#also combined with him spitting in his face....yeah....i see you!!!

[divineandmajesticinone]

SHREK (2001) dir. Andrew Adamson & Vicky Jenson

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

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[jj-one]

SALTY & SWEET 🥣

pairing: established relationship, nerdy bf!dom!Jungkook x gf!reader, jk is around 21/22 in this genre/tags: smut, (some) fluff, angst, degradation, praise kink, oral (m receiving), facef*cking, food play, c*m play, c*m eating, use of word daddy (once) words: 981

**old repost from my deleted blog

Oh you sad, sad little thing… always finding yourself in these compromising situations. The whole morning went as normal with Jungkook, he was super nice to you and smothered you with lots of loving kisses! But once he arrived back home from classes his entire mood shifted completely.

“Get on your knees, wanna use that pretty little mouth of yours right now.” Jungkook was hovering over you as you sat down.

You were just minding your business on the couch eating a bowl of strawberries when he said that to you.

“W-what?” Your eyes bug out of your head like a deer in headlights.

“Did I stutter? On your knees NOW!” His voice becomes more stern.

You squirm to get up, not wanting to waste another minute incase he gets angrier. Your body feels shaky from his intimidating persona, he usually comes off as sweet and caring but when he’s mad he becomes almost sadistic.

It didn’t take long for him to end up down your throat. All 7 inches of him being taken by you. You kept choking and gagging but the more you did it the more Jungkook would just keep pushing your head back down. His fingers latching onto your hair and thrusting his hips harder to get more of his cock deeper in your throat.

“C’mon, you can take it like the little pathetic slut you are. You’re my precious little pup right?”

His words made you so fucking wet for him.

You wanted to please him in the best way you could. Bobbing your head back and forth, his spit combined with your saliva all over your face. Jungkook likes it messy though, he also loves shooting his load out on your face after a long day. You acted like nothing but a toy for him to use, just a fuckdoll he can manipulate and dump all his cum into when he’s frustrated.

His glasses were sliding down to his nose as he keeps lowering his head to get a finer view of you. Your fucked out face was so angelic to him, so divine… you looked the most beautiful when you had Jungkook’s cock buried in your mouth.

“There atta-girl… such a good little slut for me aren’t you?” The way he talks to you will be your true weakness.

You had to prove your love to him. Your devotion. You wanted his cum as a reward so you had to work hard for it and push through the pain. You try humming to loosen up your vocal cords and take him better, the vibrations sent chills up his spine and he almost lost his balance for a second. Feeling the way he throbbed and twitched on your tongue made you moan against his shaft.

“Fuck yeah… good girl my good little fucking princess…”

You kept letting him throatfuck you and the tears came rolling down now. He loved seeing you become a crying fucked out mess for him, it filled his heart with the utmost joy.

“Aww.. my darling’s getting teary eyed, can’t take all of it huh??”

Your jaw hurts so bad but you can’t stop now, you have only one goal to achieve and that was to make your boyfriend cum all over your pretty face. His cock slammed into your uvula and you made a loud gagging noise, he would just grin and keep pushing hisself in you relentlessly. He laughed at your misery, the way your knees buckled and quivered while being under him.

He wouldn’t be laughing for too much longer though, one more thrust to the back of your throat would leave him nearly unable to talk. His body felt paralyzed. Eyes were violently rolling to the back of his head as he feels his release approaching. He jerks his hips back and quickly pulls out of your mouth. He doesn’t bring his cock to your face though, instead his attention is drawn to the bowl of strawberries you were eating from earlier.

He stands in front of it on the couch and viciously strokes his cock, large white ropes of cum come trickling down onto the fresh strawberries. Once he finishes he looks back at you now with an evil grin.

“Get on all fours for me doll.” He instructs you.

You do as you’re told, getting on your hands and knees, crawling your way towards him. He takes ones of the strawberries— that are now all coated with his hot delicious cum and brings it to your lips.

“Open wide.”

You open your mouth and he plops the strawberry in, you immediately close your mouth to start chewing. The strawberry was so sweet and juicy while Jungkook’s cum was warm and salty, this might be the perfect combination you’ve ever tried.

“Taste’s good right princess?”

You nod your head and finally speak “Yes, so yummy daddy, want to eat more!”

“Then go ahead, eat more.”

You dip your face in the bowl of strawberries and eat another one. You can’t get over how good his cum tastes with the savory fruit. He pets the top of your head like you were a kitten, just grinning at the sight of you eagerly eating his cum.

“Such a naughty little girl… you really are a huge slut.” He degrades you more, wrapping his hand around your neck as he lifts you from being on all fours.

You’re back on your knees again facing him while he kept a tight grip on you. The way this man had you so down bad for him, you were willing to let him do absolutely anything to satisfy his needs. Your body couldn’t stop trembling under his touch, he had you perfectly the way he wanted.

“Still look so pretty, even after sucking off my cock..” his hold on you was only getting tighter at this point.

“So obedient for me, always.”

[softmiso]

our bodies move in unison | eddie munson x reader

🦊 kinktober day 3: 69 (ft. cunnilingus, deep throating, handjobs, vaginal fingering, cum swallowing, and mentions of anal fingering (m receiving) and ball massage)

🥮 other details: nsfw/18+, fem!reader, ~700 words

🍁 cross-posted on ao3

There were two things in this world Eddie couldn’t get enough of: 1) eating you out, and 2) you sucking his cock. When it came to the former, he could go at it for hours; lapping at your folds, sucking on your clit. And the former? Let’s just say that you never held back. Every time you take him into your mouth, he swears he sees God. We’re talking spit and pre dripping down to his balls, which you would also manage to play with while simultaneously deep throating him. Sometimes, a finger or two would migrate downwards, and you’d insert them with a practiced ease.

All that to say, in Eddie’s mind, there would be nothing better than to combine his two favourite activities.

“Eds, what if I suffocate you?” You asked as you continued to grind down on his cock. He stops you, both hands on your hips.

“Honey, that would be a great way to go,” he jokes, and you scoff, “seriously though, don’t worry, okay?” You nod, still hesitant. “How about this: since both of our mouths will be…busy,” he starts, “we can just tap the other person on the thigh three times if we need to stop.”

“Okay,” you agree, “yeah, okay, that sounds good.” A smile forms across your face, partially due to excitement, but also due to a good kind of nervousness.

Slowly, you remove him from yourself, both of you wincing slightly at the loss of contact. You look deeply in his eyes before you start to crawl up and around. Now, as you face the end of the bed, pussy hovering over his mouth, you lean down and take him into your hand. You stroke softly a few times, and you feel his fingers spread your folds.

“Ready?” You hear him ask, and you look back, nodding.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Eddie beats you to the punch, tongue immediately circling your clit. You jolt at the feeling and start to revel in it until you remember the task at hand. With that, you sort of mirror his actions, tongue circling his ruddy tip a few times before you take him as deep as you can.

He doesn’t let up though, flattening his tongue against you and licking through your folds. You start to bob your head up and down. You pause occasionally when you reach his base, and swallow around his length, just like you know he likes it. At that, you feel him moan against you, vibrations spreading through your centre.

Eddie returns the favour, taking your bud into his mouth once again, this time sucking at it with a fervour reserved just for you. When he inserts a finger, you have to remove him from your mouth for a moment, but you still tug at him with your hand.

“Fuck, Eds,” you pant out, “don’t think I’m g—gonna last much longer.” Somehow, he continues, but you know he’s close too. His cock throbs, and you see a pearly drop of precum drip from his tip, which you eagerly lick up before sinking your mouth back down around him.

With one more curl of his finger inside you and suck to your bundle of nerves, you feel yourself coming apart on Eddie’s mouth. You tremble with the strength of your orgasm, seeing stars, and nearly losing feeling in your body. Without even noticing, you moan around him, setting him off.

He releases down your throat, and you swallow down everything he has to give you. You slowly move your mouth up his length, sucking at the tip one last time, and you feel him shudder. You let go with a pop, and finally relax, resting your head on his thigh. You almost forget the position you’re in until you feel a few taps at your own thigh.

“Shit, sorry, baby,” you panic, turning around and sitting back in his lap, “all good?” You ask, hand cradling his face.

“Better than ever.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

[dwaekkicidal]

after reading the biting lino thoughts I neeeeeed u to write pliant lino who for onceeeee let's u have ur way with him, like i totally agree he's THE bratty dom but he's feeling generous so he lets u do what u want plsplspls

im so sorry this is so late! i had this in my drafts and completely forgot to post it ><

the og post

lino who, for once in his life, doesn't know what to do with himself when you're sitting on his lap. your pretty lips that are glossy from your combined spit thanks to the heated makeout session you just had. your lips that are also swollen from the constant attention to his pecs, leaving little marks that make him moan quietly and make his dick twitch

he settles his hands on your hips, holding onto the last drops of his dominance as if his life is on the line until he eventually caves. he's so hard and his mind is so foggy from the various hickeys and bite marks that now litter his chest, some of which are even shaped like a heart as if to add more fuel to the fire <3

❥ pliant lino who finds himself sinking into the couch, just one big puddle, as you roll your hips forward and grind onto him. his chest and neck are red as he takes deep breaths, trying to ground himself from your onslaught

❥ pliant lino whose moans turn more high-pitched and whiney as you test the waters, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head on the top of the couch

❥ pliant lino who doesn't object, doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even blink for that matter. he sits there and lets it happen, his pretty boba eyes glossing over as he stares into your wide ones

❥ pliant lino who keeps his hands where you put them, not moving them an inch as you move your hands to pull his cock out of his boxers, pumping him with two hands.

❥ pliant lino who keens when a fat glob of ur spit drops from your shiny lips and lands right onto his throbbing tip. even more so when the squelching sounds seem to get louder and he cant help but spread his legs more and dig his fingers into where his hands rest, still at the top of the couch

❥ pliant lino who bucks his hips desperately, breathily moaning your name alongside throaty whines of how close he is

❥ pliant lino who, if you choose to edge him, will have the prettiest pleading face youve ever seen. no tears yet but you can see the frustration in his eyes and the twitch from his cock

❥ pliant lino who might even pout with a cute frown if not just make an angry face at you through his heaving breaths

❥ pliant lino who wont beg, especially if its the first time with no prior talk about it, but he wont hesitate to whine loudly and wrap his hands around your wrist, tugging you towards him and silently telling you what he wants and what to do

may or may not go dom mode after that hehe

❥ pliant lino who, if you do let him cum right then, will scrunch his face up and furrow his eyebrows as he cums. whether it be on your hands/face or even down your throat, he's gonna have his head thrown back and those big thighs are gonna squeeze around you with each spurt

❥ pliant lino who wants to touch you in some sort of way while this is going on. its mainly to keep him grounded, but he also craves the affection when his mind is reeling

❥ pliant lino who will lowkey fantasize about you overstimulating him if you ride out his orgasm for a little longer than normal

❥ pliant lino who will quickly feel feral and get a sudden urge fuck your brains out after this kind "present" you gave him

❥ pliant lino who, once you two are laying in bed after the fact, pulls an "i know i said that would never happen but... maybe we should do it again. soon. for... research purposes, yeah?"

i forgot to put my taglist hehe....

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams

[jungkookstatts]

Big fan of your work! Since requests are open I was wondering if you may do a jk smut “holy sh*t i think you got ME pregnant” riding and complete  eagerness for jk 🫣

[Summary]: Jungkook is a little too obsessed with the idea of making you his. About making you both his wife and the mother of his kids.

[Theme]: Non-Idol AU (or Idol AU, however, you see it), Established Relationship AU, Pre-Fiances(?) AU

[Rating]: 18+ literally just sex, oral (m receiving), doggy, spitting, choking, ass slapping, hair grabbing, creampie, cockwarming, impreg kink, dom jk, sub reader, literally just vile I'm sorry

[Word Count]: 2,016

[A/N]: This literally took me almost 4 months, I apologize deeply. I also wrote it and then reread your ask and realized I didn't really follow it too much ㅠㅠ I am sorry I hope you still like it. My mind just went "woo-woo sex!!"

Your boyfriend is a big brat. Sometimes, even a bigger brat than you.

This all started because he was being a big cunt driving you home from your date. He took you out to a fancy restaurant for your 3-year anniversary, but for some reason, he was being a complete prick all the way home. Something about how you looked at the waiter a certain way and he didn’t like it.

So now here you are, your silk dress thrown somewhere on his bedroom floor, and your panties ripped down the middle. He’s naked and rock-hard in front of you, looking down at you on display on his sheets.

“You think it’s funny, huh?” your boyfriend smirks, his tongue coming out to lick at his lip piercing.

“I mean, yeah, a little,” you laugh. He’s so pent up, so overworked over nothing. You literally want to marry this man — he has nothing to worry about. It’s funny, but you’re also extremely turned on. Jungkook mad and jealous, is a huge, dangerous combination you can’t help but bend at the knees over in the bedroom.

His eyebrows knit together angrily as he pushes your legs up, his cold fingers sliding up your folds.

“A-ah,” you gasp, wiping the laugh off your face. His long fingers play with you, sliding and circling your juices between your folds.

“Not so funny now, is it?” he chuckles. He inserts a finger into you, and you grab onto his wrist in a useless attempt to calm him down for a moment. But he takes your wrist on his own, pinning it against the bedsheets next to your head. “Am I a joke, hm?” he whispers against your neck. “You think it’s funny to look at other men when I take you out?”

“N-No, Kook,” you swear. “I only look at you.”

“Damn right you do,” he bites your neck harshly, causing you to arch your back into his chest. You know for a fact you’re going to be purple and blue tomorrow. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Y/n,” he smiles against your ear. “Let me fix it for you.”

“K-Kook,” you whine, knowing where this is going.

“Get up,” he demands. You feel your pussy tremble at the look in his eyes. He’s going to torture the shit out of you, and you couldn’t be more excited and scared at the same time.

Your boyfriend sits down at the edge of his bed, spreading his legs and pointing to the space on the ground in between them for you. You fall onto your knees, sliding your hands up his thighs until they’re inches from his swollen cock. He’s so hard — it almost looks painful. But he looks down at you with hooded eyes, smiling devilishly at the events to come.

“Suck it,” he demands. And you do.

With your small hands wrapped around his cock, you give him a test pump before licking a long stripe from base to tip. The sensation has his head falling back, and you feel yourself dripping onto the floor at the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing from pleasure. You put him into your mouth, your tongue flattening against his frenulum so deliciously, that he grabs your hair in his fist and pushes you down further. The action causes you to gag, not ready for the sudden change in pace. But you accept it graciously, adjusting to his length in your mouth as you move with the pace his hand on your hair sets for you.

It’s always hard to adjust to him. You hate to admit it, but your big-brat boyfriend has a big-brat cock. You don’t think in the three years you’ve dated him you’ve been able to call yourself “used” to his size. But he likes it rough. He warned you when you said you didn’t like rough sex all those years ago that he’d change your mind. And boy, has he. You’re an absolute slut for this man, and he gets a tiny ego boost every time you submit yourself to him like this.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes you.

You bob your head onto him, looking up at him with your full mouth, eyes watery and big. He almost cums at the sight, pushing you off for a moment to compose himself.

You come off with a pop, a messy line of spit connecting your mouth to his dick.

He grabs your jaw with his palm, his thumb jutting into your mouth. You take his thumb in your hand, enclosing it around your lips and sucking on it just as you sucked his dick.

“Open,” he demands again. You do, opening your mouth and pushing your tongue out. Your boyfriend leans forward, taking your chin in his fingertips, and spits into your mouth. You smile, giggling with a mouth full of his spit when he slightly sits back, looking at all of you. He was about to say something, but you lean into him, taking his dick into your mouth again and sucking him harder and faster.

“A-ah-Y/n,” he moans quietly, although his grip on your hair returns harshly. “Ffuckkk—hah.”

He nearly laughs at the pleasure; you’re so perfect for him it’s funny. You know every single one of his pleasures, and he knows you do when you begin to play with the skin between his balls and cock as you fuck him with your mouth. The sensation has him pulling you off his cock again for good, himself on the edge of release.

“Get on the bed,” he pants.

“How?” you ask, resting your hands on his thighs. He leans forward again, but this time his hand comes around your neck, choking you a little more harshly than you expected. Your eyes search for him, completely lust-filled and intense.

“How I like you best,” he whispers against your lips. You lean in to kiss him, but he pulls away, teasing you in the most evil way possible.

You pout, but get up on your feet and lay down front-first against the sheets. You feel him come up behind you, touching the back of your thighs softly, gliding his hands up your skin until they meet the round of your ass. You listen to him moan softly as he spreads them apart, taking a good look at your swollen, dripping cunt.

“God, you’re so wet,” he nearly whines. “You gonna let me knock you up, sweetheart?”

“Mmhm,” you whine. The anticipation of his cock inside of you is getting too intense, and you wiggle your ass at him in an attempt to get him to get a move on. But he only slaps your ass hard, surely leaving a handprint. You gasp sharply, toes curling at the surprise.

“Fuck, I want to put a baby in you so bad,” he slaps your ass again. “Wanna show everyone how swollen I’ve made you. That you’re carrying my baby because you’re my girl.”

“J-Jungkook,” you gasp as he lands a third harsh slap on your ass. You almost feel like you might cum — he’s always hinted at wanting kids with you, but hasn’t really brought it to the bedroom. It’s hot, to say the very least. That, and the combination of his big hand slapping your ass.

“No one would question you’re mine,” he grabs your hips, pulling them up into the air where he situates the tip of his dick against your cunt. “You’d be too busy having my babies to give anyone else a glance other than me.”

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already pushing inside of you, stretching you so well like how he always does. You fold your arms in the space above your head, arching your back into him as he slowly bottoms out. This position always allows his cock to kiss your cervix so delicately, you squirm knowing he’s going to pump you so good once he’s finished.

“Fuck,” he spits, panting at the sheer feeling of your walls around him. “Y-You good?”

You just moan against his pillows, nodding your head as you push your hips back, slipping further into him than you were before. Jungkook grabs your hips tightly, pressing his fingertips harshly into your skin as he pulls out and slams back in with force. You moan loudly into the fabric, but Jungkook pays you no mind, pushing your head further into the sheets as he fucks you like a demon.

His hips slap against yours, and you find yourself coming undone within minutes of his torture on you. The man behind you only laughs, his thrusts becoming harder, trying to push past the absolute grip you have on his cock from your orgasm.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, head lulling back in disbelief. “You’re all mine,” he grabs your ass harshly before landing another slap onto it. “Say it, Y/n. Say you’re mine. Say you belong to me.”

“Koo,” you tremble, completely overstimulated from your orgasm.

“Dammit,” he grips your hair in his fist, forcing you to look up. His body looms over yours, his breath tickling your ear as he demands again, “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Koo,” you whine. “I’m all yours; only yours.”

He grunts in your ear at your words, dick slightly twitching inside of you. The way you say his name sounds so sweet. He never wants to hear his name from another pair of lips. It only sounds right when it’s coming from you. The thought of you being his forever, of the diamond ring sitting in the top drawer of his closet wardrobe, looms over him. God, he can’t wait. He’s so eager and so very impatient. He wants you, he wants you as his — as his wife and the mother of his children — so badly, he can almost taste it. He wants to be your husband already.

“Fuck, dammit,” he curses, head resting against the back of your shoulder. He still fucks into you, hips unrelenting and only quickening with the orgasm he denied of himself just a while ago while you were sucking him off looming over his head. “M’ gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, baby,” you permit him. Your voice sounds like honey in his ears, and you find yourself cumming for a second time when his thick, hot ropes spill into you. It’s so much — his sweet voice filling your ear as pleasure takes over his body, the way his cum pumps into you filling you with so much of him you feel so full and used.

“A-ah, Y/n,” he says softly, kissing your shoulder with wet, soft kisses. “Fuck, you’re so good to me.”

“I love you,” you respond as your knees give out on you. He simply falls on top of you, letting you lie down with his cock buried deep inside of you. He plugs you up, even though he’s softening slowly by the minute.

“I love you, too,” he smiles.

“I think you might have gotten me pregnant,” you slightly turn your head toward him. Your boyfriend comes up to you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he smiles gently.

“You’re fine with that?” you ask him, a little surprised.

“Yeah,” he hides his face in the crook of your neck. “I want like…an entire army of children with you, so I’m completely fine with that idea.”

“I’m not having more than two kids,” you scoff.

He simply looks at you with his bunny eyes, feeling embarrassed by his eagerness.

“Maybe three, but that is pushing it,” you change your mind. Fuck, this man has you wrapped around his finger.

“Regardless, I’m gonna make you mine,” he says surely, turning you on his back.

“I am yours,” you confirm as you push the hair out of his face.

“Officially,” he corrects you.

You don’t even have to ask what he means by that when he stares at your ring finger gently before kissing you into the pillows, the hand on your waist slowly tracing circles on your lower stomach with his thumb.

----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[skribbyposts]

ZOSAN KINKTOBER PROMPT 2 - Cunnilingus/Facesitting

Hey. its me...... kinktober is not going as planned. have this shit, which you can also read on ao3 here!! _______________

“You impatient fuck,” Zoro growls, fumbling with the doorknob to their hotel room with his back to the wood because Sanji can’t keep his damn hands off of him long enough for him to open the door. “Can you wait? ”

“No,” Sanji murmurs, lips roving over the side of Zoro’s neck while he’s still trying to get this fucking door open. His hands slip under Zoro’s shirt, gripping at his waist and digging his nails into his hips in a way that makes Zoro start.

Eventually the door gives way, sending them both stumbling into the dingy room Sanji booked for the night and then there are hands pushing him roughly onto the bed and oh fuck, Zoro needs to tell him.

“Cook,” Zoro breathes, gripping blonde strands at the base of the other man’s neck. Sanji hums against him, but doesn’t pause. “ Sanji. Stop.”

Sanji pulls back, a mix of confusion and apprehension in his eyes. “What?” Zoro doesn’t answer, trying to figure out how to approach this. He slides an apprehensive hand over his face, and Sanji leans back from his place hovering over Zoro.

“We– We don't have to do anything,” the blond says, “If you don't want to.” and Zoro should really say no but Sanji’s hands are still resting on his thighs and Zoro kind of doesn't want them to move.

“No, it’s not that,” Zoro sighs. “I– You– ” And in lieu of explanation, he just takes Sanji’s hand and shoves it down his pants. Which, in hindsight, was not the best idea, seeing how Sanji full-body freezes once his fingers come into contact with the wetness in between Zoro’s legs. 

Sanji doesn’t say anything, the only sound being the sharp intake of breath he makes when he looks down to where his hand lays touching Zoro’s folds. He clenches his jaw, and Zoro can see the muscle in his face twinge as he does.

Sanji hesitates a little before opening his mouth.  “Zoro.”

“Yeah?”

“Take off your pants.” What?

“You really don’t care that I–”

“No, I don’t, oh my god Zoro please take your fucking pants off.” 

Zoro doesn’t argue, lifting his hips to shuck off his pants and Sanji wastes no time spreading open his thighs to lick all the way from Zoro’s taint to his clit.

“Fucking hell,” Zoro grits out, Snaking a hand into Sanji’s hair. The blond groans, tongue lapping at Zoro’s leaking hole eagerly, like he’s trying to fucking swallow him whole. Sanji eats him out like he’s starving, sucking and licking at Zoro’s folds and grabbing his hips and pulling Zoro onto his tongue.

Zoro clenches around the intrusion, breathy grunts getting punched out of him each time he rocks himself forward. Sanji places a hand on his stomach, twisting it so that he can press on Zoro��s clit and the contact sends lightning bolts of pleasure up Zoro’s spine.

Sanji comes up for air, lips shiny with spit and slick, “Tastes so good, Moss,” he murmurs, slurring like he’s fucking drunk.

Zoro feels his face heat. “Shut the hell up.” 

“Yeah, I could think of a lot more things I should be doin’ with my mouth right now,” Sanji retorts, Pushing both him and Zoro farther onto the bed. It squeaks under their combined weight. “Like getting you on top of me.” 

“You fuckin’ freak. I’m not sitting on your face.”

“Please,” Sanji borderline whines, batting his fucking eyelashes up at Zoro like that’s gonna do something. And–well. Zoro can’t say that it doesn’t.  

Zoro cards a hand through blonde strands, watching as Sanji’s eyes flutter closed at the contact. The cook presses a kiss to his inner thigh.

“I hate you.” Zoro feels a smile creep onto Sanji’s face. “Fine.” 

Zoro pulls the blonde further onto the bed by his hair, relishing the sounds he makes when it gets tugged a little too roughly. “And I’m not doing any of that hovering bullshit.”

“Didn’t think you would.” Sanji responds, making himself real comfortable between Zoro’s legs like he belongs there. “Come on, Zoro.”

And with that, Zoro straddles his face, lowering himself as Sanji grips his thighs and Jesus Fucking Christ, is the only thing he can think as Sanji works his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, wasting no time before fucking Zoro open on his tongue.

It’s wet and messy, slick sounds filling the hotel room as Zoro grinds himself on Sanji’s face, choked-off expletives falling from his mouth as jolts of pleasure interrupt The swordsman’s train of thought. On top of that, Sanji is moaning like he’s the one getting tongue-fucked and that does more to the swordsman that he’d care to admit.

“Fucking bastard,” Zoro grunts, fisting one hand in Sanji’s hair and grinding down hard, chasing the heat pooling in his stomach and bringing his other hand to press on his clit. 

Sanji seems to take this in stride, tightening his grip on Zoro’s thighs until his nails press hard enough to leave marks. They speed up in unison, Sanji’s mouth working deliciously around him and fuck, it’s too much. “Lemme up, I’m gonna–” Come, Zoro wants to say, but he’s interrupted by Sanji shoving two fingers inside of him and then he’s gushing all over Sanji’s face and stupid fucking dress shirt. 

The cook doesn’t complain, just laps up as much as he can as Zoro ruts erratically into his open mouth and fingers, doubled over and gasping while his orgasm rips through him. He spares a glance down at Sanji, who honest to god looks like he’s getting off more than Zoro is; his eyes are barely open, his brow furrowed in pleasure as the remaining grip he has on Zoro’s thigh loosens. 

Unfortunately, it’s not long before overstimulation sets in and Zoro begrudgingly lets go of the cook’s hair, lifting himself off. Sanji’s fingers slide out of him easily, and he hears the man make a disappointed sound at the loss of contact when Zoro collapses on the hard mattress next to him. “Perv.”

Sanji huffs, a light, breathy sound. “You owe me a shirt.” He pauses. “Can we go again?

Zoro shoves him off of the bed.

[mendeshoney]

hiiii i just want to say thank you for giving us all these stories, like it really makes my day seeing it on my feed. can you please write something about barzy being the readers boyfriend but also bsf so he gets all the tea every time lol

"You are never going to believe what I just found out."

The door closes and locks behind you at the same time that Mat's head whips around, his wireless headset falling from the force of the turn, and his character dies on the screen.

Faintly, you can hear the protests of his teammates through his headphones, and Mat's immediately scrambling, pulling the headset on and rushing out a quick goodbye. He turns off the game and tosses his headset onto the couch beside him, his whole body turning toward you.

"At 'The Debrief?'" Mat asks. If he were a dog, you would swear his ears would be perked all the way up and his tail would be wagging.

You nod, an excited smile on your face as you head to the fridge and grab the already open bottle of champagne, and when Mat sees it, he flies over the back of the couch and scrambles to grab the glasses from the cabinet.

"No fucking way," he says as he moves, just as excited, placing the glasses down on the kitchen counter in front of you.

"Do you want to guess who it involves? Or should I just tell you?" You ask, pouring the champagne in the glass first, and Mat tops it off with the orange juice he grabbed from the fridge.

"Just tell me," Mat insists. "I've been waiting for this since you left."

This had become a tradition between the two of you over the last six months.

Every two weeks, on a Sunday, you and your best friends gather at a bistro or café and catch up on everything going on in the others lives. You'd been friends with them since you were kids, lasting throughout high school and college combined, and now that you're all adults with your own lives, it's the main way to ensure you keep in touch.

Mat had gone to one of them when you first started dating. You forgot that you'd made plans with him on the same Sunday as what you and your friends liked to call "The Debrief," and your friends had been so excited to meet him that they encouraged you to bring him along.

Needless to say, Mat had never had so much fun being involved in gossip in his life.

"You hear things being on the team," he had told you after you'd left that day. "But none of them are that exciting. It's like watching a reality show unfold in real life."

Since then, he'd begged to go with you each time, but you always had to let him down to remind him that "The Debrief" is a closed event, and that he can't always tag along just because. But he'd been so sad about being told he couldn't be involved, you came up with this compromise.

After every day you went to "The Debrief," you'd come home to him and start what he dubbed as "The Mimosa Memo," where you'd summarize what you learned that morning and Mat could still feel like he was involved.

You take a swig of the mimosa, then lean your elbows on the counter and blurt out "Drea's older sister is pregnant."

Mat's mouth drops open, genuine disbelief on his face. "No! Alyssa? Is the dad the married fin tech dude?"

"Yep," you confirm, and Mat groans out loud.

"She's keeping the baby?!" He exclaims, and when you nod, he takes a swig of his own mimosa, shaking his head. "Andrea needs to talk some sense into her."

"Oh, she tried," you admit, recounting your friend's frustrated face. "I don't think I've ever seen Drea so mad before. Lyss even told Drea she was convinced that this would mean he would leave his wife for good."

Mat scoffs. "Yeah, alright."

"That's not even the best part," you insist after taking another sip.

You laugh as Mat's eyeballs bug out again, and he makes a 'hurry up' gesture with his hands. "Spit it out, I'm dying over here!"

"Fin tech bro?" You begin dramatically, feeling excitement when the anticipation is all over Mat's face. "His wife just found out she's pregnant too."

The gasp that leaves Mat's mouth is both vindicating and hilarious, and you can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Does Alyssa know?"

You shake your head. "We just found out at brunch. We Instagram stalked him, found his wife's account, and she posted a picture celebrating the end of her first trimester literally two days after Lyss found out she was pregnant."

Mat shakes his head, completely flabbergasted. He takes another large swig of his mimosa, and sighs, like he's exhausted by the drama that isn't even his. "What did Lyss say when Drea told her?"

You shrug, and Mat stares at you. "Drea said she was going to tell her when she got home."

"Are you kidding me?!" He pouts. "You're telling me I have to wait another two weeks to find out?"

You smirk, hiding behind the rim of your glass. "Guess so."

His nostrils flare, and his shoulders sag. "If Drea texts you before then you have to tell me about it."

You raise a brow at him. Usually he's eager, but not this eager. "Why?"

A slight flush creeps up his cheeks. "No reason."

"Mathew." You deadpan. "What did you do?"

He stares at his glass like it's the most interesting thing the entire world. "I.....may or may not have told a few people a couple of things I learned from 'The Debrief' and 'The Mimosa Memo' and they may or may not also want updates."

You stare at him blankly. "So you told Tito, Tyson, and Ethan."

"And Lianna," he clarifies. "But that's it."

A groan leaves your lips, and you tip back the rest of your mimosa. "See, this is why you're not allowed at 'The Debrief,' you've got loose lips."

"You're the one telling me stuff!"

"I'm allowed to! The rules extend to significant others, but not beyond that!"

Mat frowns. "So if I can't tell the guys about Drea's sister?"

You roll your eyes, pouring more champagne and head straight to your bathroom to run a bubble bath, ignoring Mat's cries of protests as you retreat.

[graphicalregrets]

As evening embraced the room, a warm glow spilled from the window, illuminating Shendu’s back as he sat at his desk. He carefully lifted his son onto his lap, ensuring the boy had a clear view of the mysterious book in front of them. Shendu was in the midst of explaining his plans for acquiring new magical powers to his curious son.

"...and with these 12 magical animals, I will become the strongest and most powerful demon to ever exist," Shendu declared with a hint of excitement in his voice.

His son, wide-eyed and filled with admiration, chimed in, "But daaaddy, you're already the strongest!"

A soft chuckle escaped Shendu’s lips. "That may be true. But with these," he gestured towards the intricate drawings of the 12 magical animals, "I will become unstoppable. See these two animals here?" He pointed at the illustrations of a rabbit and a rooster.

The son, eager and curious, followed his father's clawed finger. "Yeah, the bunny and the chicken!"

"With the combination of these two," Shendu explained, "I should be able to fly at great speeds and perhaps even travel around the whole world within a day." He lifted his other hand upward, emphasizing the possibilities.

His son's eyes lit up with excitement. "That is so cool! I want to do that! Daddy, I want magical animal powers too! Please! Pretty please!"

Shendu, however, was not amused by his son's enthusiastic demands. "Absolutely not," he said sternly.

The son's grin faded, and his voice took on a whiny tone. "But why!? That's not fair! I want to be strong and unstoba- unst... un-"

"Unstoppable," Shendu corrected.

"Unstobble!!" His son insisted. "I want to be strong too!" In a fit of frustration, he crawled onto the table, facing his father, and stomped his feet in a tantrum. "I want magical animal powers too!"

Shendu, unyielding, lifted his son and patted him on the head. "These powers are meant for me... and only me. You are far too young and inexperienced to try and use this sort of magic."

Defiantly crossing his arms, his son turned away, sulking. "It's not fair... I want to be strong, like you," he mumbled pitifully.

Shendu contemplated for a moment and gazed down at his son. "Perhaps... one day, when you're older, I will help you find and obtain a different set of powers. Something fitting for a young spit-fire like yourself," he soothed, closing the magical book.

Still pouting, the son turned to face his father, hope flickering in his eyes. "You... promise?"

"I promise."

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

So this was something I thought of the other day when I was thinking about a favorite childhood show of mine, Jackie Chan Adventures. Drago’s background in the show has always been open to interpretation and I’ve always had the idea that he was born back when Shendu ruled China, 900+ years ago. Drago would be very young here and like most young children he idolizes his father and wants to be like him, which I would argue is still accurate even in season 5 of the actual show. Also, I don’t believe the name “Drago” was his real name, no way Shendu would name his kid something that wasn’t Chinese, so I just refer to him as… “his son” in the short story above.

I don’t normally do backgrounds for my drawings so this was more of an experiment to see if I could do it, and see if I could accurately capture a “mood”. Also note, I don’t know how to write Chinese so all of the characters are just scribbles, maybe think of them as “demon language” if that helps. Just don’t try to read it, its just fake text.

[imababblekat]

Worth Promises?

**WARNINGS**: reader is not dead! i promise! but there is alluding to serious injuries and mentions of blood

~~~~~~~~

Anon Request,“May I request more Spiderman reader with the tmnt brothers??? Maybe Readers mask somehow comes off by being torn off by a villain or its heavily damaged from saving people”

~xXx~

Donnie paced back and forth, every now and then stopping to glance up at the raggedy old curtain that separated the infirmary from the rest of the base. Beside him Mikey sat, his face hidden in his folded arms over his legs, one bouncing anxiously. The two were not alone in their worry, Raphael and Leo also standing nearby, but the former was glaring daggers at the other. Feeling a hole burning into the side of his face by his brothers scowl, Leo snapped his voice.

“Go on, Raph. Spit it out already.”

Donnie and Mikey quickly looked toward the two, already sensing the oncoming argument that would ensue. Just as predicted, Raph pushed himself off the sewer wall with irritation to his tone.

“What are we doin’ just standin’ around?! We should be in there doin somethin.”

A red banded hand flung towards the direction of the infirmary, Leo’s gaze following to where their master had retreated moments prior, before returning with a matching glare back towards Raphael.

“You don’t trust Master Splinter’s skills?”

The buffer brother gritted his teeth, clenched fists falling to his stiff sides.

“You know it’s not that.”

“We did what we could.”

“Snipping already cut parts of their suit just enough to slap a bandaid on ain’t enough.”

“If you think slapping a bandaid on is the same as stitching multiple open cuts closed, then you and I have very different ideas on what that is.”

“Stop dodging the obvious, Leo. We should be in there! Helping Master Splinter finish up!”

“And you would risk breaking the one promise we swore by to do so?!”

“Yeah, I would! Cuz unlike you, Mr Righteous, I care more about whether or not they live than some stupid oath!”

Leonardo and Raphael were already deep in the others space, chest and shoulders squared and ready to go, but at the notion that he didn’t care about the teams mysterious, but very close friend, had a fire ignite in the leaders glaring eyes.

“Both of you! Enough!”

Out of nowhere, and with a strength and tone rarely used, Donnie had pushed the two apart, effectively sticking himself in between. His tone was riddled with shame for the two, not sparing either brother a strong look of disappointment that shot straight to their souls.

“Is now really the time for this? Now, when (s,p) needs us together the most?”

Turning to Raphael, Donnie’s gaze and tone turned gentle, sympathetic.

“Raph, you know how much each one of us want to be in there right now, but we also all made a promise. If we can stand by that we have to, for them. That’s why Master Splinter is in there and not us. He’s the best option we have to keep their secret. You know that as well as any of us.”

The red ninja turtle released a heavy breath through flared nostrils, visibly upset at the fact his tallest brother was right in all this. With a click of his tongue, Raph shoved past Donnie, not sparing anyone a glance and instead making way to his room, but not before frustratingly slamming his fist into a nearby wall.

Leo made to go talk with the angered brother, when a calm hand landed on his shoulder to stop him. Surprisingly it wasn’t Donnie, but Mikey who offered him a small lopsided smile.

“I’ll go talk to him. Just come get us if (s,p) wakes up ‘kay?”

Leo and Donnie watched as the youngest quickly trotted off to go talk some sense into Ralph, and while many would be shocked to see Mikey of all of them go, the two knew how particularly close him and Raph were. Once said turtle was out of sight after grabbing an orange crush as a peace offering, Leo heaved a heavy sigh, pinching the skin between his furrowed brows. Everything that had happened was starting to catch up with him, and combined with this latest fude with Raphael, a migraine was quickly forming.

“He didn’t mean it.”

Leo shook his head, looking to Donnie with a matching frown.

“I know. I just. . .what if he’s right? I know we all promised to never, under any circumstance, reveal their true identity, but does that really matter after what happened?”

He hated that part of him agreed with his hard headed brother, but from the difficulty won battle that occurred only a few hours earlier, Leo could not help the feeling. They had barely succeeded in the fight against rouge foot soldiers turned mutants, even with the help of their friendly neighborhood (s,p). When they did win though, it was like a huge weight off their shoulders, each brother giving the other high threes or chest bumps in celebration. However, the victory was short lived when they’d all turned to share in revelry with their super hero teammate, only to watch them collapse to the hard floor, breathless and bleeding.

The memory had Leo starting to feel sick to his stomach again like it had in that moment, and Donnie carefully lead him over to sit against some railing. The purple clad turtle offered his brother a reassuring pat, trying to not let his own memory of the event get the best of him as well.

“If we didn’t have Master Splinter, than yeah, it wouldn’t matter. But we had another option, and honestly, it’s a really good one. You know Splinter would never tell a soul or give any kind of give away at who they are. Plus, he rarely ever goes to the surface, so chances of him being in any danger for knowing their secret, or heck, even vice-versa, is like. . . zero point zero percent!”

A light chuckle came from Leo, his brothers analytical personality helping to make things feel a bit lighter. He reached to swing an arm around to rest on Donnie as well, the two now wearing tired smiles on their scaled faces.

“Thanks, Don.”

“Of course!”

He knew it was very unlikely, but Leo hoped that perhaps one day, his family wouldn’t have to worry about so much evil in the world. And maybe then, no one would have to hide any secrets, especially (s,p), who had managed to find a way into his heart right next to one of their closest human friends, (y,n). At the thought of the ninja brothers goober of a bestie, Leo was about to ask Donnie if he’d heard from you since the battle had occurred, when the shuffling of the infirmary's curtain had quickly caught their attention. The two brothers shot to their feet, seeing their father walk out with some dirtied towels and other discarded medical supplies.

Leo was quick to walk up to Master Splinter, Donnie right behind him, and greatly resisted the urge to peak through the slight gap between the curtain and the entrance.

“How are they?! Will they be okay?!”

“Was it as serious as it looked?! Were the supplies I had enough?!”

Master Splinter raised a hand, his long sleeve flowing with, and both sons stopped in their rapid talking. Lowering his hand to stroke at his long beard, Master Splinter simply nodded to the boys.

“Your friend will be just fine. Let them rest.”

Two very relieved sighs came simultaneously from each brother. Just as predicted, Master Splinter gave no inclination about now knowing the very famous (s,p) true identity, a seemingly familiar indifference of sorts the ninja turtles were used to.

“Thank you, Master. Don and I will tell the others, they’ll be so relieved.”, Leo grinned.

Master Splinter merely nodded, turning to dispose of the medical waste, his ears listening to his retreating sons, hands shaking with a deep sadness when he heard Leo question Donnie if he’d heard from you lately.

~xXx~

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Fight Like You Mean It (Another Level - Installment 7, Part 2)

Summary

Time had to be running low now. A surge of energy just outside of the veil caught her attention, and she clenched her jaw. She’d rather die than let Naoya take this from her. Sucking in a shaky breath, she released it as she whispered, “Cursed Technique, Perfect Double.” It appeared opposite her, her mind narrowing as her view of the world split. Two TVs, two video games with separate controls—just like every time before, it threatened to overwhelm her. Focus on your energy. Gojo’s order resounded in her mind as she blinked rapidly. Focus less on your thoughts and more on your energy.

AN: I made some big revisions to this part, which is the original parts 2 and 3 combined. I've already updated both parts on AO3. For those who read the original version, I made changes to her fight, the group’s conversation at the izakaya, and some details about the Special Grade cursed spirit she fought. Her convo with Nanami is also a bit different. I added some fun banter because we love Nanami/Rinko banter.

Guess I'm spoiling her exam with the header, huh? Everyone, congratulate Rinko on her Grade 1 status. She got her ass beat for weeks while preparing. This part is spicy, too, but is that really surprising?

<- Prev - Fight Like You Mean It: Part 1 | Another Level Masterlist | Kiko's Masterlist

Fight Like You Mean It - Part 2 (and 3)

Dropping to her knees, Rinko allowed herself to cough once, dislodging the blood clot in her throat as she did.

Spitting it out, she growled her frustration wildly.

Despite expecting it and preparing for it—training extra with Gojo and Nanami for weeks—the Special Grade was still more than she had anticipated.

Thunder roared in the distance as rain pelted the veil overhead.

Nanami had given her sour expression a single glance as he got off the train that morning and sighed.

“You’re in a mood, I see,” he’d said, raising his eyebrows. “Where’s–?”

“Special Grade assignment,” she’d replied flatly, her eyes watching Nanami’s narrow. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Don’t fucking ask.”

They had been walking to her apartment from getting dinner at the sobayaki place she’d taken him that night over a year ago. His arm was draped over her shoulders, a smirk on his face as he asked if she wanted to get some taiyaki and relive that night. The smirk on his face grew when she scoffed, letting his shades slide down his nose so he could stare into her eyes. She’d known he was about to say something unhinged when his eyes almost glowed down at her, but he didn’t get the chance because his phone rang, his mouth flattening into a hard line as he answered.

“Yaga–” His expression went from annoyed to furious in an instant at whatever Yaga was saying, his arm dropping from her shoulders as he tensed. “You’re fucking joking–”

He’d gone back and forth with Yaga for the rest of the walk to her apartment, his tone hushed except for a few occasions when he snapped at the older sorcerer loudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he finally said, hanging up without another word. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he muttered under his breath, “Christ.”

He let out a heavy sigh of annoyance, removing his sunglasses and retrieving his bandages from his pocket.

“Special Grade assignment just popped up,” he stated drily in response to her confused look. “Sendai. Urgent– I know.”

She’d scowled as soon as he spoke, to which he nodded and sighed again.

It wasn’t that she needed him there with her, but she knew they were sending him off on purpose—and that was infuriating.

“They aren’t exactly being fucking subtle, are they?” he asked flatly as they arrived outside her apartment. “I gotta go.”

Nodding along, she unlocked her door silently, feeling the irritation settle in her chest at her father.

“Hey,” Gojo said, the fury in his eyes softening for a moment as he grasped her arm. “You’ll be fine. You’re more than ready. Just stick to the strategy and–”

“I know,” she snapped, watching his eyes narrow at her. “I got it.”

“Don’t get bratty with me,” he ordered, pressing her against the wall beside her door. His eyes were flashing dangerously as he raised his eyebrows. “Not when I don’t have the time to teach you a lesson for it.”

Leaning down, he captured her lips with his, licking his way into her mouth immediately. Stroking his tongue against hers, he flattened her against the wall roughly when she whimpered.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered again, biting her lip and grinding his hips into hers. “Don’t be nervous.”

Easier said than done.

“I mean it, Rinko,” he insisted, pulling back to stare down at her. “Stay calm. I’ll be back once I finish whatever the hell they’re sending me all the way to fucking Sendai for, and we’ll celebrate your new Grade 1 status.”

He’d released her shortly after, wrapping his bandages around his eyes and clasping his hands together before disappearing.

The cursed spirit shrieked as it charged at Rinko again, forcing her to swap with a duplicate to get away. It had knocked her through a second-floor window of the abandoned middle school into the old courtyard, almost crushing her skull when it jumped out after her. Had it not been for her duplicate, she’d have been out before the fight even started.

Her head ached, and sweat trickled down the side of her face. Raising her hand, she wiped her face and scowled when she pulled her hand away to see that it was blood and not just sweat. Perfect.

Another clap of thunder forced her attention back to the present.

The clock was ticking.

Time limits weren’t standard for exams, but yet another wrench the Zenin clan had thrown her way since she was impressive enough for Gojo Satoru to recommend her promotion. Someone like that should have no issue with an extra challenge. To make things worse, should she fail to exorcise the curse within the allotted time, Naoya would be the one to do it for her.

She and Nanami had shared a look, both clearly thinking the same thing: As if the little shit stood a chance.

The reason they’d sent Gojo over 800 kilometers away became crystal clear: so he couldn’t stop Naoya from inevitably trying to sabotage her exam by interfering early.

Yoshinobu, to his credit, had looked furious. But he’d remained silent, as always. He’d clenched his jaw as Yaga questioned who had approved such drastic changes to what should have been a standard Grade 1 exam.

Her uncle had only smiled, ignoring Yaga completely as he met Rinko’s hatred-filled eyes.

“Best get started, Kurisaki,” Ogi told her, his smile growing as he adjusted the umbrella in his hands. “The clock starts upon first contact.”

Spitting on the ground again, Rinko heaved as she drew her cursed blades, flipping them between her fingers while she tried to assess the situation.

They were close to the Uji River, she realized, squinting her eyes at the curse. Taking in its appearance, she ran through what she knew about the area. There were numerous legends and folk tales about the Uji River, but one in particular stood out. The snake-like body and horns on its head made her eyes narrow as it all clicked into place for her: Imaginary Vengeful Cursed Spirit, Uji no Hashihime.

Like all legends, the details of Hashihime varied, but the base of it stayed the same: the manifestation of a scorned lover. A woman fueled by jealousy who begged the gods to give her the power to punish those who wronged her. But Uji no Hashihime was also known as the dread Bridge Princess demon. Why was it in an abandoned school? How had they lured it away from– It released another shriek, zeroing in on Rinko’s cursed energy and charging her again before she could question its location further.

The implication of the Zenin clan’s choice of cursed spirit wasn’t lost on her, but she refused to let it throw her.

Fuck them, she thought as she readied her blades.

She wanted to slaughter the entire clan, but she had to survive first. More than that, she had to exorcise the curse or her only chance at ever getting Grade 1 was gone forever.

It slithered towards her, tortured wails brokenly lamenting how it was wronged and how she would pay for stealing its lover. Fury oozed from its every pore, the horns on its head glinting when a flash of lightning breached the barrier and lit the courtyard.

Keep moving.

Nanami was likely losing his mind at seeing her standing so still as it charged at full speed, but she purposefully waited until the last moment, swapping with her farthest duplicate. It crashed into the wall, the sound of its shriek mixing with the boom of thunder.

Taking advantage of its distraction, she rushed forward, thrusting her left blade into its side. She drove the knife as deep as she could, using her momentum to swing up and over its body.

Pain exploded in her ears at the scream Hashihime released, her head pounding as she landed and activated her technique to send a decoy in the opposite direction.

Keep moving.

Dropping low, she ducked its flailing arm to slide beneath it, dragging her blade across its belly as she went. She swapped away, watching it grab her duplicate and slam it into the ground as she tried to catch her breath. 

Blood roared in her ears as she realized that the only thing she could hear was a constant ringing, everything else a fuzzy mumble as a crack of thunder shook her chest.

A growl of frustration escaped as she realized that the cuts she’d made healed instantly. All she’d really succeeded in doing was making it angry.

“Cursed Technique, Shadow Step.”

Using her echoes as a form of cover, she charged forward again, this time launching herself up and managing to slice one of the horns from its head. Twisting, she tried to stab her other knife into its side, but an arm swiped out and caught her square in the chest, sending her straight into the wall.

A yelp of pain escaped as she hit the ground, quickly forcing herself back onto her feet.

Time had to be running low now. A surge of energy just outside of the veil caught her attention, and she clenched her jaw.

She’d rather die than let Naoya take this from her.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she released it as she whispered, “Cursed Technique, Perfect Double.”

It appeared opposite her, her mind narrowing as her view of the world split. Two TVs, two video games with separate controls—just like every time before, it threatened to overwhelm her.

Focus on your energy. Gojo’s order resounded in her mind as she blinked rapidly. Focus less on your thoughts and more on your energy.

Energy, right.

Moving her left leg back, she braced her weight against it, watching her double do the same. It raised its fists as she raised her knives in front of her, and she allowed herself another deep breath before darting toward the Special Grade.

Her energy flowed as she moved, striking the cursed spirit from both sides and feeling the cry of pain it released vibrate through her arm. Swinging her arm, she severed a second horn from its head, her brain protesting as her double continued its assault with a punch charged with cursed energy.

She yelped as she was forced to swap out of the way of the curse as its body skidded away from the force. It clutched its head, its mouth opening in an obvious wail even though she couldn’t hear it.

There was more to this curse. There had to be. The stories typically involved dragging its victims from the bridge and drowning them. Would it try to drag her to the river if she got too close again?

Liquid erupted from her throat, and she gagged as water gushed from her mouth.

It didn’t even need a river, lovely.

Her double faltered but seemed otherwise unaffected, and she tossed her knives in the air as they crossed paths. A flash of lightning broke across the sky. The blades glinted in the brief light as her double caught them. One of the many things she’d wondered early on with her double was how she’d deal with one version of her having weapons and the other not, until she’d realized that the double could still use them even if it couldn’t duplicate them.

Coughing wildly, she tried to expel as much water from her lungs as she could, sucking in a strangled breath before the water refilled them. Blinking through the pain-induced haze, she ignored the way her body protested her movements as her chest already burned from the lack of oxygen.

She forced herself to keep fighting. There was no other choice but to keep going. The only way to breathe was to exorcise the curse and hope she didn’t pass out first. Wrapping her cursed energy around her fists, she landed blow after blow, only retreating to allow her double to close in to slice at it in her stead. Her vision blurred, the strain of controlling her double and fighting alongside it pushing her to her limit.

Clenching her jaw, she kept going, feeling something snap as her mind went blissfully blank. Her double moved in perfect sync, following up on her hits with its own. It felt effortless as she caught her knives, following up on her double’s punch by jabbing her blade into the curse’s side and flipping over its attempt to swat at her.

She’d never felt so free in her entire life.

The curse flailed, trying to fight the endless flurry she and her double were inflicting. Dodging its sloppy movement, she swore she was floating as time stopped in its tracks. Her energy flowed effortlessly, her body and her double moving before she even had to think to do it.

Her lungs burned as she ignored her racing heart and the ringing in her ears, tossing her blades to her double. Landing strike after strike, her fists glowed with energy.

Air, she thought desperately. Need air.

But the only way to get air was to keep fighting. She could breathe when it was over. She didn’t have a choice.

Black sparks flew around her as her double immediately landed another blow, sending another flash through the air. Her blades appeared in her hands, and she slashed through Hashihime’s middle like paper. The shriek it released shook her chest as the shredded remains exploded around her, accompanied by the final streak of black sparks.

Her legs shook beneath her before they finally gave out, her knees hitting the ground as she heaved the last of the water from her lungs. Gasping, she choked when she desperately tried to inhale before the fluid was cleared. Her vision briefly returned to normal when her double disappeared, but dots fluttered around behind her lids whenever she blinked.

The veil above her began to recede, rain immediately soaking her clothes all the way through as another clap of thunder shook the ground.

With shaky hands, she sloppily flipped her knives to return them to their sheath. A stabbing pain shot through her arm, and she released a groan of pain, the sight of a few of her fingers bent in the wrong direction finally registering in her mind.

Shoes appeared in front of her as a hand grasped her shoulder, and she lifted her head to see Shoko grinning down at her.

Her lips moved quickly, but Rinko just shook her head when she could only hear garbled nonsense.

A frown pulled at the corners of Shoko’s mouth before she placed her hands on either side of Rinko’s head. Warmth radiated from her palms and then the sound of the rain slapping the ground around them hit her like a wave.

“Holy shit,” Rinko breathed, wrapping her arms around Shoko’s neck in a tight hug. “I absolutely love you, Ieiri! Dunno what I’d do without you. You’re literally the best sorcerer in the world.”

Her friend laughed, patting her on the back before extracting herself to assess her for other injuries.

“Don’t let Gojo hear you say that,” she teased, grasping her hand firmly. She tightened her grip when Rinko tried to yank it away on instinct as the bones moved back to their proper place. “You’d definitely be deaf without me, but you’d probably just be dead.”

The truth in her statement hung heavy until she smirked and leaned a bit closer.

“You did it,” Shoko whispered excitedly. “I think your uncle is so angry he’s going to have a heart attack.”

Rinko’s eyes finally moved to where her committee stood, patiently waiting for Shoko to finish her quick assessment.

“How long did I have left?” she asked, watching a vein on Ogi’s forehead bulge. Naoya’s gaze burned hers when she met his eyes, and she sent him a smug grin in return. “I lost track of time–”

“Three minutes,” Shoko replied, wrapping Rinko’s arm around her shoulders and helping her to her feet. “It was close. Yaga had to stop Naoya from jumping the gun and just coming in twice.”

They clearly thought she wouldn’t be able to do it.

As they approached, her gaze moved to the rest of her committee.

Mei Mei stood with a hand on her hip, a relaxed smile on her face like always; Yaga’s expression remained neutral, his arms crossed; Nanami smirked at her, his eyes shining with what she swore was pride. Her gaze found Yoshinobu, who stood behind her uncle with an indifferent expression until he met her eyes. He gave her a slight nod, a proud smile pulling at his mouth before he schooled his expression when her uncle turned to glare at him.

“Kurisaki Rinko,” Yaga began, stepping forward to meet her, “consider this your official welcome to Grade 1 status. This committee reports your exam result as a ‘pass.’ Congratulations.”

“Not only that,” Mei piped up, her hands clasped loosely behind her back now. “You tied the consecutive Black Flash record. A well-earned pass, Kurisaki-chan.”

They dispersed, Mei and Yaga turning away, both of them walking with Yoshinobu as Ogi and Naoya continued to glare at her for just a moment longer before they turned and walked away without a word.

Taking a deep breath, Rinko felt the weight of Yaga’s words finally settle over her.

Grade 1. She’d done it– The world spun as her legs gave out.

Shoko caught her just before she hit the ground, her grip tightening when she sagged as her vision began to go dark.

Blinking rapidly, she forced her legs to straighten, feeling another arm wrap around her waist. She turned her head to see Nanami helping Shoko support her.

“Well done,” he whispered, a small smile on his face. “You made it look easy.” He paused, a smirk forming. “Though I was worried you were gonna try to tell it your color–”

She let out an indignant squawk, her mouth dropping open as she glared up at him in disbelief. She should have known he wouldn’t let that go.

“I just– I almost died,” she rasped, her eyes narrowing, “and you’re still–”

“You were fine,” he replied calmly, his eyes sparkling down at her. “But Kurisaki, I’m never going to let you live that down. I hadn’t laughed that hard in years.”

“We had a deal.”

Nanami spoke as she slid into the corner booth beside him.

“We did,” Rinko admitted, accepting the drink he slid towards her.

They’d decided to meet up at an izakaya not far from Kyoto Tech, giving her a chance to go home to shower and change into regular clothes instead of her Jujutsu Tech uniform. Now, she felt refreshed and alert, and she was starving.

Shoko had hung back just outside, citing the need for a cigarette and telling Rinko to go in ahead of her. She’d healed the significant injuries but had left the minor ones to heal on their own to preserve energy, which Rinko didn’t fault her for.

Taking a long gulp, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the ice-cold beer soothed her still-burning throat.

“Well?” Nanami pressed, raising his eyebrows as she lifted her glass to drain it completely. “You’re really keeping me in suspense, now.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Rinko said, placing her empty glass down heavily. “It’s not like you already haven’t started figuring it out for yourself.”

“A deal’s a deal,” he stated firmly. “I’m waiting–”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t think it was odd that the Zenin clan kept interfering?”

“You mean like last-minute, completely unheard of changes to a standard Grade 1 exam?” he deadpanned, taking a sip of his drink. “What did you do to the Zenin clan for them to hate you so much?”

“S’not that hard to figure out, right?” she asked, fidgeting with her fingers idly. “Come on, Nanamin, you’re a smart guy–”

“And you’re an irritating woman,” he cut her off, smirking when she squawked. “But being irritating isn’t enough for them to deliberately block your promotion. You seem to think the reason is obvious, but it really isn’t–”

“Zenin Naobito’s my old man,” she snapped, clenching her jaw as his eyebrows rose in surprise. “He– I’m a bastard kid. S’why they hate me so much—why they don’t want me to be successful. Makes them look bad since he already had kids.”

“So they just very obviously try to hinder your progress,” he noted, smirking again. “Guess it makes sense that you’re related to them. The Zenin clan is strong, even if they’re a bit–”

“They’re all assholes,” she cut him off sharply.

“Either way,” Nanami began drily, taking another long drink. “You beat them today. They clearly didn’t think you’d be able to handle that Special Grade, but you did. You’re a Grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer now, and they really can’t do anything about it.”

“Thanks to Gojo–”

“You earned it beyond that.” Nanami’s smirk shifted into a small smile. “He didn’t fight that cursed spirit today, you did. He’ll tell you the same. Speaking of, have you heard from him?”

“No,” she replied, checking her phone absently. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left yesterday evening. “Have you?”

Nanami hesitated, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Kento,” she warned, leaning closer as he shook his head. “You’re lying–”

“I haven’t heard from him since before your exam,” he denied, nodding towards Shoko and Utahime as they approached.

Hime wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

“Congratulations!” she exclaimed, releasing her to slide into the booth behind Shoko. “I heard it was quite a show.”

“I said she wasn’t breathing for almost half of it,” Shoko reminded, rolling her eyes. “She’s lucky she didn’t cause permanent damage–”

“I’m right here,” Rinko interjected, glaring at her friend half-heartedly. “And it wasn’t like I had much of a choice, either. Plus, I was fine because I have one of the very best sorcerers in the world as one of my very best friends–”

“I can’t revive the dead,” Shoko stated. She grinned at Rinko’s noise of indignance, ignoring her protests as she and Hime ordered their drinks when the waitress approached.

Rinko and Nanami took the opportunity to order appetizers, each ordering another drink as well.

“Can I also get a pitcher of water?”

She was still grossly dehydrated after her fight earlier since she’d kept vomiting even after she’d choked all the river water out of her lungs.

“The cursed spirit was a nasty one, even for a Special Grade,” Nanami said once the waitress was gone. “Unregistered, too. Odd, seeing as that’s such a highly populated area.”

“The dread Bridge Princess,” Shoko murmured, tapping her chin in thought. “An Imaginary Cursed Spirit, a Special Grade at that, doesn’t just pop up overnight.”

They didn’t. It had clearly been there for a while and felt territorial. She still didn’t understand why it was in a school and not at a bridge, either.

“No,” Rinko agreed, her eyes meeting Nanami’s. “And a populated area like that should have had more than a few suspicious drownings reported by now. Plus, Uji no Hashihime is the Bridge Princess–”

“You don’t need to worry about that right now.”

She jumped, turning to find Gojo standing over her. He was wearing the same clothes as the day prior, his bandages still covering his eyes. She noticed subtle signs of exhaustion as he smirked down at her but decided to stay quiet as he nudged her leg with his knee. Scooting over, she gave him enough room to plop down next to her, draping his long arm across the back of the booth behind her.

“Congratulations, Rinko-chan,” he greeted, chuckling at her dumbfounded expression. “Don’t worry about that Special Grade. Already had a little chat with the higher-ups about that one.”

“What kind of chat?” Nanami asked, his eyes narrowing. “When did you have the time to do this?”

Gojo pulled Rinko’s phone from her pocket, checking the time as she gave an indignant sound and snatched it back.

“Use your own!” she snapped, swatting him when he tried to steal it again.

“Mine’s dead,” he argued, pouting and poking her side petulantly when she swatted his hand again. “Finished arguing with them about thirty minutes ago. As soon as I heard about those little rules Ogi imposed, I knew there needed to be a fuckin’ conversation. Once I saw that damn Special Grade, I knew the talk needed to be sooner than later.”

“You saw it?” Rinko asked, her eyes searching his face carefully as he scowled. The scowl dropped instantly when he turned his face back to her, a smirk taking its place. “How did you–”

“Made it just in time to see the veil go up,” he replied, his smirk growing when her eyes widened. “Saw the whole thing. Had to leave as soon as you exorcised it, though. Wanted to talk to the higher-ups before Ogi got a chance to go bullshit them more than he already had. Those rules wouldn’t have held up as a reason for you failing your exam, but they would have delayed your progress if Naoya exorcised the Special Grade instead of you. Good job on keeping that from happening, Rinko-chan.”

She raised her eyebrows, and he snickered.

“Anyway, it was obvious they were trying to set you up to fail, and I was pretty fucking pissed that they thought they’d get away with it. So I decided to point out their blatant violation of Jujutsu Society Regulations.”

Violation?

“How is tampering with her exam a violation of–”

“Ah-ah,” Gojo cut Utahime off smugly, his smirk growing when she growled.

Their waitress returned with their drinks and appetizers, taking meal food orders before turning to give Gojo an expectant look. He ordered a melon soda absently, his hand tracing idle patterns on the vinyl booth right behind Rinko’s ear. She fought a shiver when he subtly brushed his thumb along her skin, focusing instead on the food placed in front of her.

“The Zenin clan violated Jujutsu Regulations because they’ve been purposefully endangering non-sorcerers,” Gojo stated once the waitress had walked away. “Not to mention that they’ve been covering up any drownings reported in that area to protect their little secret.”

“How d’you figure that?” Rinko asked. She wouldn’t put it past them, but it made such little sense that they’d go through that much trouble just to fuck her over. She wasn’t worth that much effort to them. “Why would they–”

“Been using Gakuganji to make sure none of the Kyoto Tech sorcerers find it,” Gojo cut her off simply, shrugging. He paused to accept his soda, once again waiting until the waitress was gone before he continued. “D’you wanna know how many deaths have occurred in the last two years alone because of that cursed spirit?”

She didn’t. From how his expression dropped, she had a feeling it was a disgustingly high number.

“More than a hundred,” he stated flatly, setting his soda down so hard the table shook. “Zenin has been using the old geezer to sweep them under the rug and keep people from finding it, letting it marinate for the past few years–”

“But why would they do that?” Hime interjected, frowning. “You can’t tell me they’d been prepping for Rinko’s Grade 1 exam for years-”

“No, they weren’t,” Rinko agreed, clenching her jaw as she finally put the pieces together and the realization smacked her in the face. “But they were going to use this as an opportunity to get Noaya his Special Grade 1 status.”

“Bingo!” Gojo cried dramatically. “They didn’t appreciate that I called them out for their bullshit, either. But that means that the past few Zenin promotions are being re-evaluated for their legitimacy. Including Naoya’s Grade 1 from a couple years ago.”

A delirious giggle burst from Rinko’s chest at Gojo’s words, and she gasped for breath.

“You’re joking–”

“Nope!” he replied happily, smirking now. “The Zenin clan has been hiding high-level, deadly cursed spirits from the higher-ups so they can use them to rig their promotions. The time limit they gave you was meant to ensure that Naoya still got to exorcise it, with the added benefit of you softening it up a bit for him.” His smirk shifted into a sadistic grin. “But you surprised them by finishing it off before they could have Naoya go in. As soon as he realized you were winning, he wanted to go in anyway. And you fucking won, Rinko-chan.”

But if they’d been prepared to use that curse for Naoya, then her exam would probably have to be re-evaluated as well.

“So, her exam still counts?” Nanami asked, his eyes on her face. “Or does their interference change–”

“Since their interference was obviously meant to serve as sabotage,” Gojo scoffed, clearly rolling his eyes behind his blindfold. “Her exam stands.” He nudged her lightly, his grin feral when she turned to face him. “Kurisaki Rinko is still very much a Grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer. But Zenin Naoya will have to be re-evaluated.”

She had little doubt that Naoya would still pass. As much as she hated him, she couldn’t deny his strength. But the fact that his status was being questioned because they’d tried so hard to ruin her chance at Grade 1 made her absolutely giddy.

Another set of giggles broke free, and she knocked her shoulder against Nanami’s.

“I know you were hoping I’d need to shadow you a bit longer,” she teased around her snickers as he rolled his eyes. “You liked having me around to help.”

“If you call being a deranged idiot who treats jobs like they’re a game ‘helping,’” Nanami stated, raising his eyebrows. “Then I suppose. I meant it when I told you before that you’re almost as crazy as Gojo.”

“That’s rude, Nanamin,” Gojo argued, leaning across Rinko to pout at him. “I take the job very seriously–”

“You’re both children,” Nanami cut him off. “After seeing how you help her train for her cursed technique, I have an even better understanding of why you get along so well.”

“Because beating the shit outta me is training,” Rinko scoffed, poking a finger in his chest. “You helped him beat me into oblivion for the past few weeks, too, so you have no room to talk.”

“Her injuries did increase by about 150% since she started training for her solo exam,” Shoko added, bracing her hand on her palm. “Her injuries today were surprisingly less concerning than some of the ones she’s gotten while training.”

“Needs to learn to block,” Gojo replied, shrugging nonchalantly. He gave her a smirk when she glared at him. “Wouldn’t get hurt if you’d just block, Rinko-chan.”

“How’s being back in Kyoto, Iori-san?” Nanami asked, causing Hime to grin.

“It’s great,” she replied excitedly. “It’s so nice to be back home–”

Their conversation faded into an unintelligible haze as Gojo leaned down to whisper in Rinko’s ear.

“I told you you’d be fine,” he murmured, his breath hot against her neck. “You did incredible against that Special Grade. Your double looked fucking perfect.”

“You were there,” she replied quietly, pursing her lips to the side as she tried to focus on what Hime was saying. “You didn’t tell me before–”

“Didn’t wanna risk stressing you out more than you already were,” he cut her off. “Nanamin said you were a bit on edge this morning when he got here.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, and she turned to meet his blindfolded gaze. Made sense that Nanami had asked if she’d heard from Gojo yet.

“Plus, I had to leave immediately to go deal with the higher-ups,” he continued. “I’d have been back sooner if they hadn’t been so damn difficult. But I couldn’t let that shit slide anymore. Fuck’s had gotten away with way too much already, and you exorcising that curse gave me the perfect chance to beat them at their own game.”

“I did it.” It still didn’t feel real. She’d wanted it for so long, and now that she’d finally done it, she didn’t know how to feel. “I’m a Grade 1 sorcerer.”

“You are,” he agreed, his smile amused now. “Remember what I said before I left yesterday?”

How could she forget? Still, she blinked up at him slowly.

“About sticking to the strategy?”

He chuckled, his fingers brushing across the back of her neck as he shifted in his seat.

“About celebrating.”

Her thighs clenched, and he licked his lips slowly.

“Thought so.”

The rest of their food arrived, and she tried to keep from inhaling it as fast as she could. The stress of the day practically melted from her shoulders as they all dug in, conversation picking back up here and there. Gojo’s arm didn’t move from its spot right behind her, his fingers occasionally teasing her as he leaned around her to try one of the side dishes they’d all gotten to share.

Eventually, Nanami let out a heavy sigh, motioning for someone to let him out of the booth after they’d all paid their bills, with Shoko insisting on paying for Rinko’s despite her protests.

“I’m heading out,” he stated. “I don’t want to miss the last train back.”

 He climbed out behind Shoko and Hime, who muttered about needing to use the bathroom anyway.

Nudging Gojo out of the way, Rinko stood to wrap her arms around Nanami’s neck in a hug.

“Thank you again for helping me,” she told him sincerely. “I wasn’t so bad as a shadow, eh?”

“Tolerable,” he replied drily, returning her embrace and pressing a light kiss to her cheek. “Great job today, Rinko. You earned this promotion.” 

Slipping back into the booth, Gojo followed behind, his arm returning to its prior spot behind her.

“You’ve gotten close,” he mused. “Surprised you didn’t invite Nanamin to stay with how cozy you looked before I got here.”

Raising her eyebrows, she turned to face him properly.

“What would you have done if I had decided to invite him to stay?” she teased, watching his brow furrow in the way she knew meant his eyes were narrowing. “Jealous, Gojo?”

His mouth quirked up, a slight smirk appearing now.

“Nope,” he denied, leaning down so he could whisper in her ear. “‘Cause I know you’re already planning on celebrating that new Grade 1 status with me.”

“Oh?” she challenged, ignoring the small fire kindling in her core. “You sure? Maybe I’ve just decided that I’m too tired to celebrate after–” She cut off when his tongue darted out to lick her neck, a breathy moan escaping before she could stop it.

“Actin’ like I don’t know you’re already fucking dripping for me,” he growled quietly. He licked up the side of her neck until he reached her ear again.

“Maybe it’s not for you–”

“Don’t be a brat,” he hissed, biting her lobe harshly. He chuckled darkly when she squeezed her thighs together. “Your pretty cunt doesn’t lie, baby. She says it’s for me. I can’t wait to find out how much sweeter you’ll taste after that victory today.”

Her quiet whimper had him leaning back slightly, watching her face as she struggled to keep her composure.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to leave instead of bending you over as soon as that fucking veil dropped earlier?” he murmured, his breath mingling with hers. “You looked so perfect, all banged up and bloody.”

“There’s something so wrong with you,” she replied, giving him a skeptical look. “Seeing me fighting for my life turned you on, huh?”

“Your life wasn’t in danger,” he scoffed, his hand moving to her jaw and stroking it softly. “Looked sexy while you fought, though. Strong–”

“I stand by the fact that there’s something very wrong with you,” she deadpanned, drawing a chuckle from him before he pulled her up to meet his lips.

He swallowed her moan, taking advantage of the sound to slip his tongue into her mouth. The hand on her jaw tightened as he angled her just right so her tongue had no choice but to submit to his.

Part of her wanted to scold him for being so blatant in public, especially since Shoko and Utahime would surely be back any moment. It wasn’t that they’d made an effort to hide that they slept together occasionally, but she preferred not to advertise it. She knew people would talk about how Gojo had suddenly decided to recommend her promotion after they’d started sleeping together, and she didn’t feel like dealing with that gossip.

She didn’t have to stop him, though, because he released a low groan before withdrawing on his own. He cleared his throat before draining the rest of his soda. She glanced down to see the obvious tent in his pants and rolled her eyes.

“You about to cream in your pants just from the memory of me fighting?” she murmured, fighting to keep her own excitement from showing. “Really?”

A shiver ran down her spine at his quiet, dark chuckle.

“No,” he replied, pressing an almost sweet kiss to her temple. “I’m about to cream in my pants because of those pretty little sounds you keep making and because I know you’ll make even prettier ones while I take you apart later.”

Without thinking, her hand moved to palm his cock, pulling a low groan from his throat. His breathing sped up, hot against her skin and sending a spark through her that settled in her core. Pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, he released a heavy exhale through his nose.

“Careful, baby,” he hissed, his teeth digging into her flesh when she squeezed him gently. “If you don’t stop–”

“You’ll actually cream in your pants?” she taunted. She was playing with fire, but she truly couldn’t help herself. It was just too fun. “Please do. I think it’d be very entertaining to–”

“I’ll fuck you on this table,” he growled, his hand seizing hers in an unforgiving grasp to halt her movements. “I’ll sit you right in front of me and eat your pussy like it’s my goddamn meal, so don’t fucking push me.”

Her eyes went wide, breath catching in her throat as he groaned in her ear again.

“We’re leaving.”

He lifted his blindfold to stare at her carefully as he spoke, giving her a look she knew all too well by now: his silent question to make sure she was actually okay with him deciding it was time to go.

“Okay,” she agreed, her smirk softening with her gaze when he gave a slight nod in return before pushing himself to his feet.

Following him, she allowed him to position her in front of him to hide the growing bulge in his pants from the general public as they walked. His hand went to the small of her back as he led her towards the exit, hissing ‘Just leave them,’ when they saw Hime and Shoko on their way back from the bathroom. Ignoring his order, she bumped his shoulder with her own before pausing to tell their friends goodbye.

“Thanks again for your help today,” Rinko told Shoko, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Really dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be dead,” Shoko reminded lightly, squeezing her in return. “You’re welcome. I’m proud of you.”

“Your mom would be proud of you, too,” Hime noted, hugging her tightly as well. “Really proud. I bet she would have made a cake, too.”

“Oh, fuck,” Shoko said, her eyes glossing over at the thought. “I always loved Yuzu’s cakes. The strawberry one she made was the best–”

“You knew her mom?” Gojo interjected, leaning forward and purposefully pressing his erection against Rinko’s ass as he addressed Shoko. “You’ve never mentioned that–”

“Why on earth would I have ever talked about Rinko’s mom with you?” Shoko asked, a grin pulling at her lips at his scowl. “You didn’t even know Rinko until this past year.”

They moved outside into the cooling autumn air. The rain had cleared up while they were eating, leaving behind a pleasant chill.

“Technically,” Gojo countered, “I’ve known her since our second year–”

“When you almost killed her?” Hime cut him off harshly, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, right. You guys were best buds.”

He pouted, leaning more of his weight onto Rinko as he subtly began grinding into her.

“That was an accident–”

“Using Lapse Blue, something you’d used to level buildings, was an accident?” Rinko snorted, unable to stop herself from teasing further. “Against a little Grade 3 sorcerer? Purely accidental.”

“My point is,” he stated, his tone telling her he was rolling his eyes, “you hadn’t mentioned her mom in the past year, either–”

“Not when you were around.” Shoko shrugged, retrieving a cigarette from her purse. “Rinko and I see each other outside of when you half-carry her in because you’ve knocked the shit outta her during training, you know.”

He didn’t reply, and Rinko turned her head to see his face blank as if he hadn’t considered that as an option. She guessed he didn’t think she and Shoko could be friends without him present. They never talked about it before. It wasn’t like she told him when she visited Tokyo just to see Shoko. She didn’t have to.

“You seem to forget that I’ve been friends with Rinko longer than you have,” Shoko noted, rolling her eyes as she blew a small puff of smoke. “In fact, I’ve been friends with her longer than I’ve been friends with you. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Hime is right that Yuzu would be really proud of you. She definitely would have made a cake to celebrate.”

“She probably would have made the strawberry one,” Rinko murmured, her heart clenching at the thought. Her mother went out of her way to make that damn cake sometimes, even though the strawberries were so expensive. “She made it for special occasions–”

“You don’t happen to have that recipe, do you?” Shoko asked. “Because it was always my favorite, even though I don’t really like dessert–”

“You can’t even bake,” Hime interjected, eyeing Shoko. “You’d just waste strawberries and traumatize whoever tried it.”

Rinko laughed when Shoko gestured towards Hime with her cigarette carefully and narrowed her eyes.

“Uncalled for,” Shoko stated drily. “While it might be true, that was uncalled for. And I was asking if Rinko could make it.”

“I can,” she informed her around her giggles, dutifully ignoring the light swat Gojo gave her ass to try and get her to wrap their conversation up. “It probably won’t be as good, but I can make it for you sometime.”

Shoko grinned, letting out a sigh as Rinko checked the time.

“Are you good to get home?” she asked, pursing her lips to the side as she remembered that Nanami had left when he had specifically to catch the last train back to Tokyo. “Do you need somewhere to–”

She yelped as Gojo pinched her ass hard enough she knew there would be a bruise. Slapping his hands away, she leveled him with a glare and rubbed the spot lightly. 

“I’m crashing at Hime’s,” Shoko assured as the two shared a look when Gojo pouted at Rinko. “Don’t worry about me.”

Waving, Rinko finally allowed Gojo to tug her away, his arm draping around her shoulders as they walked.

“Didn’t realize you and Shoko were close,” he murmured. “How often d’you visit without seeing me?”

“We used to get lunch once a month,” she replied, shrugging lightly. “We try to meet whenever we can since I’ve been in Tokyo so much lately. Been friends since she visited Kyoto Tech early during our first year.”

A quiet hum was all she received in reply, and they spent the rest of the walk to her apartment in comfortable silence, listening to the cicadas chirp.

He stood with his hands in his pockets when she unlocked her door, following her when she stepped inside. But it seemed that was the extent of his self-control.

As soon as light filled the room, he kicked the door shut and shoved her against it, his mouth finding hers in a frenzy of teeth and tongues.

“Fuck, if you only knew how much I’ve wanted to do this all fucking night,” he moaned against her. She had a pretty good idea, considering he’d threatened to eat her out on the restaurant table. “And you decided to be a fuckin tease about it, too? Brat.”

“Thought you said I’d earned a bit of celebration?” she pressed, smirking as his hands went to the hem of her shirt. “I worked really hard today, ya know.”

Grunting in what she took as agreement, he yanked her shirt over her head.

“You used your double,” he breathed, latching his mouth to her neck and sucking her pulse. “Looked perfect. Almost impossible to tell the difference. Actually doubt anyone else was able to. How’d it feel?”

“Like my brain was gonna explode,” she admitted, letting her head fall back. She tugged on his hair when he sucked harder. “But I remembered something you said about just letting myself exist with my cursed energy and then it was like my brain turned off. Felt kinda weightless—like nothing could stop me.”

“Looked incredible,” he hummed, his lips trailing up to her ear before his teeth dug into it. “Tied the Black Flash record, too. How did that feel? How’s it feel to be one of the elite, baby?”

“Didn’t even realize what was happening until Mei Mei said it,” she replied, tugging on his hair and feeling her cunt clench when he groaned in her ear. “Just– just went with it. I remember seeing them, but it was like I was watching from a distance while somehow in the middle of it all.”

“You shoulda seen yourself. You really moved perfectly with your double. You made it look effortless.” He moaned, shifting to capture her lips again. “Smart to use your knives like you did: as a tool to help create more confusion.”

Her eyes narrowed at that comment, but before she could snap out a retort, he yanked her pants and underwear down as he freed himself from his own. Slamming into her, he immediately slid all the way to the hilt, nudging the deepest parts of her painfully and leaving no time to adjust.

“Fuck!” she yelped, her hands desperately clutching his shirt as he lifted her so she was braced between him and the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist reluctantly. “You gotta fuckin warn me first. You’re too damn big–”

His smug grin made her roll her eyes, earning a harsh grind of his hips as she whimpered.

“Sorry, baby,” he replied, sounding anything but. “Told you I needed to be inside you.”

“Shit,” she whined, using his shoulders as leverage to lift herself up. “Gotta gimme a second to–”

“Really?” he taunted, grabbing her hips and tugging her back down onto him. “Because she’s tellin’ me otherwise. Taking me so good. Knew you were already fuckin dripping–”

“Still gotta let me– fuck!”

“I am,” he drawled, chuckling at her glare. He leaned forward, nuzzling her against her throat and sucking her skin between his teeth until she moaned and her muscles relaxed around him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

His left hand stayed under her thigh, holding her up as he withdrew almost all the way before thrusting so deep she keened against him again.

“Good girl.” He lifted his head to capture her lips, biting and nipping as his hips settled into a steady pace. “Pussy feels so good. You feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, her eyes rolling back briefly when he hit that spot that made her see stars. “How– fuck– how did you get the higher-ups to meet with you so fast?”

“I didn’t fuckin ask,” he replied, his hips speeding up. “I told ‘em I was pissed they were letting the Zenin clan get away with holding my Grade 1 rec back and I wanted to know why they didn’t give a shit that the clan had clearly been hiding a Special Grade curse for their own shit. That last bit was new information for them.”

“Must be nice having them listen to you,” she replied drily, “being the honored one–”

That earned her a harsh thrust that kissed her cervix. His eyes narrowed playfully, laughing sadistically at her yelp of pain as she squirmed.

“You tell me, baby,” he taunted, emphasizing each word with deep thrusts that had her scraping the door above her head to escape. “You’re the one riding my cock. You feel honored?”

“You’re such an arrogant piece of–”

“Take that as a ‘yes,’” he cooed, his fingers tracing slow circles around her clit. “You should feel honored. Pussy fits me like a goddamn glove. Can’t get enough of it."

She reached up to pull the blindfold off, revealing the absolutely feral look in his eyes as he grinned at her. Lust darkened the bright blues, the deep oceans threatening to drown her as he fucked into her quickly and drove her closer and closer to her high.

“How’s it feel, Rinko-chan?” he asked, his voice just beginning to sound breathless as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Kurisaki Rinko, Grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer? Feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned, arching her back into him to meet his thrusts. “Feels so fucking good.”

“You gonna cum for me?”

His fingers moved faster now, her entire body tensing around him, ready for the coil inside her to snap.

“Fuck, yes,” she cried, yanking on his hair desperately as it crashed into her. “I’m–”

“Yeah?” He pulled back slightly so he could watch her face as she fell apart. “Good, because you fuckin earned it.”

[bkdk-and-extras]

Katsuki cannot believe this shit.

"What the fuck do you mean I've been transferred?"

While they may be in the kingdom of Heaven, if Todoroki had taken a second longer to tear his soulless eyes away from the scroll spread upon his desk, Katsuki would have killed him. Discorporated him at the very least. Bare handed.

"Did you not hear the coming of Christ? The operation started a mere 24 hours ago, but surely..."

Wait. The what?

"The fucking what?" Katsuki spits, brain-to-mouth filter be damned and splashed with holy water. "You can't seriously mean that shit, right? That's... I thought that wasn't..." His voice extinguishes, hands shaking with the itch to miracle the entirety of Todoroki's office into an afterthought.

Because this isn't happening. This is just some silly catastrophe that has always loomed far in the future. Not to mention the entire plan is insane and... the things that kid would go through?

Katsuki isn't naive. He's always known of it, heard other angels speculating, even dreaming of the day, but. It's never come close before. Not to Katsuki and not to... to him. And the idea of it, of an end, never used to hurt him before. Not until he started to, dare he fucking say it, look forward to seeing that mess of curly hair, brushed but never neat. Of looking at those freckles and wondering if those, too, were hand-crafted like the stars, if he could maybe craft them again. Of long nights at K.D. Café, of snow in the dark, of journals and shitty outfits and the sound of his voice and now it--

It isn't. It's not happening. It can't.

Regardless, the question tumbles from his lips, eager to be kicked down into the dirt but also hopeful, god, so fucking hopeful. His mouth has always been at the ready to face his fears, even if the rest of him hasn't.

"The Rapture is starting now?"

"Yes," Todoroki answers blithely, nodding in that oddly scripted way that makes bugs crawl beneath the outer layer of Katsuki's very soul. "Henceforth, you've been pulled from Miracles, and it will be your job to deliver the rebirthed Christ to her rightful family. As well as keep an eye on her earthly progress."

Katsuki takes in a shaky breath, stabs a finger at himself. "And you want me to do it?" Because yeah, of course it's a good idea to send the most temperamental of angels to be a divine stork-combination-nanny. How genius.

The angel before him blinks. "I do not want anything. You are merely the best."

Yeah. The best.

Not after this. Maybe he never has been, really, but fuck, not after this. At least, not to the one shitty guy whose opinion half-ass matters.

[skoulsons]

I’m The Reason You Won’t Come Home

• gif by @maryjanewatscns

• title from Ethel Cain’s song “A House in Nebraska.” aka Joel and Ellie’s song.

Relationships: Joel & Ellie, Joel & Tommy, Tommy & Ellie

Word count: ~8.7k (I did not want it to go on this long)

Warnings: Minor depictions of torture and violence, some blood, death.

Authors note: This is straight sadness. Ever since I discovered tlou2 and his death, this has always been a thought. It’s nearly a year and a half ongoing, so I just sort of spit a year and a half’s worth of thoughts into…whatever the heck this is. I cried a lot writing this, but I’m also a sensitive wimp, so that could be why.

Summary:

The second he’s gone, she starts to break. She just told Joel last night about wanting to try and forgive him. To try and get back on good terms. To try for what they want to be; what they deserve to be. And she almost just lost him. But now, she has the chance to get them back home and to start that journey of reconciliation.

Some extra notes:

If you ship them I might just fill your house with mosquitos on a hot summer day and lock you inside

I wrote this in a combination of game and show canon, so there are moments, callbacks, and descriptions from both

I don’t think there’s anything that classifies as a tlou2 spoiler, but if there is it’s pretty minor

This is more self-indulgent than anything else. If something seems out of character, I apologize. Like I said, incredibly self-indulgent

I love physical touch and that is…very evident in this

Canon divergence from tlou2 in a few ways, obviously. One of them is there being no door at the bottom of the stairs as I genuinely forgot about it and I am….7.9k words in as I write this. so.

(A very big thank you to my beautiful friend @ellie-licious for beta reading and helping me figure out a specific part of this fic <3 and in general for being a great friend to me for many reasons. I love and cherish you very much brother and this is for you)

~~~~

Ellie wakes up on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold basement tile. She can see two blurry figures a few feet from her. One is limp, almost like a rag doll. The other is moving, struggling with the limp one. Sitting it up? She can’t tell. Ellie’s ears are ringing and her vision is blurry; her nose and eyes throbbing as her throat feels like sandpaper.

Tommy is the struggling figure across the room, attempting to wake up an unconscious Joel. Tommy’s working on sitting him up against the glass. Joel has a heartbeat, he’s breathing. He’s alive. But he’s hurt, bad. Tommy’s hands find Joel’s neck and then the sides of his face, tapping him and shouting to try and wake the older. Joel’s face is bloody. He has a slice over his left cheekbone, a gash across his jugular, a chip out of his ear, a broken nose, a cut on his right temple that stretches down to his jawline, fresh blood still coming from them. His hair had an even coating of blood through the strands.

“Dammit, Joel, come on! I need you awake. Come the fuck on, Joel!” Tommy yelled, patting at his brother’s neck for something. A cough, a groan, a twitch of his fingers or a pull at the corner of his mouth. But Joel gave nothing.

Ellie stirs slightly, groaning into the floor as her vision focuses more and her ears ring into her skull. She coughs some blood up, catching Tommy’s attention. He takes his hands back from Joel’s neck, placing steady hands to his shoulders to keep him in place against the glass before crossing the room to Ellie’s side. Tommy kneels on the ground beside her, placing a hand on the back of her shoulder as she comes to.

“Hey…” He says, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Tommy?” She asks, voice slurring as she speaks, eyes still trying to adjust to the man kneeling above her and figure across the room. Joel.

“Yeah, s’me. You okay?”

Reality rushes back to her. You’re gonna fucking die! Let him go. We didn’t think anyone was gonna show up! The hell did you expect? You want what I want, right? His face. The people. Didn’t she cut a guy? Wasn’t Tommy unconscious? She was kicked in the ribs. There’s blood on the glass. His blood. He was groaning. He was-

Ellie started to roll on her side, her vision rolling with her. “Joel….he was-“

Tommy cuts her off. “He’s okay for now. Can't get him to wake up though-“

“Where-“ is he. She places her palm to the tile, trying to push herself up off the floor, her ribs aching at the movement.

“No, Ellie. You need to relax-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I need to see him,” she bites, and Tommy knows arguing with her will go nowhere. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

She stands up, pushing past Tommy’s instruction for her to stay down. She holds onto his arms as she stands, steadying herself before walking alongside him. Tommy helps her take baby steps across the room, walking through pools of dried blood. His dried blood.

Joel’s back is straight against the wall, head hung slightly to the right. His legs are extended in front of him, both of his hands in his lap. Tommy lowers Ellie on Joel’s left side, Ellie kneeling down beside him, taking his left hand in hers. She interlocks her fingers with his, something that’s felt so lost between them the past four years.

She held his hand a number of times during that Winter. After she went back to him in that basement and they held onto each other, it was easier. And after David, it was almost frequent. When they’d be walking and a twig snapped, she reached for him. When they spotted a rabbit or a deer, she reached for him. Nights around the fire when the images and the words and the actions played on repeat, she sought out his hand. She’d scooch across the snowy ground to his side, sliding her hand in his without a second thought. He’d give her a tight squeeze immediately before letting his hand relax in her grip. She fell asleep like that one night, waking up to her hand still in his while his rifle rested across his lap.

But his rifle was resting against his pack before she fell asleep, at least six feet from where they sat. He had gotten up that night, releasing her hand to get his rifle to keep watch. But instead of staying up and watching over her, he settled back beside her, taking her hand in his again. She didn’t mention it that morning, and neither did he.

“Can-can you find a rag or something for me. And some water, too. He should have some in his pack.” Her hands moved to his jaw, turning his head side-to-side to check his cuts.

Any emotion in her voice is held off completely with Tommy in the room. He can’t see her like how she wants to be right now. She was almost killed. He was almost killed. And there’s a lump in her throat right now that she can’t have Tommy know about. She doesn’t want him to see her like that. She can’t break in front of him, not right now.

Tommy finds an old T-shirt and Joel’s water canteen in his pack and hands them to Ellie, her lightly soaking the shirt with some water as she starts cleaning the cut on his neck.

She pauses for a second, turning her head to the side, still avoiding Tommy’s gaze. “Dina and Jesse are on their way. Can you go watch out for them, please?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Tommy…” she called, turning fully to see him. Her eyes were red already. “Be careful.”

He offered her a gentle smile before heading up the stairs, pulling the door closed behind him. He stops before it reaches the doorframe. “Ellie? Let me know when he wakes, okay?”

“Yup,” is all she manages as he leaves the door ajar behind him.

The second he’s gone, she starts to break. She just told Joel last night about wanting to try and forgive him. To try and get back on good terms. To try for what they want to be; what they deserve to be. And she almost just lost him. But now, she has the chance to get them back home and to start that journey of reconciliation.

But he needs her right now, her thoughts don’t. She puts the rag down and grabs his left hand to hold it in hers, crying as she tries to wrap his one hand in both of hers, as tiny as they are.

“Joel?” she asks, her voice cracking as tears well in her eyes.

She hasn’t felt this small in years; especially not since their estrangement. Her voice feels like it jumps an octave asking for him now. She feels small, vulnerable, open. They haven’t been open since the night after they were home from her birthday trip. They watched Jurassic Park, but it wasn’t the same after that. Now, it feels like she’s reverted back to their old ways. Five years ago when they were on the road together, Ellie calling out for him so he could tell her what to do. The name she’d yell when she was scared and needed him to guide her. How she shouted for him against the raging current when they jumped off that bridge and he held her against him, shielding her from the rock face. How she screamed for him to help her when Sam had turned and was clawing at her on that motel floor. His name that seemed to offer so much comfort, protection, and security back then now holds years of heartbreak, fear, guilt, and shame.

“It’s me,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face as she brings the conglomeration of their hands up to her face, resting her lips against the back of his left hand. His hands are cold against her lips as her tears fall, soaking his wrist in salty streams. “Joel…” she pauses. What the fuck do I say? What does he deserve to hear? Will I even mean what I say? “You have to get up. You need to get up, Joel. Please,” she sobs, rubbing her thumbs back and forth over his hand as she struggles to catch her breath.

A few minutes of her crying passes before she clears her throat. She gives his hand a few reassuring squeezes. “I’m gonna clean your face a bit, okay? You’re still bleeding a lot and some of these cuts are bad.”

She squeezes his hand again before reaching for the rag again and dabbing more water on it. She gently uses her left hand to tilt his head up to work on the cut on his neck.

The water was ice cold and he unconsciously flinched when Ellie dabbed the t-shirt to his neck. She apologized every time, hoping he could hear her. She meant it. Even after the last two years of almost delighting in pushing him away and knowing he was hurt by how she was treating him, she regretted that now. She hated it now. Even if this was physical pain, her stomach still churned at the thought of knowing thoughts he’s probably had the past two years and how she hurt him mentally. She’s sincere over her apologies. She doesn’t like seeing him hurt; and now, she hates to be the one causing him more pain and discomfort.

She finishes cleaning the blood off his face, even cleaning some that got on his teeth. She ran the rag through his hair, soaking sections of it and wringing the blood out. He looked…better, but nowhere near good. None of the cuts should need stitches, she thinks, so that’s good. She places the rag and water beside her again, double checking his face over for any spots she may have missed. She grabbed hold of his hand again, carefully running her fingers across the calluses that litter his knuckles.

Tommy appeared at the top of the stairs, voice laced with concern. She would tell him if something happened. “Ellie? Anything?”

Ellie sighed, heavy and deep. Why isn’t he waking up? She cleared her throat, attempting to keep the emotion out of her voice. “No…nothing yet. Sorry,”

“S’not your fault, sweetheart. Just let me know when he wakes,” and Tommy was off to continue his watch for the other teenagers.

When. More like if, at this point.

And that’s exactly when he did. A heavy grown from the older man as Ellie eyes immediately locked on to him again, scanning his face. His hand moved in hers as his eyes fluttered slightly. His thumb rubbed over her fingers as she smiled, holding her tears in case this wasn’t quite it.

But his eyes opened and were trained on her immediately. She squeezed his hand tight again, offering him a small smile as tears dropped from her chin and fell to their hands. “Hey…” she whispered, keeping her voice quiet for him.

“El…” he tried, voice croaking at the attempt. She smiled at him. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed, squeezing his hand again.

Joel immediately started moving and adjusting his position on the floor, but Ellie was quick to lay a hand on his chest, tears still on her face. “No, you’re staying here. You’re…in bad shape, Joel,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, grabbing at his hand again. “You have to stay here til we can get you safely home.”

Joel’s left hand lifts from her grasp as he brings it up closer to her face, his eyebrows furrowing; uncertain that she’s actually here. She finds it again with her right and holds tight to it, pressing it against her cheek and smiling. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re not hallucinating, I promise. We’re not dead or in some afterlife.”

She was there, too. She was on that basement tile, face forcefully pressed into the ground. Forced to watch. Laid out right in front of him, every fear Joel ever dreaded resurfacing right then; mere feet from him. The fear of her dying again. He wasn’t concerned over himself, it was all over her and what they were doing. They tackled her to the ground, kicked her in the ribs and kicked her head later, giving her a bloody, and possibly broken, nose.

He had every right to think she wasn’t real. Everything told him they died. He had every right to believe he did die and, somehow, the darkness that he thought came after death was just a place that filled in the horrifying gaps. Those gaps being filled by Ellie being beaten and killed, all while he was unable to save her.

But now, hearing her voice and the reassurance in we’re not dead wasn’t enough. He had to hold her. He had to feel her so he could know. His hand to her cheek, fingers through her hair, her tucked away against his chest, or her curled up against his side while his arm drapes across her. That was all for them and he needed it all now to know. To know that she was alive. That they were alive.

Joel frees a finger from her grasp and runs it back and forth over her cheek. Man did she miss contact. This used to be second- no, first nature for them, but it’s been so lost, even before their estrangement. But right now, it feels like it was never lost. “It’s me,” is all she can get out. A phrase from him that always brought her out of dissociation. Two words that grounded her; comforted her throughout Winter and settling into Jackson. Any uncertainty was always met with those two words. It became their thing.

She rests their hands back into his lap before reluctantly letting go. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers, quickly shooting up and running to the top of the stairs, checking behind her every step, the fear that Joel would disappear if she let her eyes off him.

She cracked the basement door open and peaked her head through. “Tommy?! He’s awake,” she called, and Tommy rounded the corner from the front door. Ellie offered him a grateful smile as he struggled to catch his breath, both from running and the realization that Joel was alive.

Tommy rushed downstairs with her, meeting Joel at his side. Ellie stayed a few feet back, letting the brothers have a few minutes. Tommy cleared his throat, trying to conceal his emotion. “Hey, big brother. She cleaned you up real good. How you feelin’?”

“Pain,” is all Joel could manage, though it came out clearer than either of them were expecting. “Fucking sore. Beaten…I was…,” Joel tried, his throat aching with every word.

“I know, brother. I know. But you’re alright now. Jesse and Dina are comin’ and then we’ll have enough people to get you safely home, alright? You’re gonna be just fine, Joel,” he assured, placing a hand over Joel’s heart.

“You were…hit…”

“Nah, it’s nothin’. Clinic at Jackson will get us both up ‘n runnin’ again in no time.” Tommy paused. “Just rest for right now, alright? Once they get here, we’ll get on our way home,” Tommy reassured, grabbing Joel’s hand briefly to offer a comforting squeeze. Ellie pressed a hand to his arm as he passed by, heading back upstairs to watch for Dina and Jesse.

Ellie kneeled back to Joel’s side, gathering his left hand in both of hers again. He brought his right over to them, placing it atop hers, rubbing his thumb in circles on the backs of her hands.

“You heard your brother; you need to rest. We’ll get you up and back home once they get here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I can’t rest.”

Ellie looks at him confused. “I know you’re in pain and that it’s probably hard to get real rest right now. You don’t even have to sleep, you can just ‘rest your eyes’,” she joked, freeing her left hand to use air quotes. “You love resting your eyes.”

“No, kiddo,” he said, struggling to form the right words.

The term of endearment strikes a chord in her. There was a small party at the Tipsy Bison one night and both of them showed up. It was a year into their estrangement and Ellie cursed herself every time she gave him the pleasure of even looking in his direction, let alone talking to him. Within an hour, Ellie was pissed. Some comment Seth made about her vocabulary. She cussed him out and rushed out the door, Joel right on her heels.

“Kiddo-“ his voice was gentle, never raised.

“Don’t! Don’t. What the fuck don’t you get? I said I’d come back here, but we’re done. You don’t get to fucking talk to me, especially using names like that. Keep your fucking distance,” she yelled, some Jacksonfolk trickling out of the bar at the shouting as she stormed off towards their his house.

Joel was left in the street that evening, soft flurries of snow coating his hair and beard as he watched her storm down the Jackson streets. He could see their his house from there. He intently watched every step she took, her right hand coming up to her face every so often. She was crying.

He never called her ‘kiddo’ after that. Until now.

“I can’t.”

“Joel, what the fuck are you talking about? Did I miss something?”

She did.

How the hell did she miss it?

The crook between his neck and shoulder; similar to Tess.

He had been bitten.

Her face drops immediately, her mouth slowly falling open as he pulled a fistful of his clothes to the side, showing it better. “I’m…not waking up again.”

Ellie’s breath is rapid now, hitching with every inhale. She’s reached a point beyond hyperventilating. She is choking, coughing, suffocating. Her whole body burns as she pulls her hands away from his, struggling to even know where to put them because she can’t think.

“Joel…” she whispers, almost as a warning. She’s fallen back to sitting on her heels now, an uncomfortable and unsure space between them.

Joel took a deep breath in, preparing himself. “They kicked and knocked you out. I didn’t have any strength…I couldn’t fight them. They pulled me up to my feet and forced me to stand. The guys took turns punching me in the gut…one of them also giving me this cut from my temple to my jaw. They were laughing at this point, like they were playing a game. They…” he paused, collecting his breath. He felt like he was running out. “They kicked you a few more times, they wanted you awake to watch. When you didn’t wake up…three of the guys left, mumbling something about infected.” He paused again to catch his breath. Even recounting it was almost too much for him. The anger in his eyes was raging remembering how they kicked her. “Few minutes later…they were coming back down the stairs with a runner. They had tied a rope around its neck like it was a dog. They teased me with it…threatened Tommy, too. I begged them not to. They…they gave the runner some slack and I tried to turn away, but two of them were holding me up by the arms…I couldn’t go anywhere. I turned my head and…” He motioned to the bite. It was two sets of teeth marks. He was bit twice. “They all laughed and pulled the leash back, shooting the runner in the face. The two guys let go of me and I fell…broke my nose. I’ve been in and out since then. I don’t know why or how I even woke up the first time.”

She waited, collecting what the hell he just told her. “...why isn’t the runner still here?”

He sighed again, closing his eyes briefly. Even in his current state, he’s dreaming of stringing them up by their insides, letting them hang from the cross beams of the mansion. “They knew you were immune. So, I guess in an attempt to…hurt you, they took away the evidence that I got bit. The blonde girl kneeled in front of me…said she wanted you to have hope I’d be okay. That we’d be okay.”

“What the fuck,” is all she could manage.

Joel coughed and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, it’s your neck…” she breathed in with no satisfaction. “You…you don’t…”

“Have a lot of time,” he continued, finishing her thought. “No, baby, I don’t.”

They stayed in silence for a while, unable to grasp what exactly reality was. This was never supposed to happen. She’s supposed to forgive him. They’re supposed to watch Curtis and Viper 2. They’re supposed to go back to Jackson and practice guitar together. She wants to learn to make those little wooden animals he loves spending so much time on, too, and she knows he’ll teach her. They’re both still needed on patrol. They’re meant to have more meals together. They’re supposed to have a future.

“Rehash whatever you need to. I won’t blame you. Do what you need to, kiddo.”

“You’re about to fucking die and you want me to rehash my feelings? You want me to fucking kick and scream and hit you?!”

“If you need to.”

“I’m about to lose you-“ she cuts herself off, a choked sob at lose. She should never have to say that. She never dreamed she’d ever have to say that.

Joel sighed, his eyes closing briefly. Why. Why like this?

She crawls towards him, burying herself against his chest. Don’t fucking touch me. It rings in her ears. It taunts her. She swatted his hand away and told him we’re done. She left him stood at Saint Mary’s, the same hospital he saved her life at. The place where he told her “we’re not done; we have a future,” was now where he was being told that they were done.

But then they talked on the porch. They had hope. He had hope she was coming back. That she wanted to try for them. They wouldn’t have to be done anymore.

And now they were done. For good. There was no coming back, not from this.

She pushes himself as close as she can against him, burying her face in his left shoulder as she clings to his coat and sobs. She sobs for their whole journey. Every moment together she wished she clung to him but didn’t. The nights during Winter when she couldn’t sleep unless she was right beside him. She cried for their nights in Jackson when she woke him up with her nightmares, crawling under the comforter with him. She cried for their quick goodbye hugs before he’d leave for patrol. She cried for when she would cling to his arm when they would meet other Jacksonfolk. She cried for the times he kissed her forehead or lightly rubbed her back when

She cried for their good days of practicing guitar, watching Jurassic Park, and living the life they never thought they’d get. The days she woke up to him cooking breakfast and they had orange juice. How he always gave her the slightly bigger portion so she’d eat more. The days when she helped him with little construction projects around Jackson. The days he’d visit her and Shimmer at the stables, always commending Ellie on how well she took care of him. Sometimes he’d help her out by brushing his mane. He needed the experience, she said.

She cried for their bad days of arguments, disputes, and going to bed angry. She always woke up to a note on her nightstand the mornings after. On patrol. I’m sorry about yesterday. I’d like to talk about it later if that’s alright with you. Be safe today. Love, Joel. They always reconciled, one of them cracking a joke at the end to lighten the mood. It was a miracle they were ever able to reconcile, considering how terrible they could both be at talking about their feelings. But they always managed in their own little way.

She cried for their estrangement. How she’d treated him the past two years; avoiding him at any cost. Glaring at him if he was in the immediate vicinity. Always finding an out if he approached her. She would go through Tommy to find out Joel’s schedule, all so she could work around it. She cried for how her smile faded even seeing him across town. The anger she harbored towards him those years, unable to see any hope or light at the end of the tunnel.

She cried for him. She cried for who he was. Who he is. All he ever did was protect her and ask her to be safe. His care for her was infinite and it nearly drove her insane. No one ever cared for her how he did. Every day, he did everything he could for her. Whether it be out on the road or in the security of Jackson, he never stopped caring. Never stopped protecting or loving. To show her a glimpse into Before; who he was Before.. To show her what having a family, a father, was like. He went above and beyond to give her the life she deserved, all because he wanted her to be happy. It was never about him.

She cried for the smiles she caught. The once-in-a-blue-moon toothy smiles where he truly laughed. His small chuckles or when he’d blow air out of his nose at some snarky remark she made. Sometimes he’d smile during their meals together. She thought it was weird at first when he told her “it’s not because of the food.” He was happy to just be with her. To have a sense of normalcy with this little girl. To escape from the horrors of infected outside the walls of Jackson and be able to sit at a wooden table and eat with proper plates and silverware for a full meal.

She cried over his gentleness. He was a violent man. He killed and tortured men for years and he was effective. But when it came to her, he was nothing but gentle. He always spoke softly, always held her as gently as his calloused, blood stained hands could manage. How any touch was feather-light and didn’t feel like it could come from someone known for notorious violence like Joel. But she was the exception. Her delicate, fourteen-year-old self brought out a side of him that he always believed was buried two decades prior.

She cried for missing his contact. They got so comfortable after Winter. Holding hands, hugs on the harder days, and the general proximity. They’d sit beside each other by the fire, and Joel would wake up with her head alarmingly close to him, some mornings on his thigh or shin. It became more frequent when they moved into Jackson. She was glued to his side any time they left the house; other residents of Jackson thought it was sweet. But, ever since the estrangement and shoving him away, she didn’t think they’d ever be this close again.

And through their estrangement, he was patient. He waited for her those years. He was heartbroken over it and she knew, but he was still patient, not knowing if she’d even come back or try to repair it. He stayed the whole time, still, patiently waiting. And if she never went back, he’d stay anyway, content with the time he had with her. He loved her too much to force it. She was alive, and that’s all that mattered to him.

And she was about to lose that man in mere hours.

She was draped across his lap now, face pressed into his neck as his was pressed into her hair. She sobbed into him, soaking his coat and button-up. His arms were wrapped around her, left arm cradling her head into him as his right was on her back, rubbing and tracing gentle patterns and designs through her shirt. She’d never be held like this again.

“Kiddo,” he spoke, breaking her concentration on the fabric of his shirt. “I’m startin’ to not feel too well.”

Ellie shut her eyes tight, tears spilling over immediately. “No. No, no, no, no, no. No, fuck. How much fucking time do you have? I still need time,” she pleaded.

“Time for what?”

“To just…just…be here. To be with you while you’re still…”

He gave her a look and she knew exactly what he meant. They didn’t have that time. His eyes would close soon enough, and it wouldn’t be Joel to open them again.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, sobbing into his chest once again. She was mumbling incoherences into his coat, wailing sobs coming out of her that didn’t even sound human. This was reality. She hadn’t felt it until now. She cried, she screamed bloody murder into his chest. He was dying. He was dead already.

He hugged her back as tight as he could manage. He was still injured, but injuries be damned if they ever stopped him from comforting or protecting her. She comes first.

“I need more time,” she weeped into his chest.

“I know, baby. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t. I’d rather be gone before I have the chance to hurt you.” He kissed her head quickly once but held a longer one the second time, his eyes closing at the sound of her sobs at the lost contact between them. “Hey…” his mouth still in her hair, trying to keep himself from eating a mouthful of her auburn strands. “Baby…can you call for Tommy? I want to see him.”

She gave his shirt a few more shuddering hiccups before pulling away, stepping to the bottom of the staircase. “Don’t close your fucking eyes.”

She raced to the top of the stairs, skipping two or three at a time until she reached the door. It flew open, Ellie nearly collapsing to the floor as Tommy rushed to her side.

“Whoa, hey. The hell happened?” Tommy paused, his hand held inches above her shoulder. “Did he-“

“He wants to talk to you,” she said, adjusting herself to sit on the floor she just collapsed on.

Tommy rushed down the stairs as Ellie stayed on the first floor of the mansion, her knees bent in front of her as her forearms draped over them, tears spilling down her face. She hugged her legs closer to herself, face burying in the space between her kneecaps. Joel was dying.

Tommy kneeled beside his older brother, seeing the bite immediately from Joel’s clothes still being pulled to the side. Tommy’s face went still, hands flexing into fists.

“How-“

“They tortured me with a runner. Bit me twice.” Joel’s breathing was shaky now. Emotion or the infection taking over, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not feeling well, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t respond. There was nothing to say. His big brother was dying. The last of his blood, his companion for life, his construction partner. Nothing prepares you for that, not even the world they live in.

“I’m sorry, brother.”

“Dammit, Joel,” he whispers, turning away to wipe his face. “What…you want me to get her out of here? Head back home like nothin’ happened? Let you run around as some fuckin’ infected and risk seeing you again in that state? Risk her seeing you that way?!”

“No…no.” Joel pulled his revolver from his belt, holding it out to Tommy. “Before she’s back downstairs. Please, Tommy. She can’t do something like this. Please, she can’t. I can’t have her…” he hesitates, unable to finish that thought. “I don’t want her seeing me as an infected, neither. I don’t want you seein’ that. Please, Tommy, you have to.”

Tommy’s response was immediate and sure. “I ain’t fucking shooting you, Joel.”

“You’ve killed hundreds of people, Tommy.”

“Those are hunters, Joel! People we fucking stole from ages ago! People who were the object of our grief! You’re my brother!”

“So do me the mercy of shooting me in the head.”

There’s a silence. A hard, cold, unbelievable silence between them. Tommy paced back and forth in front of Joel, anxiously messing with his hands as he imagines how any of this would play out. Where do I shoot him? Forehead? Temple? Chin? Will Ellie hate me? Will Maria hate me? What if I can’t take it like Joel couldn’t? What if Ellie attempts because she can’t take it?

“Please, Tommy, don’t let me turn. I don’t want you to see that. I don’t want her to see that. Fucking…Tommy, please.”

Tommy faces him head on, his eyes red, expression clear. “Do it yourself,” he bites, turning towards the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, hand gripping the railing. Fuck, that was a bad call.

“I love you, baby brother.”

Tommy’s chin drops to his chest as he pulls himself up the stairs, the sleeves of his coat wiping profusely at his face. His head burns. He opens the door and Ellie is still there, hugging herself on the floor, knees brought to her chest as she weeps in front of him.

Tommy doesn’t say a word, only grabs his rifle from the back of the couch and takes watch at the front door again. Ellie watches him, confused. He’d say something, right? Right?

She fumbles getting up, throwing the door back open as she rushes back down to Joel.

The crown of his head is pressed against the glass behind him, eyes closed tight as tears pool down the sides of his face and into his ears, some falling and dripping off his jaw. She can see his shoulders and abdomen jump with each sob. He has never looked like this before.

He lifts his head from the glass, meeting her eyes as she kneels back beside him. He sought her hand this time, holding it tight. His eyes are red and there are wet streaks along his cheeks and jaw.

They sat there in silence, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers as he occasionally sniffed, trying to push those emotions far away from her to see. Joel cleared his throat and adjusted his back as best he could against the glass.

“Listen-“ he started, a gentle graze of his thumb over her hand.

“No.”

“Ellie-”

“Joel, stop…stop…”

“You don’t even know-“

“I know exactly what you want to fucking say. No.”

He freed his hands from hers, picking the revolver up from the floor beside him. He picked both her hands up again, placing the gun tightly in her grip. “It’s fully loaded. No Russian roulette, nothing.”

“Russian roulette?”

He laughed wetly. “Get Tommy to explain it to you.”

“I want you to.” He’d never get to explain anything to her after this.

He smiles briefly. She’s like a little kid asking to get her way, and he’d be damned if he didn't explain it.

“It’s a…dangerous game. You put one round in the chamber, spin it, place it against the body, and you fire at your own head. Your fate is up to chance.” He rubs his thumb over hers. “But there’s no chance with this.”

She gripped the revolver, staring at it. “…Is that why Tommy walked away? Did you ask him?”

He nodded. “He told me to do it myself.”

Well, why can't you?

And it’s almost like Joel can sense the question from a mile away.

“I’m afraid I’ll flinch again.” His voice cracks on again. “With the infection already startin’ to take root I…”

“Joel…I can’t fucking shoot you. I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t want to feel whatever it is they feel. I don’t know if I’ll know it’s you and won’t be able to control what I’m doin’. I don’t want to give you another bite. I don’t want to give you something else that’ll keep you up at night. When you think of me, I don’t want that to be what you picture. I don’t want to tear you apart.”

Joel succumbs to a coughing fit and nearly coughs up blood as he leans forward, Ellie pounding on his back. Joel heaves as his head hangs above his legs, Ellie rubbing his back gently. It’s Riley all over again. Joel sits back up against the glass and exhales heavily as Ellie brings their hands back together. This is going fast.

Ellie hesitates, absentmindedly squeezing his hand tighter. “What if I forget what you look like? What if I shoot you through the face and that’s all I see from now on? What if I can’t remember your face? What if I try to draw you and all I see is a bullet hole between your eyes? What if I can’t remember your nose or your mouth or your eyes or-“

She was rambling and furiously wiping the tears away from her cheeks now. Joel brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks multiple times, wiping from her nose to her ear lobes, and spoke. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, eyes threatening to spill over again. She looked down to the space between them, avoiding his gaze. “Brown.”

“Hey.” He said firmer, forcing her to look at him. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, keeping the contact. “Brown,” she said, still skeptical.

“Ellie, baby…what color are my eyes?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled. “Brown. Your…your eyes are brown. Your eyes are brown,” she breathed, almost relieved to say that back to him. “Your eyes are brown and your…your nose has a little arch to it. You have the scar on your temple and the one on your nose, too.” She hesitated for a minute, lightly laughing to herself. “You have these two little patches in your beard where you don’t have any hair-“

“Alright,” he rolled his eyes, smiling back at her. He brought her head towards him, pressing a kiss to her hairline before pulling her away again.

“Your hair is a mix of black and white. Your ears sit close to your head and you have these two little creases between your eyes, too.”

He smiled at her again. This is what he wanted. After how she expressed the fear of forgetting what he looked like, this is what he wanted for her. What she needed. For her to know she could remember him. That if she drew him, if she remembered him, she remembered him, not something else.

She lightly smiled back. “The corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile, too. Sometimes there’ll be three or four if you laugh hard.”

She noticed the small things in him. She had him perfectly pictured in her mind, down to the minute details of his eye crinkles. But she didn’t do it just so she could remember his face; it was because she loved him. Because she loved them- those little, physical quirks he’d nearly forgotten about himself.

He smiled bigger, just for that.

Her smile faded fast, reality coming back to her. “Your eyes crinkle when you smile…” she trailed off, looking down as she took his hands from her face and into her hers, placing them in their laps. She was never going to him smile again.

“C’mere,” he asked and she climbed back against him, contorting herself against his chest as her cheek pressed against his heart. Her right hand had a section of his flannel balled up into her fist, clinging to what she still had left of him. Her left was in her lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers to distract herself from their fate approaching at a rapid rate. She crossed them over each other, intertwined hers with his, balled his hands into fists, and held his every way she knew how.

The longer they sat, the more labored his breathing became. She could feel him fading; dying. He could, too. It was getting harder to breathe. Deeper inhales were needed for almost every other breath. He was lightheaded; dizzy. His head was dropping more, like his neck muscles were giving out. The infection was getting far. It was a network at this point, vines emerging from his shoulder into his neck and chest; it resembled tree roots. He was sweating and getting hot. This was going way too fast.

“Babygirl…”

“No,” she whimpered into his chest, holding that ball of his flannel tighter.. “No, Joel. Please…stop.”

“Ellie, we’re risking it. I’m…I’m going, kiddo. I can tell.”

She curled herself tighter into his lap, bending her knees and bringing them closer to her face as they fell against his chest. He pulled his hands from hers, wrapping them tighter around her. She’s always been so small, and right now was no exception. She fit into him so easily, completely encapsulated by his embrace.

Ellie was trembling with sobs; a mix of hiccups, hyperventilating, and a wailing that any clicker could hone in on from miles away. She felt like she was falling apart. His embrace is supposed to offer her support and stability, not make her feel like they’re nowhere to be found. Security and protection, and yet she feels open, vulnerable, and exposed.

Her fist in his flannel moved to his arm, her left arm following as she held onto his forearms, trying to ground herself in his embrace and how she should feel against him.

He’s practically dead. Maybe that’s why; it’s barely him at this point. The infection is taking him from her. And that is as much of a reason she needs to go through with this. What feels terrible to her is a thousand times worse for him. He’ll be with Sarah. He’ll be free.

“Baby,” he started. He hadn’t called her that in years before today. And she had already lost count of the amount of times he’d used it within the last few hours. She’s never gonna hear it again. “Hey, look at me, please.” She pulled away and scooted off his lap slightly, her legs still draped across him. His hands found her cheeks, his hold noticeably weaker. He smiled at her.

This little girl. His little girl. He smiled at her; because of her. The little girl who attacked him (and Tess) when they first met. Who did nothing but cling to his side because he protected her. I need something smuggled out of the city. To you, she’s cargo. But then there was Henry and Sam, nights together on the road, car rides, Jackson (a glimpse into their future), a life threatening injury, and her life on the line. And somehow…it became more than a job. She became more than just cargo. Somewhere along the way, the fortified walls built up around him were torn down by her. He protected, provided, and cared for her. He nurtured her. He reassured her. He held her tight and called her “babygirl.” He saw more importance in holding her hand through a night sleep than he did in keeping watch over them.

Eventually, that cargo was hearing him sing and being taught guitar. That smuggler was stringing up lights around her makeshift home in their her garage. Somewhere along the way, two unrelated survivors of the world, brought together as a job, were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of their new home together.

At first, she seemed to just be a replacement for Sarah; her ghost following him everywhere. Those nightmares becoming more prevalent when Ellie entered the picture; a constant reminder of his failure to Sarah. But then Ellie wormed her way in with that terrible pun book, atrocious vocabulary for a fourteen-year-old, and non-stop questions which kept him awake (and annoyed) that did him in. She started to become her own person to him; an opportunity. A second chance at fatherhood. To feel and embrace the love that gave him the greatest twelve years of his life. To continue where he left off with it all. And motherfuckers be damned if anything was going to get in his way of loving his little girl again.

“I love you,” and fuck, he looked heartbroken and in love. This was the first and last time she'd ever hear him say it. Regretful.

She smiled back at him. It was always understood between them; they didn’t have to say it. She wanted to say it before he left for patrol or before she went…anywhere without him. But a quick hug, kiss on the head, and a “be safe,” was his way of saying it every day. For her, it was always a tight hug paired with, “If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” or a similar endearment. They had their ways, and that was enough.

But right now, he needed her to know for sure.

Joel took in another shaky breath. He was falling. “I love you…so much, babygirl.” His hold was so soft as he rubbed his thumb over her cheek again.

His face was enough to tell her everything. They got really good at the whole ‘silent communication’ thing. A certain look in his eye or the way his eyebrows sat was all she needed. And now, his eyes were gentle. He looked like he did when he gave her the tape of the space launch three years ago. He looked like he did when he heard Linda Ronstadt on that tape after so many years. He looked like he did when she’d treat him extra father-like to really sell it to other Jacksonfolk. His expression looked like…the same it always did when he looked at her.

Everything he ever did was for her. Trying to send her away with Tommy, shoving her away from him in that basement, massacring the fireflies, and every decision in between was made because he loved her, and that came before anything else. He didn’t need to expand on any of it; she knew now.

Her anger was palpable during the estrangement. Her trust was broken, she was betrayed, disappointed, and angrier than she knew what to do with. She didn’t hate him, though. She struggled for a long time, but it never turned to hatred. And the realization of that for her is as clear to her now as it may ever be, considering how easily she answers. Like they were never estranged.

“I love you, too,” she responds, the same expression on her face. I just heard him say his last words. He just heard my last words to him.

He pulls her head forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Her hands come up to his wrists, holding on to him. She slows her breathing to match his, earning one last sliver of comfort from him.

She pulls his hands away, placing them in the space between them as she leans to the side, picking the revolver back up. She fiddles with it in her hands, trembling as she grips the trigger. She pulls her legs off from how they’ve been draped across him and tucks them under her, sitting on her heels.

She loosely places the barrel of the revolver against his temple, Joel flinching at the familiar contact.

His right hand came up to her face, bringing her head down once more, kissing her hairline once and resting his lips there briefly. A second one, just for good measure. “I love you so damn much, babygirl,” he whispers, tears from his own cheeks hitting her forehead. He leans back, the crown of his head hitting the glass.

Ellie grabs at his hands in his lap, the two of them fighting for who can hold the other tighter. Both his hands come around her left as she pulls the hammer back. Tears drip off her chin into the mess of their hands in his lap.

He shuts his eyes tight as she exhales.

“I’m sorry. I love you-”

bang.

His body jumps against her, his hands immediately releasing her left as his head falls to the side.

“Joel?” She whispered, watching his face. She dropped the revolver, cupping his face upright. “Hey, Joel. Look at me. Joel, fucking look at me! Fuck..dammit Joel, fucking look at me, asshole. Look at me!” Every other word was a sob. “Fuck…you’re…why did I do this. Why did I listen to you, why did I…” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against his, gripping his neck tight. “Please…please, don’t do this. Come back, Joel. Please, please come back. Please…” she pleaded, tears spilling down her chin into his empty hands. “Joel…come on. We were…I was…I told Dina I was going to invite you over. Curtis and Viper 2…I found it. I was gonna ask you…fuck…fuck…I know you would…you would’ve said yes…” Her throat was burning up. She brought her hands around the back of his neck, bringing his face into the crook of her shoulder as she rested her chin atop his head, her right hand combing through his hair gently. “...We were gonna…we were gonna be okay.” she choked. Were.

The basement door swung open and Tommy stormed down the stairs, his beretta in hand as his arm was extended out in front of him. He was coming back to do it. Tommy stopped a few feet behind Ellie, Joel’s head still tucked into her neck.

“Ellie…”

Ellie was sobbing into Joel’s hair, Tommy at a loss of what to do, if anything, for her. “He was going fast…we…I had to.”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat as he noticed the wound in his brother’s temple, blood still pouring out. Ellie was drenched.

HIs voice was quiet, completely different to how he sounded barreling down the stairs seconds prior. “I was gonna get my shit together…I-I would’ve done it, sweetheart.”

Ellie pushed past that. Can’t go back now. “We need to…wrap him up. Sheets, towels, something…”

Tommy acknowledged silently, walking back upstairs without another word.

Ellie stayed there, kneeling on that cold basement tile with Joel’s face tucked into her neck. He was heavy now as dead weight. Joel’s hands were still open in his lap, pools of Ellie’s tears still present in the creases of his palms. “You were alive three minutes ago and now we have to wrap up your fucking corpse…” She pulled his face away from her neck, holding it in front of her. His eyes were half shut. She opened his left eyelid slightly, checking for life. She had to be sure. Sure enough, nothing. The eyes that held so much light, gentleness, and love were void of…anything now. No crinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the brown of his irises even felt faded.

She stayed like that, studying his face. The second Tommy is back, Joel will be wrapped up, his face covered and his body wrapped up as he’s put six feet under, never to be unraveled again. She needed this now, to make sure she memorized everything, even through the tear-filled lens of her vision. Those patches in his beard, the arch of his nose, his temple and nose scars, the shape of his ears, the way the front of his hair curls on a good day, the brown of his eyes, and those crinkles she never once took for granted that sat so openly at the corners of his eyes.

She’d never see those crinkles again.

~~~~

Tags: @not-so-mundane-after-all @sentientmasstransit @memelovescaps @tloubraininfection @tlouobsessed @fieldsoftulips @bejeweledmp3 @swol-bear @cassianendor @bluestar22x @elliiewiilliiams @longl0ngtime @dilf-din @therebedragcns @joelxmiller @scootkiddo @astrasomnium @fallenstar07 @novemberrain-writes @hooptedoodley

[toomuchracket]

Idk if you’ve already wrote similar but I’m imagining matty having a really stressful day at the studio and he comes home and needs release 😈 also feel like we need some spitting in there (I’m unholy I’m sorry)

oooooooh yes hwfg this is FILTHY. combining with matty handcuffing reader 😁 im just a slut for dom matty and thats kind of it LOL ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ (modifying this one slightly, though!) and tugging on mattys earring with your mouth and making him moan 🤗

ok so you're home from work and you've made dinner because matty called and said things were a bit hectic and he'd be home later. and you just know from the way he slams the front door that matty's frustrated, but his face softens as he comes into the bedroom and sees you reading your book, and he toes off his shoes and falls on top of you with a groan. and i think he genuinely does calm down a bit after making out with you for a while, but you know your man well enough to see that he's not totally relaxed - so you grind your hips up into his and whisper in his ear "take it out on me" and tug the slut hoop between your teeth, which makes matty moan. and he's like "are you sure? don't know how gentle i can be, darlin'", and you slide down the pillows under him and cross your wrists above your head like "i'm sure, baby. just wanna be what you need right now". and matty (simp) kisses your nose and says "you always are, sweetheart. but thank you", before he takes off his tie and wraps and secures it around your wrists - he triple-checks with you that it's not too tight and that you're comfortable and you know what the safeword is in case it gets a bit too much for you (yeah, he needs to fuck you within an inch of your life, but obv he wants you to be alright during it!). and once you've given him the all-clear (with a final sweet little kiss and an exchange of "i love you"s), matty just goes to town; he crashes his lips against yours while he rips his shirt off and yanks his trousers down, then makes his way down across your neck and onto your chest, pulling your tank top down so he can kiss and suck and bite at your tits while he removes your shorts. then i think he'd run a finger up your visibly-wet-even-through-underwear slit like "oh, baby, you're fucking SOAKED. who made you this wet? go on, tell me" and you whine out a "you did, you made me wet", and matty grins like "thought so. good fucking girl" before pulling your panties off quickly and licking up the length of your cunt (because he just cannot help himself), moaning at how good you taste while you scream at how good his mouth feels. but he doesn't make you cum, because he's so desperate to be inside you - what matty does do, though, is lean over you and say "need to fuck you, but first you need to know how good you taste. open", and spits into your mouth when you drop your jaw, moaning out another "good girl" when you immediately swallow.

he quickly pulls his boxers off (you practically salivate at the sight of him naked) and lines up with your entrance, but matty's a little shit and slowly drags the tip of his cock up to your clit and back down to your hole a few times; while he does, he says "you want me to fuck you? beg for it. go on", and naturally you just fucking WHIMPER out a plea for him to fuck you, that you need him inside you, that you want to make him feel good. and matty moans and says "such a little slut for me, but i love it" and just fucking BURIES himself inside you. and it's hard and fast and deep and just fucking perfect - matty holds your jaw and spits into your mouth again, kissing you roughly immediately after, moaning into your mouth as you moan into his. then he pulls back from you, sits up on his knees, so he can pull your legs onto his shoulders and fuck you even deeper - you're not even sure how he can do that, but it makes you writhe underneath him and roll your eyes back into your head as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. and matty notices you getting close, so he brings his thumb to your clit and says "come on, sweetheart, need you to cum for me, cum all over my cock. let me know how good it feels" (i truly believe matty gets off on getting you off in any circumstance); because you're a good girl, you oblige, clenching around matty as you hit breaking point and scream out his name. and that's enough to make matty cum - he holds it, though, to groan out a "where?" to you, pulling out and wanking himself to a finish over your mouth and face as per your request. you whine as soon as he's done, and matty automatically goes to untie your wrists, but you're like "nooooo not that, want it all in my mouth". and matty's like "jesus christ you really are such a slut. but you're so good to me. i love you", and gathers up all his cum from across your face on his index finger so you can suck it all off happily (which tbh he has to fight the urge to get turned on again by), and THEN you're like "ok yeah please untie me now lol". matty laughs and does so, kissing you softly like "that was so so good, i really needed that. thank you, darlin', i love you so much", and you smile sweetly like "thank YOU, it was fun. i love you too, so so much". i think you spend a couple of minutes just cuddling and catching your breath and kissing softly, before matty carries you to the bathroom, and you both relax even more in the shower before going back to bed to sleep <3

[ladysomething]

at the end we didn't re read, but rather read Archive of Our Own. and you know what. I was fucking right. if it's yours, is good. that a goddamn law by now.

1. I'm soooo Charles trying to explain Max about ao3. sadly, truthfully, I do not have a hot best friend to yap to and force to read the stuff I read who has a spot for me. WHERE IS MY OWN MAX. also yes Charles. the notes. the tags. so important. you don't wanna learn it the bad way.

2. I got a flashback reading when Max called out Charles and writers. literally my roomie. and now, look at him. he's gone so far, my boy is all grown up 🥹

3. I can absolutely see the grid turning this into a competition. egocentric bunch of competitive assholes (affectionate) also the press con? excuse you?

4. omg maddie the phone scene was FIREEEEE. dare I say, you professed your own fic because as much as I loved the end, the call was a little hotter than the actual thing.

5. so we've all agreeded that Max is oblivious as hell? yes? alright. like. the names? the titles of the fics? ARE YOU FOR REAL?!?! Charles was almost screaming at the top of his lungs and Max was like uh yeah. how was it? I want him to be happy and to be there to see it for the rest of my life? my bed is cold and empty without you? I miss him so much my chest aches? the cuddling as well?!?! (I screamed) yeah buddy. so so friend coded. suuuure.

+1. I decided to open a bottle of red wine yesterday and I laughed so much reading this. like so so much. met me tell you, that was a bad combination. my couch now has two stains of some fancy italian red wine. one is my fault. the other one is from my gay roommate hearing about spit as lube for the first time. you had to see his face.

+2. Max does indeed has, a breeding kink. I know. I was one of the unused condoms from the strip Charles had.

+3. writer+blogger+lestappie+chussyandbottomcharlestruther Charles holds a special place in my heart. also, the reader that called him out on characterization and wheel. knowledge LMAO. and finally, how the fuck did he found out about ao3. and how do we not get there.

can't wait for the next wygig chapter, whenever it comes! also, loved this completely short and not almost completed fic-like one shot. ❤️

the levels of meta of Max being quintessential written by a woman character while at the same time in fic critiquing fake Max being written by women .............

so we all went through the 'is this morally ethical' to enjoying omega verse pipeline then huh ...

literallllyyyyyyy they all got so into it. the sniff of a grid wide competition and they al run off with it

when I had the idea for the phone sex I was like "my mind. wow." so I totally agreeee

max was so deep in denial that he came out the other side and was pining hopelessly the entire time

+1. not the red wine stains!!!! also when my gay best friend found out I was writing gay sex he was like "ok you do you but if you use spit as lube I will kill you" so. that pipeline is also very real.

+2. oh my god. screaming crying throwing up. that's so funny. (and yes you're right. he totally does)

+3. he for sure already knew about ao3 and fic but had never read it and then he was casually watching some lestappen edits on TikTok to pine over Max, saw someone in the comments talking about a fic they'd read on 'ao3' and then was like 'wow I could take my pining to the next level'. and then boom. suddenly he's realised lestappen are losing to maxiel and then he's barging into Max's apartment 30 minutes later.

[dragonologist-phd]

Owlcatober Day 31 - Owlcat

Owlcatober 2023 Day 31 - Owlcat

also on ao3

Ophelia squirms in place as her mother brushes and braids her hair. It’s taking a long time- her hair is long, and she likes it that way, because her father can braid ribbons through it for fancy parties. But days like this, she just wants to chop it all off.

“Hurry, Mama,” she says, wiggling her shoulders. “If I’m late, they’ll leave without me.”

“No, they won’t,” her mother replies. “And it’ll take me even longer if you don’t hold still.”

“They will. Matty says he’s gonna do it all the time.”

“But Ronan and Ana never let him, do they?”

Ophelia pouts and crosses her arms. Her mother might technically be right, but that doesn’t change the fact that Ophelia’s cousins are all older than her, and she can’t be the one making them all wait. In a deep voice- an imitation of her father- she declares, “There’s a first time for everything!”

It just makes her mother laugh, while her father turns away from his mirror, his own hair half-styled.

“Was that supposed to be me?”

“Yeah. You say it all the time.”

A rapping at the window interrupts her father’s reply, and Ophelia smiles at the sound of Midnight tapping her head insistently against the glass pane.

The owlcat isn’t black, which Ophelia disapproves of. She thinks any animal named Midnight should be inky-black, but their Midnight is tawny brown and flecked with gray. According to her mother, Midnight was so named because ‘that was the time the damn thing woke me up every night before we finally took her in’.

Midnight still has a habit of clawing at the windows, but Ophelia has never minded. The owlcat is practically her best friend.

At the sound of her best friend’s attempts to get inside, Ophelia throws her hand out and focuses her will. The window snaps open in response, and Midnight happily skitters inside, winging across the room to land in Ophelia’s lap. She nips at Ophelia’s hands, and Ophelia can’t help wiggling again.

“See? Even Midnight is ready to go!”

Her mother ties off her braid and lifts her hand. “There, there. I’m done.”

Ophelia leaps to her feet and hurries to the door, her bag in one arm and Midnight in the other. “ThanksI’llseeyoulaterbye!”

“Hold on!”

Ophelia’s escape is halted once more as her mother takes hold of her shoulder and spins her around so they’re facing each other. Her mother’s smile is warm, but she’s wearing that listen to me look that Ophelia knows quite well, so she does her best not to fidget as she looks up into the brown eyes that are so much like her own.

(Ophelia knows she looks a lot like her mother, except that her Mama’s long brown hair is streaked with gray, and she never wears it in braids. Still, Ophelia’s father likes to say that she’s her mother’s spitting image, which Ophelia thinks sounds kind of gross.)

Her Mama tugs teasingly at Ophelia’s braids now, and smiles fondly as she says, “Make sure to be back before dark, okay? I mean it. Your father and I will be out late at a military council meeting, but we’ll be back before your bedtime. Until then, Ronan is in charge. Okay?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Tell me- who’s in charge?”

Ophelia groans. She ran off on her own once, and she’s never heard the end of it. “Ronan.”

“And when will you be back home?”

“Before dark.”

“And you, Midnight,” her father cuts in, addressing the owlcat sternly, “you make sure she remembers that.”

The owlcat in Ophelia’s arms meows in acknowledgement, as Ophelia groans. “Guys!”

“Okay, okay.” Her mother kisses her forehead, then waves her out the door. “Go have fun, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you, too!” Ophelia shouts over her shoulder, already running down the path to meet her cousins. She wills her short legs to move faster, thinking about all she’ll do today- and maybe it’s her imagination, but the world does fly by just a little more swiftly.

Rosemary watches from the window as her daughter runs off, a strange combination of worry and affection rising in her chest.

“She’s too much like you,” she comments to Varn. “Always rushing off and wanting to get into trouble.”

“Oh, and she gets that completely from me?” Varn teases. He moves to Rosemary and wraps his arms around her shoulders, quiet for a moment as they both watch Ophelia disappear down the road. “You’re not wrong about the trouble part, I admit. And her magic’s getting stronger, to boot.”

“I’ll say. I think she’s casting a Haste spell on herself right now. Like I said- always in a hurry.”

“We’ll have to get her a magic tutor soon.”

“If she’ll sit still long enough for that,” Rosemary says, shaking her head. “And if they even know how to teach her.”

The source of Ophelia’s powers is still something of a mystery. Rosemary knows her bloodline isn’t pure human- her sister is a tiefling, after all- but as far as she knows none of her relatives have ever shown signs of sorcery. Nor have Varn’s. Rosemary wonders, sometimes, if the First World left some strange trace in her that now lives in her daughter. More impossible things have happened.

Varn can feel her tense as the thoughts run through her mind, and he kisses her on the cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We always have before.”

“True,” Rosemary admits, leaning back against her husband. “We’re pretty good at figuring things out.”

They are. Together, they’ve built a strong home, a loving family. Rosemary loves her husband and her child and her work for Varnhold.

And though she may worry, she knows Varn is right. Whatever life decides to throw at them in the future, it won’t be anything they can’t handle.