#The bitchy digs at each other?

[iswearimahuman]

rewatching dbd and why the night nurse and the notary lady kinda giving bitter exes….

[contact-guy]

(content warning for drugs, scarring, and needles!!!)

This is part one of THE SIGN OF THE FOUR...please bear with the angst, but Holmes and Watson are sooo bitchy to each other in the opening of this story and I wanted to dig into it.

Part two

(this is part of the Watson's sketchbook series)

EDIT since someone asked - these are all direct lines from the book except for the section that starts with "you will have work again" and ends with "I know there have been rumours", which is my little addition to explain certain things

[itneverendshere]

hii i love your writing !! so i saw your comment on said it a million times, only stay with you one more night where you said that rafe is catching feelings only to fuck it up all over when he ignores her in public and i was wondering if you could write a second part where that happens ?

hiiii! thank you sm for the compliment and for the request 🫂 Hope you enjoy ❤️

been busy digging out her grave - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

working at lila’s restaurant was something you usually tried to avoid, but since she was short-staffed today and needed your help, you figured why not? it wasn’t like you had anything better to do. plus, you owed her a favor. so, there you were, tying your apron on in front of the mirror in the back, trying to pep talk yourself into surviving a day dealing with kooks and tourists.

the air inside always smelt of fried food and coffee, the kind that clung to your clothes no matter how many showers you’d take. you slid out from the back, letting the swing door creak behind you as you moved to the counter, mentally preparing yourself to smile at whatever entitled ass came through the door.

it wasn’t until about halfway through your shift, wiping down the counter and refilling coffee cups, that you noticed them. and by them, you mean him. rafe.

you stopped dead in your tracks for a second, the plates hot in your hands. your breath caught in your throat like you’d swallowed an entire lemon. he strolled in with his pack of kook friends like they owned the place—probably felt like they did too. topper, kelce, and a couple of girls whose names you couldn’t be bothered to remember followed him, laughing loudly, taking up space in that obnoxious way only people like them could.

he didn’t even glance in your direction as they settled into one of the corner booths. not even a look of recognition, but you’d told him you were working here for the day.

just last night, he had you pinned against his bed again, telling you, again, how much he wanted you to stay, whispering that shit in your ear.

now? he acted like you were invisible. un-fucking-believable. one minute he was texting you at 2 a.m., asking you to come over, and the next, he was pretending like you didn’t exist. all because he didn’t want his perfect little kook world knowing he was messing around with a pogue. and that was okay before. until he started asking you to stay, and you did.

apparently, you were a fucking idiot because here you were, pissed off that he couldn’t even look you in the eye.

you grabbed the menus, biting back the urge to roll your eyes, and walked over to their table. “here are your menus,” you said flatly, shoving one in each of their faces without the fake cheer you’d reserved for the tourists.

the girls barely acknowledged you, too busy giggling at something topper said. kelce glanced up briefly, offering a half-assed smirk, while rafe kept his eyes locked on the table, fingers playing with the edge of his napkin like he hadn’t spent the last few nights wrapped up in you.

you caught one of the girls whispering something under her breath. “didn’t know they let just anyone work here.”

her name was sloan or something equally forgettable, always draped on topper’s arm like a chanel bag. she didn’t know you, but she knew enough about you to judge. she was wearing sunglasses indoors, for fuck’s sake. the other girl snorted, and you felt your fingers tighten around the pen.

breathe. 

you had half a mind to snap back. if you were outside, on the street or at a party, you would’ve ripped into them without hesitation. you’d read them for filth in a way they wouldn’t forget. but here? in the middle of the restaurant? lila didn’t need you starting shit, and you didn’t need to lose a good payment over some entitled brats.

rafe said nothing. just sat there, tapping his fingers on the table as if you weren’t even standing right there.

you forced a smile. "you guys ready to order?"

and there it was.

he finally looked at you, but it wasn’t how you wanted him to. his eyes slid over you like you were a stranger — not like the girl he’d kissed breathless hours ago, or the one he had been whispering 'stay' to. he looked at you like you were just…some waitress. 

“coffee. black.” his tone was curt, clipped, like he couldn’t stand to speak to you.

you fought the urge to throw the fucking pot at his head.

“coming right up,” you chirped, giving them your best fake grin before spinning away and stalking back to the counter.

you busied yourself with the coffee, pouring it so forcefully you nearly overflowed the cup. unreal. he had the nerve to sit here, in your space, with his little kook posse, pretending like he wasn’t the same guy begging you to stay wrapped up in his sheets. and for what? to keep up his dumb little façade?

you used to be able to ignore it, pretend it didn’t matter because you didn’t care. you were just having fun, right? it was never supposed to be more than that. except, somewhere along the line, it did become more. he’d made it more, pulling you in deeper with every touch, every late-night call. and now, standing here in this sticky-ass diner, staring at his stupid, perfect face as he chatted up some girl who probably didn’t even know your name? it made you want to set the entire place on fire while they were still inside.

you slammed the coffee cup down a little harder than necessary when you returned to their table. “anything else?” you asked sweetly, practically daring him to say something. but of course, he didn’t. just took the cup without even looking at you. typical.

“uh, yeah, can we get some pancakes?” kelce piped up, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off you. “and bacon. like, extra crispy?”

“sure,” you bit out, scribbling it down before turning away. you made your way back behind the counter, slamming the order slip onto the kitchen window with a little more force than needed.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” lila, the owner, called from the back. she was probably picking up on your mood from the way you were practically shaking in irritation. “you look like you’re about to spit in someone’s food.”

you glanced back at the corner booth where rafe sat, laughing now at something topper said. “nope,” you lied through gritted teeth. “just having a great time.”

“mm-hmm,” lila hummed, giving you a skeptical look before disappearing into the back.

you busied yourself by wiping down the counter—again. anything to keep yourself from glaring over there and blowing your cover. because he wasn’t worth it, right? he wasn’t worth losing your cool over in front of a bunch of stuck-up kooks. he was just some guy.

except, some guy didn’t have you falling asleep in his arms one night, then acting like you were nothing the next. ugh. you clenched the rag tighter, scrubbing hard at a nonexistent stain on the counter, gritting your teeth as his laugh rang out again. 

he knew exactly what he was doing. sitting there, ignoring you, acting like you didn’t matter—like you hadn’t been sprawled out on his bed while he kissed his name into your skin.

“girl, you’re gonna break the counter.”

the sound of a familiar voice snapped you out of your spiraling.

you looked up to see your friend phoebe leaning against the entrance, one eyebrow raised. she must’ve popped in on her break or something. great timing. you shot her a look.

“don’t even start,” you muttered, tossing the rag down with a little too much force.

she peeked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, a scoff escaping her lips. “oh, them,” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “what, rafe can’t keep it in his pants for a whole day?”

“he can’t keep his ego in check.” you crossed your arms, eyes moving over to the corner before you could stop yourself. he still wasn’t looking at you. the way he leaned back in the booth, one arm slung over the backrest, talking to the girl next to him—like he didn’t have a care in the world. like you didn’t exist.

phoebe followed your gaze, her expression turning incredulous. “are you serious right now?” she asked, lowering her voice. “what happened to just hooking up for fun? ‘don’t care what he does when ’m not around,’” she mocked lightly, using your own words against you.

“yeah, well, that was before he started acting like a complete dick,” you shot back, cheeks flushing.

“started?” she snorted, “he’s always been a dick. so have you. you gonna be okay, or am i about to see you dump coffee in his lap?”

the thought was tempting. really tempting. but you forced yourself to shake your head. “’m fine. he’s just… being rafe.” you hated how flat the words sounded. like an excuse. like you were giving him a free pass to treat you like this.

phoebe didn’t look convinced. “uh-huh. well, if you need a distraction, ’m here. want me to spill something on topper’s head? just say the word.”

god, you needed her right now. “as tempting as that sounds, lila would probably kill me. then i’d really owe her more than a shift.”

she shrugged. “worth it. but fine, i’ll behave.” she straightened, sending you a knowing look. “but seriously, babe. don’t let him get to you. rafe cameron’s just a bored little rich boy playing games.”

you knew she was right. of course she was right. but that didn’t stop that feeling from creeping up in your chest. like you’d expected better, even though you knew you shouldn’t have. because this was still rafe. and rafe was never going to be anything but a complication.

“i just…thought maybe…” you trailed off, words sticking in your throat. thought maybe what? that he’d change? that he’d stop being a total asshole just because you were starting to want more?

“yeah, well, stop thinking,” phoebe said bluntly. “he’s not worth it and he’s sucking the personality out of’ya.”

you swallowed hard, nodding. she was right. he wasn’t. and you needed to remember that. but just as you were about to say something, movement caught your eye.

rafe was standing now, making his way to the counter, his long stride unhurried as if he had all the time in the world. 

phoebe stiffened beside you, “you want me to stay?”

“no.” you forced the word out, squaring your shoulders. “i got this.”

“okay.” she gave you one last look before slipping out the door, leaving you alone behind the counter just as rafe stopped in front of you. he stood there, all six feet of arrogance staring down at you with that expression that made your skin crawl.

“can i help you?” you asked, voice dripping with forced politeness. you met his eyes, refusing to back down, even as your heart hammered against your ribs.

he moved, leaning forward just enough to close some of the distance between you. “need the bill,” he said flatly, like he wasn’t currently tearing your already frayed nerves to shreds.

that’s it? the bill?

you’re just the waitress now. wow. this was rafe. rafe, who couldn’t even look at you, who couldn’t acknowledge what the hell was happening between you beyond those late-night calls and tangled sheets.

“of course,” you said sweetly, forcing a smile even though you wanted to scream. “i’ll be right back.” you turned away without another word, fighting the urge to hurl the fucking notepad at his head. you busied yourself at the register, punching in numbers with way more strength than necessary, imagining it was his face.

once you were done, you looked up to see his back was to you as he fished out his wallet, sliding his card into the reader. you kept your face neutral, biting back the million things you wanted to scream at him. the receipt printed out, and he leaned down, scribbling something quickly before straightening up.

and just as you thought he’d turn and leave like nothing had happened; he did something that made you freeze in place. he dropped a couple of crisp bills onto the counter—more than a couple, actually—and then slid the check over to your side without a word.

what the hell?

you blinked, staring at the pile of cash. that was way more than the standard 20%. fuck, it was enough to cover your rent for the next month, let alone one meal’s worth of shitty coffee and bacon. 

“what the fuck is this, country club?” you blurted out. he stilled, eyes snapping up to yours, that mask of indifference slipping just the tiniest bit. “what, trying to buy me off now? think i’ll just smile and say ‘thank you, sir’ because you threw a couple hundred my way?”

“stop,” he muttered, eyes darting around like he was worried someone might hear. “it’s just—”

“no, you don’t get to ‘just’ me,” you hissed over the counter, “you don’t get to pull this shit like you’re being generous.” you shoved the bills back toward him, nostrils flaring. “take your fucking money. i don’t want it.”

but he didn’t move. just stood there, jaw clenched, blue eyes boring into yours. “it’s not—” he cut himself off, scrubbing a hand down his face, looking almost frustrated. “it’s not like that. ’m just trying to—”

“trying to what?” you shot back, “make yourself feel better? or make me shut up and go along with this bullshit like a good little pogue?” the last word dripped with contempt.

he flinched, the reaction so quick you almost missed it. almost. “’m just giving you a tip. it’s what you want, right?” his tone turned biting, “for your work, I mean.”

your mouth dropped open, stunned. “wow. you’re such an asshole, you know that?” you shoved the wad of cash back at him with a force that sent the bills scattering across the counter. “keep it. use it to buy yourself some decency, because clearly, you’re running low.”

his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pick up the money. just stood there, jaw ticking, like he couldn’t decide whether to fight back or walk away. it made you want to scream. you wanted to claw at that cold, emotionless shell of his until something—anything—broke through.

“you’re overreacting,” he muttered. and that was it. just those three stupid, dismissive words.

overreacting? after everything?

“get out,” you said flatly, hands shaking. “get the hell out.”

without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the restaurant, leaving the crumpled bills scattered across the counter like the mess of your emotions. the door swung shut behind him, the bell chiming softly. you stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your chest right open. and for a second, you almost reached out, almost scooped up the cash just to throw it at his retreating back. but you didn’t.

instead, you swiped the bills off the counter, crumpling them up into a tight fist and then, with a furious exhale, you chucked the whole wad into the trash can.

because if rafe thought he could buy your silence, your compliance, you, with a handful of cash, then he didn’t know a fucking thing about you at all.

[alchemistc]

"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I don't even have a clear storyline in mind for this, but I just really, really want to see a modern AU with Eddie as a detective who investigates the Harrington Pharma company. The company is huge and looks clean on paper, but Eddie has a nose for these things, he knows something is wrong. He knows that Richard Harrington ran some sketchy trials and some of Wayne's friends have lifelong health issues, Chief Jim Hopper included.

The company looks almost impenetrable, but Eddie digs. No detail is too small for him. He crosses paths with the owner's son and a board member, Steve Harrington. Eddie despises him. A fucking rich kid, making millions out of other people's misery. His public appearances are well rehearsed, but Eddie knows his type. A shallow, pretty partying douchebag who hasn't had to work a single day in his life. His PR manager Robin Buckley seems way too decent to work with such a bunch of assholes, but Eddie's seen what money can do to people. Either way she's corrupt too.

He meets the younger Harrington several times. The handsome young man is not openly hostile, but he's condescending, bitchy and he looks at Eddie as if he were dirt. "Good luck with your efforts," he sneers when he sees Eddie digging through the public records of Harrington Pharma. "But maybe get a real hobby instead? I hear golf is nice." Eddie wants to murder him.

Eddie cooperates with an investigative journalist, Nancy Wheeler, who keeps all her cards close to her chest, but she still points him in the right direction several times. He collects evidence, partners up with the public prosecutor Joyce Byers. He even meets her son, Jonathan, who is able to get the most damning photographic evidence. No one fully trusts each other, but that's okay. Harrington Pharma is their shared enemy and that's enough.

One day, Eddie makes a mistake. He sneaks into the Harrington Pharma archives and miscalculates the guard shifts. He's stuck hiding under an old desk for hours, he's slowly losing hope, he has no way to contact anyone, his legs are cramping and he's exhausted, but then he hears a familiar voice talking with the guard.

"Hi, Tommy. All good? How's Carol and the kids? That's wonderful to hear. I just need to verify some records for dad, it's not a big deal. Have you had your smoke break yet? You can go, stretch your legs. I'll be here for at least half an hour."

Shit. It's Steve fucking Harrington. Eddie tries to stay still and will his muscles to cooperate, and he thinks he's doing a great job, but then-

"You can come out now. He's gone."

Eddie freezes. How the fuck does he know?

Harrington's voice is quiet, urgent. "Damn it, Munson! You have ten minutes tops before he comes back, so stop playing hide and seek with me!"

He manages to get back on his feet, uncertain and wobbly, and when he sees Harrington leaning over the desk, he's half ready for a fight. But the other man doesn't make a move, doesn't call out to anyone. He just hands Eddie a folder, some of them are the files he selected, but some are new. "I added a few that you missed," hisses Harrington and leans into the corridor. "I'll go first, get Tommy to focus somewhere else. You run to the right and pray to anyone willing to listen. And most importantly," he says, and shit, Steve Harrington can sound serious if he wants to!, "I never saw you here. You heard me come in, used the opportunity and bolted. Clear?"

Eddie just nods. He watches as Steve extends his arm, probably grabbing Tommy by the shoulders and leading him to the other end of the building, he sneaks as far as he can and then he madly dashes for the hole in the fence he made earlier.

The files are it. With all the evidence Nancy, Jonathan and Eddie collected, Joyce can finally take that dark empire down. Eddie is there every day, watches the trial, but then he hears that there are two witnesses for the prosecution from inside the company itself.

It's Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.

He sees Steve give him a wink from the stand and he wants to kiss the man. Eddie hears all of it in the following days - how Steve used to date Nancy Wheeler, but then her best friend Barb Holland died due to a mishandled drug trial for her condition by Harrington Pharma. How Nancy broke up with Steve, but even with no chance of rekindling their relationship, he vowed to stop his father for good. How he worked in the company for years, climbed the ladder, managed to make enough connections to get his friend Robin Buckley the position of a PR manager. How she helped him to keep up the charade until the very end.

When the Harrington empire finally falls, Eddie watches quietly as Steve embraces Nancy, whispering to her that she did so well, that Barb would be proud. "We finally did it, Nance. We're finally free."

And then, before Eddie can disappear, Harrington is walking towards him, the mask finally off. He looks younger now, his smile is genuine and Eddie can't help it, his traitorous heart is telling him that this is the single part of the Harrington case he'll never leave behind.

"Hi," says Steve. "I...uh. I just wanted to say sorry for all the nasty things I said before. I had to for my cover, but...I just want you to know, I really appreciate what you did."

Eddie just stares at him, blush forming on his cheeks and a crush blooming in his heart. "I'm pretty sure I just butchered your career," he mutters. "And you're thanking me?"

Steve shrugs. "I mean. I'm out of job, I'm a known whistleblower now and my dad's lawyers will probably try to sue me. So that's not great. But if you want to ease your conscience...take me out for a coffee?" Another wink, another squeeze around Eddie's heart.

Eddie fakes a deep sigh and takes Steve by the elbow. "I don't think a single coffee is going to get rid of all my guilt, but it's a start. Maybe a lunch tomorrow would help my healing process?"

Laughing, Steve nudges his side. "Anything for your peace of mind, Eddie."

[katsu28]

"send ☕ along with a prompt from any one of the lists below and a character of your choosing, and i'll write you a one shot to satisfy your craving!"

☕: prompt 23 from list e for rafe!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

it pains me to paint my pogues in a not so great light but i will forever love protective rafe <3 thank you for requesting!

rafe cameron x reader, minimal swearing, 1.9k

“Look who it is! The Princess Kook, slummin’ it on our side of the island for once.” 

Your grip tightened around the pack of beer you were holding at the voice coming from behind you, because you already knew who it was. There was only one person ballsy enough to speak so critically of you, and you were pretty damn sure he was standing right behind you.

Lo and behold there he was, flanked by a more bored looking John B. 

JJ Maybank was and always had been on your case, though you suspected it had more to do with your family name than with you yourself—always spouting off about money and wealth and eating the rich. You understood where he was coming from, of course, but that didn’t mean it stopped being irritating.

It just seemed like he was always riding you about being some little rich girl with daddy’s money, not an actual person, with actual feelings. But after a while, you’d grown used to it. JJ was all bark and no bite. 

“Hi, JJ.” You sighed, shifting your weight to one leg. You nodded at John B, who did the same back to you. “How’s it going?” 

“Didn’t know our booze was good enough for Her Majesty’s taste.” JJ sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. You rolled your eyes at his dig. “Rafe know you’re over here?” 

“He’s not my keeper.” 

“What’re you even doing here, Y/N? They don’t got beer on Figure Eight?” John B sounded a little bit nicer, more tired than bitchy like his blond friend. 

“Cheaper here.” 

“Like you don’t have enough fuckin’ money.” JJ scoffed. John B jabbed a sharp elbow into his side, a sign for him to shut up. 

“Look guys, I’m not looking for any trouble. I just wanna get some beer and go home, that’s it.” 

“How ‘bout you leave the beer here and run back to your little princess castle instead?” 

“You’re a real prick tonight, JJ. Something got your panties all up in a bunch?” You shouldn’t have snarked back, that you knew, but he was really getting on your nerves tonight. You weren’t sure why. His words usually just slid right off you. 

JJ’s expression darkened and he scowled, brows furrowing. “Maybe ‘cause I just got fired from the Club this morning.” 

“What, why?” You asked, surprised. It was a genuine question. JJ was a definite pain in your ass, maybe with an attitude problem but still a good employee. 

“Oh, drop the clueless act. Pretty sure it was one of your stuck up friends who complained.” 

“I’m sorry you got fired, JJ, I am, but I had nothing to do with it. And there’s nothing I can do about it either. I don’t have that kind of pull with anyone at the Club, neither does my family.” 

You figured it would be better if you left now before JJ came up with another retort, or you'd likely be here trading snippy insults with each other all night, and you had better things to do with your time. There was some sympathy in you for him, but your statement was still true. There was nothing you could do for him, even if you wanted to. And besides, Rafe was waiting on you for a movie night. 

Leaving the conversation and the beer you were supposed to get behind, you hurried back to your car. The quicker you got to Rafe’s place, the quicker you could forget about it. 

Only a couple minutes into the drive, headlights flashed in your mirror. No big deal, probably just someone heading the same way as you. You were on the main road to the other side of the island, after all. 

Then the car sped up a bit, coming dangerously close to your back bumper before retreating a sizable distance behind—once, twice. By the third time, you were starting to get a little pissed. 

“What the fuck?” You muttered, squinting to get a better look at it. A big camper van, old from what you make out in the darkness, faded orange—oh fuck. You knew that van, John B’s old clunker of a car. And if you squinted a little harder, you could almost make out the same blond head of hair that was antagonizing you back at the store. 

So JJ did have a little bite in him. You sure as hell weren’t going to stick around to find out. 

Stepping on the gas a little harder, you took the long way back to the Figure 8, weaving through the backroads you’d known like the back of your hand since before you were able to drive. Back then, you’d done it on your bike, peals of laughter echoing through the overgrown fields of the Cut turned clean lines of pristinely cut lawns the closer you got to home, as Rafe chased after you on his own. 

Still, the van followed you on your way. With every glance at it in the rearview mirror, you grew a little more worried.

JJ’s driving was erratic, like he was playing a game of cat and mouse with you. If he really wanted to hurt you, this would be the ideal place to do it. There was nothing but grass and weeds around here. Nobody would find you for hours, even days if he were to run you into a ditch or something. 

That thought alone spurred you to drive even faster, driving and driving until you took one more look in the mirror to see that the van had stopped. You watched the headlights grow smaller in the distance, forcing yourself to keep driving until you got to safety—to Rafe. 

You screeched to a stop in front of Rafe’s townhouse, barely giving a backwards glance to see if they were really gone before hurrying the rest of the way to the front door. Hands trembling, you balled them both into fists, raising one to knock as loudly as you could. You could barely hear the thud of your fist on the wood over your thundering heart. 

The door opened in an instant, Rafe’s smiling face greeting you. It quickly faded when he took in your wide eyes, your hard breathing. He pulled you inside immediately, sliding the locks home behind you before gathering you into his arms. “What happened?”

You explained as quick as you could, but the adrenaline from the whole thing was starting to die down. Your previous thoughts were starting to seem silly at this point. JJ was a hothead, but you didn't think he’d go so far as to take out his anger on you. He was probably just trying to scare you, nothing more, nothing less. 

Rafe, on the other hand, was livid. 

“Did they hurt you?” He asked, voice dangerously low. His eyes searched you for any visible injuries, hands sliding over your body with the utmost care, a stark contrast to the storm creeping into his beautiful blue eyes. “I swear to god if those punks even laid a finger on you—” 

“No, no, they didn’t hurt me, Rafe. I’m okay now, I promise. Just a little shaken up is all.” You assured him, stopping his search by lacing your fingers through his. He still looked unsure. “I���m fine, baby. Honest.” 

Rafe’s brows furrowed long and hard, and you reached up, attempting to smooth out the deep wrinkle between them with your thumb. 

You traced above one of them, trailing down over the skin under it before letting your palm settle against his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut for a split second as he leaned more into your touch. The wrinkle disappeared. 

“Okay. But you’re not going home tonight. You’re gonna stay here, with me, and I’m gonna have a talk with my sister in the morning, okay?” He was calmer now, you could tell. The sharp edge to his voice was gone, his shoulders relaxed the more you stroked along his skin. You nodded, satisfied. “Can I make you something? Tea? A snack? I’ve got those cheese puffs you’re so obsessed with, though I don’t really see how good—” 

“Rafe,” You chided, smiling warmly, “You don’t have to dote on me. I’m fine.” 

“I know. My girl’s strong.” He murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of your palm. “Just had me worried for a bit, that’s all.” 

You kissed him, short and sweet, before tugging him towards the living room. Your gaze landed on the snacks he’d laid out on the coffee table first, drifting to the heaps of blankets and pillows on the couch right after.

Everything was already set up perfectly, and with all that had happened in just the past hour, sent a warmth flooding through your body, a sense of safe and love and home that you only ever felt when you were with Rafe. 

Rafe suddenly looked bashful, scratching the back of his neck with an embarrassed grin at the way you were looking at him. “What? I was excited to see you.” 

“You saw me yesterday, Rafe.” You chided lightly, completely failing at a stern look in favor of something much fonder. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.” 

“Rafe Cameron, are you going soft on me?” You hummed, settling onto the couch. Rafe threw himself down next to you with a nonchalant shrug, resting an idle hand on your knee when you threw your legs across his thighs, but the answer was a resounding yes.

Yes, he was soft for you. Yes, he loved you more than he loved anything and anyone in this world. 

He knew it, you knew it, and that was what prompted him to speak his next words. 

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking.” 

“Uh oh.” You snickered, drawing a roll of his eyes with a lopsided smile. 

“Hilarious. Anyways, um, what would—I mean, what’re your thoughts about maybe…moving in with me?” 

“Here?” Maybe you sounded a bit more skeptical than you meant to, because Rafe quickly backtracked, sitting up straight. 

“Doesn’t have to be here. We could get a new place, if you want.” He replied, shaking his head. “Top’s uncle works in real estate, I could probably get him to show us some places within the next couple of days—”

“No.” 

Rafe’s expression crumpled. “No? No, as in no, you don’t want to live together?” 

You amended your rather blunt statement with a hand placed over his. “No, as in no, I don’t want to get a new place. I wanna live here. With you.” 

“You do?” 

“Don’t look so surprised, Cameron, your place is way nicer than mine.” You teased. Clearly amused, he scoffed, giving your calf a playful pinch. 

“That the only reason?” 

“‘Course not. I’m also looking forward to that fancy shower head in your bathroom.” 

Rafe snorted, pulling you close against him, pressing his forehead against yours. He looked a bit funny like this, nearly bug-eyed because of your close proximity, but you thought he’d never looked cuter. “And me?” 

You peppered kisses to his cheeks, chin, nose, the corners of his mouth in lieu of an answer, loud and over dramatic and definitely obnoxious, but it made him laugh. Then you kissed him right where he wanted, firm and loving against his lips to say yes, always you, and he smiled. 

Moving in with Rafe meant getting to hear your favorite laugh, see your favorite smile, every single day waking up next to him. You hoped you’d get to experience it for the rest of your life, starting now. 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 4

Part 1 Part 3

We should go to the store,” Steve says. 

He says it mostly to get Munson’s blood up. The silence is digging into his head, making every breath the other takes sound like the ragged wail of that fucking monster.

The longer he stays there, crouched in the trees, the harder it is to tell how much of the ache in his stomach is fear, and how much is hunger. They should find food, water, shelter, a way out of this bullshit.

Munson scoffs. “Looks like you’re getting your way, huh King Steve?”

Steve stands, legs unsteady. His feet are cold and bare in the dirt, gone numb around the ants under his skin. His hand aches from clutching the other boys. He drops it, shaking out the clenched nerves. “Yeah,” he says, channeling all the bitchiness Carol had hammered into his head over pseudo girls nights, “I summoned that thing into my bedroom just because I really wanted to go on a shopping date with you Munson.”

He starts through the woods in the general direction of the store, smiling at the sound of Munson sputtering incoherently behind him before the other boys jogs to catch back up.

“Careful there, big boy.” Muson leans into his space, smile saccharine around all its cracks. “I might just go and catch feelings.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving the other boy a few steps away. He can’t stop looking around for a threat, or some tear in the air that’ll lead them back home. He wants to be warm.

The rest of the trip to Melvald’s is quiet, but every time Steve glances his way, Eddie’s biting his lip against the words practically bursting from him.

He’s always been a talker. In the hallways, on cafeteria tables, even beneath the bleachers when he’s trying to keep a low profile. His voice carries. It’s almost painful to watch him try and suppress it. 

No wonder teachers are always cursing his name.

Prying the door open is louder than Steve wants—metal creaking on hinges aged decades in a matter of hours. It echoes off the vacant shops loud enough that both boys stop, staring into each other’s panicked eyes as they wait for a sign that something is coming. The silence echoes around them, bouncing off the storefronts like a physical force.

Nothing stirs.

Steve pries the door open a tiny bit more, gesturing Munson inside. He does a dorky little curtsy on the way, pulling the gaping knees of his jeans like they’re the hems of a skirt. Steve rolls his eyes, but follows him in.

The door resists closing, but Steve pulls it shut, around the sounds of its own groans. The illusion of safety and all that. Munson must feel the same because he immediately starts chattering.

“Is this how you feel, all the time, Harrington?” he asks, bounding over to the cereal aisle and pulling a luridly orange box down from the shelf. He pries the box open, pulling at the seams of the bag like an impatient child on Christmas morning. “No budget, no coupons, just—shit.”

He drops the box around his startled expletive before immediately ripping into a new one.

“What?” Steve asks, but he’s already following in Munson’s wake and reaching down for the abandoned box. Before he even pulls the plastic bag out, he can smell the stench of food gone off. He pulls it out anyway.

Just like the door, and the street, and the water in his tap—the cereal in the bag has seemingly aged years in a matter of hours. Each wheaty bite has shriveled into itself, turning an off-putting grey and smelling like a stack of cardboard left to mold in the rain.

Munson’s still picking up and discarding boxes, movements growing more frantic with each new discovery.

In a state beyond horror, Steve wanders over to the water aisle. There’s no light on in the store, but the bottles almost seem to glow—an unholy green, murky and brackish in their pristine bottles, still lined up like it was opening day. It looks like some sort of gone-wrong science experiment from those science fiction movies Carol pretends she doesn’t like to watch. They look just like the sludge in his pipes back home.

Munson is cursing up a storm as he rounds the aisle, but he goes quiet when he sees Steve. He’s not sure what he looks like, but Munson’s hand reaches out and lands on his shoulder. Steve can barely feel its warm squeeze—can’t bear to tear his eyes away from those bottles.

It’s becoming a pattern, the way they’re always stuck together in horrified silence. It’s also becoming a pattern that one of them breaks said silence with some convoluted bullshit.

“Where’s your shoes,  man?” Munson asks, like he’s only just noticed the flesh beyond the caked-on mud.

Steve sighs, shrugging off the other boy’s hand. His toes are numbed past the point of pain as he limps to the first-aid aisle, Munson trailing in his wake.

He ends up on the ground, clutching a roll of bandages, staring down at the bottoms of his feet. The bandages are soft and spongy. Clean. But he can’t even see the abrasions on the bottoms of his feet past the dirt and mud. There’s no water. There’s nothing. So, he just sits there, feeling nothing.

He’s still on the ground. Time must be passing but he doesn’t feel it, can’t see it in the dank light of the store.

He blinks and Munson’s sitting in front of him, Steve’s right foot in his lap. There’s a crumpled pile of used wet wipes beside the other boy’s hip, the brown and red from his own feet smudged across their normally pristine white surfaces.

The package crinkles as Munson pulls the plastic lid open to tear off a fresh wipe. He’s gentle enough that it tickles slightly between the toes and on the arch of his foot as Munson scrubs the last of the dirt away.

Steve clears his throat.

Munson snaps his gaze up, fingers twitching flightily on his foot, but doesn’t stop his ministrations. “You back with me?”

Steve nods. He wants to ask where he was before but can’t force the words past his constricting throat. He feels alarmingly close to tears.

He feels like he’s been sucked out of his body and into a very small tube, compressed until his breaths come in short, punched-out bursts that never fully enter his lungs.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Munson says, voice even. He’s looking down at Steve’s foot again, stroking it almost soothingly with the dirtied towelette. “I need you to breath with me, okay?”

Munson’s breathing gets loud and purposeful—long breaths in through his nose, longer breaths out through his mouth. Steve stares, enraptured, and gasps along.

Time passes. Steve’s shoulders slump. His fingers are tingling like they do sometimes at the end of a long basketball game. Sweat dripping down his face, body buzzing with excited adrenaline, fingers buzzing with the need for the ball.

The squeeze of Munson’s hand around his ankle catapults him out of the tube and back into Melvald’s.

Embarrassment crashes into Steve. He crawls to his feet, using the shelving behind him to steady himself. He stands, with creaking knees and hobbles stiff-legged out of the aisle, tossing “I’m going to to find some shoes,” over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Munson replies, so quietly Steve can barely hear it. 

There’s a thank you stuffed deep in Steve’s throat, trying to crawl its way past his mortification. There’s gauze wrapped around the soles of his feet, containing the damage. He’s not sure when Munson even did it.

There’s not a single fucking shoe in any of the aisles–not even a fucking pair of slippers. He’s three seconds away from duct taping the bottom of his feet and calling it good when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls, slipping as his gauze, covered feet try to keep traction. Munson steadies him with a hand to his elbow.

There’s a pair of ratty sneakers clutched in his other hand, and he’s smiling dimples popping. 

“Where’d you get those?” 

Munson beams, skipping in place like a kid playing hopscotch. “Found them in the breakroom,” he says. “Do you think your highness can lower himself to wear a poor, lowly worker man’s shoes?”

His eyes are fucking twinkling. Steve’s heart fucking twitches. This whole thing is too fucking derranged for him to handle.

“What size?”

Munson cackles tossing the shoes into Steve’s chest. 

Steve bends down, pushing his feet into the shoes sockless, hoping the gauze will do enough to keep blisters at bay. They’re a little loose, so Steve ties the crumbling shoelaces tight, hoping against Munson’s fucking dimples that they don’t break. He double knots them. They hold.

“Thanks,” he says, still looking down at the ratty things. 

“Gotta clothe our knights properly for battle!” Munson says. Steve looks up just in time to see that same goofy curtsey.

“I thought I was the King?” he asks. “Have I been demoted?”

Munson laughs again, bringing a curl to his face, as if to hide his grin. “I don’t see any of your subjects around,” he says. It should be mocking, but the elbow he drives into Steve’s side is good-natured. Playful. “Besides, knights are way cooler.”

Steve sighs, can’t believe he’s devolved to playing along with this level of nerdom. “Where’s my sword then, huh Munson?”

Munson sweeps his arms wide encompassing the entirety of Melvald’s in his gesture. “You’re down on your luck, Sir Harrington. You’ve lost your noble steed and your enchanted sword to a suductress from a rival kingdom. Now you’re on a perilous quest to reclaim your property, and regain your rightful place by the King’s side!”

“And where are you in this whole mess?” Steve asks, already kicking himself for playing along.

“Well, I, Sir Steve, as the King’s devoted jester, am on this quest with you to save you from a fate worse than death.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, inching closer to Munson, unsure of why. “What’s that?”

“Boredom, of course!”

Munson’s hair is a mess. It’s more fly-away than contained. His skin looks a little oily around his forehead, and he looks absolutely ridiculous with Steve’s clothes on. But his eyes are shining, and his smile is beaming, and Steve wonders how someone can be that bright in the literal bowels of hell. 

“Shove off, Munson,” Steve laughs, shoving his shoulder lightly as he walks past.

Munson skips up to keep in pace. “Now, what, my liege?”

“So what, I’m the King again?”

Munson puts a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. “You’ll always be a King to me.”

Steve feels warmth in his cheeks, pushes it down, doesn’t think about it. What now, he says. What now? 

“Now,” he says, thinking aloud as he eyes the aisles around them. “We collect anything useful around here and go.”

“But–”

“We’re not going to last much longer without water, man.” he replies.

Munson sighs. “The quarry?” he asks, sounding like he’d rather say anything else.

“The quarry,” Steve agrees, feeling just the same. 

Part 5

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Part 2 of "Sorry I can't tonight" Where plastics take care of reader?

Sorry, I Can't Tonight part 2

part 1 ||

|| poly!plastics x fem!reader

|| Warnings; short drabble, fluffy, little swearing, brief hints of smut, no dialogue

|| Summary; the girls bring reader to Regina's place and take care of her for the night.

Requests open!

Started; october 27th

Finished; october 27th

~~~

The girls got you to Regina's home, Gretchen took you over to the couch with Karen happily skipping over. The two of them sat down on either side of you, Gretchen had her arms wrapped comfortably around you while Karen laid across both of your laps.

Regina however made her way to the kitchen. Digging through the cupboards to see what kind of comfort snacks her mom had gotten recently. She remembered what yours was and was silently relieved when she found it. That was probably the first time in a long time she'd ever actually thanked her mom for something. But it stayed in her head because she would never say that out loud.

She walked over to the three of you and handed you your snack, your eyes lit up the moment you saw it. You looked at Regina, making grabby hands at her. Wanting to give her a kiss. Regina rolled her eyes, trying to seem unbothered and neutral. Internally she thought it was the cutest thing. She leaned down, letting you pull her into a kiss as her hand came up and cupped your cheek.

Gretchen made a small 'aw' sound as she watched the two of you. She loved the softer side of Regina. It was proof that no matter how snappy or bitchy she could be, deep down.. there was a part of her that did care. Even if she tried really hard not to show it.

Regina sat down on the couch next to you, letting Karen rest her legs on her as she now sprawled across the three of you. Your hand absentmindedly played with Karen's fingers while you and the girls chatted. Gretchen going on about latest drama and pop culture moments, Regina would put in her not so kind opinions about it all. You occasionally tossed in a few one liners or your own pop culture moments you'd seen on tiktok recently. Karen kind of just vibed, watching Gretchen for the most part. It was nice. A much needed change in atmosphere from the intense study sessions you'd been doing all week. This was what you would have liked to have done more. Take the breaks you needed to spend time with your girlfriends. Listening to them reminded you of just how much you loved them.

As the night got later, the four of you switched up spots and went up to Regina's room. Getting your nightly routines done. Showering, brushing teeth, drinks of water, last checks on phones, etc. Whatever it is you normally do. Then you all got settled into Regina's bed once pjs were on and Regina grabbed her remote. Putting a movie on the TV. Though you all only watched the first bit of it, getting distracted by each other the rest of the night.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

To Be A Good Slut Girl (Mean MDoms!Sukuna & Choso x Black fsub!Reader x msub!Itadori 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Choso x Itadori Yuji x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend’s older brothers decide that they don’t like how you’re treating their kid brother (who is too oblivious and in love to realize that you’re using him for his money and his d*ck) and decide to teach you some lessons.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); R*pe; Noncon; Bitchy!Reader; Black-Coded!Reader; Mean!MDoms Sukuna & Choso; msub!Itadori; fsub!Reader; Implied Incest (The brothers don't have sex with each other! Only with the reader!); Foursome; Physical Assault; Spit Play; Daddy Kink; Boot Grinding; Collaring; Pet Play; BDSM; Handcuffs; Panty Gag; Choking; Hair-Pulling; Forced Deepthroat; Forced Orgasms; Voyeurism; Orgasm Denial; Sex Toys; Mating Press; Doggystyle; Cum Play; Facial; Some Aftercare

*IMPORTANT: This work contains depicted acts of r*pe and noncon. PLEASE beware and tread lightly while reading. I personally do not condone any of the acts written in this one shot. It is ONLY a fantasy.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Enjoy & go touch some fucking grass! Luv y’all! -Jazz 💋💋💋

**********

“Yuji, baby, can I borrow $50 to get my nails done, pleeeease?” you mock-sweetly plea.

“Oh, God, kill me,” Sukuna groans. Choso smirks at the stove, stirring a big pot of ramen broth.

“Sure thing, sweetheart!” Yuji, their sweet, gullible, "golden retriever" ass little brother chirps from the living room. “Anything for my pretty, pretty princess!”

“Please, Choso, just fuckin’ do it,” Sukuna begs, pointing a butter knife to his thick, veiny neck.

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Choso chuckles, taking the knife out of his brother's hand. “That’s his girl. He can do what he wants.” From the living room, he can hear you kissing Yuji down, your lip gloss wetly smacking.

“Yeah, but why do it in our faces?" Sukuna huffs, leaning against the counter with his tatted arms crossed. "Every time they talk, it’s about him buying her this and taking her there!” He huffs, rolling his crimson eyes. “It’s like he’s a fuckin’ bank and personal dildo to her.”

“Don't let your twin hear you talkin' 'bout her like that, Choso chastizes him, wagging a wooden spoon in his face. "This is the first real girlfriend he's ever had. Not everyone can hit it and quit it like you."

Sukuna sniffs indifferently at Choso, yanking on one of his black, spiked ponytails. Choso is the oldest of the sibling trio, acting as the dad of the two pink-haired twins. Sukuna is older than Yuji by ten minutes and is different than his little bro in every possible way: he's grumpy, sarcastic, unsociable, and goes through girls like a smoker would a pack of cigs.

Yuji, on the other hand, is sweet and liked by everyone he meets with his fluffy, pink hair, energetic personality, and dumb antics that they're damn near adorable. He trusts everybody...which includes you: his bitchy, manipulative, gold-digging girlfriend.

"Believe me, I don’t like it either," Choso tells a sulking Sukuna, "but we can’t just tell him to stop dating her. Yuji is down bad for this girl.”

Sukuna tsks, looking into the living room at you sitting on Yuji's lap in your tight little top and short, plaid school skirt where he can just see a sliver of thigh. "Unfortunately," he sighs.

It's no secret (except to Yuji) that Choso and Sukuna don't like you. They know what you're up to and they don't like it. You use their brother up until there is nothing left. Anytime you call, it's always to ask Yuji to take you to a new nightclub or buy you a new Fendi bag.

Yuji has a good job, but he's also in college. He doesn't have the funds to keep funding your mani-pedis and get you some new shoes. Not enough to keep running to the bank or the mall. But Yuji does it because he's insane over you. Five months after dating, the man is head over heels, carrying your bags behind you during shopping sprees and practically kissing your feet.

And you don't do a thing. Choso and Sukuna have yet to see you show their brother genuine love and affection. You only kiss him up and coo sweet nothings to him when he says yes to buying you something or giving you money. It boils their blood, but there isn't much they can do if Yuji likes you so damn much.

“Hey, guys!” Yuji says, suddenly skipping into the kitchen. “You guys mind keeping Y/N company? I’m gonna head out and get her some lemon pepper wings.” He gives his older brothers a gigawatt grin despite their confused scowls.

“But I’m fixin’ us ramen,” Choso states, confused. “Why are you pickin' her up food if I’m cooking for her?” He swears he doesn't mean to mention you so harshly, but he can't help it.

“Oh, she doesn’t eat Japanese food,” Yuji laughs. “And it’s no big deal! I bought stuff for me too, so I’ll just pick it up when I get her meal." He gives them a wink before heading out of the kitchen, his car keys in his pocket.

“Hold up, Yuji,” Choso says, turning to face his brother. Yuji turns around, curious and naive. Choso and Sukuna share a look, both knowing that they can't stay silent about this anymore. “So," Choso starts, clearing his throat, "you’ve been with Y/N for a long time, right?”

Yuji practically gets heart eyes at the mention of you. “Yeah,” he dreamily sighs. “Five months of bliss. She’s the best and the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen!"

Choso inhales deeply, mentally preparing to crush his brother's heart. “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but….Sukuna and I have noticed some weird things about her.” Yuji blankly blinks at him, confused. “Like what?”

“Like how she’s a gold-digging, fake ass bitch,” Sukuna snaps. Choso harshly nudges him in the side. “What?! I’m just being real!”

Yuji's eyes narrow at his brothers, alarmed at such words being hurled at his pretty, pretty princess. “What do you mean?” he scoffs. “Y/N isn’t at all like that! Sure, she asks me to buy her things and CashApp her money for shoes and makes me hold my orgasms, but that’s all part of being a good boyfriend and—“

“Wait, you said she does what?” Choso asks, gobsmacked.

“Has me buy her shoes?" Yuji questions, blinking cluelessly at them.

“No, no, the last part," Sukuna replies, just as alarmed. "She makes you hold your cum? Like….as a kink thing?” Yuji's cheeks grow pink and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean...everyone has their thing, I guess. She likes seeing me squirm, she says. Says I look cute when I’m desperate.”

Choso and Sukuna once again share a look that Yuji doesn't pay attention to. “But then she makes you cum afterward, right?” Choso pushes. Yuji suddenly grows shy, his face going beat red. “Uh���”

Sukuna rolls his crimson eyes. “C’mon, Yuji, we’re your brothers. We found your fleshlight in the dryer before, remember? You've caught us havin' sex plenty of times!”

Though still nervous, Yuji knows his brother is right and decides to be honest. “Most of the time, no. She’s usually the one that cums when we have sex.” He must realize how this sounds because he quickly tries to sugarcoat it. “B-But I don’t mind! I love pleasing my princess. She deserves everything.”

He pulls a dreamy, pussy-whipped face that has his brothers worrying even more. Just how bad do you have this boy in your hands?

“Yuji!" you call, strutting into the kitchen with your fresh bundles and Jimmy Choo sandals. Your smile fades when you see Choso and Sukuna looking pissed. “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Yuji whirls around, looking like a happy dog wagging its tail. “No, my love! What do you need?”

You wave your phone at him. “I got a notification saying that the food is ready. When you get back, can you stop and pick me up some of that strawberry cheesecake carriages for my E-pen?” You snuggle up to him, pressing your tits against his arm.

“Sure, baby girl!" he eagerly replies. "Anything you want!” You happily squeal, pecking him on the lips. “Thank you, baby,” you coo. Your phone dings then, signaling a call. “Oh, that’s my friend! I’ve gotta take this.”

You stroke Yuji's cheek for a brief moment before strutting off, your ass bouncing and swaying enticingly so in your skirt. “Isn’t she so hot?” Yuji sighs to his bros. The two don't answer, instead waving him out the door and telling him they'll save him a bowl.

Once he's out the door, Choso puts the broth on simmer and looks at an equally simmering Sukuna. "Corner the bitch?" he asks.

"Fuck yes," Choso growls. "Hurry, before Yuji gets home." But as they creep upstairs to confront you about how shitty of a girlfriend you are, Choso hears your laughs coming from Yuji's cracked bedroom and coaxes Sukuna to stay quiet as they peek into the room.

You face away from them, twirling your locks around your long nails and chatting away on the phone, unaware that you're being watched.

"Yuji's fine," you say indifferently. "He went to get me some wings. He's such a munch, girl, I swear!" You giggle at the insult to give Yuji and then scoff at whatever your friend says. "Well, yeeeah, technically, we're dating, but I'm not with him for the romance. I'm with him because he gets me whatever I want."

Choso and Sukuna give each other a wide-eyed look. This bitch!

"I'm serious!" you say to your friend. "This boy is so sprung from me and my pussy that he doesn't even care that I'm using him. He's bought me a pink Switch, paid for my makeup and nails, and gives me money for rent all because I ask him...and 'cause I give him such good head."

You giggle again, cocky. "And not only does he do that," you boast. "He's got a mouth and a dick on him! He will eat me out for days and let me ride him till I cum...and I haven't made him cum once." You toss your head back and laugh, the sound irritating Yuji's bros.

"He's my personal black card and dildo!" you laugh. "Such a dumb boy, but so, so cute!"

Choso and Sukuna can't hear anymore so they slink away from the door and back downstairs. "That bitch!" Sukuna growls, seething. "Who the fuck she think she is? I'm goin' back up there to–"

"Wait!" Choso whispers, putting a hand on his bro's chest to stop him. "I have a better idea of how to handle this." Sukuna narrows his red eyes at him. "Instead of puttin' this slut out on the street where she belongs?" he scoffs.

"You know that Yuji will never forgive us if we do that," Choso reasons. "So I have another way on how we can confront her." Sukuna blinks at him, confused yet intrigued.

"We wait till Yuji comes home and then we give her some lessons on how to be a good girlfriend for our brother." A malevolent smirk grows on Choso's lips. "We'll make it so she'll regret ever using him."

Like a lightbulb flickering on, Sukuna catches Choso's drift and returns his evil smirk. "If this idea is what I think it is, I love it already," he cackles. "That bitch won't know what hit her."

And you don't. It all happens so fast: Yuji comes home with the food and your E-pen cartridges; you take him into his bedroom to "reward"; you're on your knees with his pants down when Choso and Sukuna suddenly walk in.

You gasp and jump behind Yuji's bed. "What the fuck?!" you shriek. "Do y'all know how to knock?!" Choso smirks while Sukuna gives you a glare that could kill millions. "Oh, we do," he replies. "But sluts don't deserve privacy. 'Specially gold-digging ones like you."

You glare at Yuji's twin, angered. "Excuse me?" you hiss. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Yuji's very angry twin," Sukuna growls. "And the younger brother to our even angrier older bro." He nods at Choso who shuts the door behind him before crossing his tatted arms over his buff chest. "Yuji!" you snap, yanking at your boy toy's pant leg. "Don't let them talk to me like that!"

But Yuji just stands there, unmoving and silent. "Yuji!" you hiss, yanking on him again. "What's wrong with you?! What are you, a pussy?"

You gasp when Sukuna suddenly grabs a lockful of your hair, wrenching your head back. You didn't even notice him walking up to you from the door. "Hey, now," he tsks, "that ain't no way to talk to our kid brother. You should apologize to him."

"Yuji, go sit over there," Choso demands, nodding at the chair across the room. Yuji does so, leaving you with his two older brothers who have begun to corner you. You shake and shiver under Sukuna's fist still curled in your hair, begging Yuji for help.

"Aw, look, Choso!" Sukuna cackles. "She's scared! She should be. Fuckin' little slut." Just for fun, he yanks your hair back, emitting a pained gasp from you.

Choso kneels down in front of you, his aura intimidating and his eyes firm. "You wanna know why you're here?" he asks and you nod, tears prickling your eyes. "We overheard your little convo with your bestie, talkin' 'bout how our brother is nothin' but a personal dildo for you. How you're only usin' him for his money and his dick."

Your eyes tick to Yuji who sits sulkingly in front of the door, looking like a kicked puppy. You are then roughly snatched back by Choso, his hand gripping your chin. "Don't you fuckin' look away from me," he demands. "And don't lie either. We heard everything you said and we told Yuji too."

"And all this time he was thinkin' about how he can be a better boyfriend to your triflin' ass," Sukuna sighs. "Tragic. He should've dumped your slutty ass months ago, but nooo, he was so concerned that his pretty princess get those shoes or bag she so desperately wanted."

"That kind of behavior don't fly with us, baby," Choso adds. "So we're gonna give you some lessons on how to be a good girl for our little bro. When you walk outta here tonight, all you're gonna be thinkin' about is how you can be a good girlfriend."

"And how much we ruined you," Sukuna laughs. "And Yuji's gonna watch! After all, he needs to be taught how to put you in your place."

He wrenches your hair back hard, making your scalp sting, and bends down so he's an inch away from your face. "And if you even think about tryna escape, you won't like what happens next," he growls.

"You're gonna do everything we say if you wanna leave here tonight," Choso demands. "Do you understand?" You nod despite Sukuna's hold on your hair, but a slap to the face makes you realize your mistake. "Words," Choso growls. "Gimme words, brat."

"Y-Yes!" you whimper.

"Yes, who?" Choso prompts, still in your grill. Swallowing harshly, your brain scrambles for an answer. "Yes...Daddies," you answer, your voice wavering with fear. That must be the golden answer because Sukuna and Choso finally release you, but they still tower over you while Yuji blocks the door.

You've never been so scared in your life than now, stuck in this room and forced to face the consequences of your actions. You don’t know what they’ll do to you if you refuse. 

So when Sukuna demands that you take off your top and bra, you do. The skirt and heels stay on. 

When Choso orders you to put your hands behind your back, you do it. 

You begin to sob when he clips on some handcuffs and Sukuna snaps a collar with a leash around your neck. You feel so much like a pet. A tool to be used. 

Tears stain your pretty face and ruin your makeup, much to the brothers’ liking. “Stop fuckin’ cryin’,” Choso cooly says, his voice like ice. “You did this to yourself. You’ve got nobody to blame but you.” 

Sukuna laughs, wrapping his fist around the leather strap connected to your collar. “She’s cryin’?” he cackles. “Damn, it only took this to make you break, huh, slut? Mmm, you look so cute with ruined makeup, y’know. Can’t wait to see my cum on this mug.” 

He forces your chin up, getting a good look at your wet face. “Now let’s get you stretched out,” he chuckles. Your glassy eyes widen in fear. What does he mean by that? You get your answer when Choso presents you with a bottle of strawberry-flavored lube and a butt plug: small, silver, and shaped like a bedazzled heart. 

The two smirk down at you, unfeeling and menacing. It’s enough to make you pee yourself. You don’t fight them when they force you onto your knees, your wrists cuffed behind your back. You bend over in your little skirt, presenting your ass to the brother trio, your thong stuck between your asscheeks. 

“Look at this,” Choso sharply exhales, giving your ass a harsh smack. The sound ricochets against the walls, making Yuji squirm in his seat.

“Oh, a thong, huh?” Sukuna tsks. “Such a fuckin’ whore. Prancin’ around in public like this on my kid brother’s arm? I bet you were hopin’ for someone like us to bend you over and ruin you.” He then yanks down your panties and rips them off of your legs, the sound of fabric ripping making you flinch. “You won’t be needin’ that shit no more,” he chuckles. 

Your body trembles and shakes like a leaf in autumn when Choso squirts some lube on his fingers and begins tracing your asshole, gently probing the little hole. At the same time, Sukuna spits on his fingers and plays with your pussy. “This is as gentle as I’m gonna be with you, so enjoy it, slut,” he whispers in your ear. 

You moan and whimper like a pathetic little whore against Sukuna’s skillful, black-painted fingers, little electric shocks of pleasure coursing through you. It causes your pussy to drip and your asshole to eventually stretch around Choso’s finger. “Damn, you’re tight here,” he hisses. “I bet that cunt is even tighter.” 

“Oh, it is,” Sukuna comments, his middle finger sinking into your pussy. “Little bitch is just so hungry to be fucked by anything at this point.” While he continues to finger you and nudge your clit, Choso then pushes the butt plug into your asshole, making your jaw go slack and a whine escape your lips. You can feel it stretching you out, making your toes curl and muscles tense. 

“Relax, mama,” Choso whispers. “Just relax.” You manage to do so, inhaling and exhaling until your body unclenches and the plug sinks all the way home inside. “Show your boyfriend that little hole, pet,” Sukuna demands, smacking your ass. “Ain’t she look cute, Yuji? Like a proper slut.” 

Yuji has now unzipped his pants and has his hard dick in his hands, stroking away at the sight of you. To you see you look so slutty and submissive on your knees with your handcuffed and the bedazzled heart nestled snuggly between your soft, jiggly asscheeks under your skirt is enough to make him bust. 

You hear his soft moans and look back at your boyfriend to see him jerking off at the sight of you, a blush as pink as his hair on his cheeks and his hand gripping his long, fat cock. You’re horrified. How is he getting off to this?! 

“How’s that feel, baby?” Choso asks. “You feelin’ full?” You nod, feeling like you’re stuffed to the brim. 

“You ain’t felt nothin’ yet,” he chuckles. “But first thing’s first…” Choso tugs on your leash, forcing you to sit up on your knees. Looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a bug, he nods down at his shoe. “You wanna use somethin’ to get yourself off, use this,” he says. “C’mon, show your boo how good of a bitch you can be for his brothers.” 

You stare down at his shoe, confused. You then feel a sharp pain in your scalp as Sukuna yanks your hair back, nearly taking a track out. “What, you deaf?” he growls. “Did you fuckin’ hear what my brother said?” His hand comes down onto your ass hard, leaving a horrible sting in its wake. “Ow!” you whine. “P-Please stop!” 

“Then get that pussy on Choso’s boot or the next one is markin’ up that pretty face of yours.” You do as they both say, shimmying yourself onto the toe of Choso’s shoe. You begin to roll your hips as you grind your pussy down onto the solid surface of his shoe, feeling humiliated yet blinded by the pleasure. 

“Watch her, Yuji,” Sukuna sniggers. “Watch your bitch get off like the slut she is. This is how she should be treated for runnin’ through your pockets, don’t you agree?” 

Yuji doesn’t deny or admit to it, but he doesn’t have to. He continues to pump at his thick, leaking cock, his hand a blur as he strokes it fast. “Fuck,” he whispers. He can’t believe you–a woman who has treated him as a servant for so many months–is on her knees getting treated as a toy. And it’s so, so hot to see! 

“Ain’t that right, baby doll?” Sukuna asks you. “Shouldn’t you be treated like this for bein’ such a money-hungry slut?” You know better than to say no. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you whimper. “I’m sorry.” 

Zzzzip. Sukuna and Choso’s zippers come down and suddenly, you’re looking at two big, thick cocks that hang in your face. Sukuna’s is much girthier and has an angry, red tip while Choso’s has a hook in it and a silver stud jutting out of his dickhead. 

“Oh, you will be soon,” Sukuna says, smirking down at you. “Now open that mouth up, bitch.” You obediently do so, leading Choso and Sukuna to spit in your mouth. The sight of it makes Yuji groan. 

“You wanna use that mouth so much then you can use it somewhere else,” his twin spits. He takes a handful of his cock, stroking it while Choso makes his bob hypnotizingly, smirking at the look on your face. “Spit that shit back on our cocks, baby doll,” he orders you. 

“You don’t get a choice in this either,” Sukuna grunts. “You’re gonna take this shit and like it.” You obediently spit their saliva back onto their cocks, a string of spit connected from Choso’s dick to your bottom lip. So he goes first. They both fuck your mouth at the same fast, rough, merciless tempo, but they are still vastly different in the way they do it. 

As the first one to have your throat all to himself, Choso uses your mouth as his own personal fuck toy, yes, but he keeps a light hand on your leash and sweet talks you, showering you with praise AND degradation as he watches you forcefully swallow his dick while Sukuna fucks your hand. “Such a big girl, takin’ two big dicks at the same time, baby,” Choso coos. “I bet you like it like this, hm? Bet you love gettin’ that slutty throat used up like it should be.” 

He pulls away somewhat to slide his dick out of your mouth, giving you a chance to breathe and lick on the tip where his piercing is. The sounds of moans and filthy words fill the air, making you grind down on Choso and Sukuna’s shoes to relieve the throb of your cunt. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna is rough. Hard. Brutal. He puts your ass through the wringer with the way he grips your leash and fucks your throat, filling it up at a breakneck pace. The copious amounts of saliva that drip from your mouth and chin only make your mouth sloppier and easier to fuck. The pink-haired twin grunts and groans as he pumps in and out of your throat, using you, breaking you. 

“Look at your bitch, Yuji,” he cackles through his moans. “Look at all of that spit while she takes my cock. Does she do it like this for you?” He smacks your cheek, giving it a short sting as he fills your mouth to the brim with his cock. “You got the nerve to not make my brother cum?” he growls. “We’ll see how you like it. Keep grindin’ on my boot, but don’t you dare cum.” You do so, whimpering at the ache of your jaw and the tingling of your clit. 

Choso is loving the view as he fucks your hand, endeared by the way your nails look wrapped around his thick cock. “C’mon, baby girl, show me those eyes,” he coos. You do so though all you see is a blurry version of his face because your eyes have begun tearing up. At some point, Sukuna goes too deep and you begin to gag around his cock. 

With a groan, he releases you, allowing you to swallow down some air. “Please!” you gasp. “I can’t breathe!” Sukuna barely acknowledges this and plunges himself back into your sobbing, wet mouth. “Shut yo’ ass up,” he snarls. “Breathing is only for good girls. You ain’t earn that yet, slut. Now shut that mouth and keep suckin’ these dicks.” 

And you do. You don’t have a choice. The brothers keep switching turns, each one using your mouth up until spit is dripping down your naked chest and your mind is going blank. Yujii is about at his limit. He lets out the sluttiest moans as he jerks his dick to the sight of his brothers ruining you, his release quickly peaking. “S-Shit,” he whines. “Guys, I-I’m close!” 

“Ah-ah, little bro,” Sukuna laughs. “Nooot yeeet. We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” He pulls his dick out of your mouth with a moan and roughly yanks on your leash. “On your back, bitch. Legs spread.” 

Though your makeup is fucked, your jaw is burning, and you haven’t cum yet, they don’t care. They only care about one thing. So you get on your back and spread your legs wide, exposing your dripping, wet pussy to Yuji. He groans almost in anguish at the sight of your glistening, brown lips and throbbing clit. 

“Look at how wet she is!” Sukuna guffaws. “Dumb, horny little bitch can’t help herself! Why don’t you give her what she wants, bro?” He smirks at Choso who is looking at you like you’re a platter he wants to devour for himself. 

“Watch closely, Yuji,” he says, looking back at Yuji with a smirk. “This is how you fuck a slut.” He pulls his pants down farther and takes off his top to reveal his toned body, pierced nipples, and tatted skin. Then he’s mounting you and tossing your legs over his shoulders. 

“W-Wait!” you protest, but he is already sliding himself home inside of your tight, wet, gushing pussy. Him pushing himself inside of you somehow makes your asshole clench around the butt plug still nestled between your cheeks. A loud moan escapes your quivering lips as your eyes roll back. 

Choso pistons inside of you immediately, slamming his cock inside of your gushing cunt. “Nice, hard, and deep,” he gasps, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Hold her down. Make her take it.” He instructs this by holding you down by your throat as he fucks you into the floor, causing lewd, sloshing sounds of his cock repeatedly plunging into your sloppy cunt over and over and over again. 

Yuji watches his older brother spread you out and fuck you silly, his hand moving rapidly against his hard dick. “Oh, God,” he moans. “She looks so fuckin’ good.” His cock throbs and strains to feel one your holes squeezing around him and stroking him dry. 

Sukuna looks back at him, standing over you as he watches Choso fuck you. “Yeah?” he laughs. “You’ll get her soon, little bro. We’re just makin’ sure you know the basics.” He suddenly taps Choso’s shoulder and with a resistant groan, the oldest brother slides out of you despite your pussy clamping down to stop him.

“Lemme get her this time,” Sukuna growls. Like a basketball player who has been sitting on the sidelines for too long, he gets and turns the game out…the “game” being your pussy. He settles between your legs and tosses one over his shoulder before shoving his cock inside of you and fucking you silly. His hips slap against yours, the sound mingling with your breathless moans and his guttural grunts of pleasure. 

You’ve never been fucked like this before: so hard; so rough; so animalistic. His fingers dig into the meaty flesh of your ass and thighs, using them as leverage to fuck himself even deeper inside of you. Your pussy flutters like a butterfly’s wings around his dick, ready to burst…but then he stops. 

And then it’s Choso’s turn again. He scoops you up and places you into his lap with him underneath you. With his thighs spread, his cock bobs impatiently beneath you which he slides you onto like you’re no more than a sex doll. Your mouth goes slack as he stretches you out even more in this position. 

“C’mon, Choso,” Sukuna urges, pumping his cock in your face. “I wanna see that bitch bounce. Fuck her up.” 

And so Choso does. He grabs your hips with an iron grip and proceeds to fuck up into you as fast as a jackhammer, his balls slapping against your clit. “F-Fuck!” you scream. “T-Too much! Please, please slow down!” 

Sukuna rolls his crimson eyes at your constant, annoying screeching. “You talk way too much,” he sighs. “Guess it can’t be helped for a bratty bitch like you.” Next thing you know, his cock is in your mouth while Choso greedily fucks your pussy off of its hinges. 

“How’s this, hm?” Sukuna laughs. “You like gettin’ both these slutty holes fucked? I bet you ain’t never had it like this.” And you haven’t. You’ve never been so filled like this before! It’s so overwhelming. So humiliating. So degrading. 

And yet so good. 

“Take it, mama,” Choso huffs into your ear, slamming himself up into you again and again. “You can’t run from this shit, so you’d better take all of me.” Like you have a choice! You’re forced to take his cock that you can feel throbbing and swelling inside of you, beating up your pussy to the point where you can feel your end coming…or cumming. 

Sukuna’s cock slips out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe and warn Choso of your peak. “Gonna cum!” you whine, near tears. “I’m close!” Sukuna sighs, looking disappointed. “You’re still talking?” he grumbles. 

But Choso is enjoying it, red in the face and quickly losing composure. “I-I thinks she’s close, Sukuna,” he grunts. “God, she’s squeezin’ that pussy around me so tight!” 

Sukuna squeezes your cheeks together, mushing your lips in the shape of a fish’s. He gets close to you, stopping an inch away from your nose. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare cum,” he demands. “You don’t have permission yet. You better hold that shit if you know what’s good for you.” 

You whine in protest, tears dripping down your face coated in ruined makeup. Luckily, you don’t have to wait for too long because Choso is about ready to bust, loud, slutty moans leaving his lips. “I’m gonna cum!” he warns. “Gonna fill you up! Take my cum, baby girl!” And with one groan in your ear, his warm cum shoots inside of you, triggering your own orgasm. 

He holds you down as you both cum together, your sounds of release mingling into one as he fills you up with him. You feel warm and wet, much of his nut dripping down your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sight of the twins watching you. “Wow,” Yui gasps, in awe. “There’s so much leaking out of her!” 

“And there’s gonna be more in a minute,” Sukuna huffs. Choso pulls his softened dick out of you while Sukuna grips you up by your hair. With a squeal of pain, you’re tossed to the ground onto your knees and he points at Choso’s cum-covered cock. “Clean his cock up, you messy slut. You don’t get to get away with makin’ a mess like that.” 

Weakly, you do so, licking and lapping up Choso’s nut mixed with your cum. You lick from his balls to his shaft to the tip, earning soft moans and headstrokes in return. Finally, you finish, the taste of him heavy on your tongue. “Nicely done,” he sighs, giving you a tired smile. “But you’ve still got another dick to take.” 

And unlike Choso, Sukuna doesn’t give you any sort of tenderness. He takes what he wants and doesn’t let you off without getting it. 

He puts you on your knees–face down, ass up–and rails you into the floor. You feel his cock pump in and out of you, never once pausing or breaking that fast pace that makes you feel space behind your eyelids. 

“Yeah, bitch? Ya like that?” he asks, his words breathless and punctuated by grunts. You can’t even speak, your mouth filled with cotton 

Someone is wailing and it takes you a moment after brief deliriousness to realize that it’s you. “Damn, you can’t be quiet, can you?” he huffs. “Choso, shut this slut up so she doesn’t bust my eardrums before I can bust my nut.” 

Choso kneels before you, your panties dangling from his hand. He smirks at your horrified reaction. “Open up, mama,” he says and pushes your thong into your mouth. Sukuna groans as he drills your shit harder, turned on by the panty gag. “God, that shit is so fuckin’ hot,” he growls. “Makes me wanna fill this tight little pussy up.” 

“M-Me too,” Yuji whines from his spot in the corner. “I can’t hold back anymore, guys! I need to cum soon!” His entire body twitches and his back arches as he fucks his fist faster, wishing it was you. 

“Yeah, little Yuji?” Sukuna teasingly asks. “You wanna cum all over this whore, dontcha?” His twin eagerly nods, still pumping away at his cock dribbling in precum. With a groan, Sukuna pulls his thick cock out of you, slapping you on the ass with it. “I’ve got the perfect idea then on how we can really make our time with this cumslut count.” 

He and Choso coax Yuji over closer to you. He does so, bringing his chair and his aching cock with him. Sukuna then forces you higher up into your knees so your head is in Yuji’s lap. 

Choso kneels at your side, stroking your hair away from your mouth of ruined lipgloss, spit, and cum. “Now you wanna be a good girl for our Yuji, right, baby girl?” he asks. “You wanna show that you’re so sorry for the way you treated him?” 

You stare up at Yuji and into his desperate eyes, suddenly flooded with guilt for your previous behavior towards him before all of this. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you weakly answer his oldest brother. Choso then takes a fistful of your hair and shives your mouth down into his kid brother’s cock. “Then open that throat and suck on his cock ‘cause we’re gonna fuckin’ cover you.” 

As soon as your hot, wet mouth wraps around Yuji’s cock, he begins fucking it, grabbing your face to use it as a cock sleeve. Sukuna slides inside of you and resumes fucking you, nudging you closer to Yuji which causes him to sink deeper down your throat. “C’mon, Yuji, fuck her up,” he encouragingly grunts as he fucks you from behind. “Make her sorry that she ever treated you so bad.” 

And Yuji does. Letting out the sluttiest moans you’ve ever heard out of him, he fucks your throat until you’re gagging and slobbering all over his dick, all of your senses filled with him. “God, you’re such a good little slut!” he moans. “Gonna make me cum so hard!” 

Choso moans in agreement from beside you, his cock just inches away from your cheek as he fucks his fist at the sight of you. “Mmm, me too,” he sighs. “Just watchin’ her holes get fucked like that is doin’ all kinds of shit to me.” 

You can feel yourself about to burst too. As your pussy squeezes around Sukuna’s cock, your body aches, your knees and wrists burn, and your jaw feels as if it’s about to fall off. “Oooh, someone’s tightenin’ up,” he chuckles. He yanks on your leash, restricting your breath for a moment. “You wanna cum too, sweetness? Does that poor pussy wanna cream around this cock, hm?” 

“Mmm-hmm!” you pathetically whine around Yuji’s dick. Sukuna nods, pleased with this eager response. “Then I think you’ve got somethin’ you need to tell our brother here. And you’d better mean it if you wanna cum.” He and Choso nod at Yuji and the youngest brother lets his cock slip out of your mouth. 

You use every ounce of your breath to babble apologies as Sukuna nails your shit harder and harder: “Sorry!” you gasp. “I-I’m so, so sorry, Yuji! I’m such a bad girlfriend! I was such a bitch and I’m sorry!” 

A twinkle appears in Yuji’s widening eyes, his cheeks flushed pink. “Ya mean it?” he asks. “You’re never gonna ask me for shit again? Or ask me to send you money? Or fuck me and not make me cum?” 

“No!” you practically scream. “No, I’ll never do that to you again, Yuji, I promise!” 

The sibling trio smiles at each other. They finally broke you. “Good girl,” all three siblings say in unison. 

“Now take all of this cum,” Choso demands. “You deserve this. This is what you get.” 

In a snap, Yuji sinks his cock back into your mouth and with a whine of your name, cums deep down your throat. Choso explodes all over your tits while Sukuna cums deep inside of you, sinking his nails into your asscheeks as he fills you up. The sound of their moans of release triggers your own orgasm. With a wordless moan that turns into a broken scream, you clench your pussy around Sukuna and cum your brains out, your orgasm nearly knocking you unconscious with its strength. 

“That’s it, slutty girl,” Sukuna laughs, tugging on your leash. “Cum for us. Cum all over that dick.” You keep cumming until your body twitches and bucks as the aftershocks hit you. But as soon as they come, they fade, and the siblings commence to freeing you. 

Sukuna slowly pulls out of you and takes off your collar while Choso unlocks your handcuffs. Yuji holds you up before you fall, placing your head in his lap. You are completely covered from head to toe in cum: on your ass and titties; on your pussy where Sukuna’s drips out of you and down your thighs; on your face where your tears have ruined your makeup. 

“Now that’s a pretty ass sight,” Sukuna breathlessly laughs. “Now, you gonna be a good girl for our little brother now?” Weakly, you look up at the two older siblings and nod. But they make a disapproving face 

“Don’t tell us,” Choso orders. “Tell him.” 

Yuji looks down at you, fixing your ruined hair for you. “You gonna be my good girl from now on, princess?” he asks, using his thumb to caress your bottom lip. Swallowing harshly, you slowly nod. “Yes, Daddy,” you croak. “I promise.” 

Sukuna and Choso smile proudly at their work, happy to see your change. “Our work here is done then,” Choso sighs with satisfaction. “Now let’s eat.” 

THE END.

[thesunfyre4446]

I’m surprised to see so many people happy with the Sept scene, it’s complete illogical fan service.

They should’ve been clawing at each others faces. Instead you have Rhaenyra chuckling and joking “I’ve begun badly” girl, Vhagar made a mukkbang out of your son. A little bit of “Bitchy Alicent” peeked out towards Rhaenyra but still. Alicent knows Rhaenyra is a liar, the “On my mother’s memory” is a dig at that so why should Alicent believe at face value that Rhaenyra didn’t order Jaehaerys’s murder?

Rhaenyra also never apologizes about Jaehaerys, never expresses remorse or condolence. Her feelings last episode were more to do with it being bad publicity and less that a child her littlest sons ages was murdered. The whole thing is being treated like a one sided Rhaenicent fic where they wax on and on about Luke’s death and Alicent must repent for it every single day and twice on Sundays. While Jaehaerys is brushed over, that is if he’s even mentioned at all. His murder is never something that Rhaenyra needs to atone for. It’s never something Alicent or Helaena hold a grudge towards her for. All is forgiven.

That’s what the show is doing.

Not only that the Sept scene has ruined the potential of f Rhaenyra taking King’s landing. This meeting didn’t end badly, they didn’t throw insults or hands. Both just said they had no part in the murders of their son and grandson, both believed the other. Then Alicent let Rhaenyra go peacefully and Rhaenyra never intended on actually stabbing Alicent.

Alicent tells Rhaenyra that she meant it when she said she’d make a fine Queen- despite Rhaenyra never showing the potential to be a great ruler and Alicent deploring her for years because Rhaenyra’s lack of regard for duty usually led to Alicent having to fulfill them as well as her own and Viserys’s.

While Rhaenyra walks away from this reaffirmed with this thought that Alicent is still this pure soul and gentle heart- despite Rhaenyra accusing Alicent of hiding her true nature behind a cloak of righteousness and then saying “Now they see you as you are”. How do you go from getting sliced by Alicent to basically saying “Alicent is a sweetheart, she wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

Sure Aegon is about to almost die from injuries gotten in battle against the blacks and Rhaenyra will lose Jace and Viserys, that is going to impact both women but after this meeting of “It wasn’t me!” The other things can be explained away too, can’t they? Rhaenyra didn’t directly burn Aegon and Alicent isn’t the one who skewered Jace and kidnapped Viserys.

The build up of tension, rage, hate, resentment was just destroyed with this meeting. It doesn’t bode well for the Queen in chains/Half year reign/Maegor with teats storyline. We probably aren’t going to get one of the lines of all time, Alicent saying that her Grandson was an innocent child and Rhaenyra’s sons were “bastard blood shed at war” and Rhaenyra probably won’t even put Alicent in gold chains.

The entire war just seems pointless after this, these two started this way before Viserys died. With Driftmark or even long before that when Rhaenyra had Alicent’s father exiled from Kingslanding and Alicent wore that dress… but they don’t want to finish it anymore?? These women are about to sacrifice their whole families for this and neither of them want it. Now they realize how pointless it all was? How they could’ve co-existed in the same place?

Also, why have the writers seemingly forgotten about Alicent’s very valid fear for her children’s lives if Rhaenyra ascended? Her fears are being validated with each episode yet they’re hinging it all on the ramblings of a dying man while he was dope sick?? On Viserys’s ramblings why didn’t Alicent(the writers) remember the conversation Alicent and Viserys had by the fire in ep 3? The one where Viserys explicitly says “a male babe born to me wearing the conquerors crown” he’s describing his son Aegon. Could Alicent have not countered Rhaenyra’s “he meant the conqueror” with “No, years ago he told me the same thing”

After having the blame of her Grandson’s murder placed on her for having non dissociative sex for once in her life, yet again Alicent will be filled with guilt. This time at the thought that the entire war and its casualties are her fault because of a misunderstanding.

Free Alicent, Ryan Condals whipping boy.

I would honestly take Benioff and Weiss, at least the seasons where they had the material laid all out for them were good. Condal has a full story outline but is still fucking up right out of the gate.

(Sorry for the long rant)

anon you ate and left no crumbs. i truly have nothing to add.

up until ep 7 the show made sense. in ep 6 alicent tells aegon that if rhaenyra becomes queen him and his brother will be murdered. but by ep 8 she apparently doesn't give a fuck anymore?

[mya-valentine]

hello! i love your shigaraki hcs so would you mind making an hc of shigaraki with an s/o that’s sassy & bitchy? they’ve known other for 6-7 years. it’s an intp x intj dynamic. they are too comfortable with each other.

(i’m okay with nsfw.) 💕

Headcannon: Tomura Shigaraki With a Sassy & Bitchy S/O

A/N: Love the concept. Love the art. Love a bitchy S/O. I definitely got a little carried away with this one. I'm so glad you like my work. I tried to get a little suggestive with this. I'm not tooooo confident in it, but I don't think it's the worst thing I ever wrote, but I hope you enjoy this.

Your relationship with Shigaraki is filled with biting sarcasm and snarky comebacks. It’s like a second language between the two of you, with each of you pushing the other’s buttons in a way that no one else could dare. While others might take your sass as disrespect, Shigaraki loves it—it’s your unique way of showing affection, after all.

Your back-and-forth sarcasm often leads to a buildup of tension between you and Shigaraki. What starts as playful insults and teasing turns into heated eye contact, the room suddenly feeling smaller as you inch closer to each other. You’ll mutter something snarky, and he’ll respond with a low growl, “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” His eyes darken as he pulls you against him, the sarcasm in your voice melting away as the heat between you two builds.

Sometimes when you’re mid-argument, you find yourselves standing way too close—your chest almost brushing his. The heat from the bickering shifts into something more when you realize just how close you are. His breath will ghost over your lips, and there’s a silent dare in his eyes, challenging you to push him away or lean into him. You don’t back down easily, though, leaning in with a smirk, “Is this your way of surrendering?”

You don’t let Shigaraki get away with anything. He could be mid-rant about something trivial, and you’ll roll your eyes, muttering, “And you think I’m dramatic?” He’ll scowl at you, but deep down, he enjoys that you’re not afraid to speak your mind.

Your INTP-INTJ dynamic means you both thrive on deep, analytical conversations, though they often lead to debates. Whether it’s about strategy, philosophy, or something mundane like which game is better, you’re always challenging each other’s viewpoints. Sometimes the debates get heated, but that’s what keeps things interesting.

There are moments when Shigaraki will catch you completely off-guard. In the middle of a debate or when you’re being particularly sassy, he’ll cut you off by pulling you into a heated kiss, fingers digging into your hips as if to remind you that you might outwit him verbally, but he knows how to make you crumble. It’s a game of dominance between you two, and you both know exactly how to push the right buttons.

You’re brutally honest with each other, and it works. If Shigaraki’s plan is reckless, you’ll tell him without sugarcoating. In return, he’ll give you the same treatment, often responding with a deadpan, “You’re so annoying,” but he never wants you to change. He finds your bluntness refreshing, knowing there’s no pretense between you.

Shigaraki’s love language may be unconventional, but physical touch is his way of connecting with you. After an argument or playful exchange, he’ll make sure to leave you breathless. His hands, scarred and rough, know exactly where to touch you, whether it’s to calm you down or rile you up. He has a habit of wrapping his fingers around your waist possessively, pulling you into his lap and reminding you exactly who’s in charge.

When Shigaraki’s in one of his brooding moods around the League, you’re the only one who dares to make fun of him. “Wow, someone’s cranky. Did you run out of gamer snacks or something?” His glare is ice-cold, but you’re immune to it by now. The League members either laugh awkwardly or stay silent, completely in awe of how you handle him.

In quieter, more intimate moments, when the League is out of the way, you two find solace in your private space. The banter becomes softer, more of a game between you two. You’ll push his buttons just enough to get a rise out of him, knowing he enjoys it when you push boundaries. Shigaraki’s hands will find your hips, pulling you against him with that smirk on his face, loving how much you get under his skin.

Despite being sassy and bitchy, you’re fiercely protective of Shigaraki. If anyone in the League even thinks of undermining him, you’re the first to step up with a biting retort. “Didn’t know we were taking opinions from people who barely contribute. Sit down.”

Shigaraki can get a little possessive after intense moments between you two. He likes to remind you, in his own way, that you’re his—whether that’s by leaving subtle marks on your skin or keeping a hand on you in public to ward off anyone else. He might not say it outright, but you can feel the intensity in his gaze every time you challenge him, knowing that the fire between you two will always burn brightly.

You both roast each other constantly, and it’s always in good fun. If he’s slouching more than usual or complaining about something ridiculous, you’ll quip, “You look like a disgruntled noodle.” And when you’re being overly analytical or distant, he’ll hit back with, “You’re thinking so hard I can hear the gears grinding from here.”

Sometimes, your playful bickering takes an intense turn. You’ll have one of your usual snappy exchanges, and suddenly Shigaraki’s hands are in your hair, his lips crashing against yours to silence whatever snarky remark you were about to make. He knows you can’t resist matching his energy, and that only fuels the fire between you two.

Shigaraki loves to take advantage of your sassiness during more intimate moments. After you’ve had a particularly witty comeback, he’ll pin you to the wall, his lips trailing along your jaw as he murmurs, “You talk too much.” He knows how to make you squirm with the lightest touches, his fingers brushing over sensitive spots while teasing you about how you always have something to say—until now.

After particularly heated arguments (or heated moments), you’ll both lie there, tangled up in each other, the tension still lingering in the air. You’ll make some sassy remark, still unable to resist, and Shigaraki will respond with a smug grin, pulling you closer. “You like pushing me, don’t you?” he’ll murmur into your ear, his voice low and full of challenge. The post-argument glow only fuels the fire between you two, and it won’t be long before things heat up again.

For all your sass and bickering, you and Shigaraki share an unspoken bond that allows you to sit in silence comfortably. After an exhausting day, you’ll both retreat to your corners, him gaming, and you doing your own thing. No words are needed, but the presence of each other is more than enough.

Your energy matches perfectly—both of you can be cynical and detached from the world, but when you’re together, there’s a sense of camaraderie. Shigaraki never has to explain himself to you, and you don’t have to tone down your sass. You’ve both learned how to exist in each other’s space with an effortless flow that baffles outsiders.

The unspoken tension between you two is what keeps the relationship exciting. Even in the middle of a crowd, when you’re throwing snarky comments his way, there’s always that underlying desire simmering just beneath the surface. No one else understands the way you and Shigaraki communicate—both verbally and physically—but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your affection for Shigaraki manifests in playful insults rather than mushy sentiments. “Wow, you’re actually kind of cute when you’re not trying to destroy everything,” you’ll tease, and Shigaraki’s lips will twitch with a rare, fond smile. He responds in kind with his own version of affection: “You’re insufferable, but I guess you’re tolerable.”

Your sense of humor lines up with Shigaraki’s dark and twisted one, even if he doesn’t laugh easily. Your dry, sarcastic comments always get a smirk out of him, and he secretly loves how sharp-witted you are. Whenever the two of you witness someone being overly dramatic or incompetent, you’ll exchange a knowing glance that says it all.

When Shigaraki’s feeling down, you don’t sugarcoat things or coddle him. Instead, you’ll give him a swift kick in the ass (metaphorically speaking) with some tough love. “Quit moping, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” He appreciates that you don’t treat him like he’s fragile; you understand his strength and push him forward.

Despite the sass, you both have soft spots for each other. Shigaraki won’t admit it outright, but when he sees you working late on something, he’ll silently drop a drink or snack next to you. And while you may not laugh at his jokes or offer compliments, the little things you do—like adjusting his hoodie when he’s not paying attention—reveal how much you care.

Your relationship almost feels like a rivalry at times, with each of you trying to outwit the other. But it’s less about actual competition and more about mutual respect. You know exactly how to challenge Shigaraki, and he thrives on that tension, knowing you’re the only person who can keep up with him mentally.

Beneath the layers of sass, there’s a genuine understanding between you two. You push each other to be better—not just in terms of strategy or intellect, but emotionally as well. Shigaraki has softened slightly around you, allowing himself to feel more vulnerable, and you’ve learned to be more open, trusting him with sides of yourself that no one else gets to see.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(The final part of November Paramedic; part 6 is here and the AO3 version is here. If you want to avoid the smut, you should read on AO3.)

Eddie's apartment is full of song, but for probably the first time since he moved in it's not metal.

Max sings This Old Heart of Mine with gusto, her attention glued to her fingers as they move on the fretboard. She's in an awkward position, sitting slumped and with her leg propped onto five pillows on the coffee table. An elastic bandage is wrapped around her knee. Steve was right – she did exacerbate the injury by walking on it, and had to spend the next three days on bed rest. The knee already looks a lot better, less swollen but likely still tender, not that she's uttered a peep about it. Today is the first day she's been up and running, though not without support. Since crutches is the uncoolest kind of mobility aid Eddie took it upon himself to dig out a cane from his closet for her to use. When he asked if she liked it, she said it was great for thwacking people; he assumes that means 'yes'.

On the other end of the couch, Gareth taps along on a handheld drum. Max felt like she kept losing the rhythm and wanted extra help. Eddie is certain she was doing fine, but hey, if it calms her last-minute nerves, so be it.

The song ends, the last note lingering in the otherwise silent room. Max heaves a sigh, guitar slipping from her grip as she relaxes into her seat.

Gareth is beaming with pride; Eddie feels it too. Approximately two months of practice led to this. Just two months! He knows that she's been diligent, but still – it's impressive. Damn, he has the raddest little neighbor.

He rests his elbows on the couch's backrest and pokes Max's shoulder.

"It sounds great. You'll do amazing tomorrow."

She nods, lips tugging into a sweetly pleased smile.

"I'm ready," she says. Craning her neck, she locks their gazes. "Are you performing too?"

"No. The stage will be only yours. Although," he pats the acoustic in her lap, "I will of course be there and make sure you treat DragonSlayer with the respect she deserves."

Max's eyes crinkle with mischief.

"She won't react to you ever again after I show her what real talented fingers can do," she says, wiggling said fingers at him, and giggles when he gasps like a Victorian lady at the implied vulgarity. Turning to Gareth, she asks, "Are you gonna be there?"

Gareth's expression crumbles.

"I can't. Something is going around at work and we're short-staffed, so I'm no longer free," he says miserably. "I'll come next time. You'll do it again, right?"

She smiles wryly. "Unless I crash and burn."

Eddie pushes off the backrest and rounds the couch. He hates to spoil the mood any more, but…

"Before I forget," he says, piercing them with an unamused look. He also tries standing with his hands on his hips, but there's no way he can convey the same bitchy determination Steve can with the stance, so it feels hollow. He crosses his arms instead. "You two need to stop conspiring against me."

They blink at him, baffled.

"What?" Gareth says.

"You've been trying to set me up with Steve!"

"Well, yeah," Max says. "But not with him."

"Yeah, not with her."

It's Eddie's turn to blink. Releasing a breath that shudders with emotion, he closes his eyes and rubs circles on his temples.

"You're telling me you've worked independently of each other this entire time?"

"Seems like it!" Gareth laughs, though the mirth dims quickly. "But… who's done the best job?"

They whip toward each other. Their postures are tense, bow strings drawn and ready to shoot. Flames of competitiveness engulf them. Weirdos.

Gareth points at Max. "I made them go on a date!"

"I made them go on two dates!"

"I'm the reason they got to know each other!"

Max scoffs. "Oh, please. As if I wouldn't have eventually introduced them."

"Would you?"

"Sure. They're both older brother figures I can't get rid of who're hopelessly single and into men." She shrugs. "Why not?"

Eddie gasps again, this time more like a grandmother who's been presented with an incomprehensibly scribbled drawing from her toddler grandchild.

"I'm an older brother figure to you?" he asks, bending down to Max's level, his tone patronizingly light.

She sends him a withering look and reaches for her cane.

"Well, they almost kissed on my date!" Gareth shouts.

Max’s jaw drops. She loses her grip on the cane but gains a terrifying intensity in her eyes. A chill runs through Eddie, the tips of his appendages tingling. This is the closest he's ever gotten to catching frostbite.

"What," she says flatly.

Eddie scrambles away, metaphorically and physically, in case she decides to smack him anyway.

"N-no, we- It wasn't- Our faces just- But we didn't!"

"But it was so close," Gareth says, fingers pinched and with maybe the fraction of a fraction of an inch of air between his thumb and forefinger.

"Huh." Max continues staring Eddie down like she's plotting his murder for keeping secrets. He's about to point out that he can't be set up with Steve if he's dead when she swivels back to Gareth. "I'm making them go on a third date."

"Wait, what? When?"

"Open mic tomorrow night," she says, like he's an idiot. The scrunch of Gareth's mouth indicates that he agrees with her.

"Shit." He pats himself down, in search of something. "What time is it? Where's my phone? If I text him now I can schedule a spontaneous hang-out for tonight!"

Eddie's eyes double in size.

"Woah, woah, woah!" he exclaims, hands raised and palms facing out, as if he's warding off wild animals. "You have Steve's number?"

Gareth pauses his search to tilt his head at Eddie, like he's a puzzle he can't figure out how to solve. Or maybe just like he's a huge fucking moron. "You're telling me you don't?"

Eddie clamps his lips together; fights the urge to fidget beneath their judgmental stares. Max slowly shakes her head.

"Dumbass. You need us."

Eddie makes an ugly face at her. "Shut up."

She tuts. "So aggressive. That's a symptom of sexual frustration."

"I'm not-"

"Remember: thin walls."

"They're not that thin! I never hear you!"

"Because I know how to keep my business to myself. And you've heard me practicing the guitar, haven't you?"

He has. Shit. He buries his face in his hands.

"Shit."

"That's right," Max says snippily. "I hear everything. Every. Thing."

"Oh," Gareth says. He squeezes her good knee, oozing empathy from every pore. "Oh, you poor, innocent girl."

She soaks it up, lamenting, "It's been awful."

"Yeah… But, um. You realize that if they get together, then… "

Gareth trails off as Max nods miserably.

"Yeah, I know. I'm resigned to my fate."

Eddie pushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he sees stars. He needs friends who are less invested in his sex life.

Max leaves soon after, cane clacking louder than necessary against the floor. (Eddie suspects he might not get it back once she's healed.) She stops in the doorway on her way out. While smiling in a manner that makes him break out in a cold sweat, she tells him not to take his car to the open mic and to dress nicely.

And then she's gone.

Gareth harrumphs.

"She's planning something for tomorrow. Damnit. This is unfair, you know. She's known him longer; she can talk to and influence both of you in ways I can't. I'm at a disadvantage here."

Eddie, without replying, twirls on the spot and faceplants on the couch.

Gareth groans above him. "Oh, what is it now?"

'Same as always' is what he'd like to say. Instead, he saves his breath by rolling onto his side, curling up his legs, and giving Gareth a look. It must convey how he feels, because Gareth's irritation melts off, replaced with something gentle. He squats by the couch and brushes a stray lock from Eddie's forehead. A bit like how Uncle Wayne would when he still lived at home.

"Eddie, man, you don't have to be nervous. He likes you."

"That makes it worse," Eddie says, voice raspy and thick, and fuck, he's not going to cry over this, is he? Bawl when a boy doesn't like him is normal, not when they do. "He likes me now, but if he finds out I'm his obsessive quasi-stalker? Then what?"

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," Gareth says. He starts scratching at Eddie's scalp; it's good enough to dry his tears and slow his pulse. "Max knows about the calendar and she doesn't mind!"

Eddie snorts derisively. "Because she's nineteen and doesn't yet understand how some actions can have terrible consequences."

Gareth frowns at that with obvious disapproval. "She's still an adult. For that matter, so are you and Steve? Just talk to him about it." He sighs. "Look, I don't think he'll mind so much that he'll never get over it. And if he does… it sucks. But you'll live. There are dozens of hot guys out there, waiting to be swept off their hot… feet." He pauses to snicker.

"You're so bad at this," Eddie whispers; Gareth snickers even more.

"You know why I've stuck by you all these years?" he asks once done laughing. "Why I even started hanging with you in the first place?"

"You had stoner aspirations and I zero qualms selling weed to fourteen-year-olds?"

Gareth flicks his forehead. "Because you're cool. And likable. And you make people happy when you're around. So go out there tomorrow night and sweep those hot feet!"

Eddie snorts. Then again. His diaphragm tightens, air forces past his pursed lips, and then his body shakes with laughter. Gareth is grinning proudly, of himself and possibly Eddie as well. He snakes his arms around Eddie's waist and pulls him so close the mirth rattles through them both. It takes an eon, but at last, the laughter abates. Eddie’s lungs are sore and his eyes are wet with happiness, and he's still got an armful of best friend clinging to him.

"I'll call you the day after tomorrow." Gareth punctuates the promise with a squeeze, before pulling back. "Lunchtime. And I'll expect progress. Okay?"

Eddie nods. "Okay."

Gareth beams, ruffles Eddie's hair, and then he too leaves the apartment.

Eddie turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t sigh as much as make noise while gravity pushes the air from his lungs. He could fall asleep here, on this uncomfortable couch. Turns out guitar lessons, worrying, and funny friends deplete your energy.

Before his eyelids slide shut for good he drags himself up to brush his teeth and go lie in his real bed. He needs a proper night's sleep if he'll survive tomorrow.

He wakes up on Saturday having dreamt of Steve. He eats his breakfast while thinking of Steve. He replaces brake pads, rotates tires, and talks to clients while thinking of Steve. He returns home and showers off the sweat and oil while really thinking of Steve.

He also spends a lot longer than usual contemplating how thoroughly he ought to wash himself. Fate dictates that if he cleans as if he might get laid, he won't be. However, if he's perfunctory about it, he's more likely to score. Ultimately, he does an extensive scrub. Rather be presumptuous and get nothing than be unhygienic and get lucky.

Then comes the worst part: picking an outfit.

Max told him to wear something 'nice'. Jesus. 'Wear something nice', what did that even mean? Dress less like himself? Dress more like himself? Something skimpy? Or snug? He has those leather pants that make his legs look divine, but they might be too much. He doesn't want to look like he's trying as hard as he is. Also, he's going to an open mic in a coffee shop at seven in the evening. There will be high schoolers, retirees, families with children, and others present who do not need to see his dick imprint. 'No' to the leather pants.

But maybe…

The hangers clatter and screech as he pushes them aside. Sticking his arm far into his wardrobe, he then pulls it out grasping his other battle vest.

The one in leather.

He hasn't worn it out yet. It's only recently finished, and almost ended up looking too nice, too pristine. It's not really him, not the way his frayed and trusty denim vest is. But it's still a thing of beauty: band logos immaculately painted onto the leather and spikes adorning the shoulders, collar, and lapels.

It's fucking badass. Him, though a little nicer.

He pairs the vest with his tightest Metallica tee – the one with the sleeves shorn off and the neckline cut into a v deep enough to show both tattoos – and distressed, black jeans, rips over the knees and a big hole along the inside of one thigh. The retirees will just have to fucking deal with some exposed skin.

A crowd is thronging inside Connie's when he arrives ten minutes to seven. They've built a makeshift stage on one short side, crammed between the cream'n'sugar station and a huge monstera. Microphones, stools, and a keyboard stand upon it. All the café's tables are pushed to one half of the floor, letting people mill between them and the stage. None of them seem to be his people, though.

Eddie weaves through the crowd, scanning it for short redheads and tall hunks. Nothing… nothing… not-

"Eddie!"

He turns, coming nose to nose, like tip to tip, with Steve, who's… wow. Call him the moon and Eddie a wolf, because he's about to start howling.

He's wearing pants, not jeans, that hug his hips without being obscenely tight and a fitted, teal dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons left undone, allowing yet another tantalizing peek of the sculpted pecs beneath. Nice but not too formal, if you ask anyone. Positively edible, if you ask Eddie. His mouth is actually watering a little, which is a sign he's been staring for too long.

Lifting his gaze from Steve's chest to his face, he realizes he could've taken his time because Steve is also staring. At Eddie.

Steve's breaths are slow but deep as he bites his lip hard enough to dent it, tongue flicking out to soothe the mark. Eyes glowing like embers, he trails them over Eddie's body, threatening to set him ablaze.

Eddie's jeans are too fucking tight for this.

"Starting to worry you wouldn't make it," Steve says, low and gravelly.

"No, I just, uh, running a bit late…" Eddie says, faltering as Steve drags a finger along the lapel of his vest.

"Haven't seen you in this before," he murmurs.

"It's new. First time wearing it."

"Where'd you get it?"

"I made it."

Steve's brows jump. "You made it?"

"Make like one-third of my clothes and heavily alter the rest. Metal's all about DIY, baby."

Chuckling, Steve grabs both ends of the attached leather belt and opens the vest for a better look at the Metallica shirt underneath. He doesn't ask any questions about the band, thank God, because Eddie's brain is too liquid to answer. If Steve opened the vest a bit more he'd be undressing him. Or if he tugged at the belt Eddie would stumble into him, he's so off balance.

But Steve does neither; he closes it and lets go.

"I left the others at the table. C'mon."

The rest of them also look nice, Robin in suspenders again, this time paired with shorts, and Lucas in a black sweater-red jacket combo that reminds Eddie of all the cool boys he pined over in high school. Both of them gush compliments at the sight of his vest; their childlike enthusiasm is a pretty effective boner killer, phew. The only one not mentioning his outfit is Max – she's silently staring at the tablecloth, hands in her lap and head bowed.

"Hey, Red," he says.

She looks at him, eyes like clear ponds and her freckles stark against her white skin. It might be his personal bias, but she's the prettiest of them all tonight. Canary yellow t-shirt dress and oversized jean jacket, one shoulder artfully slipping down. Loose, wavy locks cascading past her shoulders. Barely chipped nail polish and glossy lips, but no other makeup. She's radiant.

And she's shaking.

He slides into the chair next to her.

"You're still ready?"

Max nods.

"You know, I still feel like puking every time I perform."

"Yeah?" she breathes.

"Yup." His fingers encircle her wrist, squeezing. "You're gonna crush it."

She smiles tightly.

"Do you want us to film it?" Robin asks. "To show your mom?"

Max's first reaction is a frown, which evaporates at the mention of her mom; then she nods so hard she's indistinguishable from a bobblehead.

"Yes!" she says, and that's the last bit of conversation between them, for the next second the lights dim and Connie ascends the stage to announce the start of the open mic.

It's three hours long, with fifteen performers given ten minutes each, plus a few for getting on and off the stage. Max is number eight, which means she'll have about an hour and a half to sweat before it's her turn. And maybe she does manage to sweat it out and dry off, because when her time comes she strides up with the poise of a seasoned veteran.

A café worker helps her up and adjusts the mic for her. She hooks the cane on the stool and situates the guitar across her lap – one of the younger audience members shouts "Dragon!" to everyone's amusement. Once the laughter stops, she puts her mouth to the mic and emits one stuttering breath.

"Hi," she says. "My name is Max, and I'll be playing two covers and one song I wrote." She giggles as some onlookers whoop their approval. "All three are dedicated to one person here tonight. He knows who he is."

Then she plays. It's the best fucking thing Eddie has heard, not just tonight, but ever.

Her voice is strong, her rhythm is perfect. When she pauses for breath her expression defaults into a blinding smile. She breezes through The Isley Brothers and Stevie Wonder as the crowd claps along. Eddie manages to tear his eyes from her only once, to view the others' reactions. Robin tries to hold her phone steady as she sways in her seat, Steve is misty-eyed like a proud dad, and Lucas…

Lucas sits slumped forward, chin pillowed on his hands, pupils huge and dark. Lovestruck.

After You Are the Sunshine of My Life she takes a breather, sipping from her bottle of water. There's a shift in the air; the audience settles, mood sobering. When she resumes playing, the notes are softer, slower. A melancholy made bearable by her warm tones.

Max's song is about a happy then and an uncertain now. It's a song about guilt and regret. About apologizing and vowing to improve. About past loss and about future hope.

Above all, it's a promise.

It strikes like a blade through Eddie's chest. He shouldn't be hearing this. None but three, or maybe just one, of the people in here should. It's not for their ears, because they can't ever truly understand. It's too personal. Yet, she plays it for them. Tearing open her flesh and breaking her bones to show them. Listening to this is a privilege.

Her last note is a tattoo – covering up those before her, impossible to erase by those following her.

Max smiles and bows, again like a pro. As the café erupts into deafening applause, Lucas shoots from his seat. Appearing by the stage, he extends his arms to her. She hooks hers around his neck and lets him lift her down. Smiling at each other, they rest their foreheads together like they're the only ones in the room. Shit, perhaps they are.

They walk back to the table with Max's cane underneath Lucas' arm, she using him as her crutch. Arriving, the first thing she does is ask Eddie:

"How was it?"

He schools his expression.

"Red. I'm ditching my band. From now on, you and me – duo."

She boxes him in the shoulder, the shine of her smile rivaling a star.

The rest of the open mic is nice, even though the highlight is over. Still, live music is live music (and leaving in the middle would've been unacceptably rude), so they stay until Connie closes the night by thanking everyone present and encouraging them to come back next time.

Outside, they stretch their unused limbs until their joints pop, then walk a few blocks to Steve's car. It makes sense for Eddie not to have taken his van, he tells himself. The BMW is big enough for all five to sit comfortably, and he'll save on gas. Still, there's a disappointment pooling in his gut, because this means Steve will drop off Lucas, Max, and Eddie at their places before driving himself and Robin home. It's not a bad thing! He has yet to figure out how to breach the subject of the calendar. But… getting some more time to talk to Steve without amateur musicians drowning out the words would've been nice.

(This is what he gets for being so thorough in the shower.)

"Well," Robin says, hands clasped behind her head, as the BMW beeps unlocked. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?" Eddie asks.

"Steve and I live just past that building," she says, pointing. "So, I'll walk while he drives you guys."

Oh.

The disappointed pool freezes. Eddie swallows thickly. This is fine. It means nothing. Steve will drop everyone off and then go home, as planned.

He gets shotgun. Really, it's given to him because Max and Lucas commandeer the backseat, snuggling up on one-and-a-half seats while DragonSlayer claims the third. Eddie doesn't mind in the slightest – not when the kids are so close they're basically on top of each other, slotting together like a pair of puzzle pieces. Watching them separate when they arrive at the apartment complex will be devastating.

Except.

They do not go to the apartment complex. They go to a neighborhood Eddie's never been to before, parking outside a two-story house. So, they're dropping off Lucas first, then Eddie and Max, and then Steve will go home. Just as planned.

"I'm staying with Lucas tonight," Max says. "The DragonSlayer is all yours, Eddie."

She slams the door shut, the two of them walking up the shingled pathway hand in hand.

Steve hums pleasantly. "I think that did the trick – they're an item again. About time, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah, yep, sure took them long enough, yeppers," Eddie's mouth says with negative input or permission from his brain.

Steve grins before pulling out, shirt straining against his arm as he turns the wheel and holy shit, Eddie is alone in a car with Steve!

Is everyone conspiring against him?!

Steve makes small talk during the drive, recounting which songs he recognized, sharing his favorite performances, asking for Eddie's more knowledgeable opinion. Eddie responds to the best of his abilities, which is to say 'poorly'.

When they stop by a red light and Steve absent-mindedly undoes the third button on his shirt, Eddie’s mouth dries up and he stops responding altogether, fearing his tongue will crumble to dust if he tries. If Steve is put out by Eddie's conversational skills reducing to various affirmative noises, he doesn't show it.

Finally reaching the complex, Eddie resolves to at least croak a 'thank you for the ride'. But when he turns to do just that, Steve is already looking earnestly at him with his large, honeyed eyes.

"It's really nice of you, teaching Max to play. Thank you."

"Oh, 'twas nothing." Eddie clears his throat. "She's a good student."

"I'm curious: is there a difference between acoustic and electric?"

"Not really. Electric is a little easier, 'cause they're smaller and the strings are lighter."

"Acoustic sounds better, though," Steve says and laughs at Eddie's answering grimace. "All right, maybe not to the metal master," (Eddie stifles a gigglesnort; what an adorable dork), "but to a common listener, such as myself, acoustic is nicer. You can try to change my mind if you want, though."

"By… playing both for you?"

"Yeah."

Eddie gulps audibly. "N-now?"

Steve's smile is almost too wide for his face. He cocks his head, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, who are gleaming like gold in the light of the nearby street lamp.

"I'm not busy."

Eddie leads them up the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment. Their steps echo in time with the drumming of Eddie's heart. His grip on the DragonSlayer is unyieldingly stiff, lest it slides from his clammy palm.

This is fine. Steve is going to listen to him play and then go home, just as planned.

Like the building, the locks are old; his key jams and needs to be rattled before the door opens. He lets Steve in first, then closes the door behind them. Steve waits patiently, back to the wall and chest inches from Eddie's. Has the hallway always been this cramped?

Eddie turns to fumble around for the light switch, breath hitching when Steve touches his shoulders. Grasping the vest's spiked lapels, he pulls it off Eddie's frame and hangs it on the coat rack. Next, he grabs the guitar – warm, dry skin brushing Eddie's – and props it by the doorpost. Last, he looks at Eddie, his eyes searching, searching, searching…

Disregarding his sensibilities, Eddie nods.

Steve kisses him.

The force of it sends them stumbling, Eddie's back slamming into the wall. Their mouths smush together and their noses bump; for a moment it's too hard, too much. But then Steve angles his head, their lips melding, and it's perfect. Like silk sheets and rose petals, like champagne and chocolate truffles, like summer nights and meteor showers.

Steve mumbles something about waiting, about wishing, about finally. He's touching Eddie everywhere, chest pinning him against the wall, hands running up and down his arms, thigh pushing between his legs. His hard cock pokes against Eddie's groin, and it feels so thick.

All of Eddie's nerve endings are lighting up, sending tingles to converge in his belly before shooting back out to his limbs. He has no regrets. Everything he's done or that's been done to him was worth it, because it led to the best fucking kiss of his life. Steve will have to keep him after this – exposing him to this kind of touch only once would be cruel.

It's gentle, is the thing, but with the passion of a thousand lovers. Steve cups his face, tipping it, thumb caressing his cheek and fingers rubbing circles in his hair. His lips, soft but determined, parts Eddie's for a quick taste that leaves him wanting.

Eddie tries chasing, but Steve withholds – fucking teases – and goes back to nipping and licking. Rolling his hips until Eddie gasps, then slipping in his tongue to stroke the roof of Eddie's mouth. Then he starts over again, repeating the cycle until Eddie is whining, his knees so weak he slumps onto Steve's thigh.

Grabbing hold of his ass, Steve hoists him up. Eddie squawks, legs automatically wrapping around Steve's waist. Steve grins, juuuust on the wrong side of smug, and steps away from the wall, carrying Eddie like it's nothing. It would be infuriating if Eddie wasn't too busy wondering if, and if so for how long, Steve could fuck him like this.

"Bedroom?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, it's, uh, through there," Eddie says, pointing in what might be the right direction.

Then he yanks Steve's head back by his pretty hair and swallows his moan. Because with Steve's hands occupied, it means Eddie can do whatever he wants. And what he wants is shove his tongue as far down Steve's throat as he can.

It takes them a while, but they reach the bedroom. Steve deposits them on the bed, bringing them from vertical to horizontal in a smooth slide without breaking the kiss.

Eddie wraps tighter around him, wanting to feel him everywhere and always. Alas, Steve disentangles them with a chuckle. He sits up so he's kneeling, legs spread, Eddie's thighs resting on top of his. A hungry glint in his eyes, he undoes one more of his buttons, then forgoes the rest by pulling the shirt off like a sweater and flinging it aside.

Eddie wastes no time touching him, groping the firm pecs and caressing the soft belly. The coarse hair tickles his palms.

"Fuck me, you're perfect," he murmurs.

Steve giggles, pink blooming on his face. Coaxing Eddie's hands off him, he arranges his limbs on the bed, and Eddie lets him – he can do anything as long as he does it shirtless. He smooths his hand over the Metallica logo, pretty much petting his chest, before rucking the shirt up to Eddie's chin. Steve's eyes are black, more pupil than iris; he thumbs at the tattoo on Eddie's ribs.

"I was hoping you'd have more," he says. His other hand slides across Eddie's leg, fingers ghosting the edge of the large hole before one slips inside, tucking between the denim and the skin of Eddie's thigh. Eddie gasps; Steve smiles. "How much do I need to take off to see all of them?"

"Why don't you find out, big boy?" Eddie says, breathless but grinning, scooting closer to rub his ass on Steve's dick.

Steve rips off Eddie's shirt, tosses it where he tossed his own, and crashes their lips together as he unbuckles Eddie's belt.

Eddie hums into the kiss. It's perfect. Steve is perfect. The whole thing is as if out of a dream. Jesus Christ, it is straight out of one of his fantasies. The only thing missing is… is…

The uniform.

Fuck. He can't do this. Not like this. Fuck.

Eddie breaks the kiss, gently pushing Steve away.

"Eddie?"

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. Looking at Steve right now is impossible – the shame will consume him. He shouldn't have let it go this far.

"Eddie? What's wrong?" Steve asks. "Please, I-"

"There's something you gotta know." Eddie forces his eyes open. The least Steve deserves is to be looked at while given the truth. Also, this is the first and possibly last time Eddie will see Steve on top of him. He should savor it. "I haven't been completely honest."

Steve's eyes dim. "You're married."

Eddie goggles. "What? No! Shit, I've never had a relationship go past the three-month mark. No, it's… Um…"

He sighs. Here comes the music; time to face it.

"You know that calendar you did? Gareth told you his mom had it?"

"Yes?"

"He lied. It's mine. I have the calendar." He inhales deeply, then lets it all out in one fast gust. "I recognized you the first time we met and I thought you were so hot and Gareth thought we should try finding you at the university and we did and then we hung out and now, uh, now we're here."

Steve blinks owlishly. "Oh."

"Yeah. I've jerked off to your picture for two and a half years and I thought you should know." Eddie rubs his eyes; they're burning, and his nose is clogging. Shit, not now… "So, um. If you want to stop, if you never want to see me again, I understand. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"It- Huh?"

Eddie's jaw slackens. He gawks up at Steve, who calmly meets his gaze. But it can't be this easy. It's never this easy, not for Eddie.

"S'fine." Steve shrugs. "Was that all?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Good."

He dives back to resume the kiss, except this time it's hotter, dirtier, Steve licking behind his teeth and sucking on his tongue so Eddie's toes curl. He yanks Eddie's jeans and boxers down to his thighs, Eddie's cock springing out. Steve grips it, but doesn't stroke or squeeze – just holds. Eddie starts rocking into his fist and oh, oh, it's so good but not enough. He's so hard his head is spinning and he needs Steve's hands and his cock and he needs he needs he needs-

"Eddie," Steve says into Eddie's mouth. "What d'you want me to do? Tell me."

"Mmm, I want… Fuck, I needed you inside me two years ago."

Steve licks a wet stripe along his throat. "Whatever you want."

Then he sits up and flips Eddie over. Eddie grunts at the sudden movement, but his cock between his stomach and the mattress feels heavenly, and Steve parting his ass cheeks is even better, so he's not complaining.

He's especially not complaining when Steve leans down, rubbing his nose against Eddie's tailbone.

"You're okay with any part of me inside you?" he asks, breath warm on Eddie's skin.

Eddie groans. "Yes. Anything! Just touch me!"

Steve does, dragging the flat of his tongue from Eddie's taint up to his hole.

Eddie keens, burying it in the pillow due to those damn thin walls. It probably doesn't help, because he's being loud. He usually is, but not like this. Turns out Steve's tongue is amazing no matter where he puts it. He swirls it around the hole, laps heavily against the rim, slowly loosening Eddie up.

He writhes and moans, cock leaking precum on the sheets. Jerking forward, he humps the mattress for two sweet, relieving seconds before Steve grabs him by the hips and holds him in place. He would've griped about it if Steve hadn't immediately plunged his tongue into Eddie's hole. But Steve does, so Eddie screams instead.

Fuck the walls, he's having the time of his life.

He has been rimmed before, two or three times, but not this intensely. He hasn't been fucked by another man's tongue. Because that's what Steve's doing, lips on Eddie's ass and saliva dripping down his taint. He's as far in as it can go, tongue thrusting and stroking and… oh. Oh! Oh, fuck-

Eddie jolts, despite being held down, because Steve just flicked his tongue tip against someplace sensitive. He whines, begging Steve to do it again. Steve laughs, the sound reverberating through Eddie's ass, and does as told. And again. And again.

He flicks. Eddie screams.

He flicks. Screams.

Flicks. Screams.

And Eddie's on fire. His legs are shaking, his insides are thrumming, the pleasure courses and courses in electric waves and shit, did he just come?

"Holy shit, I think I just came," he says, fingers cramping where they've clutched the covers.

Steve pulls out with a slurp.

"Oh, cool," he pants. He crawls up the bed, his hard cock dragging a wet trail on Eddie's leg. "D'you wanna take a break or keep going?"

Eddie groans. What kind of a fucking question is that? His cock is still hard, and Steve's cock is hard, and Eddie is reeling from the best orgasm he's ever had, and does he want to keep going?

"Steve…" he says. "If you don't fuck me now, then I'll… I'll… " He trails off, slurring.

"Yes," Steve says, catching on anyway. "Okay. Yes."

He sounds wrecked. Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie is met by perfect hair in disarray, cheeks flushed and blotchy, a chin glistening with drool, and Steve's wild, ember eyes. Assured he's not the only one losing his mind, Eddie thumps his head back on the pillow. Bending his knees, he pushes his ass into the air and reaches back to spread his cheeks with his own fingers.

"Then hurry up, big boy," he croons, index finger circling the spitslick rim. "Before I do it myself."

Steve laughs, high-pitched like he's drunk. He fumbles for Eddie's lube and a condom he brought, thank fuck, because Eddie only has expired ones.

Lying on top of Eddie, Steve aligns their arms and interlocks their fingers, and pushes in. Eddie whimpers, because as loose and cock-starved as he is, Steve is huge, the tip alone wrecking his already sore ass. Steve shushes him gently, brushing away sweat-damp curls to plant a soft kiss at his nape. He rocks slowly, squeezing Eddie's hand and rubbing his hip, until the stretch gets better and the pain eases.

And then they fuck. Or maybe 'make love' is a more fitting term, because they hold hands during most of it. And sometimes, Steve will ease off, going so slow and sweet it borders on edging, drawing high-pitched noises from far down Eddie's chest. Then, once satisfied, he speeds up again, fucking harder while whispering compliments into Eddie's skin.

He makes Eddie come two more times, by fucking him and by jerking him off. At least, Eddie thinks that's what happened when he wakes up some hours later. He got a little delirious with pleasure at the end, though, so he's not a hundred percent sure.

He yawns and stretches. It's dark out, but the blinds are open and light pours in from the street lamp that for some reason had to be positioned right by his window.

"That light is the worst," Steve mumbles, burrowing into the pillow.

"Hmm, yeah. But I don't have to have my own lamp on. I save on electricity."

"Economical." Steve laughs, peeking up from the bedding. He's beautifully rumpled, bathed in shadows and light. "How d'you feel?"

"Awesome… did you clean me up?"

"Kinda had to – you passed out. I'm not letting you sleep with come crusting all over you," Steve says, nose scrunching.

"Not my fault. Blame your cock!"

They laugh again, together. It's nice. But it would've been nicer if there wasn't still one tiny thing nagging in the back of Eddie's head.

"Hey," he mumbles. "When you said… that the stuff with the calendar was fine, did you mean it? Or was your judgment clouded by horniness?"

Steve snorts. "'Course I meant it. I don't mind."

"Jesus."

"Do you want me to mind?"

"No. It's just that I've been putting off telling you about it because I was afraid you'd be upset. It's pretty creepy."

"Yeah, but…" Steve props his head onto his fist and shrugs one shoulder. "I guess it would be creepier if it were someone else. But it's you, and I like you, so… it's just flattering."

A grin stretches across Eddie's face. "You like me?"

"Uh, yeah." Steve rolls his eyes, but his face is also splitting in half. "Don't you like me?"

"I do."

Eddie winds his arms around Steve's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I thought so," Steve says after their lips part. "I just didn't know how much – if you wanted to just fuck or if you wanted something more. Max was hinting you wanted more. And your friends seemed too invested for you not to want more. Then Robin told me 'he definitely wants more'. So I knew it was safe to go."

"Christ, dude, I like you so much I've given myself ulcers worrying you didn't like me back!"

"Sorry," Steve says unapologetically. "You can stop worrying."

They embrace, trading chaste kisses as they snuggle. Alternating between whispering nonsense and drawing patterns on each other and simply looking, unabashed and unhurried.

Then, Steve pulls away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He asks, "So where do you keep that calendar?"

Eddie's heart and stomach leap, trading places and knocking every other organ off course. He lunges at Steve, coiling around him like an octopus and trapping him to the bed.

"Nooooo!"

Steve guffaws. "I'm not gonna look for it! You'll have to tell me where it is."

He cocks his head at Eddie, sweet, innocent, evil. Eddie groans with the vigor of an annoyed pre-teen. Releasing Steve, he points at his desk.

"Top drawer."

Steve flies up, rummaging through the drawer before Eddie can blink. Whooping in triumph, he holds the calendar in front of himself and begins flipping through it. Eddie pulls the comforter up to his nose to hide his blush.

"April is missing?" Steve asks.

"The model was a cop."

"Ah."

Steve reclaims his spot on the bed. He's reached November and is scanning the photo with an approving smile.

Eddie grunts. "Are you admiring your own photo?"

"So? It's a good picture." Steve smirks at him. "I know you agree."

Grumbling, Eddie hides completely beneath the cover. This is what he gets for being honest. He's never telling the truth again.

"What do you say about me fucking you while wearing the uniform?" Steve asks.

Eddie throws off the comforter and catapults into sitting.

"We can do that?"

"Sure," Steve says easily, like he didn't just turn Eddie's world upside down. "Unless…" He leans in, lips hovering over Eddie's. "Unless you want to fuck me while I wear it?"

They don't fall back asleep until hours later.

(In fact, they sleep in until 11 am, when Eddie's alarm goes off. Gareth calls by lunchtime as promised, but Eddie misses it. He's too busy getting fucked against the shower wall.)

"You're not allowed to break up," Max says later that day, during their guitar lesson. The open mic might've passed, but she needs to learn more if they'll perform together. "It'll be awkward if you're exes. I won't be able to hang out with Steve if you're next door – I'll have to move."

Eddie smiles. He should point out they're not really together yet; that they've only barely started dating. Instead, he says:

"We won't."

And he can't explain how, but it's as if some higher power whispered all the answers to him while he slept in Steve's arms and he knows, he just knows, that he's telling the truth.

------------------------------

Thank you for reading. You're the best.

Oh, and I realize that I introduced things that excited a ton of people (such as Eddie meeting everyone else), so I might have to write a mini-sequel where that actually happens. Not now, though. Later.

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lenore1232, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll, @theysherobinbuckley, @freddykicksasses, @winterbuckwild, @sideblogofthcentury, @subparbrainfunction, @pemsha

[viisator]

Argument with Ni-ki

Tittle: Argument with Ni-ki

Pairings: Nishimura Riki X F!Reader

Genre: Friends to Lovers (fluff)

Warning: Jealous Ni-ki.

Summary: Nishimura and you are friends, and you have a big fat crush on him, and he is aware. But what you--and he is not aware, is that he quite finds you cute, he longs your presence, he always wants to hear your voice and he secretly stalks you Instagram. and all there's left to do is be honest with you and to himself and kaboom! He gets you. no need to stalk each other.

Not Proofread

Short scenario • • •

+so, I changed the tittle, the old one was "Friends to something" which later on I find quite cringy, so I tried to change it to smth simple.

(Idek why I wrote this...and I was writing this on paper WITH MY GRANDPA LOOKING. it was so embarrassing I have to cover my notebook....and I'm sorry it's short.)

– Can I have a request, please? After/before you read this(thanks for checking this out btw) like or reblog, or both; is really appreciated!! And it will help my blogs reach other ppl too!! Thank you!! Have a good time reading!! –

• • • • •

Riki stormed inside his room with you after dragging you out of the mall after he spotted you with your friends.

"How many times do I have to fuckin' tell you to stop wearing that fuckin' shirt."His voice was calm, his voice is its lowest, he was not shouting, but his voice are venomous, he was digging his eyes into your soul, hands on his hips, his other arm on top of his closet.

"Yo bro calm down, no one's hurting you,"

"Bro?" Oh no, you hit a nerve, you always hit a nerve, and you know you're good at it, and you find him cute when he throws daggers with his eyes.

"You're calling me 'bro'?"

"Yeah? it's not like there's something I should call you besides your name." Your eyebrow twitch as you answered him, making him push his weight advancing close to you.

"Are you tryna provoke me?" He said deadly close to you as his eyebrow rise.

"Is there something to provoke?" now, you had played the innocent, giving him clueless eyes, and blinking your eyelashes at him.

With that, his looks changed, now he's looking at you amused, making his lips tug a smile, he licked his lips as he combed his hair with his long fingers, and he giggles.

"You should start calling me "Love"," he said still on his playful-flirty look.

"Why?"

"'Cuz starting from now on, you have something to provoke." He said as he causally pecked your lips, leaving you in shock.

"Oh! and go wear my hoodie, I'm going to burn that bitchy top of yours, it's feeding every guy's eyes with your showing cleavage for free." He said after leaving the room and going into the kitchen, leaving you speechless.

Masterlist

©® Viisator - 2022

[just4jinx]

twilight temptations

— wlw, rich!ryujin x stripper!reader, nsfw/nsft smut

you’re a stripper at the ‘starlight lounge’ and notice ryujin’s hungry gaze on you during your set. will she approach you for a chat or even more private services?

warnings: intentional all lower case, dom!ryu, possible ceo!ryu, kinda mean!ryu, sub!reader, humiliation, fingering, public sex, squirting, degradation, some praise. slight slapping (not on face, just body), no aftercare.

word count: 2.3k

“yeah, i wanna know what its like,

baby, show me what it’s like.”

you follow the melody with your feet before your hips, swaying them in a figure of eight as you slide down the pole. one hand is on the pole above your head, the other being slowly dragged down your body, just about ending by your covered core. you naturally scanned the crowd you had gathered for any tippers. it doesn’t usually take long to rack up some money; you’re up there with the best at the starlight lounge, your popularity soaring with each performance. the club is dimly lit, hues of reds and pinks highlighting the bar and dancers to avert everyones gaze accordingly. high end is one way to describe this place. for a strip club its most certainly on the more expensive end of the spectrum — plush seating, wine red velvet drapes, and large mirrors adorning the place.

you’re widely known for being the cocky, almost bitchy personality amongst all the performers here. but of course, that’s the complete opposite of who you really are, but somehow men dig women that would rather die than give them the time of day. you are performing at the end of the day. approximately three songs on your playlist come to an end when you notice the money piling up on the main stage. you definitely have enough for both your apartment bills and your next set of acrylic nails.

‘gentrify by da vosk docta’ begins to fill the room when you notice a woman leaving the bar and setting her eyes on you. surprisingly enough she walks to your stage, blatantly ignoring the others close by. your eyes remain firm on her as she makes herself comfy in one of the seats with a cute little table beside it, setting down her drink of what looks like vodka and lemonade. the woman’s gaze is cold yet hungry, and it’s almost as if you’re trying to catch her blinking. shooting her a slight smirk felt like the right thing to do before continuing the performance, her eyes almost burning into your skin.

you quickly notice her leaning closer to the stage with money between two fingers, wafting it slightly to get your attention. you quickly lean down and begin to seductively crawl on your hands and knees towards her, pressing your breasts together with your arms as you move. as if to keep up your fake act you reach up to snatch the money out of her hand but she only snaps her hand back faster than you can blink. you’re certain you heard her over the music tut at you, and she only lets you take the money after mouthing ‘sorry.’

you roughly shove the money down your bra just enough to keep it safe until your performance is over, teasingly pushing up your tits a couple times. no matter who came forward, this random woman stood out above them all. your flirtatious move only makes a smirk naturally appear on her face, noticing her adjust herself in her seat. as you lick your soft lips, you kneel down in front of the pole and slowly run your hands up your body towards your hair. you need to put a show on for this mysterious women.. there’s just something about her which undoubtedly turns you on, despite how unprofessional that is. maybe its her vibe or the suit she’s wearing- or honestly just everything. you’re minutes away from your dance ending so you simply couldn’t care less. this woman just tripled your income as if it was nothing.

“ah, already?” you think to yourself as the last song comes to an end, playfully shooting a shooing motion to the crowd like they’d expect from your character before collecting the rest of your money and walking off stage. you moved your hips like a model while you stepped towards the dressing room backstage, a deep sigh escaping your lips as you collapsed on a spare black lounger against the wall. the next girl to replace you was blonde and just as feminine as you, waving her off and untucking all the bills from the hems of your outfit. (which is probably as skimpy as it gets before it crosses a line.)

“how much?” the slightly deep voice practically echoes around the room after a minute of pure silence, the sound of a door clicking shut following it. your head shoots up, your eyes now set on the woman from the crowd. you don’t want to be rude, but she simply cannot be back here. “for what?”

“lap dance.” her response was as blunt as it gets, her gaze somehow even more hungry than before. although, you can’t blame her, you did go the extra mile to impress her tonight. followed by your head tilting to one side was a sudden frown, deeply inhaling before speaking.

“it’s usually $50 for 15 minutes. well- that’s what i’ve heard…” you’re never given one before, but that doesn’t mean people haven’t asked. it’s always gross men that would be happy with any woman here so getting out of it is light work. the woman only nods in response, swinging the door back open and holding it for you. not wanting to lose her during such a busy hour, you lightly grip her wrist and lead her towards the room made for these types of activities. there’s multiple lined up to one side of the building, all of which closed off with sliding doors for privacy, thank god.

the woman in the suit takes no time to sit down, leaning back before adjusting herself in her seat like before, manspreading like she owned the place. she seems like she could afford it, anyways. it’s always the same playlist that surrounds the lap dance booths, anyone inside luckily unable to hear the booming music from the main rooms outside. at least you can actually hear each others voices in here.

you begin your routine you most definitely made up on the spot, letting your bra straps fall below your shoulders as you turn your back to her, your ass now hovering over her lap. you begin swaying while simultaneously bending forward until you feel a firm grip on your hips which immediately make you freeze. with zero hesitation the woman pushes you down onto her, her nails digging into your skin so hard there’s no way it won’t leave a mark for a while.

“hey- you’re not allowed to touch, okay?” you yelp, trying to resist but failing. this woman is way too strong for you, you can’t even comprehend it. god she’s so hot, but this is so wrong… you could easily get fired for this if someone sees.

“i couldn’t help myself. look at you.” theres no way she’s being serious right now. your head immediately turns to look at her but being in your peripheral will have to do for now. the feeling of her hands on your bare skin is more than you’ve felt from anyone in a long, long time, and it’s driving you crazy. so simple yet so effective. you part your lips once more to start off your response with a shaky sigh, your hands resting on her thighs to support yourself the best you could. “alright, this is fine… but nothing else.” how weak, you can’t even keep to the rules for the first woman to put her skin against yours. tut tut.

“so, this isn’t fine?” her voice trails off at the end, jumping slightly when you feel her cold hands make their way up your body to cup your breasts. you don’t even know what to say at this point, your mind has turned foggy within seconds and theres no reversing it. “come on, pretty girl.” you squeeze your legs close due to the name she called you and your head drops, feeling a million things alongside both arousal and embarrassment in this moment. “i dont even know your name.”

“shin ryujin, baby.” her voice is now lower than before, her hot breath against the back of your neck making you shiver. naturally you give her your name in response but she squeezes your tits to cut your sentence short, claiming she knows who you are because shes been watching you from afar for days without you knowing. a soft whimper fills the room due to ryujin’s touch, a deep pink shade immediately flushing over your cheeks in embarrassment. once you feel her lips pressing sloppy kisses to your back and shoulders, you don’t even try to fight her undoing your bra, letting it fall to the ground with ease.

you decide to lean back into her and closely watch her dominant hand make her way to your core. teasingly, she runs her index finger across your clit from over your panties as light as possible, naturally making you buck up your hips as if to search for more friction. she continues to run light circles around it while taking one of your nipples between her thumb and finger with her free hand, your breathing hitching in response. you want to protest that this is wrong but it just feels too good to stop. you both want this.

“ryujin, please-“ you keep your voice as quiet as a whisper despite the room being soundproof, knowing you either need to stop this now or make it as quick as possible to refrain from someone coming to look for you. ryujin only hums in response, now twisting your nipple while pushing your panties to one side, the cold air against your pussy making you hiss. her fingers tease your entrance for a few moments, afterwards bringing up her hand to show you the string of your slick attached, a dark chuckle leaving ryujin’s lips.

“so wet for me already, baby.” she growled into your ear, slapping at your tit before sliding one finger into your entrance without any warning, making you audibly gasp and melt into her, a string of curse words escaping your lips already.

ryujin licked a strip up your neck with her tongue, now beginning to pump her fingers in and out of your aching cunt, not giving you a single second to adjust to it. as her pace increases the palm of her hand slaps against your clit, making you whine out loud in pleasure. “fuck- oh my god!” it’s not long until a second finger is added, your sweet noises shamelessly filling the room. ryujin groans the second she feels you clench around her fingers, not expecting you to get so close so soon but she honestly finds it cute.

“oh baby, you’re so needy..” the woman purs against your ear as she notices you begin to squirm on top of her, whining once more at her tone. her lips curl up against your soft skin, lightly laughing once she realises its most likely been over the 15 minute time slot. “wouldn’t it be a shame if someone walked in right now?” ryujin began to speak between your high pitched moans, “they’d see how much of a slut you are, huh?” you can only whine and tense up in response, a nod quickly following. whatever ryujin said or wanted you were eager to agree and oblige — everything about this was just so unbelievably hot you couldn’t hold yourself back whatsoever.

“that’s it, princess. aww, i bet you feel sooo good..” the other woman continued to tease, her left hand still groping your breast for extra simulation. the idea of someone finding you getting fucked by a stranger on the job only turns you on more. hell, you’d probably let them join in at this rate. the only thing present in your mind is getting fucked senseless, and god it feels amazing.

ryujin’s palm continues to slap into your clit as she thrusts her fingers into you, each harsh tap against it bringing you closer and closer to your climax. you’re so sensitive it’s insane, suddenly gripping onto the other woman’s wrist in a failed attempt to slow her down. as your chest rises and falls more rapidly than even a few moments ago, your eyes squeeze shut and your back arches up against her chest. “fuck im gonna- im so close!” your moans quickly turn into screams and your walls clench around ryujin’s fingers as you reach your climax, unexpectedly squirting all over her hand and the floor beneath you both. she made sure to fuck you the entire time you came on her lap, ending it with a few slaps to your swollen, sensitive cunt which only made you twitch and beg for her to stop. after a couple moments she moved her hands away, even the one from your tits, silently watching you push a little more squirt out despite the lack of touch.

“fuck, baby..” ryujin practically moaned as she spoke, moving her right hand up and towards your lips, hovering over them to ask for entrance before sticking two fingers in your mouth. “lick them clean, good girl. how do you taste?” god, she was driving you crazy. since your mind is still foggy all you can do to reply is whine and suck the fingers she fucked you with completely clean, eyes still closed in pure ecstasy. she’ll take that as a yes.

she luckily lets you catch your breath before lightly patting at your thigh to get you to stand up, looking down at the mess you made before turning to you with a fake sympathy frown. “poor girl has to clean on the job too.” she teased, taking her wallet out of the back pocket of her suit trousers and handing you another $100, leaving you completely stunned and numb yet still desperate for more.

“same time next week?”

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

No, but they'll be complimenting each other so well going on. One of Ed's big problems is that he just gives up so easily. Plan with the fog failed? We're going to die; I'm gonna get drunk while waiting for death. The fishing isn't going so well? Obviously he's not meant to fish. It's like Ed's spent his entire adult life being really really good at stuff (sailing, piracy, etc) that he's completely unused to failure and doesn't know how to go on from it. But that's an important thing to learn, and in a way it's a joyful thing to learn, too. You can try something and it can go wrong and you suck at it and then you can try again and learn from your mistakes and get better (either at the thing or at failure).

Meanwhile Stede is absolutely amazing at this. He says it himself, he's been a failure all his life, he got used to it. Stede doesn't give up. That's probably his biggest strength IMO. Stede is tenacious as fuck. Something went wrong? The cards are stacked against him? Whatever! He wants to do the thing, he's committed and determined, he's going to do the fucking thing if it fucking kills him. Stede is not going to let Ed give up whenever he gets discouraged. He'll be there to pull him back to his feet and they will try again.

And one of Stede's big problems is that he doesn't think anyone admires him and likes him. Meanwhile Ed has thought Stede is the coolest guy on Earth since meeting him! He's probably the only person to ever think that. Other characters grow to like Stede for some of his qualities, he has a huge impact on everyone around him, but he doesn't see that, and nobody genuinely admires all the quirky Stedeisms about him. Nobody except Ed. Ed thinks the library is awesome. Ed thinks the secret closet full of fancy clothes is the coolest shit he's ever seen. Ed loves Stede prioritising marmalade over gunpowder. Ed loves Stede being extra and bitchy and a complete lunatic.

And they're both seeing it now. They are already complimenting each other like this by the end of season two. Ed gives up on fishing, but it was never actually about fishing anyway. He doesn't give up about Stede and their relationship. He digs out his leathers and goes back into the very fray he's been dying to leave, because he's not giving up about Stede, he's going to fight for him. That's kinda the first time we actually see Ed choose to fight for something? All his ofher fights and violence are reacting to threats to his own person. One way or another, pretty much everything we see Ed do as Blackbeard is him either trying to protect himself, or to actively make someone else kill him. He chooses to live in the gravy basket mermaid scene, but he keeps running from problems after. He keeps running from Stede. And then he turns around and doesn't give up and goes to save his boyfriend and his relationship. It looks hopeless! The odds look terrible! But Ed's going to fight for it anyway, and look, he succeeds! And Stede is waiting for him, Stede knows Ed loves him, Stede doesn't doubt Ed.

And Stede is so desperate for people to think he's cool it makes him stupid and makes him make an ass of himself, but his crazy plan works, and this time when he's recounting his cool adventure Ed is sitting right next to him, all starry eyed and admiring and saying "yeah, it was cool, babe, I saw that". Saying "I see you". Ed's beginning to understand Stede needs to be told how cool Ed thinks he is, and Stede's starting to hear it.

They're going to be okay, guys. They're going to be happy. :)

[callmearcturus]

okay the Eye of the Duck for each of the MI films

Mission Impossible:

I promise I really thought about the Vault Scene and I could go on for ages about it and I maybe should since it's the marker of what separates MI from other action franchises.

But my heart lives in this scene as the emotional core of the movie, where Jim comes back from the dead and tries to spin a tale that Ethan is too smart to fall for but is still tempted by. The way Jim says one thing but Ethan's already pieced together what really happened-- and doesn't like the answer, rewrites it in his head to make it fit what he wants.

Ethan's emotions and how much he cares about people is his ultimate weakness and it remains so for the entire franchise, so to see him wrestling with that all the way from the start is crunchy.

Also Ethan soulgazing the camera for that long is very affecting.

Mission Impossible 2:

the point of the EOTD is to find the scene at the movie's center that reflects its core back at you. I think Woo's vision of MI is exemplified by that final fight scene between Ethan and the villain. I remember the first time I watched the movie, this scene made me go "NO" out loud several times.

I mean, mostly because absolutely not that handgun will not fire after being in the sand for that long, there is not enough gun oil in the world.

but since I have wisened up and realized MI2 is not the worst MI movie, I think I get it more. The over-the-top motorcycle jousting, the slow-motion, but especially the cuts to the roiling ocean-- everyone shut the fuck up and let your bodies tell the story, even if the 'story' here is as simple as "I'mma fuck you up." It doesn't have to be original, it just has to be a cohesive vision, and honestly I think people would like MI2 a lot more if they acknowledged Woo accomplished his specific vision here.

I don't love MI2, but I respect it. Way more than, uh.

Mission Impossible 3:

god i hate this fucking movie but the EOTD is really obvious.

The only scene in this movie that works 100% is after the stupid vapid villain is gone and when the movie returns to the two fucking actors who carried this horrible script on their fucking backs.

Ethan has a charge in his head that is about to detonate and kill him. He's asks Julia to kill him and then bring him back to life to defuse it.

I... My hatred of this movie is legendary but I love this scene. I love Ethan staggering around like a drunkard bc he's blinded by pain. I love the way he explains how to shoot a gun to Julia. I love his little "Don't point it at me" and the way he likens the reload of a magazine to the flashlight in their kitchen, something both of them understand. I love the absolute trust here--

Esp bc I think it's clear Ethan could die right now, but he'd rather go out trusting his wife to save his life than to worry about it too much.

And Julia actually fucking saves him, and it's good! It's the only good scene in the movie other than Benji's second scene. And if MI3's goal was to dig into the Emotions of the franchise, then fine, this is the scene that's best at it.

Still the worst movie. Someone stop JJ Abrams from ever writing scripts.

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol

holy shit i am stunned someone clipped this bit

I am straight up stealing Brendon Bigley's EOTD scene because he's right.

This moment, right after Ethan and Brandt have escaped the river, there's this incredible lull in the action where Brandt asks "Why would that work?" about Ethan's ridiculous flare trick to misdirect the KGB dudes with the rifles.

Ethan's confused about Brandt's question because... he didn't know it would work, he played a hunch.

Brandt's bitchy lil "'kaaaaay.... so what was your scenario" and the way Ethan actually smiles as Brandt tries analyzing the logic of what just happened and why.

This is the EOTD of GP because it's the film tipping its hat to everything its doing (and everything MI will become moving forward) in microcosm. MI is not about metriculous clockwork plots and spy intrigue, it's about heart and instinct and the fucking motto of the IMF: "I'll make it work." Tacitly, this convo between Brandt and Ethan is Brandt as audience surrogate and Ethan as filmmakers' surrogate.

Why did that work? Don't worry about it, just keep saying yes and we'll get through.

(Also the bit immediately after with the best Tom Cruise Is Short joke in the series, immaculate physical comedy, love it.)

Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation:

fuck all y'all I'm going to pick a single joke and obsess over it

FIRST 15 SECONDS

THAT'S IT THAT'S THE EYE OF THE DUCK

I'm not even remotely kidding, but this is related to BTS info about the gag. The script apparently only said "ethan and benji get into the car" but when it came time to film, TC was like "I can't just get into the car, it's the waste of a moment. hang on, i got it" and for the next take just DID that stupid flail across the car. Pegg's stunned look is real because no one knew he would do that.

As a writer, I love this moment because yes, just climbing into the car would have been a waste. It would have been an opportunity to put in a character moment just forgotten.

This is related to that lovely lil moment in Fallout where the team are meeting up with Walker after catching Lane, and there's no dialogue, but as they come up the stairs, Benji spots Walker, and he immediately flattens himself to the wall to get out of Ethan's way and looks back at Ethan for guidance. Ethan gives Benji a nod to say we're good, don't worry and they continue up the stairs.

These are little moments of characterization that are mostly built from actors who are just very comfortable with their characters, and this expediency of storytelling. Cut all the unneeded seconds, and make sure every second that remains in the movie is doing some kind of work.

so yeah that's the EOTD for RN.

Mission Impossible: Fallout

the EOTD for the entire MI franchise is the scene with the Parisian cop.

Ethan stopping everything to try to convince a bystander to leave and keep them from getting hurt. That's the soul of MI, the same emotional damage Ethan's carried since MI1.

Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning

"I was hoping it'd be you."

shocker, I'm not picking the moment when Ethan literally Says The Fucking Theme Out Loud, nope. I'm picking the moment Ilsa decides she too will follow the new IMF's batshit "beat the trolley problem by pushing the trolley off the tracks" creed, and gives up everything for a woman she doesn't know who is in over her head.

History repeats, and Dead Reckoning's obsession with closing the loop and creating internal consistency out of a series that has had five directors and seven films works perfectly for me. Venice is a visual recreation of Prague in MI1, with Ethan racing down dimly lit streets to save someone but is just not fast enough.

I also have this personal read on the scene as a refutation of Gabriel and the Entity, who represent an almost Calvinistic philosophy of inevitability and fate. Gabriel tells a lot of fucking lies for a guy fashioning himself to be a prophet, and he taunts Ethan about having to choose between Grace and Ilsa.

But Ethan doesn't chose shit, he's busy getting almost suffocated by Paris in an alleyway. Ilsa is the one who makes a decision, and for a person like Ilsa who literally was the person to ask Ethan to run away with her because all this spy shit is useless and meaningless

Ilsa is the one who picks, and she decides to save Grace. Not Ethan and not the Entity and not Gabriel.

Ilsa died to save an innocent (well mostly) woman, and that's the entire point of MI. There is no such thing as acceptable losses and if you can prevent someone's death, you do it.

AND THEN ETHAN SAYS THAT OUT LOUD TO GRACE BECAUSE "YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME" "WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?" AND THAT'S MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

okay i'm done