually brown, and the only other time they're shown to be black is when Aziraphale drives (@picturesque-about-it broke down the times so you can see-link)

---extra pic for anyone saying it's "cuz Aziraphale is lighter"-- the seats are still brown behind Crowley when he wears white

there's people wearing yellow in -every- part of the scene showing the Bentley both before and while it drives away! (link for pics/credit)

Aziraphale's smile in the elevator looks more like MS's Crowley. It's very similar to the trial during S1, but also (link)

This also explains why they're on opposite sides than they're usually shown while the end credits roll

Extra points--

many good points made by other folks here, about cues and snakes in beehives and swap motifs throughout the season-- link

The clock! Someone mentioned how the scene is so quiet you can hear it ticking, so I watched the ending a further 50 times to double check----I need to preface this by stating, I don't think this is a working clock, mainly cuz the hands aren't 100% where they should be between the minutes and the hours, like -a person- moved them to that time manually

When they're talking, the clock is at approximately 9:25 (?, again the hour hand isn't precisely set), then they walk across the room, and kiss, and immediately after that the clock is set about 15-ish minutes later (link to timestamps)

thanks to these bts shots, we can see that the clock on the opposite side of the room registers the SAME time difference before and after the kiss (link)

the first time Aziraphale looks "towards the window", I'm petty sure he actually looks further back towards the clock, *focuses on it* as Metatron walks up to him, and then spends the ENTIRE REST OF THE EXCHANGE blocking the Metatron's view of the clock

we're shown earlier in the season that Crowley can localize his time-stopping to a certain extent, like when he stopped the doctor and the rest of the room kept going, so it is possible he only stopped everything -outside- of the bookshop

---I KNOW Neil said it's a continuity error, but he also fully said "No" about there being a season 2 just days before they announced it was already written and in production, so. Take him at his word if that's what you wanna do.

---also I DID go back and look it over, and the clock IS consistently specifically set the entire rest of the episode as far as I can see. From the shots when you have a clear view of the clock, the angels and demons enter the shop at around 6, Maggie and Nina leave at around 7, the Metatron comes in at 8-ish, Aziraphale comes back in at that approximately 9:25

(insight from someone who works in production- link)

the music right before the kiss scene is the same leitmotif (Life After Death) used when they originally started formulating the swap in season 1! (link)

the movie Stairway to Heaven (1946) is featured as a poster in both the opening credits and in Maggie's shop (link)

the climax of the film has one of the leads willing to "take the place" of the other in heaven

(they also used a time-stopping mechanic, and the chess book Gabriel tests gravity with also plays a key role in the film)

and one last mention, extra food for thought--- the season's focus on their trusting one another, their history of performing "death (and heaven/hell) defying" feats together, and how they always get the trick right when it truly counts the most

that's what I've got so far!

If I'm right, they're apart now, but are actually more together then ever, and I find that terribly exciting. (And if I'm wrong, that's okay too! I'm just here to have fun.)

I'm not particularly concerned with very specific reasoning (that's for season 3 to tell us!), but I do think this theory is extra fun cuz pretty much any of the others could be the "why" driving it.

I'm not trying to convince anyone, or put down any of the other theories, so if you're not feeling it, that's okay! I'm just sharing what clues I'm seeing, so you can check if you see them too. 💕

[beababoobies]

ME AGAIN!!! WITH A SAL X READER REQUEST (again) THIS TIME AIDJSJDH. a porn one at that !!!!

i need sal so bad its an actual problem

just like. imagine reader n the gang r havin a little sleepover. and reader is just so inconsolably turned on for some reason (maybe sal had his hand on their thigh when they watched a movie or smthin), so when everyone is asleep they asks sal to help them out :,,,) (his fingers r just so long n pretty,, they cant help but want them lol)

mayb he has to keep them quiet somehow, mayb covers their mouth/puts his fingers in their mouth to muffle them

hes so shy and nervous and awkward but he’s having the time of his life, watching the reader’s reactions. mayb he cant help but get himself off too, too enraptured by the way reader struggles to gasp and whine against his fingers

GOD DAMN.

would love if u wrote this mootie 🫶🏼🫶🏼 no pressure ofc ofc ofc !! (fem bodied reader pls if u dont mind <3!)

(i might write this too, i love my mind sometimes 🙏)

hey mootie!! Im giving you the fast pass because all the jjk stuff you repost got me into the series and I’m loving it, also cus you’re AMAZING! All characters are aged 20+ because this is based in chapter five of course, please do enjoy! :) (and for everyone waiting for their Hazbin requests to be filled - IT IS COMING! I am a busy woman.) 

Needy - Sal Fisher X Fem!Reader

words : 2k, warnings : SPICAYYYY!!, creampie, fingering, slightly public, needy!sal AND needy!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys, c’mon), hold the moan trope

The entire gang had been having more sleepovers ever since Sal and Todd had found the new house. Larry was moving in so it was just the normal next step, and you loved coming over so much. More specifically to spend time with your boyfriend, but also just to feel like old times again. Even Ash came from the city every once and a while, and this was one of those days.

Since it was Larry’s last day living in the Apartments, you had all agreed to made the most out of that small basement apartment you had spent so much of your awkward teen years in. You had been doing all the same shit you used to all day - smoking in the treehouse, playing card games for hours. 

You and Sal huddled up around his old gamebuddy, playing the games Larry had kept long forgotten in the corners of his room, Larry and Ash painting on a shared canvas, chatting about life while Larry’s old metal mixtapes blasted in the background, and Todd and Neil cuddled up on the beanbag in the corner, occasionally joining in their conversation, but mostly just cuddled up and enjoying each others company. All of this was wonderful, nostalgic - even healing. 

That was all up until Sal quietly suggested you all watched an old horror movie, and you were all huddled together in the dark, you with Sal leaning on your shoulder on your right, and Ash on your left, giggling and nudging you like old times. Larry laid out casually on the floor in front of you all because of how shit his eyes were from years of refusing glasses. Which should’ve been fine.

In fact - it was fine. Until Sal decided it would be a wonderful idea to put his hand on your thigh. Your bare thigh, just below where your miniskirt started. And even that - even that, you could’ve survived with some unwanted heat in your panties. But no, the blue fucker jumped at one of the scenes, hand sliding up the inside of your thigh to accidentally drag your skirt up, his hand knocking against your warm core - hand rubbing up against your clothed clit as he pulled his hand away, and all you could do was pull your hand away from where it was sweetly brushing through Ashley’s hair like you used to do, straight to your face to hide the unbelievably needy whine you would’ve let out.

“you okay?” Ashley whispers softly, looking over to you and you just nod quickly, watching her go back to watching the movie before shooting Sal a venomous glance, which he avoids nervously, already feeling your stare of death shoot through the side of his head. You pierced your lips together, putting one leg over the other and squeezing your thighs firmly shut, Sal’s hand now comfortably resting much, much lower on your thigh. Practically on your calve, as he preferred not to die tonight. 

But that’s when it started, the unwanted slick already gently collecting in your panties, your mind running through all the things you wanted to do to him - what you wanted him to do to you. God, your mind was like a dog in heat. You couldn’t even bear to focus on the movie, sitting there, cautiously eyeing up your dead silent boyfriend. His shirt ridden up his stomach just oh-so-slightly from the way he was slouched back, soft happy trail of blue peeking out from under his shirt. God, what you would do to pull those stupid red torn up jeans down - not even fully - and ride him until he was shooting blanks and sobbing under you. 

That is how it went on for the rest of the movie. That is exactly how it went on when you all decided the sleeping plan. That is where your mind still was when you and Sal decided to take the pullout couch, Todd and Neil in Lisa’s old room, and Larry sleeping on his bed with Ashley on a cot on his floor. With the thinnest fucking walls known to man kind. You should know - you grew up with the same ones. 

Sal yawned as he laid next to you, mask placed softly on the table right beside the couch, as well as his glass eye floating in a cup, looking at you nervously as he pulled the covers up over himself too, gently wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him from behind, expecting you to be asleep by now - you were a heavy sleeper, he was an insomniac. It worked out like that. Until he heard a soft, half-whine of a whisper come from you. 

“S-sal..” you mumbled softly, pressing yourself back against him, causing him to let out a soft whine of his own, hand around your waist flinching ever so softly. “P-please baby, need you so bad..” you mumbled out softly, turning around to face him, seeing the needy tears in your eyes had him melting as well, piercing his lips together as he grips softly at your side.

“N-no, you know how thin these walls are - I’m sorry about earlier, but..” he says nervously as he watches you whine and writhe softly, pressing yourself up against him, one hand on his chest. That’s when you decide to make the move, grabbing his hand and moving to in-between your legs so he can feel how absolutely soaked through your panties are, causing him to experimentally run his fingers over them, biting down on his scarred lip so hard he’s concerned it might bleed. You can’t help a choked whine and a buck of your hips against his hand at that, looking up at him with those needy eyes. Fuck. 

He doesn’t say a word as he puts two shaky fingers to your lips, and you wrap your mouth around them without question, twirling your tongue around them and sucking on them like your life depended on it, all while he shakily pulled you panties to the side, prodding his fingers at your soaked hole, a quiet ‘fuck.’ Escaping his mouth when he slides one in with ease, feeling the vibrations around his fingers as you whine. “G-gotta be quiet, please - we h have to be quiet..” he mumbles out messily as he feels his cock throb to life in his sleep shorts, smearing precum across his thigh when he feels your cunt clench needily around his fingers.

He lets out a sigh of relief when you quickly nod at him, squeezing your eyes shut as he slowly starts to curl his long fingers inside of you, the obscene squealing noise making him whimper softly, hips accidentally bucking softly against your thigh as his cock tries to find some sort of friction - daydreaming about how easily he could slip inside you right now with how wet you are - how you would feel around his cock, velvety walks clenching around him and providing him that oh so delicious friction he was searching for. 

His thumb moves to gently circle your clit as you start to find a slow grinding rhythm against his hand, practically riding his fingers as he finds that delicious spongy spot on your walls and pushes his fingers up against it, causing your cunt to give another urgent and needy clench, more slick falling into his palm, making a mess as he tries his best not to whine himself.

The slippery sounds of friction, the feeling of your thigh twitching pressed up right against his own throbbing problem, or the way his fingertips are pressing up against the entrance to your throat, the way his other fingertips are pressed up against your velvety walls. It’s driving him beyond insane, to the point he’s thinking he might cum in his sleep shorts if it continues this way. And he didn’t bring an extra pair - and it would just be a waste if he didn’t cum inside of you - not while you were practically begging for it.  

“B-baby.” He whines out, catching your attention for a second, tears of pleasure falling softly down your face as your hips still, whining against his hand from the way you stopped while being so close - it was beyond downright embarrassing how quickly you were about to cum, and you were honestly glad he stopped you. “C-can i please put it in? J-just the tip, please baby, ‘s so sensitive. Need you so bad.” He whines quietly and softly, pressing his hard on against your thigh to back up his own statement, whining softly again. “Just wann’ cum inside you, please…” he whispers, watching you nod eagerly.

Pulling his fingers out of you with an obscenely wet pop, pulling your soaked panties to the side and he lets out an erotic sigh pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he pulled his shorts down, cock slapping to attention against his abdomen, precum beading from the sensitive tip as he shakily pulled your hips up, grabbing the base of his cock and gently rubbing it against your entrance, and you could hear how wet you were when he moved his tip to part your drenched lips and drag through them, whining into the crook of your neck as you grabbed his shoulders, brain fuzzy with the way his hot tip felt rubbing against your clit, sticky with your own slick. 

He bit down hard on your shoulder as his tip popped past the tight ring of muscles of your entrance, desperately rutting against you, trying not to whine or let slip how good it felt to be inside you - the way your hot, heady slick insides felt like they were trying to pull him in deeper. His hand cupped your mouth quickly, stopping you from making a sound as he gently pushed himself further inside you, feeling you grip tightly at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as he broke his promise, pushing his cock inside of you, inch by desperate inch, trying not to slam his entire cock into you at once - which was unbelievably hard, considering how wet you were, and how desperate he was - his tip prodded at your cervix, making you jerk forward, groaning against the palm of his hand.

He rutted into you desperately, not daring to thrust properly, letting everyone else hear how wet and desperate you were, or even worse, how even needier he was for you, the head of his cock bumping against your sweet spot, the only sound in the air being the quiet sounds of your muffled whines, and the quiet rustling of sheets as he ground into you, abdomen rubbing against your clit as he did so, bringing you to the edge so much faster than you ever expected, cunt clenching around him, the sign that you were about to cum. He just nodded into the nape of your neck, hips refusing to stop. 

“m-me too, fuck, me too, me too ‘m gonna cum, ‘s too tight, ‘s so warm.” He half whines, half whispers right into your neck as he detaches his teeth from your shoulder for a second, before hurriedly latching them back onto your neck as you feel his cock violently twitch inside you, whining desperately into his hand as you felt yourself start to cum, cunt clenching around him desperately, slick flooding from you and creating an obscene squelching between you two as you spasmed and arched under him. 

He groaned into your neck as he quickly pulled his face from your neck, smashing his lips desperately against yours, muffling his own groans as he pushes himself as deep into you as he can go, cumming hot ropes into you as he stills, thighs twitching as he pulls his mouth from you, both of you panting and catching your breaths, feeling the warm liquid pool out of you and spill onto Sal’s abdomen as he lets out a small and raspy chuckle, still catching his breath.

 “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”