#I do not know how to take care of plants too well

[alexispunkkk]

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks. 

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night. 

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning. 

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires. 

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature. 

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver. 

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you. 

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once. 

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner. 

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town. 

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close. 

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read. 

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights. 

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big. 

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more. 

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look. 

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’ 

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms. 

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window. 

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working? 

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen. 

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men. 

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome. 

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day. 

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else. 

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique. 

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous. 

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.” 

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it. 

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?” 

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.” 

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews. 

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return. 

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs. 

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container. 

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him. 

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire. 

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another. 

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more. 

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.” 

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.” 

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire. 

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all. 

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin. 

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly. 

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially. 

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms. 

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind. 

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble. 

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men. 

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation. 

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it. 

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable. 

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good. 

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy. 

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice. 

Then there's Joel. 

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words. 

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually. 

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it. 

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can. 

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time. 

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother. 

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way. 

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror. 

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out. 

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother. 

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see. 

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you. 

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do. 

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother. 

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties. 

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire. 

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight. 

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand. 

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar. 

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller? 

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother. 

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch. 

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin. 

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his. 

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top. 

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker. 

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod. 

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh. 

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly. 

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak. 

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for. 

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it. 

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted. 

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in. 

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen. 

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless. 

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey. 

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space. 

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor. 

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it. 

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor. 

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder. 

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up. 

And you let yourself be used. 

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss. 

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything. 

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible. 

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close. 

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist. 

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips. 

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie. 

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods. 

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother. 

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands. 

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down. 

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men. 

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands. 

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries. 

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs. 

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed. 

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls. 

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail. 

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly. 

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down. 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.” 

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock. 

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time. 

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break. 

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy. 

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair. 

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down. 

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight. 

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet. 

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute. 

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow. 

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head. 

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat. 

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss. 

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now. 

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied. 

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it. 

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling. 

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow. 

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned. 

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get. 

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine. 

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing. 

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began. 

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

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[dismalflo]

…it’s me again from the last req. maybe you could do one where it’s like one of the pure blood boys(I was thinking maybe Sirius or barty) and it’s like they don’t realise how deeply rooted like the misogyny of how they grew up is in their brains. Maybe they make an offhand comment or action towards the reader that’s like almost passive aggressively sexist and she like totally calls them out on it and is like y, u can’t talk to me like that. did that make sense? I don’t think that made sense but oh well

thankyou for requesting!! i struggled with this one for a bit but its such a good idea. i hope you enjoy <3

Barty Crouch Jr. x fem!reader where he can't quite understand why you're upset ✩ 1.6k words

cw: misogyny, little bit angsty, hurt/comfort, Barty is a dick (but he tries to learn from it), reader plays quidditch.

an: sorry i made your fave a piece of shit (with redemption) it hurt to write

“ –you agree with me Reggie, surely.”

“I do not, thank you. And do I have to remind you that your girlfriend–”

Regulus cuts himself off when he sees you approaching, but the scowl directed at Barty doesn’t shift. Barty doesn’t seem to care as he, noticing your arrival too, turns to smile so wide, you’re sure it hurts his cheeks, forgetting the conversation all together.

“Treasure!” he exclaims as you sit yourself beside him, before planting a lingering kiss to your temple.

“What were you guys talking about?” you ask before nodding to Regulus, “Heard you mention me.” 

"Barty’s an idiot, Y/N, I’m sorry." Regulus sighs heavily, standing abruptly from his seat. "I'll see you at practice, yeah?" His gaze flicks to you, not a single word is directed toward the boy beside you, his arm comfortably wrapped around your waist. The snub feels sharp, though you're not entirely sure why.

“He’s become bloody dramatic since he started seeing potter.” Barty says cheerfully, as if he’s not the most melodramatic man you know. The only times you’ve seen Barty drop his theatrics is when it’s only the two of you. He’s still impulsive and daring but the fire gets dropped for sweetness and he's lovely. You’re his and he’s yours.

“What did you do to rile him up, Bee?” you tease, leaning into his side with a gentle smile. 

He squeezes your waist briefly, pulling you in closer before responding.

“We were talking about Quidditch, and he complained about one of your beaters. I said that it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen, poor bloke.”

You blink, processing his words, and a cold chill starts to creep down your spine. It takes a moment for the reality of what he's said to fully hit you. 

"What did you just say?" You ask slowly, your voice steady.

Barty doesn't notice the shift in your demeanor. His grin only widens, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watches you. To him, it’s just another offhand remark; playful, maybe teasing, but never meant to hurt. It’s the way he’s always been.

"I said, it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen," he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Y’know because girls never stop talking.” he nods.

Your smile falters, and you pull back from him slightly. His arm falls from your waist, the space between you suddenly feeling miles wide. Regulus’s parting words echo in your mind, but you focus on Barty now. His face morphs into one of confusion, a flicker of amusement still lingering, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand why your mood has shifted.

 It’s laughable, really, coming from a boy that says everything that flashes through his mind, always loud and known. That’s just Barty and you’d never complain about it or ask him to change –you love him–but this rubs you the wrong way.

“You’d prefer that I didn't speak so much, then?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Tres, I didn’t say–”

“But you did, Barty! I'm on that team! I'm one of the girls Regulus has to deal with!”

Barty blinks, clearly thrown off. His smile falters for a moment, and he opens his mouth, likely trying to smooth things over with some careless, half-thought-out joke. But when he sees the sharpness in your eyes, the edge to your voice, it makes him falter.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he begins, his tone defensive but still a little unsure, his hand coming up to run through his hair–because he’s frustrated or nervous you can't tell. “It’s just that, well… y’know, girls can sometimes be a bit more, uh, talkative than the guys–”

“Are you serious right now?” You cut him off, your voice not loud, but steady with the kind of controlled anger that makes Barty’s stomach twist.

Barty opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of how to proceed. An uncomfortable feeling taking hold, but there’s also something inside of him—a deep-rooted, unexamined part of him—that wants to dismiss this as you being too sensitive. He’s never really thought about his own words that deeply, never had to. Growing up, he was surrounded by a very particular brand of masculinity.

"I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly," Barty says quickly, his voice softer now, though still with that edge of defensiveness. "I just meant that—"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," you interrupt, voice icy. "But the problem is, Barty, you're so used to saying whatever comes to your mind without thinking about it for one second. You don’t get to say things like that and just get away with it. "

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing again, looking as though he’s trying to piece together exactly where he went wrong. His brow furrows, a flash of frustration crossing his face. 

"You're making it sound like I hate women or something. I don’t. You know I don’t. It was just a joke."

“No, I don’t think you hate women,” you respond coolly. "But you clearly don’t get how ingrained some of that shit is.” You stand up suddenly, ready to walk away. “I’ll see you later, Barty.” 

-

It’s just past curfew when you hear the knock on the door of the girls' dormitory. You open it, bleary-eyed and ready to tell whoever it is to sod off—only to find Barty standing there, hair a mess, eyes wide, hands full of... flowers?

They’re awful. Wild, lopsided things that look like they were pulled from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And he’s holding them like they might explode.

“Hi,” he says, voice tight with nerves. “I—I brought these. They’re not from an actual florist or anything, but I thought maybe you’d like them anyway because... well, because I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

You raise an eyebrow, but you don’t close the door.

“I was a dick,” he continues, words tumbling out now like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll shut him out for good. “A stupid, arrogant, loud-mouthed dick who didn’t realise that he’s been spoon-fed this idea that making fun of girls is just ‘harmless banter’. But it’s not. Not when it’s you. Not when it makes you look at me like I’m someone you don’t recognise.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Barty says, voice breaking a little now. “Not with you. You make me want to be—better, not just louder.”

The silence between you stretches.

“I hated how quick you were to dismiss it. To dismiss me,” you say, voice softer now, but still firm. “You’re smart, Barty. You should know better.”

“I do now. I was thinking about it and then I went to talk to Reg about it. He said it's something about the way we were raised, some batshit thing that goes hand in hand with my fathers bullshit, but I know that's not an excuse, tres.” He steps forward slightly, holding the scraggly bouquet out like a peace offering. “Please let me make it up to you.”

You hesitate. But in his eyes, you see none of the easy arrogance you’d grown used to. There’s only sincerity.

You sigh and take the flowers, fingers brushing his as you do. They're prickly in places, uneven, with leaves still clinging to the stems—but they’re honest. Wild and untamed, just like him.

Barty doesn’t grin. Doesn’t make a joke. He just walks in slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, like he’s afraid to breathe too loudly.

You sit on the edge of your bed, the flowers resting in your lap. He stays standing.

“I’m not good at this,” he says after a beat. “Like… not just the apologising part, but the learning part. I've been told I’m clever all my life, and it’s made me lazy. I don't question things unless they get in my way.”

You nod, watching him closely.

“But you’re not just someone in my way. You’re the person who makes all the noise in my head worth it. So if I’ve got to unlearn everything just to not lose you, I’ll do it.”

A breath catches in your throat. “This isn’t just about keeping me, Bee. It’s about being someone better. For you.”

His eyes flicker, glassy for a moment, and he sits down—tentatively—beside you. “I know.”

You glance down at the flowers again and then up at him, lips tugging into a small, reluctant smile. A silence settles between you.

 “These are hideous.” you say finally. “You can’t just fix things with flowers and guilt, Barty, It’s not that simple.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, sincere. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Barty reaches over, tentative, and places his hand over yours. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t try to pull you closer. He just stays.

“I’m gonna mess up again,” he says softly. “But I’ll listen. I’ll learn. And I’ll apologise when I do. Properly. Not with jokes.”

You glance at him, heart aching with something complicated and warm and stubbornly hopeful.

“You’d better.”

His smile is small, a little broken around the edges, but real. “Does this mean you’re not going to dump me?”

You pretend to consider it, then lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh. “You’re on thin ice, Junior.”

He huffs a laugh, and for the first time tonight, it sounds like him.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against your hair.

masterlist <3

[phantasm-ae]

omg anon im so gladd uu like it RAAHHHHH 😩😩😩--

-- but likee in terms of first meet.... hmmm.... i was thinking likee it probably went smth like this --

cw: just fluff, afab reader x soap

HEADCANON: How did Johnny and milkmaid reader meet? We have Mama MacTavish to thank for that

PAIRING: John Soap MacTavish x reader

Our reader was always close with the MacTavishes. Well, sweet and gentle Mama MacTavish mostly.

The honeyed and mellow lady who saw you move in from day one. Hauling boxes by yourself. Sweaty. Frustrated and swearing. Cursing your moving service driver under your breath as you tried to maneuver your mattress up the front steps like a tragic one-woman circus act.

She had spotted you. Tiny, wry, and reverent little you. Huffing and puffing little hen with the prettiest eyes she's ever seen.

Arms full of box. Hair stuck to your forehead. Shoes kicked off at the bottom step like you’d already given up on dignity that day.

Cursing the heat. Cursing gravity. Cursing the delivery guy who “just forgot the bed frame” with the kind of poetic fury that had her stifling a laugh into her apron.

Peeking out between her laundry line and the rose bushes, a glass of iced tea in one hand and a knowing glint in her eye.

Didn’t say a word at first. Just disappeared from view like a curtain twitching shut.

You’d barely gotten one end of the mattress wedged through the doorframe when she reappeared.

Determined and cheery old lady marching across the lawn in sturdy slippers. Smock still dusted with flour. Tea swapped for a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of something that looked suspiciously like still-warm shortbread.

“Love,” she said, smiling like you were already family, “either let me help or let me feed you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

That was it. That was the beginning.

Before you knew it, she was your go-to for sugar, advice, the juiciest neighborhood gossip, and the occasional “just a wee Sunday dinner” that turned into three courses and a bottle of wine.

She told you all about her garden, her cats, her least favorite neighbors (whispered with scandalous glee), and -- eventually -- her Johnny. Her good kind and gentlemanly son. Her only boy. Her pride.

Always said his name with a soft sort of awe and a sigh. “Not home much. Work keeps him away. But oh, when he is -- you’ll know aye? Big, loud thing, stomps around like he’s still in boots. Heart of gold under all that noise.”

You figured you’d cross that bridge if and when.

But then, she started leaving those subtle hints. And sure, she didn’t see a ring on your finger, and well -- she wasn’t getting any younger too.

"Nice to have a scant of little bairns again you know? Just lovely tae have somethin' to take care of. a bit more noise around the table"

You smirked, playing along, “Oh, sure, I can already picture it -- little feet under the table, crumbs everywhere, and me pretending to know what I’m doing while I trip over the toys.”

Mama MacTavish’s eyes gleamed with a knowing sparkle, her smile widening. At that exact moment, she knew -- you’d be perfect for Johnny. Whether you both knew it or not.

Slowly, she started dropping little cues.

You’d be chatting over a cup of tea, gardening or darning together and she’d slip in a remark or two --

“Oh yer sink’s broken? Johnny’s really good with all that, ye know.”

“Living room’s all barren, hen. Johnny could fix that up -- he’s got a good eye for space.”

“Fridge makin’ that funny noise again? Johnny sorted ours in a flash, bless him.”

“Ye don’t like ladders, do ye? Good thing Johnny’s not scared of heights.”

“That shelf’s still sittin’ on the floor? I’ll send Johnny round with his drill when he gets back”

“Cold this week, aye? Johnny’s great at sealing windows. Kept the whole house toasty last winter.”

“Plant dyin’? Johnny’s got a green thumb too, believe it or not.”

And then, with that same gleam in her eye: “Bit lonely sometimes, love? …Johnny’s got a nice laugh on him.”

You’d chuckle, play along, nodding as if it was all just friendly banter. Letting her have her fun. Feeding into it with a teasing little grin, not realizing she was ever dead serious at that. Just too enchanted by her syrupy stories and sweet affection to see the trap being set.

“Oh, Johnny does love a good Sunday roast,” she’d sigh one day, dreamily. “Still asks for extra gravy like he’s ten years old.”

Then there was the time she murmured -- almost too lightly -- “He’s got such a soft spot for animals, oor Johnny. Always lookin’ efter his mate’s dug. Just a big softie underneath he is"

You humoured her, of course. Nodded, smiled, said things like, “That’s sweet,” and “Sounds like he’s got a good heart.” Didn’t register the shift in tone when she followed it with a quiet:

“Wouldn’t it be nice tae hae someone who’d look efter ye like that, hen?”

You didn’t think much of it then. Shrugged, teased, “I suppose", you started as you gave her your usual warm and homey smile. "Someone to share a Sunday roast with. Maybe a dog. And definitely extra gravy.”

She beamed then and there. A knowing grin that you dulled on and overlooked. Lips curling with a playful gleam like you already handed her a grandchild on a platter.

After that though, the comments came paired with a wistful sigh or a long look at your left hand. “Ah, I do hope Johnny finds someone who’ll appreciate aw o’ him… he’s such a catch, ken?”

And when you’d laugh or just smile knowingly, she’d give the tiniest, most satisfied nod. Checking all her lists at this point. That same glint in her eye only growing.

Already picking the dress among her mental catalogues and listing down addresses and numbers to book the chapel.

You never really thought she was fixed and ramrod earnest about it. Always chalking it up to idle talk. Sweet, silly old-lady musings that sounded like daydreams but didn’t mean anything. After all, Johnny MacTavish was more myth than man to you. A photo on the fireplace. A pair of muddy boots by the door. A son who was always “just away for a bit aye?”

You had no idea what to expect when he finally came home though.

All 6'1 and massive hulking muscle. Weighty and tank heavy. Eyes electric blue with a shy and surprised look in his eyes. Standing there like a tall buck caught in headlights. Frozen mid-motion. Elbows-deep into some grimy mess of liquid and woodwork in the backyard. Right where you and Mama MacTavish usually had tea

The crickety old swing? --

-- Apparently fixed now....

A mallet in one hand, a smudge of oil on his neck, looking like he’d just stepped out of a construction site and straight into your heart. He looked at you like you were the last thing he expected to see -- and maybe you were.

You blinked. He blinked.

And then, the world seemed to slow down.

That was until Johnny dropped the mallet right onto his foot and cursed with a dirty word so filthy, Mama MacTavish gasped from the hallway. “Language, John! We have guests!”

You barely kept it together, biting back a stifled laugh. He, on the other hand, was clearly struggling to hold himself together.

“Aye right, uh, sorry ‘boot that,” Johnny mumbled, looking mortified as he tried to shake the pain out of his foot.

You smiled and, for some reason, that simple, awkward moment felt like the universe had pressed play again on something you didn’t even know was meant to happen.

But that’s when it all shifted. Mama MacTavish swooped in, all warmth and triumph, apron fluttering behind her like a battle standard.

“Ah, perfect timing, lass! Ye’ve met ma Johnny, aye?” she chirped, like this entire scene hadn’t unfolded with the cinematic chaos of a rom-com meet-cute gone slightly sideways.

You opened your mouth to answer -- yes? no? not like this? -- but she barreled on, plopping a tray of lemon squares onto the garden table as if she hadn’t just set a trap and sprung it with flawless precision. Leaving no other room for you two to even utter out another word.

“Johnny, lad, why nae show oor bonnie neighbour the shelves ye fixed up in the sunroom, aye? She’s been bletherin’ aboot needin’ some storage.”

“I have?” you asked faintly, already being gently nudged forward by a flour-dusted hand at your back.

“Oh, ye will,” Mama said, grinning like a cat with cream.

And just like that, you were being ushered into a future you two hadn’t exactly planned for --

— one that smelled like sawdust, lemon bars, and cucumber.

Sounded like dusting and worn boots on old wooden and rickety floors.

And looked an awful lot like Johnny MacTavish:

— red-eared. Bashful. Gone for. Keen and enamored at the sight of you.

Still nursing a bruised toe but grinning enthusiastic and dumbstruck when you asked if he really did like that much gravy on a Sunday roast.

masterlist

[yunwangja]

faultline | 17th shift

masterlist

you got this, yn.

after stepping off the bus, you inhale deeply, steadying your nerves as you begin the walk toward suga’s house.

when you arrive at the bus stop, go left and turn once you see the flower shop. daichi’s directions echo in your mind, guiding your steps.

honestly, the thing you’re most scared of is taking the big step of expressing your feelings. yes, the thought of having your relationship with suga, whatever it was, ruined—aches your heart, but the toughest wall to climb was actually telling someone what was going inside you.

this was your biggest character flaw. you’re soldiering through it so far, but what if he’s in front of you already?

you don’t really know what you’ll do once you see him. will you be able to do it? will you be able to smile at him? or will you break down? or will you run away, just like you always do?

it haunted you. the way his face darkened when you said you wanted to help him. you couldn’t forget it. it made you loathe your whole existence.

the past few days proved you were indeed a big mess. before, you kept pushing suga away; you never listened to his words. you blocked out anything he showed or said about his feelings for you.

and here you are now, walking to his house, about to tell him you actually felt the same too. pathetic.

but… maybe you were testing him. not trying to make him prove how much he liked you—but maybe you were unconsciously asking him, "are you sure? you like… me?"

and every single time, he replied with "yes, i do."

you didn't believe him every time. you thought he was just saying that, or he'll take it back some time soon. or actually, even if he actually meant it, you didn't care. you thought it was best for him to stay away.

well, now, you may feel differently. but maybe it's too late. maybe he had enough of you.

either way, you come off as the villain and the real loser here.

you spot a quaint, white cottage with weathered shutters and a modest stone fountain nestled in its front yard. that's your landmark—when you see it, turn right. daichi’s voice echoes in your head, steady and sure, and you follow it like a compass.

you’re now only a block away.

you don’t really know how you got here. when did all of these emotions for him actually start?

did your feelings start from the day you met him? was it when you became closer? was it when he confessed to you? after? has it always been there?

maybe, suga’s like a flower. when you met him, it planted a seed in your heart. and without you seeing or knowing it, it grew. it nurtured and one day, it bloomed.

and now, it’s clear as day.

but honestly, even if you didn’t think about it, you didn’t care. no matter what brought you here, there was no doubt.

you wanted suga. you wanted to be with him. you wanted to shield him from this harsh world—from anyone and anything that wanted to hurt him.

you learned to have a hidden protectiveness of him. he’s koushi sugawara. he’s a shining bright light. who would even dare to dim it?

you know that suga is a brave soul, and he really is—but you want to protect him anyway. you wish—you really wish.

that he would let you.

a small, aging two-story home greets your eyes a few meters away. daichi says, you will see a narrow front porch with creaky wooden steps, an overgrown vine curling up one of the posts.

and that’s what you see. you’re here.

your hands numb as you realize you’re actually there. you take another deep breath as you start making your way to the front of the house.

as you were a few feet away, you start to hear arguing voices.

"you don’t need it anymore! it’s a waste of your money and time!"

you hear a female voice shout. they seem to be a middle-aged woman, and your heartbeat increases as you think who it might be.

"that doesn’t give you the right to just throw it away!"

that’s suga’s voice. you’ve never heard him like this before. he sounds infuriated, his voice high.

"you’ll thank me one day, koushi. you’ll see how i’ve done nothing but look out for you!"

"when will you accept that i don’t want to go to college! is that a reality so hard for you to accept?"

"you think you’re better than me? who has lived for more decades before you were even born between the two of us?"

"i know how life is. i know what’s best for you. why can’t you give me respect and follow me? it’s time to swallow your pride."

"you’re not looking out for me, you are controlling and suffocating me and my brother."

"look. i know it seems harsh, but it’s the hard truth, koushi. your so-called dreams aren’t worth it."

"you have good qualities, but if you’re this selfish and prideful, you’re nothing but a failure."

now, you’ve had enough.

you don’t care if you enter their house unannounced. you don’t even care if she gets mad or talks shit about you, you can hear all of it. you’re you, anyway.

you storm toward the door, ready to throw it open, when his voice cuts through the air like the crack of thunder.

“that’s it.”

your hand freezes inches from the doorknob. your breath catches in your throat.

there’s a pause.

then—“what do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” her voice is sharp, patronizing.

“i’m tired of this. we’re leaving.”

your eyes go wide.

a rush of emotion floods you—relief, pride, fear, awe. he finally said it.

“you can’t leave, suga,” her voice bites back. “i’m your guardian. you and your brother’s.”

silence follows. no protest. no explanation. instead, you hear the creak of a door, hurried steps, drawers being pulled open, the rustling of clothes, of a life being packed into bags.

you don’t know when to make an entrance, or if you even need to. you were ready to back him up, but afraid this might backfire considering what happened the last time you two met.

you shift closer to the window, heart pounding. you peek through a gap in the curtain and catch a glimpse—suga’s back, tense and determined, moving swiftly. he’s stuffing things into duffel bags like he’s done this in his head a hundred times.

and then she enters the room, and the yelling starts again—desperate, sharp, commanding.

but he doesn’t stop. not this time.

he walks back into the living room, his arms full with three bags. you can tell from the way his shoulders are squared and his jaw is clenched that he’s not listening to a word she says.

“wait! suga, you’re making the wrong decision!”

and then—she grabs him.

you see her hand clamp down around his wrist, tight and forceful.

“let me go!” he snaps, his voice raw, breaking through everything.

and that was your cue.

your body moves before your mind even catches up. you shove the front door open and march inside without a second thought. you don’t even knock.

you reach them in three steps, heart pounding, vision sharp.

you grab suga’s wrist and pry him free from her grasp, your fingers steady, unwavering.

they both freeze.

his aunt’s mouth opens in shock. suga’s eyes meet yours, wide with disbelief. you don’t look at him yet. instead, you turn your gaze to her—icy, unflinching.

“get your hands off him,” you say, voice low.

and then, with every ounce of venom you’ve held back,

“get lost.”

and holding his hand, you drag him out of there.

notes

to be continued !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

and if you were wondering what the aunt threw away it were photo albums of suga's past photos. basically like his portfolio from the past

haruki (suga's brother) wasnt home this time dw !!!

but i kinda find it funny yn being able to enter their front porch like that and be peeking through the window

like what a secure house ANYWAY

taglist: @lvtilzs @uraviriot @adorawritesalot @nachotrash @staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @rowensboat @frootloopscos @ruwhimsical @mintynoo @chaotic-neutral-ig @zippymaezie @cupidsblonde @loveyislost @mayyhaps @haileebythesea @oneanabillion @starstrikeer @x3nafix @saintcosette

[dsireland86]

Ooh i would love to request a fic inspired by the song Pillowtalk by Zayn Malik? It can be for whoever you think fits best x fem reader?

I just have to confess how much I love this song 😍

PillowTalk

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lacy1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @kenjipepsi1 @blackveilomens @chey-h @disappearintothegrey @jilliemiw86 @pathion @fear-its-beauty @an0mallly @potterheadquinn @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @montgomery-929494 @missduffsblog @lilcazy011 @Lonelydragonlady @Mattysbitchvic @athenexe @pipidol @flowery-mess 

I was never a one for talking after sex. It just wasn't my thing. Well, with my ex any way. With him, it was a give it, get it, and be done with it type of relationship. We were never mean about it. It's just that there wasn't much to say afterward. I guess that's why things didn't last between us. 

With Matt, things were instantly different. The moment we met, I felt connected to him. From our love of plants and animals to music and movies, our interests were the same. We both had a few things here and there that were different, but nothing that the other couldn't or wouldn't tolerate. It was almost perfect, and I say almost, because there was one flaw we both had that could burn everything to the ground if we allowed it to. Our tempers. Both of us could be stubborn, arrogant, prideful assholes to each other when we wanted to be which was never a good thing, especially on tour. But we managed it and never allowed it to go too far. Until today. I think I may have crossed the line, and now Matt won't talk to me or even look at me.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the back door to the venue open and carry the case with the smaller soundboard up to the front-of-house area where Matt is sprawled out under a table hooking up wires. As he goes to sit up, he slams his head into the bottom of it, letting out a mouthful of curses followed by a few growls and grunts as he stands up.

"Shit, babe, are you okay?"

Matt glares at me. 

"As if you care?" he snaps, taking his hat off to rub the spot and fix his hair. 

Ouch. 

"Oookay... yeah, I care, or I wouldn't have asked," I snap back a little harder than I mean to. 

Matt scoffs. 

"Whatever, Y/N. Is that the soundboard I asked for?" he asks, pointing to the case in my hand. 

The saltiness in his tone stings, but I tell myself I deserve it for how I treated him earlier this morning. I swallow the lump in my throat and fight the tears that are trying to form. I clear my throat and hand over the case. 

"Uh, yeah. Here ya go."

Matt takes the case without a glance at me. I stand there frozen, unsure of what to do next. 

"So, is this how it's going to be today?" I ask, trying to avoid the crack in my voice. 

Matt shrugs. 

"I'm sorry," I apologize as meaningfully as I can.   "I still love you, I still love us. I didn't mean..."

"Save the pillowtalk, Y/N," he snaps again. 

"I've got a lot of shit to do. If you want to help, fine. If not, that's fine, too. Just," but he doesn't finish, and honestly, he doesn't have to. I already know what he wants to say. 

"Fine." 

I turn and walk away, unable to process any thoughts properly. 

Soundcheck sounds great. The guys have pulled it all together once again, almost flawlessly. Noah's voice is a little raspy due to allergies, but it's nothing that's detrimental to his performance. I yell up at him that I'll get some tea ready for him in the green room and to come get it when he can. He gives me that beautiful smile of his, and it makes me happy to know I can make others feel better. If only I could make myself feel better.

I catch Matt's stare as I walk by him. It's heavy as if he's holding something back. Probably his anger. I break eye contact and head to the green room to prepare Noah's tea like promised, taking the coffee pot to the bathroom to fill it with water from the sink. As I turn the water off, I look up into the mirror and catch a glimpse of Matt standing in the doorway. I almost scream and just about drop the pot of water from being so startled.  

"Holy shit, you scared the living crap out of me," I cry, bringing my hand to my chest. 

Matt grins and steps further into the bathroom and closer to me. His hand snakes around my neck as he pulls me into him, bringing our bodies closer together.

"Matt, I don't understand. I thought you were mad at me,” I say, shaking my head lightly while gazing at his face. 

"I don't, either. Just shut-up and fucking kiss me," he orders, slamming his lips into mine.

I make a noise in the back of my throat that has him groaning as our mouths come together and our tongues begin to dance. I love the feeling of Matt's when he rolls his tip over mine and then messages the top so sweetly in a way that only he can. I manage to sit the pot in the sink before dropping it and risk it breaking, throwing my arms around Matt's neck as I do. Our breaths mingle, our hearts beat together, and before either of us know what's happening, Matt has my pants off with his shorts down around his ankles, and he's buried himself deep inside me, apologizing the best way he knows how. I can barely contain myself. His lovin' is so good, so fire, so soothing that I'd give anything to keep him inside me all day. 

"Hold me hard, baby," Matt whispers, panting as he places a kiss on my forehead.  

Lifting my leg up, Matt latches onto it and brings it up around his hip, matching it with the other one until my legs are wrapped tightly around his waist and I'm pinned snuggly between him and the bathroom wall. 

"Ugh, fuck yeah, that feels better. Much better angle," grunting in pleasure and kissing me desperately.  

"Why am I always your worst enemy? Why do we fight like we do?" I asked breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall. 

Matt groans after I moan a little too loud once he finds the right spot inside me. 

"It's a thick line, Y/N. Our love has always been a sort of battlefield, a war zone even. But we're still on the same side." 

I dig my nails into his shoulders when he lifts my shirt and pulls the pad of my bra down to take my nipple into his mouth, nipping the tip and making me cry out as the feeling hits the right spot in my core. 

"We're still allies, baby, even if we're dirty and it's raw. You and I, we fuck like winners and we love like conquers, no matter how bad we fight. I still love you, too."

Matt wipes the tears away that fall from my eyes, and I pull him back onto me, holding onto him tightly as we both finish together. 

The bus rocks everyone to sleep, and by halfway through the drive, everyone is sound asleep except me and Matt. We went high and hard in the green room earlier in the day, but now the tempo is slow, dark, and mellow. There's no rush. There's no desperate hunger or need. Just the place that feels my tears and where Matt loses his fears. It's a place, like he said earlier, is dirty and raw, yet pure at the same time. It's our paradise, our war zone. It's our love. 

I lay pressed against Matt's chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart. It's magical and soothing, nobody but us, our bodies pressed together.  

"I love holding you close like this," Matt says softly, the deep rumbling of his voice vibrating from somewhere inside him. "Thanks for letting me tonight, for always letting me hold you close."

His sweet vulnerability is showing, which is something he only allows me to see. I feel horrible for making him feel the way I did earlier, especially when I know how much of himself he trusts me with. Wiggling out of his grasp and shifting as best as I can, within the confines of the small bottom bunk, I manage to climb on top of him and get him between my legs once again. I can't see his face in the darkness, but I can feel him, and that's all I need.

"I love waking up next to you," I admit, leaning over and kissing down his neck. 

His warm hands slither over the skin of my bottom and up my back, gently grabbing my sides and hips. 

“I love the way you feel inside me, the way you always claim me as yours." 

"Oh my god," Matt groans sensually as I slip myself over him like a perfect glove and very slowly ride him. "I fucked with your head earlier. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry," I apologize, laying my chest against his and kissing him. His hands press on my bottom, keeping the slow, steady pace of us moving together. 

"I lost my temper with you. I shouldn't have," he manages to say, rocking his hips with mine. 

"I saw the pain in your eyes, knowing I was the one responsible for it. I didn't like how it felt." "Yeah, well, I saw the pleasure in yours when I fucked you in the bathroom earlier, so I guess we're even," he admits, running his hand over my face gently caressing it.

"I guess we're both prisoners in this then, huh?" 

"I guess so, but I'll gladly and willingly stay locked up with you." 

"Me, too." Matt kisses me, bringing his hands up and wrapping them around my face so he can kiss me harder. 

Our teeth smash together, and we're soon out of breath. He groans, dragging his nails down my back and over my bottom, pushing on it so that my sex can clench around him tighter. When I do, I hear his faint whisper of admittance, then feel the warmth of his seed fill me completely with some of it leaking out against my thighs. He lays back against the pillows, breathing hard, as I can only stay on top of him and lay my head down on his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his pounding heart.

[nighttimeebony]

So recently, my boyfriend and I have been trying to figure out when Bungou Stray Dogs is taking place. More specifically, we've been trying to pin down a precise month in the anime using details from the anime, as well as character profile sheets for things like ages and birthdays. With all that said, here's all the time-relevant information I was able to gather from season 1 of the anime.

A couple quick things to establish before I really get into it. Firstly, all of the evidence I gathered for this comes from the anime, not the manga; obviously, there are some inconsistencies and continuity errors between the manga and the anime, but because the anime is in color with more detailed backgrounds, that made identifying potentially time-specific details (like weather, plants, and cars) easier.

Secondly, I did not include the episodes from the Azure Messenger arc. The reason for this is because the Azure Messenger arc is meant to take place two years prior to the manga and anime, so any timeline details in those episodes are likely to be either inaccurate or potentially inconsistent with other evidence.

Thirdly, the one thing that made this job so much easier is the fact that almost every character has both an established age at the beginning of the series, as well as a clearly defined birthday, but I'll only really be relying on main characters for plotting out a timeline. This includes everyone from the ADA, and only some of the recurring characters from other organizations like the Port Mafia or the Guild, especially if those characters' ages are in some way related to the characters from the ADA.

Now, with all that out of the way, down the rabbit hole we go.

Episode 1:

Atsushi is 18, and his birthday is May 5th. We also know that Atsushi was kicked out of the orphanage recently. In orphanages and the foster care system, children have to remain under the care of those facilities until they age out of the system at 18. Considering the orphanage's attitude towards Atsushi, I think it's safe to assume that they likely kicked him out as soon as he turned 18 and were no longer legally responsible for him. So, at the very least, Atsushi was kicked out of the orphange at or near the beginning of May, making him freshly 18 as opposed to 18 years and six months, or something like that. He's fresh off of being 17 instead of being closer to 19.

Atsushi mentions that he hasn't eaten in several days, and is considered to be on the brink of starvation. This is clearly a bit of a hyperbole, since the human body can survive for roughly 2 to 3 months without food, and while Atsushi is clearly very small and skinny, he's nowhere near emaciated, so "several days" in this instance probably means about a week, give or take. We also know from Dazai that the tiger has eaten livestock and farm animals, so Atsushi is clearly subsisting off of something, even if it is small and he's not eating anything during the daylight hours.

Another reason why we know Atsushi has only gone a few days without eating instead of weeks or months is because of something called refeeding syndrome. When the body goes too long without food, reintroducing food, even in small doses, is like a massive shock to your system. Once your body has grown accustomed to the fact that you're not going to feed it, it starts subsisting off of itself in order to survive. (In short, your body will literally eat itself if you go too long without eating.) So, once your body gets used to this after a certain amount of time, reintroducing food to your system is like exposing a Victorian child to the internet. Instead of welcoming the sudden influx of calories, your body will actually reject it because it's too overwhelming to properly absorb. In mild cases, the most you'll do is just vomit whatever you've eaten, but in more severe cases, it can actually be fatal. Basically, you have to re-teach your body how to eat and digest food. Based on the way Atsushi is able to scarf down several bowls of chazuke without vomiting, it's likely that Atsushi has only gone a few days without eating instead of weeks or months.

Dazai then goes on to say that the tiger has been causing chaos in Yokohama for two weeks, and that the tiger was spotted in the Tsurumi ward 4 days ago (Yokohama is a city, and Tsurumi is just one of the 18 wards that exist in the city).

In conclusion: It's been almost a month since Atsushi left the orphanage.

Episode 2:

Kunikida pulls out his notebook to say that Dazai received a complaint in August, and another complaint in September, and in the same month it's stated that he's racked up a 6-month long tab with the cafe. Since this scene is meant to establish Dazai's problem-causing behavior and that it happens often, the fact that Kunikida references calls from August and September seem to imply that these are the most recent calls that the Agency has received, and if that assumption is correct then this would mean that the series is taking place in October. Which, I suppose could be true, but it doesn't really align with other evidence we get later. But we'll still tuck it away in our back pocket for later just in case.

Episode 3:

Atsushi accurately guesses that Naomi and Junichirou were students before they started working at the Agency. We know that Junichirou is 18 and his birthday is July 24th. While we don't know Naomi's age, we can assume that she's most likely 16, since she's stated to be younger than Junichirou, still attends school, and only works at the Agency part-time because of that. We don't know how long the siblings have been with the Agency, but since Junichirou is stated to be an assistant rather than a detective like the others, it's likely that they haven't been there for very long. It's not a leap to suggest that Junichirou probably took his entrance exam not long after he graduated high school so he could provide for Naomi.

Since Japanese school terms end in March, and Japanese high schoolers are all 18 by the time they graduate, Junichirou would have graduated when he was 18, but would've turned 19 not long after, since his birthday is in mid-July. So Junichirou is 18, but potentially very close to being 19.

Additionally, Naomi is specifically a part-time employee, and since she's still in school, this is probably not a summer job, or else she'd likely be working full-time. In Japan, summer vacation lasts from around mid-July to the end of August.

Later in the episode, when Junichirou uses his ability, Higuchi mistakes it for snow and comments that snow is odd in "this time of year". According to Weatherspark, Yokohama doesn't tend to get a lot of snow, and when it does, the snow doesn't seem to stick around for very long. The months where Yokohama is most likely to get snow is in January or February, so at the very least, we know the series doesn't take place during winter.

Conclusion: We are most likely in late spring to early summer

Episode 4:

We don't get very many time indicators in episode 4, but when Atsushi is wandering around the city, we can see that the trees lining the sidewalks are lush and green.

Not only are the trees fully green, but they also aren't budding like they would be in early spring, or wilting like they might be in autumn. This remains consistent across multiple episodes. This strengthens my theory that the series takes place some time between late spring to early summer.

Episode 5:

There aren't a lot of time-specific details in this episode either.

Episode 8: (again, we're skipping the Azure Messenger episodes)

Again, not a lot of time-specific details.

We are introduced to Kyouka. Kyouka is 14, and her birthday is November 4th. We know that she's been with the Port Mafia for six months, but that doesn't tell us much about when the series takes place in the present.

Episode 9:

When Kunikida and Atsushi take Kyouka to a restaurant, there is a wisteria tree in full bloom just outside the window.

According to Gardenia.net, Japanese wisterias bloom around late spring to early summer, with various tourist sites specifying that they start blooming in mid-April, with the peak bloom ending in mid-May. After this, the flowers will develop into pods that ripen in late summer, and in autumn, the leaves will turn yellow. Considering that the leaves on top of the flowers are thicker, and the flower stems are shorter, this tree is likely just past peak blooming time, but not yet into pod development. Which makes me think that we're probably somewhere between the middle and end of May.

Later in the episode, when the detectives are trying to find Atsushi, Kunikida provides a photograph that he says was taken by a tourist.

Obviously, Japan can receive tourists at any time, but considering that Atsushi and Kyouka were specifically visiting popular tourist areas and locations when Akutagawa kidnapped them (and when you consider all the other evidence we have so far), it's possible that this is taking place during one of Japan's more popular tourist seasons.

Japan has two prime tourism seasons: spring and autumn. This detail by itself doesn't indicate much, but when you combine it with everything else we have so far, the case for the series taking place in late spring to early summer just gets stronger.

Episode 10:

No significant time-indicative details.

Episode 11:

In the dub, Kenji states that he's only been with the Agency for two months.

When Kenji and Atsushi are walking through the market together, a pedestrian walks up to Kenji and comments that his "vegetable garden isn't draining like it should." In Japan, the spring months of March to June are broadly considered to be the best times for gardening vegetables.

Episode 12:

Almost no timeline details in this episode

Other, more specific details:

Episode 1 takes place during a single night. It opens during sunset, and closes during the night. We'll call that Day One.

Day Two consists of episodes 2 + 3 + 4 + 5. Atsushi's entrance exam takes place early in the morning, he officially meets Junichirou and Naomi at the cafe for lunch, and are then sent out to investigate Higuchi's tip just after. The three of them are gunned down in the alleyway before being taken back to the infirmary, where Atsushi regains consciousness. When Atsushi wakes up in the infirmary, he's wearing different clothes, which could imply that he was kept there overnight, but there's no indication that that's the case. Junichirou is still being treated in the next room over, and when the episode cuts the next scene, it's still the same time of day outside that it was when Atsushi had his encounter with Akutagawa. (first screenshot: episode 3, just before the attack in the alleyway | second screenshot: episode 4, the first shot of the sky after Atsushi wakes up in the infirmary)

I'm guessing that Atsushi's clothes were probably too shredded and bloodied, so Yosano removed them to better assess his supposed injuries and dressed him in scrubs until his own clothes could be mended and cleaned. Then the Port Mafia attacks the Agency some time during the afternoon, and then, while the Agency is still cleaning up, Ranpo is assigned a case with the police that he and Atsushi go to investigate at about late afternoon, and the day finally ends with Ranpo, Dazai, and Atsushi going home. We only know that this has to be the end of the day because the police interrogation and the walk to the station both happen at sunset.

Episodes 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 all take place during the same day, with episodes 2 + 3 encompassing the morning to noon, and episodes 4 + 5 encompassing the afternoon and evening.

Episodes 8 + 9 + 10 all take place during the next day. We'll consider this Day Three. In episode 8, Dazai is kidnapped either early in the morning or late at night (since it's completely dark out when he encounters Kyouka).

And then Junichirou comes back to the office after fully recovering. Because of Yosano's ability, I doubt that Junichirou was in the infirmary any longer than a day. I'm guessing Yosano probably kept him overnight to finish her treatment, and then let him go back to work the next day once he was fully healed. Then the whole incident with the train happens, and Kyouka wakes up in the infirmary in the next episode. Again, we're given no indication that this episode takes place on a different day, since Dazai is still missing, but no one seems particularly concerned about it, whereas, if he'd been missing for at least two days at a time, the other detectives would probably start to get suspicious. Then, Kunikida and Atsushi take Kyouka to lunch and buy her tofu, and Atsushi and Kyouka have their sightseeing adventure before being attacked by Akutagawa. Then the Agency immediately set out to rescue Atsushi.

Episode 11 is where the specifics get tricky, because of the two-parter with Higuchi's plot and Kenji's plot. The first section of the episode is where Fukuzawa agrees to let Kyouka stay to become an official member of the Agency. I believe that section of the episode still takes place on Day Three. I'll explain why in a bit. Then, Kenji's half of the episode probably also takes place on Day Three (because again) Dazai is STILL missing and no one questions it, not even Atsushi. Then the episode ends after Kenji and Atsushi get beef bowls (presumably for lunch since the sun hasn't set), and then after the credits, we get a scene of Dazai reading in his dorm, where he says he'll tell the Agency he escaped the Mafia "tomorrow". This after-credits scene with Dazai also takes place during sunset, marking this as the end of Day Three.

Meanwhile, Higuchi's plotline takes place in the evening/night of Day Three, because we see her going home to her apartment, and later when she wakes up in the middle of the night to go save Akutagawa, the moon is still out.

Episode 12 definitively takes place over the course of two days. The episode starts with Atsushi waking up, surprised and confused as to why Kyouka is in his dorm. This marks the start of Day Four, just one day after meeting Kyouka. The reason why we know this takes place the day after Kyouka's introduction is because this is the first time anyone's had to address where Kyouka would be sleeping. If a few days passed in between episode 10 and 12, then Atsushi wouldn't be confused as to why Kyouka is rooming with him because he would have already known why she was staying with him, meaning that this is Kyouka's first official night in the Agency dorms since Fukuzawa agreed to let her stay to become a member. Then comes Fukuzawa's meeting with Fitzgerald, and Kenji's disappearance. That marks the end of Day Four. In the next scene, we get a text pop-up telling us that the events with Lucy in Anne's room are happening the day after Kenji went missing, which means that the last half of episode 12 officially takes place on Day Five.

So!

In conclusion: the first season of Bungou Stray Dogs takes place over the course of five days, and is set during the end of May.

If this is all correct, and the first season does actually take place in May, then there a couple of potentially interesting details regarding the characters ages.

Atsushi is freshly 18.

Dazai is technically only 21 by the time season 1 comes to a close, since his birthday is in June.

Chuuya is freshly 22, since his birthday is in April.

Kunikida is 22, but would be close to turning 23, since his birthday is in August.

Akutagawa is freshly 20, since his birthday is in March.

Kenji is 14, but would be close to turning 15, since (like Kunikida) his birthday is also in August.

Junichirou is 18, but would be close to turning 19, since his birthday is in July.

[givemebishies]

Omg my son (a potted plant) left a huge mess (a bunch of soil) all over the shower floor after he took his bath (I watered him in the shower) he is so grounded (I am ever so slightly cross w him)

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[whateveriwant]

I know I’ve already gone on and on about what it’s like to have a size difference with Simon Riley, but I’m sorry, I just will never get over how big and strong this man is.

Like I feel like sometimes his size gets lost on us since he’s surrounded by other tall, buff military guys all the time. But y’all, I’m telling you, this man is big. Like 6’4, 250+ pounds, big enough to eclipse the sun big.

With a man that big, it honestly doesn’t even matter what size you are because he’s always going to be bigger and stronger than you anyway. You can be tall, short, stocky, thin, whatever, and this man is still fully capable (and willing? 👀) of snapping you in half like a twig.

Are you worried about potential home invaders? Well, you shouldn’t be. One quick flick of his wrist and he’s breaking the neck of anyone who tries to threaten you. Did you accidentally lock yourself out of the house? Well, don’t bother calling a locksmith. There’s no lock left to pick after he’s just caved the door in with his foot. Do you have a really stubborn jar you’re struggling to open? Well, hand it over, love. He can crack that sucker open in half a second flat.

But Lord, don’t even get me started when it comes to all the ways Simon uses that strength of his in the bedroom.

Like when he tells you to sit on his face so he can eat you out. Don’t even try it with that nervous, hovering, “I’m too heavy, Si,” bullshit. You better sit your ass down right when and where he tells you to or he’ll hold you down by the hips until he’s had his fill.

Or when, after a night of heavy flirting and teasing, he’s got that look in his eye as he corners you against your entryway wall. Don’t be surprised when one moment your feet are firmly planted on the ground, and the next you’re lifted into the air, your legs slung over his arms as he drills into you like you’re his own little fuck puppet.

Or when he’s got you spread out on his bed, got your knees up by your ears, got the backs of your thighs burning in a way that’s matched only by how your walls have to stretch to take his thick cock. Don’t think he’s being mean or malicious when he sees your eyes well with tears but does nothing to change the way he’s fucking down into you. It’s not that Simon doesn’t care whenever you cry and quiver and plead with him to go easier on you, it’s that he knows the truth. He knows that, deep down, you love when he handles you like he isn’t afraid to break you.

[kkusuka]

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

[murdock-slvt]

❝ BOY NEXT DOOR! rafe is a prick. you hated him, but he certainly loved you. ❞ ▄▀▄▀▄

boy next door! rafe becomes infatuated with you once your family moves in next to the cameron household. rafe is the “bad son” of ward, and you kept your distance from him.

you were just trying to get through university with your new friends and learn your way around the new town you live in. your parents traveled a lot for their work, and your sibling was away for their own work; so you kept the house clean and did whatever you wanted whenever your parents decided to leave the house. (which was practically every other month)

rafe watched you for weeks, and weeks turned into months with his eyes watching how your parents leave for weeks then return to only do it over and over again. ward and rose became buddy-buddy with your own parents; rose inviting your mother to fancy dinners, gifting them rose’s homemade bread during thanksgiving and fresh fruit and vegetables during christmas, and ward invited your father to golf outings.

bottom line is; you began to detest rafe, and rafe began to get obsessed with you.

when he got the chance, he teased you and he made your live a little more annoying. he always “checked” up on you (more like annoying you whenever you checked the mail or took out the trash or mowed the lawn) and made sure to be the best person he could— even though you knew damn well behind the smiles and “sir” and “ma’am’s” was a prick who teased you and wasn’t shy about how he felt about you, you’d sometimes see his eyes peeking on you through his blinds when you’d undress… he wasn’t slick and he knew you knew that.

would it be bad to say you were slowly warming up to him? maybe. you didn’t know when it began, but your feelings slowly began to change about the cameron boy…

but to hell if you were going to admit it to rafe.

your mother and father were going to vegas for their wedding anniversary, and rafe being rafe, he started to ask your parents if he could “help” them with their lawn as they’re gone.

“I think your daughter could handle it! but sometimes you need a little help, Y’know?” you’d hear that sentence every single time rafe caught your father on the porch.

your father and mother thought about it, and after a week of silent deliberation; they hired rafe, to help take care of the lawn and plants during the three week anniversary trip.

the first week wasn’t that bad. you went to school, hanging out with friends and doing things around the house like refilling your pet’s food bowls and folding laundry when a fresh batch finished. you kept the inner house clean, pilling up the mail for your mother and father to go through when they get home, and you kept the house locked up at night.

rafe meanwhile kept checking on you, cleaning the lawn every fucking day and doing shit your father said he’d do months ago. you didn’t know if he was trying to impress you, himself, or your parents.

sometimes you’d invite him in, mainly because he sat on your porch swing until you answered the door, or because you felt bad for the prick, but he kept his distance (even if you could feel his hand sliding down your back, or his gaze becoming a lot more than just a friendly gaze)

when your panties began to disappear from your drawer, you had an idea in your mind on who did it but you never confronted him.

when you’d see his eyes peering to your ass while you finished putting the dishes away from your dishwasher after the dinner rafe made for you two, you never let him know.

sometimes when he peered through his blinds at night, and you kept your curtain opened a little on accident, he stroked his thick dick watching you rub your little cunt to a shitty porn video on your laptop. you could always sense another pair of eyes on you from afar, but never thought too much about it.

you didn’t hear him one night. you didn’t hear him coming through the back door downstairs, but you certainly began to smell his shitty cologne that probably costed more than it needed to.

he walked in on you, right as you got to the best part of the porn scene you were watching on your laptop you used for school… and he couldn’t help but be a good neighbor and help out.

here he was, with your back against his chest, his baseball tee brushing against your back as three of his thick fingers pumped in and out of you, licking the inner parts of your ear as he forced you to continue to watch the video you were watching.

“feel good, baby?” his hot breath brushed against your ear, making you shiver as his middle, ring, and pointer fingers pumped in and out of you, his thumb touching your vulva.

you nod, soft moans leaving your mouth. “f-fuck… ‘yea… so good.” you moan. you couldn’t help yourself, really, giving into the cameron son.

he smiles like the bastard he is, watching the video with you, watching as the guy fucks the girl in doggy, her ass jiggling with each thrust of the guy’s hips. the wet sounds were absolutely amazing, mixing in with your and rafe’s own sounds from his fingers and your sobbing pussy.

“r-rafe… rafe… oh god.” you whine, grinding against his thick fingers. you hated how you easily came apart for him. you really did.

he’s making you so much closer than your own fingers ever did.

he curled his fingers deliciously, rubbing against your walls with his fingertips as he brought you closer to the edge. “yeah? you close? you wanna cum all over my fingers like a good slut?”

again, you can only nod with intense enthusiasm. “yes, yes, yes… gonna cum! gonna cum all over ‘our fingers…!” your words slur, drool dropping on your chin.

rafe goes faster, his hand moving at a fast pace to the point he thinks his hand is going to fracture and he’s going to have to take you to the hospital with broken fingers in you.

he’s so quick, curling his fingers fucking perfectly. he makes you hit your orgasm right when the girl in the video hits her own orgasm.

“there you go… good girl… cum all over me like a little whore…” he coo’s directly in your ear, and it’s so fucking patronizing, like he knows he finally got what he wanted after months of waiting.

your eyes roll back, your vision turning complete white as the wet sounds of your pussy, the video, and rafe’s whispers hit your ear all at once. it’s overwhelming in the best ways possible. “rafe! rafe… rafe… oh god…”

grinding against his fingers to ride out your orgasm, you slump against the bed, weak and so high on cloud nine it’s delicious.

your cum decorates rafe’s fingers as rafe closes the laptop with his right hand, putting it on the bedside table next to your bed.

his fingers grab your chin and presses a soft kiss to your lips, you instantly kiss back as your hand reaches up to hold the back of his head.

rafe finally pulls out his fingers, your walls clenching around his fingers, almost to keep them within your pussy. “seems like your pussy doesn’t want me to leave…” he says with a smirk on his face as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.

the moment your cum hits his tongue, his eyes are rolling back, and you can only moan at the sight. “delicious.” he says lowly.

he rolls you onto your back and begins to undress the both of you, finally living out his wet dreams after months of peering through blinds and imagining.

@murdock-slvt 2025!

[prosypepper]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

[inupibaldspot]

Back off,kid.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : (Teen)Gojo is jealous over (kid) Fushiguro having a crush on you.

Fushiguro Megumi always wonders if he made the right choice every time a white-haired sunglass wearing teenager walks into the house.

The tall older boy would grin as his hands form a salute. “You doing good Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He was as useful as the indoor plants. Fushiguro thought.

Gojo wasn’t much good at cooking and neither helped with cleaning, probably because of his rich background—but he did spoil them with lots of food and pocket money but he wouldn’t ever admit that.

As much as Fushiguro would love to throw insults at Gojo, he holds back his tongue each time; Tsumiki would send sharp glare and nag him if he did.

The first friend he brought to visit them was a girl; it was after Gojo went missing for a while and when Tsumiki inquired about it ,he simply said one of his dear friend went cray-cray as his finger twirls at the temple of his head.

The girl had short, brown hair with a distinct smell of cigarette; her name was Shoko Ieiri. She wore an impressed look when she entered the house as she looked over to Gojo. “Heh— The place is pretty neat,Gojo.”

Fushiguro looked to Gojo who placed some groceries on the counter top with a proud smile on his face. “I know right!” Gojo replies.

The young boy frowns. “It’s Tsumiki who keeps the place clean.” Shoko gives Gojo a stare before she cackles.

A week later when Tsumiki was still in school with club activities, another person makes an appearance ,you. He could faintly hear conversations between you and Gojo through the front door on how you’d actually wanted to visit them sooner but was bombarded with mission before it swings open.

The first thing Fushiguro noticed was how Gojo seemed to make you enter first— other times he barges in without a care for Shoko— his hands near your back with a slight space, without touching it. Why was Gojo being nice?

You blink at the dark haired boy. “Fushiguro Megumi, right?” Gojo peers from behind as you smile. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Waiting for Tsumiki to get home.” Fushiguro thinks you’re the first person who is kind of decent.

You nod take plastic bag from Gojo’s hands and lift up it, your smile widen. “I’ll make you some good stuff then.”

“I want to eat your cooking too,y/n.” Gojo chirps in only to be ignored. And to your credit, it was actually good. He didn’t remember the last time he had something this good home made.

After that, your visits seemed to increase which Fushiguro Megumi did not mind, in fact he was getting fond of your presence. You helped with food, cleaning which lessened the load on Tsumiki plus you also helped him with his studies.

“You seemed to get it now, Megumi.” Poor kid, blushes a bit hearing your compliment. “Practice this set of questions and I think you’ll do pretty well on your tests.” You smile.

Fushiguro nods as he does as you say, face still heated up. He looks up at you, who was reading a book. Your hair slightly in your face, lips slightly parted with eyes focused. You were extremely beautiful and as much as he wouldn’t admit it , he had a big fat kid crush on you.

“Megumi-chan.” Suddenly he is shoved to the side as a body makes way in between you and him. It was Gojo who sat in between. “Move over~ This seat is mine.”

The boy frowns and so did you, not liking Gojo’s action. “Don’t interrupt the kid, who is studying.” Kid? Ouch…You huff as your move over, despite you complaining you make space for him, focus back on your book.

Fushiguro watched as Gojo leans closer to you, almost resting his head on your neck as he looked over to your book; after a while eyes slowly moved over to you, his expression softens.

Gojo smiles as he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair, to which you don’t react as if it was normal. Thee older man then turns his head to Fushiguro—oops,he got caught staring.

The white haired boy then grins, a condescending one in fact as he mouths out the following words.

‘y/n-is-mine.” Fushiguro huffs. ‘back-off.”

·:*¨༺ Part 2༻¨*:·

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[pin-k-ink]

OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

[antiwhores]

Rough and Fragile -

Bakugou x reader

Content: rough sex (hair pulling, biting, spanking, etc), SMUT!

Bakugou has fantasies of how aggressive he’d fuck you. The only problem is that he doesn’t want to hurt you… but what if you wanted to be hurt?

——

Its really hard for Bakugou to hold back for the first few times he fucks you.

Well, “fucks you” is an incorrect way to put it. It’s slow sex. Society would call it “making love”. It’s difficult to understand. Fucking can mean making love, but it can also mean just… fucking? Making love can mean fucking but it also means it’s filled with love.

That doesn’t too much matter to him. The only thing that matters is that he doesn’t hurt you.

Bakugou is, as we all know, a strong man. You, being a regular and not physically trained individual, are delicate to him. He sees you as fragile. He doesn’t want to break the most important part of his life.

That means that he has to hold back his urges to pull your hair, slam into you rough, slap your ass, bite you, and overall leave marks on your skin. He knows that it’s fucked up that he wants to hurt you. That’s why he doesn’t. And if that’s what it takes to keep you, then he’s willing to keep himself in check for the rest of his life.

But fuck, it’s probably the hardest thing he’s ever done.

He grits his teeth as he carefully moves his hips to connect with your pussy. His strokes are calculated, careful not to scare you but not careful enough to make it seem like he’s holding back.

It’s been a particularly hard day for him. His day off alined with yours so he got to wake up next to you. It was hard to leave you to go indulge in his morning workout. He had gotten back anxious to touch you. Busy schedules made sex impossible.

Due to his terrible luck, you were gone when he got back. He now remembers that you had to go grab some groceries with your spare time. You could’ve at least took him with you!

The day was full of turns of events. He waited for you to come back but eventually got bored. He took a quick walk around the neighborhood and when he got back you were in the shower. Just before you got out, he got a call from his agency reminding him of his schedule tomorrow. He got off the phone fifteen minutes later and immediately rushed to the bedroom to see you. You were in the bed snoring. He sighed and went to take a shower too since he was caked in sweat from his work out. He got out thirty minutes later to an empty bed. Turns out you had gone to get some soil for the plants.

When you two finally saw each other, it didn’t take long before you were below him.

He catches himself gripping you too hard due to a squeeze of your walls. He had to slow down, taking deep breaths in hopes to calm himself.

Unfortunately, today had him pent up to where he was loosing control.

He didn’t even notice when his hand had gripped your hair and pulled. He buried his face into your neck and started to speed up. He grabbed your hips and let off little pops from his palms. The smell of you distracted him from his vows. He was climbing his high better than ever before.

He finally snapped out of it when he felt your hands scrape his back. He stilled, his heart dropping.

It was over. Now you’d be scared of him and never talk to him again. His awful fantasies will drive you to move on to a guy that doesn’t want to hurt you while fucking you hard.

He hesitated while trying to find the proper words to apologize. You spoke first.

“What’s wrong?”

He was stunned. You weren’t freaked out?

“I just…”

He grit his teeth at his voice. He sounded desperate, whiny.

“Why’d you stop? Did I do something?”

The anxious look on your face wasn’t directed towards him, but to yourself. You had thought that you hadn’t reacted good enough. Were you not supposed to moan as loud as you did? Were you even supposed to like it?

“What? No. I just-“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird-“

“You weren’t weird! It’s my fault. I just lost control.”

Your face fixed into a puzzled expression.

“What?”

He sighed.

“I want to hurt you. I want to fuck you rough, handle you rough. I don’t know why. I just want to ruin your hair and make marks all over your body. I’ve been holding back because I don’t want to see you in more pain than pleasure. I promise to never do it again if you give me another chance. I’m sorry, y/n.”

He was prepared for you to push him off. He looked for the inevitable terrified expression. A wince left him when you removed your hands for his shoulders.

He wasn’t expecting you to cup his face in your palms. You gently kiss his nose, your fingers trailing to glide down his abdomen.

“What if I want to be hurt?”

He doesn’t much remember what happened after that. He figures that he pounced on you, fucking you as rough as he’d dreamed of.

Your moans were louder than ever before. You were restrained by your wrists with his right hand. The other one pulled brutally at your hair. His cock abused your hole, ensuring you’d have a hard time walking tomorrow.

Every thrust had him gritting his teeth whilst your eyes fluttered. He unrestrained your hands while his travelled down to your ass, giving it a good slap. You moaned in confirmation so he slapped you again, this time adding some sparks.

Your nails dragged against his skin, surely leaving red marks. He’s never felt better, you agreed completely. You begged for him as you felt your high approaching. He felt his too, getting rougher by the second.

You let out a drawn out whine as you came, fingers pulling at his hair. The tightness of your orgasm against his cock immediately hit him with his own. He was attacked so suddenly that he had to bite into your shoulder to cope with the intense pleasure. A groan came from deep inside his chest as he filled your hole with cum.

His shaking stopped just after yours. He let the tension go when you relaxed. He felt the taste of iron in his mouth from the bite. Licking his lips with a smirk, he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Too rough for ya?”

You looked up at him with stars in your eyes.

“I can take whatever you give me and you know it!”

You weren’t the fragile girl he thought you were.