#because for some fucking reason it's practically on a hair trigger and Will make me start frustrated crying at a moments notice if i

[gibbearish]

the one good thing abt chronic people pleasing and funnyman syndrome is that when you do finally crack and express Genuine Anger everyone around you is like. oh fuck

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[certifiedfreec]

・❥・close - gojo satoru x f!reader (crossposted on ao3!) ・❥・

⊹ oh nooo you’re trapped in a hotel room with gojo… and there’s only one bed… ahhhhh

⊹ 18+, smut, frenemies to lovers, a ridiculous amount of banter

⊹ word count: 9.8k (i’m so normal about him lol…)

“Well fuck.”

Mouth agape, you stand tiredly beside your overly cheeky partner-in-exorcises, surveying the last available hotel suite that’s closest to your current assignment. Cramped could describe it if you’re feeling generous, as the sparse amenities make the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room look like a California King. The overblown stock photos of generic flowers hanging haphazardly above the bed are nearly mocking the otherwise drab room, and the dim lighting makes it all look more dingy than romantic given the scenario you’re in.

One bed left in this overbooked “hotel…” This has to be a fever dream.

“I call the left side!”

Said partner, Satoru Gojo, is oblivious to your inner turmoil as he languidly steps into the room with his singsong tone, surveying what little it has to offer with an otherwise calm expression. God, this guy gets on your nerves, but not for any pertinent or extravagant reason. Really, he just carries himself a little too cockily for your taste, like he’s used to people fawning over him for doing nothing. While you work well together for the most part, there’s something about his presence that just makes you-

“You can take the whole thing,” you grumble dismissively, carefully moving around him to set your backpack down on the warped work desk. You’d sooner sleep in the bathtub even if it was soaking wet, you think.

Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how hard they roll when you hear him let out a feigned hum of disappointment. You can sense him studying your every move, even through that stupid blindfold thing he’s always got on.

“Bummer. You scared you’re gonna catch some cooties? I’m not contagious.” Gojo tuts playfully, shaking his black jacket off and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Guess that means more room for me!” He wastes wastes no time in flopping onto the middle of the stiff mattress with a grin, and part of you can’t help but admire- no, simply notice, you tell yourself- how his shockingly white hair and pale skin contrasts the dull, dated comforter. He’s got a white button down on, and you’re tempted to call him a bloodsucking vampire with how translucent he looks. Humming to himself, he reaches for the remote that practically shrinks in his large hands, clicking the clunky TV on and watching it take a few minutes to whir to life.

You’re unsure what to do with yourself, but you’re determined to put some space between the two of you with whatever happens. It’s unfortunate when you realize that you really might not be successful with that endeavor, given your dwarfed hotel room that could trigger any sane person’s claustrophobia. It didn’t help that this guy already took up most of the lackluster room with just his body, either. Your eyes flicker over to your work partner, who appears unnervingly okay with this turn of events. With a deep sigh, you pull out the creaky chair and slump defeatedly onto the desk. You’re careful to scoot to the edge of the chair so your back doesn’t make contact with his resting jacket, and he doesn’t miss your obvious attempt at distance. It’s known by many that he’s always been a huge fan of himself, and you’d be damned if you ever let him think you were part of that club, too.

“Hey, careful with the outerwear.” Gojo’s selectively ignoring your clear discomfort, opting to poke at you anyway because he just does that. “That’s a pricey jacket, y’know.” His face is serene as he’s clicking through the available channels and making his own little noises when each show is less intriguing than the next.

“Right… I’ll try my best,” you reply disinterestedly with a yawn. You rest your face on the cool wood- anything to mentally take yourself out of the painfully tiny space you and this massive human were expected to share for the evening. It’s been a long day of mundane yet necessary work, and apparently the real work is supposed to happen tomorrow. Being instructed last minute to change your stopping point for the day, you were left with no choice but to call around in a new area until you found an option. Gojo simply shrugged and started searching, not even slightly irritated at the change of plans. It irks you how little your colleague is bothered by, well, anything, because it has to be disingenuous at some point, right? Over time you’ve realized that with him, it truly is a brazen confidence- a kind that you decided was more dangerous than reassuring in reference to your line of work. It’s just unnatural- then again, nothing in your field is, so what’s your real issue with him? The question always leaves you befuddled at your core, and now it’s glaring in your face with the close quarters you’re sharing.

After some time spent listening to Gojo’s disjointed chuckles at whatever was playing, you take out your phone to text Shoko about your dreaded situation. This’ll be a long night, you think, grasping at straws to reason that it’s only temporary and that the smell of his spicy cologne will soon fade away from your senses. You have to say though, the scent fits him pretty well…unlike this miniature room you’re both posted up in.

Your eyes betray you when they briefly flit over again at the man lounging across the bed. It’s quite the spectacle, as the ends of his gangly legs and feet are dangling awkwardly over the edge, yet his expression is serene. The word "cute" passes through your mind and you immediately shush it by reflex, but it’s not as strong as the newfound proximity that prompts you to finally tease him in a dry tone: “Jesus, you’re taking up the whole thing and it’s still not enough.”

“Tell me about it.” He’s quick to react to your statement, and you swear you see his broad chest huff with amusement out of your peripheral. “It must be the price to pay when you’re a dreamy, charming, six foot three Jujutsu Sorcerer,” he adds in a lighthearted tone that seeks feigned sympathy. You’re not looking at him anymore, but you can guess that he’s batting the long white eyelashes that decorate his electric blue eyes. Meanwhile, you’re battling a smile.

Shoko’s not answering your SOS texts, so you actually decide to take the bait in the meantime. “You poor thing,” you coo halfheartedly, “It’s just never enough for you.” You shift, draping your arm over the back of the cheap desk chair that warps under your weight.

“You’re so right! I’m glad someone finally understands.” He points a finger at you, clearly pleased that you’re bantering along, and then he rests that same finger on his pointed chin. “Speaking of nothing ever being enough, I’m starving.” He suddenly sits up, making the bed creak with his movement. It’s apparent that his focus has shifted from the lifeless television show to you. “Who delivers around here?”

Gojo’s nonchalant behavior has the opposite effect on you- it’s disconcerting. At the same time, a very quiet part of you wants to warm up to the idea of finding it endearing. Being annoyed by him was all you knew- how could you ever change now?

The noise that escapes him is pure juvenile glee when you wordlessly open up a delivery app on your phone and sling the device over to him, which he catches with ease before scavenging through the limited number of nearby restaurants. If anything, you’ve never seen him so locked in. You hear him murmur his commentary to himself as he swipes through, picking out his order from his spot on the bed (which is basically the whole thing), and then he abruptly stands up with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Without watching him, you hear his steps move somewhere behind your seat.

“Hey, your girlfriend Shoko is texting you. I had no idea I was such a hot subject! Well, maybe I did.”

Oh shit. The heart that previously resided in your chest has plummeted to your stomach. You completely forgot you’d been virtually begging her for moral support when you first arrived at your shoebox of a room.

You muster all your inner strength to maintain a semblance of cool. “Is she on her way to save me?”

The grin on his face is nearly glowing as he reads your screen. “Hah, you wish. It says, and I quote, ’Sorry I’m just now seeing these! How are you and your “Honored One” doing? I promise he’s not as bad as you think he is, LOL.’”

You can feel all the blood in your body rush to your face as Gojo continues to read the message, who is doing everything to refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. “’At least he’s not the worst looking, and you guys are gonna have to share a bed anyway. Wink emoji, wink emoji.’”

Your world comes screeching to an ugly halt. In this moment, you remind yourself to never text Shoko while you’re in the same room as him- ever again.

“Oh my god… You’re lying. Stop it!” You feel a wave of sickeningly nervous giggles threaten to rack through your body as you fly out of your rickety seat, marching over to the lanky sorcerer and swiping at him for your phone. He tsks, holding the device up from your reach with a mischievous tilt of his head, and you’re sure that you’ve never been this flushed with humiliation before. His muscled arm holds your phone up revealing the chat, and unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. And his voice? It’s smug, obnoxiously so as he taunts you. “This is so much more interesting than ordering food right now. I think I’m gonna answer her. What should I say?”

“Give it back, Satoru Gojo.” You glower up at him, silently knowing your efforts are futile due to your drastic height difference- and that goddamn Infinity ability of his that he loved to show off.

“Oooh, don’t say my full name. It really scares me,” Gojo gasps mockingly before making a show of squinting up at the screen and beginning to type with his other hand. “Let’s try this.” His fingers begin to dance across the screen. “’Shoko, I think I might be falling for Satoru Gojo, all six foot three of him. We’ve had such a romantic evening-‘"

“Jesus Christ, hand it over already!” You’re reaching your limit with tolerating his antics, body teeming in some liminal space between annoyance and mortification. You stretch up again to try and pluck the phone only to make contact with nothing. Fucking showoff. He’s still got his blindfold on, and you’re unable to see how his eyes are completely shimmering with mirth and self-satisfaction.

“Aaand, sent! I think she’ll like that. Anyway, go ahead and add your order to the cart. It’s on me- I remembered to bring the JuJutsu High credit card this time!” Gojo carries on casually like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of planting an explosive in your text messages, feeling incredibly proud of himself as he plops the phone back into your open palm. Glaring up at him and his resilient grin, you are entirely uninterested in eating any kind of food right now. He thinks it’s kind of cute how quickly your face turns ruby red.

You stare at your violated device, blinking in disbelief before looking back up at him. “You’re a real motherfucker, you know that?” You challenge, though your voice isn’t as hostile as it should be.

His large hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, who says I don’t go for daughters either?”

He’s maddening. How do his students stand him? Your free palm has never moved so fast to your face. Resolving into your clunky self-assigned seat, your butt collides firmly with cold wood. “You’re right. Who don’t you go for?” You huff.

Gojo chuckles with his whole chest as he moves to sprawl out over the miniature bed, returning to the original position he was in before he hijacked your text conversation. With blindfolded eyes focused back on the hazy television screen, his hands lock behind his head as he shrugs indifferently. “Never been a big fan of Geminis, to be honest.”

Unreal. He could talk to you in circles like this forever, and only because he knows he gets under your skin that way. You resign, eyeing your phone screen and scrolling through the restaurant he picked to order delivery from. He’s got quite the spread in the cart, complete with an elaborate dessert that could’ve wiped out your savings account.

“Clearly a fan of cheesecake though, holy shit.” The jab doesn’t come out as mean as you intend it to, and honestly, you aren’t sure how much longer you’ll be capable of treating him with this much animosity. You’re already tired, and if you were any more awake you’d realize that your work partner was slowly wearing your guard down, quip by cocky quip.

“Right again. Don’t you just love getting to know me through our intimate time together?”

Shoko is spamming you with an endless barrage of confused and shocked emojis, and you’re far too sleep-deprived to reply. Your entire body flushes at his words as they reverberate in your mind. Intimate is not the right word. No, it shouldn’t be, more like invasive. Right?

“Couldn’t be happier,” you reply curtly, mindlessly picking out whichever menu items are at the top before punching in the room number and credit card info, which was smoothly slid onto the table by Gojo without your prior notice. With your back to him, his gratification is on full display as he pretends to watch whatever crappy show is playing. Winning is his favorite thing in the world, and grating on your nerves is a close second- though really, the two coincide. Part of him wonders how much further he can blur that line.

——————————————————————————————————-

The comically large bag of food is immediately torn open by an eager Gojo the second it lands on the hotel room’s table, and he’s forking together a messy array of sides onto his plate before dragging over a lounge chair from the corner next to yours. He’s sitting far too close for your comfort, but you begrudgingly comply. It wasn’t like he was going to go away anytime soon, even though the night would be so much easier that way. As he shovels his dinner into his mouth, your mind aimlessly ventures as to how he keeps his form so trim with an appetite like that. He’s got to have a strict workout regimen somewhere, though “strict” is a word not often associated with him-

“Hey, your food’s gonna get cold if you keep staring like that.”

Your eyes widen in record time. It’s a hideous realization that you’ve zoned out on watching the renowned sorcerer-turned-temporary-roommate inhale his overpriced dinner, all from being overcome with either exhaustion or acceptance of your cramped situation. At this point, it’s maybe a little of both.

“Sorry,” you mumble, not even caring to articulate a more acidic response. It seems you’re beginning to neutralize into Gojo’s presence, and he mentally takes note of your changing chemistry with him as you quietly stab at your steak bites.

He’s got the perfect opportunity to coo something vain back, like “Don’t apologize, I’d stare too if it were me,” but he doesn’t. He simply keeps eating, sparing you with a less than uncomfortable silence. It’s never been the worst thing between you two given your extensive work history, and you feel yourself soften slightly when the bland hotel room’s air isn’t filled with his assumptive commentary for once. As your plates both get emptier, he feels this sudden need to hold your attention, as you’re less likely to be as combative as you’ve been before. You’re... not so set on hating him.

“You tired?”

Gojo’s two-worded inquiry jars you, almost to the point of choking on your bread. It's something genuine. He closes up one of the empty to-go boxes and shoves it into the takeout bag before pulling out the monstrosity that is his slice of cheesecake. For some reason your heart stammers at how refreshing the possibility of a real conversation with him could actually be.

You’ve got the perfect opportunity to snap something defensive back, like “Yeah, of you,” but you don’t. His shiny eyes shift under the fabric of his blindfold to you, almost prompting you to answer.

“…Yeah, I must be making it pretty obvious,” you say, unintentionally yawning and proving his point. If you were any more relaxed with him, he would’ve told you how cute you looked doing that. You secure your leftovers and start to chuck them into the bag before a large hand suddenly stops you with a “gimme” motion.

“Judging by how easily you’re willing to waste that perfectly good food…it’s not hard to tell,” he prods at you with a grin that you would’ve unnerved you earlier, but at this hour it’s a little more welcoming. Is that a snicker that comes out of you? You hand over the half-eaten order of steak bites to his jubilation, and he’s already popping open the lid to pick one up with his fingers.

Curse your brain in its exhausted state, because it’s nearly hypnotized by his digits. They’re long, dextile, confident somehow. They’re slender and defined, yet capable of serious damage- this you know all too well, and that excites you more than it should. The slice of meat dwarfs in his hold, its shiny reddish myoglobin starting to trickle down his hand and wrist, and it decorates his fine veins and tendons there with its sheen…

No, there’s no way you’re jealous of a piece of meat right now. Did you seriously feel a flutter somewhere that you shouldn’t? Satoru Gojo is literally eating your leftovers with his bare, grubby hands, and you’ve made the fatal error of finding it attractive. Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight before your conflicted mind wanders any further.

He munches on the remainder of your dinner before finally digging into the cheesecake, and you feel blessed for the distraction from your shifting thoughts when you two chat about the mission at hand tomorrow. Is he worried about the curses you’ll be dealing with? No, of course not. According to him, he’s only worried about messing up his hair. Oh, and that expensive jacket you were careful not to touch earlier. With that all that added up, maybe he is nervous about it.

When the conversation dies down, the only sound in the unimpressive hotel room is the game show now playing on the practically vintage television. You quietly scroll your phone while your colleague digs into the soft dessert, stopping suddenly to stick his fork out to you.

“Want a bite? And before you say no, I already told you my cooties aren’t contagious.”

Is this real kindness? You whip your head to face him, studying the glob of caramel-drizzled sweetness, and he’s waving the fork around like a magic wand complete with some convincing “whoosh” sound effects. It’s even more comical with the way he fills his seat, almost like he’s sitting in a doll’s chair. The sight beside you makes you stifle a laugh, and in that moment you realize something: while he constantly irritates you, Satoru Gojo is the brightest, liveliest thing in that damn room. It’s not saying much given the plain wallpaper, dull sheets, and dusty furniture, but it all amounts to him looking pretty good despite your surroundings. If you weren’t sober right now, you’d admit that he looks pretty good just about anywhere. He’s so unfitting, literally, in the drab, cramped space that you almost want to let that very laugh out.

“Eh…I don’t believe you, but even if they weren’t... I couldn’t avoid them in this room anyway,” you joke sleepily, reaching for the fork and pushing the bite of cheesecake past your lips. He’s sitting pretty close, near enough that his spicy cologne still dances in your senses, but if he were any closer you’d swear you could spot him watching how your lips attached so tightly around the plastic silverware. You’re trying desperately to avoid the fact that sharing the fork was like indirectly kissing him, because if you think about it long enough it’ll make you blush all over again. So much for keeping a distance between you two.

You realize something else: he might’ve had a point with his dessert selection. “That is pretty good,” you commentate, handing him back the fork. There’s almost a soft expression on his blindfolded face when he wordlessly pushes the rest of the heaping slice between the two of you, as if the sugary dessert could substitute for a peace treaty. This is how all truces should go, you silently decide.

“Here, have some more in case you die tomorrow,” Gojo tuts with a grin, knowing fully well that you’d be perfectly fine during your assignment the next day. He loves to poke at you, but he can also recognize all the hard work you do. Hell, putting up with him was a full-time job, he could admit.

Your mouth flies open to let out a lighthearted “You asshole,” and you reflexively move to smack his shoulder. You’re even more shocked when your palm actually makes contact with the muscle there..as is he.

Gojo had turned his Infinity off. He must’ve gotten so caught up in wanting to break down your guard this evening that he neglected to remember his own.

“No way, I actually landed a hit on the Satoru Gojo,” you beam. Triumphantly taking another bite of the cheesecake, you feel his gaze train on you. His face-chiseled, you have to say- is conveying something unidentifiable. There’s some surprise and some amusement, but there’s another emotion lingering in the slight rise of his light eyebrows and his relaxed jaw. Something deeper, almost longing. It honestly concerns you for a moment, but he’s quick to recover by slumping backward over the chair, clutching a hand where yours landed just seconds before.

“Abuse! How dare you!” He declares, gripping his shoulder in the throes of his dramatics. “Yaga will be hearing about this. I’m reporting you to the higher-ups!”

“Don’t even. I’ll tell them you sabotaged my technology then,” you counter, waving your phone. “Oh, and that you misused company funds.” You point accusingly at the heap of cheesecake between you both. “And then we’ll both get fired.”

His fists hit the table as he falls forward dramatically. “Ugh…But then we’d end up living here,” he sighs woefully, “and that would be the worst part of all.”

You openly crack up at his refreshing honesty, finally recognizing this room for the shithole that it is, and you feel a newfound warmth spread throughout your chest. “Hmmm… But then we could keep ordering this cheesecake.” Maybe you like bantering with him, you decide.

Gojo chuckles as he stands up from his seat, dragging it back to where it resided in the corner and going along with your bit. “Not if we can’t ‘misuse our funds,’ you tattletale. We better start thinking of a side hustle to keep our lifestyle going.”

There’s a certain weight to “we”s and “our”s that make your heart palpitate just the slightest. It’s like a promise of a future together, a future beyond the uninspiring walls you were forced to rest in tonight. Still in your fit of tired giggles, you close up the remainder of the dessert before sticking it in the hotel room’s loud, antiquated mini fridge. The change of pace between you both is almost freeing, allowing you to consider the idea of actually sleeping somewhat soundly tonight.

“Well, you ponder on that. I’m gonna get ready for bed.” You’re quick to tuck into the bathroom as your laughter dies down, taking your bag with you to switch into the pajamas you packed. All the while, you’re secretly wondering what the sleeping situation is going to look like. You know you’re desperate for rest and given how the evening between you two has warmed a little, the idea of sharing the tiny bed with Gojo is…less than awful to you now. You step out, only to gasp when said man is right outside the door. He’s leaning against the frame with his own bag slung over his shoulder, grinning wickedly and looking all too smug

“My turn, princess. Coming through!”

The novel nickname flutters through your system as he squeezes past you, closing the door in your face with another low chuckle. God, he’s an idiot, you think with a smile, opting to perch in the seat he used for dinner until he returns to the room.

You’re playing a mindless game on your phone when you hear the bathroom door squeak closed, and Gojo plops back into the stiff bed. There’s no shirt on his sculpted body, only a baggy pair of black pajama pants whose waistband barely kisses his narrow hips. Humbled is an understatement when you try not to ogle at the sorcerer before you, whose murder you were secretly plotting just hours before. The skin on your face is akin to the Sun’s surface as you summon every ounce of will not to stare, but his Six Eyes promptly detects the sheepish change in your demeanor.

“So, you sharing this thing with me or what?” He looks over at you in the chair as he stretches over the traverse of the mattress, head propped on one hand while the other toys with his blindfold. “Since you don’t seem to care about my cooties anymore.” The repeated movement of those long, deft fingers looping around the fabric is enough to conjure a flashback to him eating those damn steak bites, and you feel hot all over again. It shouldn’t be suggestive, it really shouldn’t, but the way he’s talking makes it seem like he wants you beside him.

You rest your chin in your hand as you reply with a frown, pretending to think, “Hmmm. That’s gonna be a tight fit.” He snorts in response, something devious but expected on the tip of his tongue, and you realize it as soon as you answer. “Don’t even say it, Gojo.”

He feigns surprise, scooting over and patting the pillow beside him. “Pffft. When have I been known to say anything out of pocket?” He can’t deny the thought of fitting tightly somewhere else, his aqua eyes flashing with a desire he’s never allowed himself to feel for a long time. “Listen princess, you’ve only got two choices for tonight, so pick wisely. There’s somewhere tight-“ he pats the pillow again, -“or somewhere wet.” The thumb previously tugging on the fabric around his eyes jabs toward the bathroom door.

There’s that nickname again. “How erotic,” you snicker, wordlessly complying and letting your exhaustion guide the way to the empty side of the bed. It’s not a ton of space, but you’ll do your best to make it work. Carefully, you slide in to avoid touching him, realizing just how difficult that task is going to be in your limited amount of territory. Should you make a pillow border between you two? No, because then that would take up even more precious space. Maybe if you bunched up some of your blanket-

“Alright! Wait till Shoko hears about this!”

Gojo visibly approves of your choice as he watches you timidly sidle in next to him, wearing that stupidly eager grin on his face and whooping like a sports game attendee. Shooting him a playful glare and an “Oh, enough with you, Six Eyes,” you feel the cool sheets hit your skin, and your body erupts in goosebumps through your thin-ish shirt and shorts. You quickly face the opposite way as him, but not before stealing another glance at his ridiculously toned chest and stomach as he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off. God, he smells so good, like minty toothpaste and his cologne. Darkness abruptly envelops you as your heart pounds, and you have a horrible thought: Who said I wouldn’t be wet sleeping here?

You hear Gojo release a barely audible sigh, almost as if he’s tentative to fall asleep beside you too. He’s not sure who to trust less, you or himself, but he hides his apprehension with a couple more quips as you settle into the compact mattress.

“You have any idea how many people would pay to be where you are right now? You are so lucky.”

He could talk in circles with you again for hours if it meant prolonging the inevitable vulnerability that is unconsciousness beside another person- though a deeper part of him reasons there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe there are other things you could do instead of talk, he thinks, doing little to shake the idea away. It’s kind of nice, way more than nice, the image of you all spread out below him-

The eye roll you respond with is felt by him but not seen in the lightless room. Clouded by an atypical hunger and pure fatigue, you murmur back, “Don’t worry, I tip well,” and a smug smile forms on your face. It’s kind of fun getting to poke back at him. That’s all it is, right? Harmless banter. Gojo senses your intentions on a level unbeknownst to you, though- and he’s not entirely upset at them.

“Listen to you! That was smooth. I just might give you a discount for that.” You hear the sheets rustle beside you, and you slowly turn. He’s fully facing you, boyishly propping his head up on his fist with his near-glowing eyes now exposed. You notice that his blindfold has now been placed neatly on the outdated nightstand. He’s keenly tuned in on you, finding your pajamas a little too cute for a pre-mission night of sleep. It’s clearly getting more difficult for him to deny how entertained he is by the sight of you all snuggled in on your diminutive side of the crappy hotel bed.

You pretend to cover your eyes after seeing his finally revealed to you, feeling thoroughly proud of yourself for matching his energy now. “Put those LEDs away, good lord,” you joke, allowing yourself to let out a sleepy laugh as you pull up the covers to give your bumpy skin some salvation. His intentful gaze is already doing plenty to send heat throughout your limbs though, and the act of grabbing the blanket is an effort in vain. As your eyelids flutter with the weight of tiredness, you understand just how close you two are in the moment. Mentally, you were so much farther away earlier in the evening than you are now- and it takes a second for you to process that you actually like the change.

Gojo laughs softly, and you can hear the late hour begin to seep into his tone. It grows more throaty, lower than before, and it’s entirely too pleasant. Part of you wonders if he’d consider the proposition of reading you a bedtime story. There’s a lingering tension in the air, nearly tangible, and it shifts when you note how his eyes flicker all over your face. Eyes, lips, back to eyes, back to lips.

“Maybe I wanna look at you a little longer. Are you gonna report me to the higher-ups for that, too?” Gojo bats his icy white lashes, his oaky scent further settling into the sheets. The only light in the shoddy room comes from his vibrant irises, and they’re spotlighting on you with piqued interest. The light has always come from him, and it’s an epiphany that has you scooting an inch closer.

“If those things blind me, I will.” You exhale through your nose, partially wishing you could reach out to the heat that radiates off his halfway bare body.

He blinks, and you swear the room flashes dark again for that split second. “Well, y’know, that might be a good thing,” he tries to reason lightheartedly, in a volume just above a whisper. “You wouldn’t have to look at this ugly room anymore.” You watch his hand- the same one you nearly salivated over earlier- land in the limited space between you two, almost as if it wants to cross that border. It takes the most willpower you’ve ever needed not to stare at it, feeling your face flush with a sick anticipation. “I’d be saving you.” Maybe it’s what he’s always wanted to do all along, you both think, and it encourages you to be just as coy back.

In this moment, you feel bold enough to say something you thought would never leave your mouth: “But then I wouldn’t get to look at all six foot three of you.” You pout sarcastically, and Gojo gets the urge to kiss it right off your face. His grin is proud; it’s everything he never knew he wanted to hear.

Your teasing is like a silent permission for his hand to move closer to you, and your entire body stills when you feel it land gently on your lower thigh to play with the frilled hem of your shorts. Must be a pattern of his, you realize. He chuckles, and the sound is so low that you can practically feel it.

“Hmm… You’re right. Again.” Your work partner’s head tilts down slightly at you, and his expression is overcome with what can only be described as relief. “Guess I need to save you some other way.” He notices the goosebumps adorning your figure, and suddenly you’re pressed up against his broad chest. God, he’s so warm, you don’t even realize the way you’re curling right up into him. Somehow, despite your height difference, you fit perfectly along his lanky frame.

“Better?”

You are tired, fatigued beyond belief, but you’d be stupid not to stay awake to experience Satoru Gojo letting his guard down for you. Perhaps this dismal hotel room was a test of will for you two, and while you’re not entirely sure what denotes passing or failing, you do know one thing: Satoru Gojo is unbelievably comfortable to cuddle with.

Still…you wonder what would unfold if you pushed further.

“Hmmm… still not warm enough.” The words leave you before you can tame them, and the unspoken invitation behind them makes his eyebrows raise. The hand playing with the fabric of your shorts squeezes into your skin just the slightest, prompting you to look up at him where you see no reserves on his handsome (God, it’s good to admit that) face. His soft pink lips hover inches from your own, drawing closer like magnets.

“Really.” You feel a thumb rub slow circles along your outer thigh. “I can fix that for you, yeah?” His words shoot straight to your core as his head ducks a little lower, just breaths away from yours.

Well, you’re definitely not tired anymore.

“If you’re still offering that discount…” you breathe out. A rush of smugness allows you to bring your hands to his toned chest, traveling up to trace his defined collarbone. His skin is soft, almost velvety, most likely from years of keeping his perimeter so trained to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the act of smoothing your fingers over it becomes soothing.

Gojo’s lopsided grin conveys the desire he’s suppressed for so long, seemingly caught up in this new dynamic with you. “Nah, we’ll put it on the credit card,” he finally laughs before confidently pressing his lips to yours.

He is an entirely new taste, and you’re not able to reference his movements to anything or anyone; it’s another level of tact and precision. Did he plan this? His kisses are the perfect mix of messy and firm, and it’s clear he’s doing all but holding back. Something unlocks as he goes through the motions, maybe the realization of the snapped tension or maybe the feeling of you kissing back just as passionately, and his mouth soon scatters everywhere from your lips to your jaw to your neck in a flurry of teeth and tongue. He’s somehow magically in tune with your most sensitive areas of the exposed skin as his lips wander, leaving you to grab his firm bicep and cling as if he’s grounding you to the earth. The details of the dingy hotel room are completely abandoned as you feel your senses envelop, finally, with all that is Satoru Gojo, and there was truly no beauty greater than that.

Chest heaving, you almost let out a laugh at how rapidly the night has shifted. His well-trained hands travel, one squeezing the tissue of your breast over your thin shirt while the other dances just below the leg of your shorts. With all walls down, it’s pointless to hide the effect his touch has on you. If his hand moved any higher, he’d discover how wet you were- part of you dreaded how inflated his ego would become after that, but the other, hungrier part of you needed him to do it.

“Anyone ever told you-“ Gojo breathes out between his attack, brushing a thumb over your hardened nipple, “how pretty you are?” He is all too focused on drinking in your features, finding your weakest and favorite points. Your back arches ridiculously easily into his touch as you struggle to find the words to answer him.

“N-no one else that’s mattered.”

You’re sure his ego will balloon rapidly upon that little admission, but you partly didn’t care- not when he was capable of making you feel so unbelievably good.

He’s rightfully amused at how blatant your desire is now. “Oh? So I do matter to you then.” His other hand roams up your thigh, threatening to reach where you wanted it most. You snicker before a shudder erupts from you when a long, hot stripe is licked down your neck and over your shoulder, and it’s all you need to swing your leg over his, straddling him on the stiff, narrow mattress. The flex of his abs as he sits up to accommodate you is nothing short of poetic, and you find more prose in the clouded, desperate fog of his azure eyes when he watches you with curiosity. He immediately rests his grip on your waist, pressing you down gently onto what can only be described as a monster underneath his sweats. You understand now why he carries himself the way that he does: He’s fucking huge.

You push your chest against his, unable to stop the twitch of your hips when you feel Gojo’s hardness brush against your heat. The wetness of your arousal is sure to be felt through the fabric, and he’d be silly to halt your admittedly cute display of attempts in chasing just an ounce of pleasure. Your flushed face, furrowed eyebrows, small noises, it’s motion picture to him. However, he selfishly wants to be that pleasure for you, and he’s quick to slide a hand down your body to cup your pussy through your pajamas.

Your jaw goes slack as Gojo’s hand makes contact with your most sensitive area over your shorts, and the circles he rubs help him collect some of the condensation from the fabric. It feels good, but not good enough, and you can’t help but huff at the restricted movement. He is all too cocky when his hand pulls away, eyeing it with an intense mirth.

“Damn, waterworks, you always get this wet?” He’s half-amazed and half-amused as he studies his glistening fingers, his other hand gripping at your ass. “That’s so hot.”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You smack his bare shoulder before burying your face into it, feeling your cheeks turn crimson. He chuckles, finding you adorable when you’re embarrassed yet hating that you feel that way. He knows just how to help you get over that, and he starts by slowly sliding his body down, holding your thighs spread as he maneuvers his head onto the flat-ish pillow. You glare down confusedly at him in his newfound position, only to meet with eager cerulean eyes that are practically begging to pull you closer.

“Fine then, I’ve got other stuff I wanna do with my mouth anyway,” you hear him murmur from between your thighs, and his hand brushes over your clothed, throbbing cunt again. “Now sit, princess.”

“Huh? No, you won’t be able to breathe, I can’t.” Your head shakes vigorously in disapproval. Not that you didn’t want them there, but there was no way… you’d probably end up suffocating the guy, and while you had a more murderous urge to do that earlier this evening you’d much rather-

“Fine with me, now lemme taste you,” Gojo insists with almost a whine in his tone, not letting you respond before pulling the soaked crotch of your shorts to the side and licking a long, forceful line from your hole to your clit. You moan when he does it again, and again, feeling your knees weaken to finally sink yourself onto his mouth. The groan that vibrates against your nerve endings makes you look down, only to see his frosty white lashes flutter as you fill his senses. This was well worth the hours of wearing down your resolve this evening.

His movements become frantic, desperate to experience you now that he’s let his guard down this long with no dire consequences. You feel his tongue lap at your sensitive clit, and his lips kiss in your heat so loudly and wetly that it sounds like a porn scene. Your hands fly to his ivory hair, gripping till his scalp stings. This makes him groan again, and you can barely control the way your hips start to rock along his mouth.

Gojo breaks away for a split second, tongue dragging along your inner thigh with his cock nearly in pain because of he’s got you where he wants you. “Just like that, baby, ride my face,” he huffs quickly before returning to flattening his tongue along your clit. You feel him squeeze the cheeks of your ass, forcing you onto the hot muscle and encouraging you to continue.

He seems to be breathing just fine, you realize- which of course he is, he’s Satoru fucking Gojo- he could handle just about anything. It gives you the confidence to rut your hips forward, moaning louder when his lips wrap around your overstimulated nerve and suck hard. You earn a playful smack on your ass when his name slips out of your mouth, and the stinging sends you further into your frenzy for pleasure as you start to build up a pace. It’s addicting, really, the way he’s lapping and sucking at your aching cunt like it’s his favorite dessert, and you’re suddenly thankful that he has the appetite that he does. He breaks away for a second to spit into your heat, spreading your slick folds wide with those deft fingers of his, and that only has you rocking harder along his mouth when he reattaches himself. To him, you are so much better than any sweet he’s had.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you’re tugging Gojo’s snowy tresses in shallow efforts to further bury his face in your cunt as you ride it, and he’s all too happy that you’re using him in this way. As his tongue prods up into your tight entrance, he feels his cock throb again at the prospect of how it would feel inside of you. He groans at the thought, and you feel it all the way up in your ribcage. He’s already picked up on the fact that you’re close, judging by how your frantic movements have sped up and the way you’re babbling incoherent praises that only make him ache more.

“Fuck, Satoru, feels so- good- please…”

When Gojo lets out a little laugh at that, you feel your slick dribble messily down your thighs. That hot, blinding pressure grows stronger under your navel when you grind harder on his tongue, threatening to spill over when he starts to flick it along your clit to match your pace. It all feels so deliciously good that you pay no mind to his nails digging into your flesh, his own way of ensuring he’s leaving a mark- as if he hasn’t decorated your neck in shades of blotchy fuchsia already.

“I’m-so-close….”

He gives your ass another smack with your breathy cry, looking up at you with eyes that nearly beam. You look down while your hips continue to drag along his tongue, finding him just so damn pretty while he’s eating you so good, and you ease your fingers in his hair. That impending sensation grows stronger, and he quickly parts from your lips to murmur confidently:

“I know, princess, I got you. Lemme have it.”

His choice of words and the way he immediately goes back to lapping at your heat are both more than enough to have you coming apart around his tongue in mere seconds. There is nothing in your mind’s eye but Gojo as your high overtakes you, fizzling through your being and prompting you to cry out his name as if it’s a chant. He soaks it all in, helping you ride out your release before slowing to kiss his way back up your body. You’ve never come that hard- and somehow, he senses this too. Your legs feel like jelly when he’s finally face-to-face with you, and his is glistening with your arousal. If he wasn’t desperate to be inside of you right now he could do that for hours, he thinks.

You lean in, capturing your lips with Gojo’s and wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Your own taste on your lips does little to dissuade you from him, and for the next few moments, you both feverishly rip off whatever clothing is still unfortunately on your bodies. He, as gracefully as he can given the annoyingly small hotel bed, maneuvers you onto the pillow so you’re lying on your back, and you feel his heavy cock hit your stomach. He pauses for a second to study your features, finding that every inch of you is worth burning to memory. You’re stunning like this, all sticky and flushed and needy, and it’s all because of his efforts. He’s only more gratified when your mouth flies open at his impressive size.

“You're kidding. That's not gonna fit,” You sputter, still in your post-orgasm daze, but you feel your hole clench around nothing when you notice the filmy drops of pre beading around his thick tip.

His laugh is genuine, almost melodic as he pumps himself a few times. “Such a downer. We’ll make it fit, ‘kay?” Gojo promises with a goofy grin, letting his hand wander along your bare nipples and stomach before eventually revisiting your now sore cunt. You hiss in delight when he slides one of his long fingers in, and your legs spread automatically at the intrusion. Even in the most cramped bed ever, you’d realize you’d make room for him anywhere. You reach out, dragging your hand along his chiseled stomach, nearly in awe at how firm the muscles are there. He’s like if art was living, breathing, unrestricted from a canvas or frame.

Your hand slides further, silently encouraging his own to move so you can take over stroking his hardened cock as his finger curls along your hot walls. You moan quietly, watching his breath hitch in his broad chest- he’s not sure whether to watch your face or your movements, and there’s an eagerness within him that amplifies when he sees how tightly you’re sucking in just a digit of his. His hips jut forward slightly when your thumb brushes his sensitive tip, and he finally decides to look into your eyes. You stare back, wanting to say so much about how his are the perfect shade of blue.

“Y’know why I harass you so much?” He asks in a tone that reaches a new level of softness for him, and you entertain his question as he slowly introduces a second finger. The stretch is delicious, though you think it’s doing little to prep for the monstrosity that awaits you.

“‘Cause you’re Satoru Gojo?” You reply before letting out a hiss at a particularly sensitive spot he hits within you.

He snorts. “Well, yeah, and ‘cause I think you’re pretty. Inside and out. Gorgeous, actually.”

You blush a little at how he turns a silly banter into a very real confession, and you watch his eyelids flutter again. Actually, you feel kind of bad for being so lighthearted while he was being serious- that was his thing, anyway. Times like these were what made his bluntness endearing, and he continues, beginning to align his length with your dripping entrance after slowly removing his fingers.

“So, lemme prove it.”

Feeling all kinds of giddy you nod, angling your thighs so his hips can fit between them. His spongy tip drags through your slick folds, and it’s the most you’ve ever felt another person focus so directly on you. You look up at him, bringing your hands up his stomach and to his defined shoulders as his tip sinks into you just the slightest.

“Well, you’re pretty too, like otherworldly handsome,” you admit back with a timid smile, clearly trying to regain your breath. “Just couldn’t tell you ‘cause you were too busy harassing me.” You exhale when he submerges himself a little more, and he smiles back with his pearly white teeth. “You’re fucking huge, too… oh my god…” you add, moaning a little at how his cock feels nothing like his fingers. You hate to admit it, but it’s clear he’s set to wreck you.

“Naturally.” He’s using every ounce of strength to control himself from pounding into you, responding to your praise and your criticism all at once. Gojo slowly and gently pushes in until his hips are flush with yours, and it feels as if he’s tearing you from the inside. Your face is scrunched at the intrusion, and he has to cover his own mouth to stop a moan at how tight you feel. There’s no other convincing needed by him that your pussy was practically made for him, he thinks, and he studies your features for any indication of stopping.

“Look at you,” he coos, nearly mesmerized by how your cunt has already swallowed him whole. His hand slides down his face to tweak at one of your hardened nipples. “And you said I wouldn’t fit. Takin’ it like a pro, princess.” His lighthearted motivation makes you snicker a little, and it eases some of the stinging from the stretch he’s causing. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, and his eyes practically roll to the back of his head when your hot walls grip around him. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, and when finally you do, you give him the silent go-ahead by softening your expression. His grin could blind a room full of people when he thrusts deeper, not only reaching that same sensitive spot but finding another, and it makes your head loll back to the pillow.

That reminds him. He pauses for a second to slide one of the cheap hotel pillows under your tailbone, and suddenly his cock feels like it’s colliding with your guts when he continues his movements. Your mouth couldn’t fall any more open as he starts to establish a pace, filling you so masterfully yet harshly with every stroke.

“Sa-to-ru…” you pant, digging your nails into Gojo’s sculpted back, and this only motivates him more. You have a realization that could either be horrible or amazing: How could you ever fuck anyone else again? Again and again he’s thrusting into that magical spot till the sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise lackluster room, spoiling you for any other and reassuring you that yes, he really is the strongest. Part of him knows how skilled he is, and he has to refrain from laughing- no one would ever be enough once he was done with you. Then again, he never wants to be done with you.

You feel his tactful hands roam your body aimlessly, a visible sign of his enrapture with how you receive him. He wants to focus on watching his cock slam into your cunt over and over, but he also wants to watch your face as you writhe and cry out his name- he’s clearly conflicted.

The little breathy noises slipping out of him aren’t helping your cause, and the way he abruptly throws one of your legs over his broad shoulder doesn’t either. He’s now rutting into your tight heat relentlessly, a stark contrast from how delicately he’s kissing up the thigh that’s pressed into his chest.

“Your pussy is...perfect,” you hear Gojo groan, drawing the words out, and his kisses along your thigh become animalistic as they turn into bites. You whimper, back arching with all the sensations filling your system, and that heady feeling in your tummy begins to strengthen again. “Wanna-fuck you- forever…”

“Please,” you agree as your ability to form sentences leaves you. “Don’t ever- stop…”

In a perfect world, he wouldn’t. As one hand holds your thigh to his chest and the other travels to your overstimulated clit, his shiny blue eyes watch your contorting face, smiling proudly when you moan at how his fingers rub tight circles along your nerves. He can feel his release approaching alongside yours, and your slick walls flutter around his cock as he pummels into you.

“Want another one, princess,” Gojo pants, making your skin smack against his as your orgasm builds up in your tummy. “Go on, come on- my cock…”

His wish is your command. You quickly lean forward, mashing your lips with his when the pleasure fizzles out of you all over again. You feel the tips of your toes burn at how powerfully your release hits you, wracking your body with an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure. You’re reduced to a heaving, shaking mess, convulsing around his length and left only able to babble his name against his mouth in your state of bliss. His hand cradles the back of your head as he fucks you through the aftershock and kisses you roughly, only to follow close behind just moments later. His movements falter before your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as you feel yourself start to fill with his thick seed.

Holy shit. Who would’ve guessed that this was how your evening would turn out? Just mere hours ago you wanted to claw at his throat, and instead you clawed at his back because of how good he was dicking you down. Your mind swims as Gojo slowly withdraws, slipping out of your sore cunt to collapse beside you in what little space the hotel bed offered. He’s even gorgeous like this, maybe more than ever actually. You’re observing how his ivory hair sticks to his forehead and his back glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat from his efforts, the muscles there decorated with thin red indents from your nails. It’s a sight worth recreating an infinite number of times.

Not having him envelop all your senses anymore forces you back into reality, where a mission lies just hours ahead of you and your shared hotel room isn’t any prettier. And unbelievably, those things don’t even matter anymore. All you can perceive and recognize in your afterglow is Satoru Gojo, who is already regaining his breath while you lie there like a fucked-out mess. Beautiful.

Gojo turns to face you, watching your chest rise and fall as you regulate yourself, and his delighted grin is all too perfect for someone who just obliterated you.

“So…you warm enough now?”

Your sticky body shifts to face him, vibrating with laughter as you answer “For now, yes…” and your head hits the pillow exhaustedly. That’s right- you were already tired before this “development” even happened.

His whole being is pure elation as he languidly drapes an arm over your bare figure. “Does that mean we get to do that again? I think she really likes me.” His hand brushes over your abused cunt, and your body flares at his touch yet again. It was a sick epiphany that he could destroy you and you’d still want more.

You snicker. “Yes, but she is super sore right now.” The sleepiness from earlier seeps into your brain, and you find yourself curling back into his lanky frame. He accepts you openly, resting a hand on your ass as he scoops you closer.

“I can kiss her better,” he pipes up quietly, already thinking of all the ways he could keep touching you. Even though you feel that droning buzz of want again, you tiredly shake your head, regretfully reminding him “Noooo, we’ve gotta get up in a few hours. Maybe after our mission.” You swear his eyes desaturate a shade before he sighs.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You’re gonna be tired and sore anyway.”

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“Nah.” Gojo moves to press a fresh batch of kisses all over your neck, and you shudder. He did have a point- you were already planning on shotgunning whatever energy drinks were in the dingy hotel lobby’s vending machine in the morning, as if they even had one. “I could go all night if you wanted, princess. Give you more of my cooties.”

You laugh freely, realizing he probably wasn’t exaggerating. It’s quite the offer from the one who just wrecked you so good- and you’d be silly to refuse despite your tiredness. You feeling your limbs tangle into each other’s, returning thoughts of the hazardous hotel drifting away once more, and your arousal slowly revisits you. What an incredible way to forget about your surroundings. You tug playfully on his icy tresses, you decide that this might be your new favorite kind of exhaustion. “As long as you don’t share your cooties with anyone else.”

Snickering, Gojo keenly zeroes on spreading your aching legs so he can see the aftermath from earlier, and he’s hardening again at the sight of his thick cum barely trickling out onto your thighs. With a mischievous smile, he assures you, “Never. This is just too pretty. Plus, you said you were gonna tip well.”

His hands trace you, and there’s not a more discernible indicator of your new bond with him than when you look down at his length, answering him in a familiarly cheeky tone, “Well, you already did.” He laughs, the warmest he's ever allowed himself, and it's certain he's keeping his promise.

Turns out, Shoko was right about him.

[emmyrosee]

doodoo fart 🦨 would you still love me if I was bald?

Rintaro doesn’t even get a chance to finish the water his sipping before he spits it back out, choking on it as he laughs aloud in front of his teammates.

The entire team turns to look at him, a brow cocked in confusion while he chuckles amongst himself.

Komori is the first to smile and chuckle himself, “something you’d like to share with the group, Suna?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before shaking his head, never being one to share your discussions with the group. He has an image, okay, and you being an absolute cracked menace is going to bring that image down one day- this, he’s convinced of.

“The better half’s just funny is all,” he says casually, watching his team begins to chatter once again in the locker room. Komori gives him an unconvinced, yet understanding look before letting him back to his phone where he’s finally able to face your

SENT is there something I need to be prepared for when I get home?

doodoo fart 🦨 depends on how you reply

would you

still love me

if i was bald

SENT I feel like this is a trap.

doodoo fart 🦨 you’re the one who leaves me alone all the time

im bound to fuck around when you’re gone.

Once again, Rintaro laughs to himself before he rises to excuse himself from the crowd. The possibility of you being bald is plenty to excite him and his amusement, wondering if you’ve done something unholy to your poor head.

He thinks you’d be hot with no hair. And wash days would just be such a breeze. Maybe there’s some merit to your potential madness.

He presses the small button to FaceTime you, settling up a small distance from the door- you’ve both been known to say some unsavory things, the last thing you need is to give Washio another reason to retire.

The phone rings once, twice, and a third before you answer, your ugly stunning face filling his screen. To his shame, his eyes immediately dart to the scalp of hair that still adorns your head, and he bites his lip as you cackle a victorious cheer.

He’s been duped by your stupid ass.

“I knew you’d take my bait,” you snicker. He laughs as he’s caught red handed, poking his tongue in the corner of his mouth while you laugh. “You think you’re soooo slick, like you aren’t obsessed with me. You aren’t shit, bro.”

“I’ve been letting you hang out with the twins too much,” he snickers, leaning against the brick wall of the stadium. “Though I would’ve scream-laughed if you answered the phone and was completely bald.” You snort and he cards a massive hand through his sweaty hair, “there a reason you triggered a panic response in me at-“ he pauses and looks at the clock in the corner of his phone “15:44 on a Tuesday?”

“Because you’re cute when you’re panicked,” you hum, and he gives you his signature blank stare before chuckling when you laugh. “I mean it! Your pupils go a little dilated, you card your hair until it’s all fluffy, and you get this adorable blush-“

“I got it, you pay attention to me,” he groans, hand scrubbing down his face. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“You love me so much, man.”

“Shut up-“

“Truly living rent free in that noggin.”

“I’m gonna tell Komori on you.”

“Good, he’ll tell you the same thing,” you snort, and Rintaro shakes his head, grinning, as a sign of waving his white flag. “Go back to practice, booger. I’ll bug you later.”

“Promise?” He says, smiling while you give him a fake gag.

“After that, I don’t know.”

“I’ll take those odds.” He chuckles again before murmuring a soft ‘love you’ and hanging up; he pockets his phone and makes his way back into the arena.

Bald or not, and as much as he hates to confess it, he does adore your stupid ass and the antics that come with it.

Ugh.

[youuuimeanmee]

Get ready with me to be surprised with

✨️Arnold Crowley✨️

Hint: Crowley

I was scrolling through Twitter/X, laughing and giggling at the cute DamiAnya and Loid tweets from the recent chapter 95, when I stumbled on a tweet about Arnold Crowley.

Btw, Arnold is one of the character I'm looking forwad meeting the most because he's the top scorer in the classical language test. His score must be 90 or above, which is kinda insane when we know classical language is a dead language and barely taught anymore. I previously made a theory that the reason why Anya is so good at classical language is because she came from Covenia, the equivalent of Romania irl; which language derived from Latin language. That's why I was intrigued with Arnold Crowley; I want to know how is he able to beat Anya's score. Like, did he come from the same place as Anya, or, does his family have a medical/researcher background; stuffs like that

Anyway, back to the tweet. Some people are weirded out with Arnold Crowley's hairstyle, which is not surprising, because me too.

I clicked the comments when I saw this.

What. The Fuck. Is That.

The hair/hat reference! The same last name!

Suddenly everything about Arnold clicked. Why I feel weirded out not just from his hairstyle, but also from his bow tie (which reminds me of a moth's wing pattern). Why his polite demeanor is lowkey making me uneasy. Why he is so interested to meet the runner-up of his strong subject. Why he is so good at classical language.

I was scared. I am scared.

But I was still excited to learn that Crowley was a real person, so I googled him just to make sure.

Oh FFUCK.

Dear God what did I discover.

Arnold Crowley or his parents might be based on Aleister Crowley.

Aleister Crowley is an occultist.

He practiced spells.

Spells often comes from Latin words.

He is also a poet.

A poet also often uses Latin language.

Do you see what I'm seeing here.

Summary:

Arnold Crowley or his parents might be an occultist or poet; that's how he's able to be excelled in classical language.

If Arnold's family is a poet, then thank God.

If Arnold's family is an occultist, I am really scared for Anya. What if he wants to learn if Anya is a fellow occultist like him. What if he wants to invite Anya to join his cult. What if he finds out about Anya's telepathic ability. What if he somehow trigger Anya's bad memories with his magic skills(?). I really want Anya to get tf away from him now.

And here I was so excited with Arnold's appereance, I even joked he'd become Anya's new classmate or even the 2nd ML, lol. But now? I'm really not sure. I better keep an eye on him from now on.

Yah that's about it! Thank you for following me in this short journey! 👋

*Edit: I missed the fact that Aleister Crowley is from British. Now I imagine Arnold speak in British accent and I can't stop laughing 🤣

[her-power]

Fixation on the Darkness (Part Four: Dark Romance! e.m. x fem! reader)

‼️🚨 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🚨‼️

Trigger/Content Warning: Dark! Somewhat Souless! Eddie! Strong sexual content, blood play, unprotected p+v, choking, hair pulling, rough intercourse, fingering (f receiving, m receiving), masturbation, oral (f receiving *for now*), fight or flight responses, grief, thoughts of unaliving self & others, manipulation, violence, smut, some fluff, angst.

Summary: Full summary on Part One.

Word Count: 4.2k

Eddie Munson Masterlist

A/N: You guys are awesome and I love you and I’m so sorry this took forever. This is gonna have two more parts before it’s completed so it’s not over yet!

It had been a week since you saw Eddie. He didn’t come to your house, or make it known that he was there. You were getting worried; he had left your house so fast that night. You did what he had asked and told Dustin everything. Had explained to him about his soul, about how he made a deal with Vecna just to return to you. Dustin couldn’t believe it at first, and then started asking questions that you couldn’t answer. He asked why you hadn’t said anything before, and he wanted to tell Wayne, but you told him not yet. Not the way Eddie was now, you told him. He was too dangerous.

Another murder was committed, in the woods where Will Byers went missing all those years ago. It was a female, older, she wasn’t from Hawkins. The police said that she might’ve been a hitchhiker. It was the same scenario, barely any blood at the scene, body mutilated but her skin was pearly white. The police issued a curfew for everyone to be inside their homes at sunset, lock all the doors and windows. It was still Winter, and it got dark earlier, so your boss made you go home at two o’clock everyday.

It was freezing tonight, the heating system in your house was older than dirt and the highest it would get was maybe 70 degrees. You bundled up in a large sweater, wool socks and leggings. You stare blankly at the television, a rerun of I Love Lucy was on, but you didn’t pay attention. You were too worried about Eddie.

You didn’t know why, the Eddie who loved you and who you loved was most likely trapped inside his torture chamber in another dimension, and soulless Eddie was most likely roaming the town feasting on not so innocent individuals who maybe did deserve to die.

He was mean; he was dangerous, he was…

He was still yours.

A loud thump from outside startles you from your thoughts. You freeze on your spot on the couch, your eyes fixed on the front window. The thump is heard again, and you sprint off the couch. Stupidly, you go to the window and peek behind the curtain to get a view of your porch. The porch light was dim; the bulb needed to be replaced, but it didn’t stop you from a shriek escaping your lungs as you catch the silhouette of a person hunched over on your steps. The soft light reflects of the eyes and your heart is in your throat.

Eddie.

He’s moaning your name.

“…open…the fucking door!” His voice is muffled, and the only reason you sprinted to the door so fast was because he sounded like he was being maimed from the inside out. He was in so much pain, and you can see just how much as you open the door. He’s bent over your front steps, his fingers gripping at his stomach, a stream of blood was falling like a river through the gaps in his fingers. He’s paler than normal, he looks gaunt, monstrous.

“Please.” He begs, meeting your eyes and you run to him, practically dragging his body into your house, slamming your door shut. He collapses in the foyer and your eyes widen at the severity of his injuries. He’s covered in dirt, scratches adorn his cheeks, his neck. His shirt is ripped to shreds and dark with dried blood. He’s still gripping his stomach and you kneel down in front of him, trying to pry his hand away.

“No.” He groans through his teeth.

“Let me see.” You tell him, pulling his hand free and you gasp. There is a three-inch long gash across the middle of his stomach, any deeper and his insides would be on your floor. “What happened? Why aren’t you healing?”

“I don’t know.” He groans as you gently lean his back against the wall, looking more closely at his wound. “I think it was an animal, or some…thing. Just out of nowhere. I couldn’t see what it was it dashed through me like lightning…ow! Fuck! Don’t fucking touch me, you—“

You grip his chin hard in your hand and he flinches, almost smiling as you stare into his eyes with a hard stare. He was too weak to fight you back, and you used that your advantage. “I could just leave you here to bleed to death or do myself a favor and take that knife from my kitchen and slit your fucking throat because you’re already half dead, but I’m not gonna do that. You came to me for a reason, do you want my help or not?”

He grins, his teeth stained with blood. “I like it when you’re rough, should I bend over so you can fuck me too?” Your grip tightens on his chin, a low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

“Why aren’t you healing?” You ask him again.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles again and you pull your hand away. He’s skin was almost gray, you get to your feet, find a dishrag and soak it in water from the faucet. You kneel in front of him and his hand snaps up to grip your wrist hard. His eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the pleading behind them.

“Let go of me.” You tell him.

“A rag soaked with water isn’t gonna heal me, princess.”

“It’s so you stop bleeding on my fucking floor, let go of me.”

You pull your wrist out of his grasp and he growls but doesn’t fight you. He flinches when you place the rag on his wound; you gently wipe his skin, and blood continues to pool from the gash. You’re worried now, what could’ve caused this injury?

You meet his eyes again, your heart racing. “Will my blood heal you?”

His eyebrows come together. “What?”

“My blood. If I give you some of my blood…will that…help you?”

He smirks at you, flinching again as a wave of pain hits him. “Won’t…know…until we try.”

You sit back on your bottom, moving your hair away from your shoulder, exposing your neck, your heart racing. He carefully moves towards you, and you tilt your head to the side. You close your eyes, feeling his breath close to your neck as his cold hand cups the side of your face. He startles you when you feel his lips press lightly against yours. It was a gentle kiss, a kiss you were more familiar with when it was your Eddie. He pulls away from you, and stares into your eyes. You have no words.

His fangs grow as he smiles and the peaceful feeling you had was now gone, replaced by some fear…excitement. His teeth graze your neck and you shudder. Before you have a second to think, he bites down and you feel your entire body become hot. He grips your hair, slowly moving on top of you as he continues to drink from your vein. You were trying to speak, but all that came out was a soft moan as an unexpected wave of pleasure forms in depths of your lower belly. He was grunting softly as his tongue laps the blood up from your neck. 

He was taking too much, you realize. Your head was buzzing, your fingertips were numb, you couldn’t feel your legs. “Eddie…”

He doesn’t hear you, he’s too busy enjoying this. Your nails dig into his back and you try to find as much strength as you can to get him to realize. You lift up your foot, and kick him hard in the leg, and you scream out his name. He flies off of you, you’re certain it was reflex because you’re not that strong. His back hits the cabinet doors, and you can’t move. Everything was getting dark. He says your name, and you try to focus.

His eyes are brown again.

“No. No. Oh no. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands lift your head up and you blink back tears. “I’m gonna fix this, I’m gonna fix this.” You focus as he bites into his wrist, and you see the crimson fall from his veins.

“I don’t want to be…like you…”

“You won’t.” His voice sounds so far away. “Just drink, drink baby.”

You feel the blood against your lips and you weakly open your mouth, feeling its warmth drip slowly down your chin. He’s gently angling your head back so the blood goes down your throat, everything was still getting dark and you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

“Stay with me. Stay with me!”

He came back, your Eddie. He came back to you, but how long would he stay this time? How long until the monster that wears his face comes back to finish the job? You could already feel the affects of his blood, it was almost unbearable and it made your stomach churn but you couldn’t move.

“Are you…healing?”

“Yes.” His voice is shaky. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay.” You mumble, your eyes flutter and smile. “I can rest now.”

“Your color is coming back…”

“Eddie…”

“I’m here baby.”

“I can’t kill you…”

“Sweetheart…”

“There’s been more murders…curfew…what attacked you?”

You couldn’t hear his voice anymore, you were so sleepy. You felt lighter as you drifted off, calmer. You were Princess Aurora who just pricked your finger on the spindle, in a deep sleep; awaiting a kiss from your true love.

When you awoke, the sun was rising. Your body was sore; was last night a dream? You sit up, throwing the covers off of you. You feel your neck, there was no feel of a mark, or bandage.

“Finally, she arises.”

You yelp, almost falling off the bed but Eddie catches you. You stare at one another deeply, his discolored eyes staring into yours. You want to scream, wishing they were that beautiful brown again. Although, there wasn’t anything menacing about this stare; it was almost like he was studying you, like that good part of himself was slowly filling himself back up again as he looked at you.

He smirks at you.

“Boo.” He says and the breath from his lips causes your hair to move. You rip out of his grasp, pulling the covers back over yourself.

“You almost killed me.” You snap at him.

He grins, pacing around your bedroom, running his fingers along the top of your dresser. “But I didn’t. Your little boyfriend was there to save you. I was trying to figure out the blocks in my memory at the most random times, and then I realized it’s because of other me. He really gets bent out of shape when it comes to you, it’s gross.”

“Must suck, not being able to love someone that deeply.” You narrow your eyes at him.

He growls and he’s in front of you, you didn’t have a second to blink. His breath is against your lips as he leans in close to your face. “I know exactly how to love deeply. You have been unconscious for three days, if I wanted to kill you I could’ve. And if you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, your Eddie lives in the deep, deep depths of my dead heart so I can feel his love for you.” He almost looks pained as he’s telling you this, you hold his stare. “I could never kill you, and if you died... That’d be the end of me. Of us.”

You blink and almost smirk. “Bring him back then.”

“What?”

“Bring back my Eddie. If you really love me, you’ll bring him back.”

He laughs. “I’m not made of magic.”

“Aren’t you?” You counter. “He seems to pop up in stressful situations, he knows how to get out of that trap Vecna holds on you.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t say his name.”

“Why not? He’s weak, practically dead, right? Why are you afraid of him?”

“I’m not.” His tone changes, it scares you and he smiles. His hand reaches up to smooth out your messy hair, he moves his mouth closer to yours. “I’m afraid of you.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, awkwardly leaning back on the bed. “Why me?”

“So many fucking questions.” He sneers his lips barely grazing yours. “No matter which way this ends up, you will be the death of me.”

“Bring him back.” You whisper.

“No.” His cool fingertips glide up your neck and you shudder, your eyes fluttering closed. You feel his lips against your chin. “Tell me…” He kisses your skin gently and heat floods your cheeks. “How did he make love to you?” He moves behind you, his hands gliding around your throat before resting on your shoulder. He kisses the back of your shoulder, and you gasp quietly. “Was he soft? Did he worship every-“ you let out a moan as his fingers grip your hair in a ponytail and roughly pulls you back against his chest. “Inch of this beautiful skin?” You feel his tongue dance along the vein at your throat, his grip tightening its hold on your hair.

“Get your hands off of me.” You say through clenched teeth. Your nails digging into his thigh, but he doesn’t release his hold on you. His free hand glides over the fabric of your t-shirt, under the covers that shields your lap, and you hold your breath as you feel his fingers dance against your clit. He moans softly against your throat, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as he moves your lips apart, feeling the wetness that pooled inches from his fingers.

“Did he whisper that he loved you? Telling you how beautiful you are?” He rubs faster on your clit, and you moan loudly. The grip you had on his thigh loosens, and you knead at the fabric of his jeans gently.

“Y-yes.” You breathe out.

“Mmm.” He coos in your ear, and you turn your head towards his. His presses his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly as his other hand cups your cheek. You open your mouth with his, his tongue like silk against yours. Your hand moves lower to his crotch, and he lets out a breath into your mouth as you rub his erection through his jeans. You deepen the kiss, turning your body so you’re straddling him, his hand still not leaving in between your legs. He tries to pull away from you, but you pin your body closer to his. Your hand finds his zipper, and you miraculously expose him with just the flick of your fingers. And before he could object, you push his hand away from your clit and lower yourself onto him, feeling every inch of him burying in your cunt. He moans loudly, and you rock your hips. His hands grip your thighs hard as you pick up your rhythm, your skin was prickling with a sensation you couldn’t quite make sense of.

“You are one dirty girl.” Eddie whispers against your cheek, his breath hot. “Show me how you’d make him come.”

You groan, your head falls back and sweat forms behind your neck. You reach behind you, cupping his balls in his hands and he lets out a small laugh, his knocks his head off of your headboard as you continue lower and lower until your finger is at the opening of his ass. He gasps as you slide your finger into him. “Oh…my…”

“God?” You say, leaning forward to bite his lip. “I thought he didn’t exist.”

He whispers your name, and a low growl starts in his throat as you pump your finger faster, the angle causing him to rock his hips faster into you, causing you to scream out. He pushes his mouth to yours roughly, his fingers curl in your hair as he forces you on your back. He slams into your hard, your nails claw at his back through his t-shirt. Your blood sang, your entire body was vibrating, you wondered if maybe his blood was the cause of it. You feel your orgasm approach your core, and you feel him trembling.

A sudden thought pops into your head as he continues to move above you. If he wouldn’t bring your Eddie back himself, there had to be a way for you to bring him back. He seems to come back during stressful moments, but what if you could get him out of the upside down for good? Pull him out by using dark Eddie’s mind. You needed help though. You glance around your bedroom, your eyes fixing on the ceramic lamp that sat on your nightstand. His blood gave you a superhuman strength that he doesn’t even know about, and you knew if you used all the strength, especially while he was vulnerable, you could knock him out. His head was buried in your shoulder, and you carefully reach your hand towards the lamp. You realized how morbid this was, knocking him out while he was buried inside you.

Could be worse, you thought.

You are able to get a good grip on the base of the lamp, you turn your head to the side, squeeze your eyes shut and bring the lamp down as hard as you can onto his head. The lamp shatters in your hand and you knew immediately you had cut it; he goes limp on top of you.

Holy shit, it actually worked.

You wiggle out from underneath him, pushing him off the bed and onto the floor. You poke him with your toe. He didn’t even budge; you were relieved when you could see his chest rise and fall. You zip him up in his jeans, for his modesty. Blood drips from your hand as you stand over him, just watching him.

The taste of copper hits your tongue and you realize you’re licking your blood off of your hand like a starving dog.

What the fuck.

You rush to the bathroom, rinsing off the blood from your hands and wrapping it with a small towel. You get yourself dressed in decent clothes and go back to your bedroom where Eddie still laid unconscious. You pick up the receiver of the telephone and dial a number, you keep your eyes focused on him, your heart pounding in fear that he will wake up.

The person picks up on the other end.

“Dustin. I need your help. Bring bungee cords and duct tape.”

***

Dustin stares at Eddie’s unconscious body, he’s been staring at him with his eyes wide and puppy like for the last five minutes.

“Dustin?”

“Yeah?” You startled him, and he meets your gaze. “Sorry, it’s just…he’s…alive.”

“I know…well, partially, I guess. We have to get him downstairs.”

Dustin nods, you go by Eddie’s legs, and Dustin goes by his head. You both squat, grunting and you feel your legs almost give out as the two of you lift him off the ground. You didn’t think this through, Dustin scolds you as you awkwardly make your way towards the stairs. It was a struggle getting halfway, Dustin had lost his footing and the two of you squeal when you end up dropping Eddie down the rest of the way. The two of you just stare at the ground where he laid.

“Well, if he was waking up. He isn’t now.” Dustin says with a chuckle, and you groan, awkwardly dragging Eddie into the living room. Dustin gets a wooden chair from the kitchen, and you sit him upright. Dustin wraps the bungee cords around the chair legs and Eddie’s, continuing to look up at him to make sure he was still there. Your heart broke for him, for so long Dustin held onto a guilt that he couldn’t properly explain. Now, he still felt that guilt, and it was because Eddie didn’t come back as himself.

After the two of you had securely and tightly tied Eddie to the chair, you weren’t sure what to do now.

“Do you think this is gonna work? Do you think you can bring him back?” Dustin asks you.

You move Eddie’s hair from his face, his breathing coming out in soft waves. “They don’t like heat, right?”

“Right.”

“I have space heaters in the garage, go grab them.” You peel off your sweatshirt, going to the thermostat, turning the heat up to 90 degrees, it might work, it might not. It was a wait and see. “If he kills us, at least we know that we tried.”

“He won’t kill us.”

���You don’t know who he is now.” You look at Dustin. “He’d kill me out of love if it came down to it.”

“And you still love him?”

“Always.” You look back to Eddie. “Go get the heaters.”

You sit on the couch across from him, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. You hear the side door slam as Dustin goes into your garage.

You had a realization.

If this didn’t work, you knew you would have to kill him.

You didn’t want to admit that to yourself or to Dustin.

But you couldn’t do this anymore.

You missed Eddie. You missed the boy who walked into your life when you were fourteen years old who made you a flower out of guitar picks. You missed the man who carried you home from a house party when you were too drunk to walk. You missed the way he’d take strands of your hair between his fingers, tucking them behind your ear. You missed the way he would give you a certain look when you knew you were being crazy and unreasonable whenever you got into an argument. You missed the way he would kiss you. Really kiss you.

If you had to survive another minute with this Eddie, you’d rather suffer with the grief all over again than have to deal with a monster.

You take in a deep breath when you hear Dustin walk back in, and you feel the sweat pool behind your neck.

This was suicide.

But sometimes, you have to do crazy things for love.

The house was scorching, it had taken only fifteen minutes before the heat started to take full effect and Eddie began to move. Dustin was bopping his leg, the nerve settling in as Eddie groans. You had a knife next to you on the nightstand, ready to use it if needed. He lifts up his head, his hair falling into his face as he realizes his hands are tied tightly behind his back.

“What the…” he struggles in the restraints and then meets your eyes, and then Dustin. He laughs, a squeaky chuckle. “This is kinky, tying me up like this. Are you gonna watch?” He asks Dustin, his eyes lifeless and cold, a smirk on his lips. Dustin doesn’t move, his words are stuck in his throat. You move closer to Eddie, squatting in front of him.

“Bring him back.”

“That’s what this is about?” Sweat drops from his neck, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “You could’ve asked nicely.”

“I have.” You growl. “And I’m tired of asking. I’m tired of you.”

“Aww, break my heart.” He teases and struggles again. “You think these are gonna hold me? You’re stupid if you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I do know what you’re capable of. You almost killed me.”

You feel Dustin’s eyes on you, but you ignore him.

“But didn’t you want a forever ever after?”

“Not like that.”

“Pity.” He lets out a groan, his jaw clenches. “Turn the heat off.”

“No.”

He goes to launch for you, his fangs out but Dustin did a good job with the knots. You laugh at Eddie.

“Scared?”

“Not even close.” He growls, his eyes menacing, his teeth bared.

“Good.” You turn the knob on the space heater all the way up, the heat blasting and he lets out a sound you’ve never heard before. He struggles more, the veins in his neck bulging, his shirt was soaked with his sweat. “Bring him back!” You scream.

“Fuck you!” He yells at you and screams in pain. “Ughhhhhh, turn it off!”

Dustin jumps back. “It’s hurting him!”

“Don’t you fucking dare touch that!” You snap at Dustin who had reached for the heater.

Eddie lets out a psychotic chuckle, his fangs still exposed. “You’re both dead when this is over.”

You grab him by his hair, making him look at you. “I thought you couldn’t live without me?”

You take the space heater and push it against his chest. He screams, loud, painful, and he thrashes so hard he falls back to the floor. The chair breaks underneath him, but he’s still screaming. You push Dustin into the kitchen, the knife in your hand as Eddie struggles to break free. You keep Dustin behind you as you walk backwards when Eddie gets to his hands his knees.

He gags.

And then he vomits.

Black liquid spills out of his mouth and onto your floor, you both watch with wide eyes as his body heaves and it kept coming and coming.

Until it stops. 

His body is still heaving but he’s not moving, not trying to attack you, not screaming anymore. You couldn’t see his face; his hair shielded it like a blanket. You move towards him, but Dustin grabs your arm, fear in his sweet eyes.

You free yourself from his grasp and walk closer to Eddie. Your hand still gripped the hilt of the knife as you walk closer, hearing him breathing heavily, catching his breath.

His head whips up to you and you jump back.

His eyes.

They were brown.

[ricciardosgirl]

you don't belong here , oliver quick.

farleigh and oilver get into it.

trigger warnings ; violence , slight degradation.

i'm so sorry farleigh i love you sweetie <33

oliver winces , not many men make oliver fucking quick tremble — but then there's farleigh fucking start. he's unsure why , there's really no reason to be afraid of a stuck up rich kid. he's only here because felix isn't done playing with him yet.

farleigh's gaze persists through oliver's stone cold eyes — he feels like a fucking fool. farleigh's daunting height instills fear into the smaller , less oliver. " you don't know anything about me. " oliver finally speaks , it's taking everything within him not to show a hint of fear.

" exactly , that's why you're a fucking freak. " farleigh's reasoning isn't exactly on point , but he's tripping hard on this strange power trip . . and high on a mix of various drugs. oilver believes the drugs make farleigh who he is - even tolerable.

" i see right through you ' ollie. ' " he mocks felix's hard british accent. " you don't belong here oilver quick. " a chuckle , farleigh has that demented fucking smirk on his face. it's driving oilver mad. he can't tell if he's upset - or incredibly turned on.

" then where do i belong ? " oliver takes a step forward , it makes farleigh step back. " with the fucking dogs. " farleigh spits. " oh yeah ? " oliver feeds him what he so desires. " yeah. the fucking dogs , you don't even deserve to know who we are - who i am , who felix is. "

that one stung , but oliver doesn't back down. " bootlicker. " oliver mutters , he thinks of his old friend michael - and how he was right. " excuse me ? " farleigh is offended , now getting directly into the face of the smaller.

their mouths are inches apart , eyes staring daggers through each other. " that's all you are farleigh. a spoiled little bootlicker. " oliver whispers , now the smirk is on his face. " you beg to be in the presence of felix . . and he pities you. " a harsh reality that farleigh pretends not to notice.

" you are nothing more than a common beggar. " that's what broke farleigh. he suddenly pushes oliver into the nearest wall - which so happens to be a concrete one. their inside of saltburn , it some hidden away hallway. oilver isn't quite sure where they are.

" fuck you. " farleigh raises the smaller oilver by the collar - threatening to punch him. " yeah . . fuck me. " oliver sighs , now a chuckle leaves his lips. " do it. " oliver begs , getting off on this.

farleigh hesitates , what it felix finds out he — no. farleigh doesn't care what felix thinks. with a loud huff farleigh lands a punch straight on oliver's face. the sick fuck moans. mouth agape as he practically begs for another one. " there you go . . yeah. " he coos on.

farleigh drops oliver in a mix of disbelief and disgust. " fucking freak - you sick fucking - " farleigh's hands go to his tattered hair , a look of fear crosses him. oliver wipes the blood that drips from his cracked lip.

" good one. " he whispers , now inching his way closer to farleigh. " feel better now ? " he tilts his head - farleigh backs away. " i - i " farleigh can't speak. " shh . . " oliver finally takes this opportunity to get back at farleigh.

" i know i belong here. " oliver whispers - backing farleigh up towards the wall. cornering him like prey. " but you . . " oliver wags his finger comically. " you don't. "

farleigh quivers , he's never known anything or anyone like this. oliver puts his calloused hand on farleigh's cheek. " i can make you leave anytime i want. " a warning , oliver smiles.

" and i don't want that , i quite like you. " another sinister chuckle. " so please . . behave. . " he gives farleigh's cheek a love tap , turning away.

" good talk. "

oliver says - he nods his head as a goodbye , leaving the hallway.

he leaves farleigh a mess , unsure of his place here in saltburn. he wants to scream - he wants to cry - he wants to beat the ever loving shit out of oliver. but he can't bring himself too. he just . . sits , tears flowing from his eyes.

he's defeated , degraded. not good enough for felix anymore. he's no longer the favorite of his cousin. he's having a hard time coming to terms with that.

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Hii🤗 could I request a fic? Something like an enemy of wandanat does something to their daughter (reader)? Your fics are amazing 🤩

Saving you

Summary: There’s nothing more dangerous than two angry mothers.

Pairing: WandaNat x daughter!reader

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, cursing

Word count: 893

a/n: thank you very much, hope you enjoy!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

”Mom.” Y/N groans, stretching the o. “I’ll be fine, I’m only few blocks away.”

“Just stay on the phone with me till you’re home, okay? It’s late and anything could happen.” Wanda speaks through the phone, her worry going through the roof knowing her daughter is walking alone through the streets of New York. “You should’ve let us pick you up.”

Y/N giggles, shaking her head. “I’ve walked this route hundreds of times, nothing has ever happened to me. But, I’ll stay on the phone with you to ease your worries mama bear.” She grins. There’s a slight teasing tone in her voice.

Turning to a smaller street, she continues talking with Wanda as she stares at the road in front of her. Her attention to the surroundings is low, so she doesn’t notice a van following her slowly.

“Do you think we could order some food once I’m home?” Y/N asks. She drops her keys before Wanda can answer. “Shit.” Kneeling down to pick them up, two hands grab her. She starts screaming, but a hand on her mouth quietens her down. She can faintly hear Wanda yelling through the phone, though quickly it all muffles down as a bag gets put over her head.

A sudden brightness makes Y/N squint her eyes. As the surroundings start clearing up, she starts panicking. She is stuck on a chair with a cloth in her mouth to keep her quiet, and a man is in front of her, holding a bag that was over her head.

“Oh, calm down, girl.” The man grins. He looks rough and ragged. His clothes have small scratches on them. “I won’t do anything to you. At least not yet.”

Y/N starts shouting, though it comes out muffled through the cloth. She’s trashing around, trying to get out of the ropes holding her. A harsh slap comes in contact with her cheek, making her freeze immediately.

“Stop it!” The man yell, throwing the bag. In any other situation Y/N would laugh as the bag doesn’t go very far because of its lightness. “No one will hear you, so it’s pointless to try anything.” He points at her in accusing manner.

Glaring at him, Y/N stays quiet. Her moms did teach her some basic self defense, but she’d never get out of this alive, especially if there are other bad guys in the other rooms. So, she does what the man says. It’s her best chance at survival for now.

Quiet commotion can be heard from further away. The man grumbles, walking slightly further away to take his walkie-talkie and talk to it. His other hand grips his pistol.

Y/N’s heart is beating loudly as she watches him yell to the person on the other side. She knows that something is wrong, which most likely means her moms are here.

When the noises get louder, the man jogs to Y/N, gripping her hair tightly and pressing the pistol to the side of her head. In the matter of seconds, the door flies off of its hinges.

Very angry looking Wanda and Natasha are standing on the doorway.

“You, get your fucking hands off of my daughter.” Wanda practically growls. Y/N is quite sure she has never heard Wanda curse.

The man laughs. Y/N can feel the slight shake of his hand. He is nervous. For a very good reason. There are two ex-Avengers standing in front of him. “Don’t you take another step closer or I’ll blow her brains off.”

Natasha’s grip of her guns tightens and Wanda’s eyes turn a shade of red.

Before the man can even think about pulling the trigger, the gun flies off of his hand. He gasps, instantly starting to run after it. While Wanda starts fighting with him, Natasha jogs to Y/N and starts freeing her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Natasha pulls the cloths away from her mouth. She instantly notices the red mark on her cheek. “He hit you?”

“Yes, but I’m fine mom.”

“Oh, no. He doesn’t get to get away with th-“

Natasha goes to walk towards the fight, but Y/N grabs her arm. “Mom, please. Don’t leave me alone.” She pleads, holding onto her. The whole situation is finally fully hitting her.

“Of course not.” Natasha pulls Y/N close, pushing her face against her body to shield her eyes. She glances at Wanda, she seems to have everything handled. “Lets get out of here, hm?”

Natasha walks Y/N out of the building, keeping her from seeing any kind of blood or wounded people. Outside, Natasha opens the back door of their car, helping Y/N in.

She kneels in front of her. “Did he do anything else to you?”

“No.” Y/N holds Natasha’s hand for comfort.

“Good.” Natasha kisses the back of her hand. “We were so worried.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles lightly, her eyelids weighing down.

After a few minutes, Wanda runs out of the building, going straight to Y/N and pulling her into an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay, we were so so worried.” She buries her face into her hair to be as close as possible. “You are never ever walking alone again, do you hear me? Never.”

Y/N chuckles quietly, fully leaning into Wanda. “I hear you.”

[blankwashed]

Sleepless Shadows (Part 6)

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII

Recap: “If you had told me that you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have taken it so far you know?” he said as he came closer to you in a soft voice.

“I-I didn’t want to seem inexperienced, I-I hope I came up to your standards, sir…” Satoru looked at you with disapproval as you called him sir. Again.

WARNING & A/N: Do not read if you get triggered by mentions of rape, molestation, kinks, force. Really weird shit goes down here, I don’t know what’s up with my brain.

Satoru shakes his head once again at you. He doesn’t want to think about work and how you address him in university at the moment, why are you always reminding him?

“My dear,” he looks at you with thirst in his eyes still. Eyes, rolling to the back of his head as if he didn’t shoot the biggest load into your mouth. His thick cock coming back alive and practically making you afraid at how fast he can get hard again.

You stepped back from him, afraid of how he will treat you again. There were multiple times where you misbehaved and called him the honorific that he repeatedly asked you to not to address him by tonight. Even when he was railing you from behind, he swore he heard you say “sir, this is so good” but he let those slide.

Clearly, you were tired and exhausted. Your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment. After some time you realized your mistake but it was already too late. He already had your hands pinned up against the wall, restricting all your movements. Sweat started to drip from your forehead and your breath was hitched, “S—Satoru, I’m sorry I f—forgot and you can’t blame me you were pleasuring me so well it just slipped my mind—“ you started to give out reasons for your mishap.

“Don’t you know how much your mistakes have an effect on me? Only you, baby that can do this to me. No one else. That’s why out of all the people I have ever met, I selected you because I know how smart and you’re such a perfectionist,” He uttered from his soft, rosy lips. Does Satoru have a perfectionist kink?!

He continues, “That’s why I like you babe, you’re perfect. Oh so perfect for me, and always doing what I ask you to do like a little follower, my slave if you will,”

Your eyes just widen because this is a whole lot of information for you to grasp. Mr. Gojo—I meant Satoru, likes how I do things according to what I’m asked to do? And he wants me to be his slave? The BDSM kind? Or is he into something much worse? You shook the thought off your head.

“B—but Satoru I—I’m tired, I just lost my virginity to you…can’t you just let me rest for a while? Please? I can please you in other ways,” you begged the lustful Gojo who can’t stop the idea of hammering you onto the floor. His mind was out of control at this point, only thinking of forcing himself into your tight pussy. He didn’t bother how he broke your hymen which caused you to bleed because the pleasure was overwhelming. All he wanted to do was use you as a fleshlight. He’s wanted to use you as one ever since he spotted you in class. Just to flip you on a desk, taking you from behind while grabbing your large breasts. But he remembered that your mouth would do the job.

“I guess your mouth was good too,” He growled and grabbed you by your hair and brought your white lips to his cock once more. You were exhausted from being fucked around but still you tried to open your drained and pallid lips wide enough to take in his length. Apparently it was not wide enough and he was not pleased at how you weren’t giving your best. He then grabbed you by your hair and choked your throat in order for your mouth to open wider. Grasping onto your hair, he brought your face to the rim of his cock, which caused you to choke profusely.

You scratched, clawed and hit his abs trying to inform him that you were in overwhelming pain, not sexual pain. Despite how loving Satoru was before, now his mind is not in the right place anymore and all he wants is your sweet & hot mouth to engulf his member. “Was this a new person?” You thought to yourself with tears running down your cheeks. You were choking but did he care? He didn’t, it made you want to die.

Satoru fucked your face for what it felt like ages to you until his hot, steamy cum was running down your throat. You thought that if this what it felt when someone were to force feed someone? This was worse. There you were, practically on the floor looking like you were just raped, but by who? A lecturer whom you love? Tears continued to flow down as you were conflicted with your feelings.

“Was he into me or does he only like my body?” You thought to yourself. Everything was confusing for you at that moment, you were only a 24 year old student in Jujutsu High, trying to learn how to fight for the better good of the world and I just got raped? It was consensual right? You had no idea.

Curled up as a ball, you wished you weren't there. Maybe even spending the night with Toji could've been better, at least he won't play with your feelings mentally. You thought at the moment that it was the beauty of one night stands or friends with benefits, no emotions will be attached.

"I'm sorry," you heard Satoru whisper. It took him a couple minutes to say that. You were collapsed into a cocoon, hugging your thighs and just wailing and sobbing. An aura of darkness was over you from all the negative emotions you were feeling at that time.

Both of you remained silent for a long time and things became uncomfortable among you both, which usually never happens. You were his star student, right? The only star that was exceptional to him. Satoru was feeling very guilty of everything he did, even to the point where he felt ashamed to urge you to do such immoral and kinky things to him. It was all his fault, right?

A/N again: this was alot. im sorry i made satoru into someone who cant resist, i didnt mean to but i think the plot just had to go there.

I just updated some stuff I’m horny now I’m sorry (im sleepy too so my brain isn’t functioning now)

[tarabyte3]

I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 11/27 (2.8k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 ->

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, light choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst, orgasm denial, humiliation, slut shaming

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

A/N: I have added 2 new warning tags so make sure you check those out! I wish there was a better term for the last one, but I want to make sure everything is properly tagged and it's the best way for me to communicate as clearly as possible that there's a dude being an asshole to the Reader in this chapter. And it's NOT Kino. (Okay not just Kino.) Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "Criminal" by Fiona Apple. Previous chapter links up above.

AO3 Link

Chapter 11 - I've been a bad, bad girl

Things have been going well.

Things have been going too well.

You're starting to get the hang of not talking back and thinking before you speak. Because you're always thinking about how much Kino likes it when you're good, so your filter improves. It becomes part of the routine. Even your pod notices. Some of them with admiration (Sorrek and Jevid) and some of them with dismay (Taybus and Alis).

Kino was definitely correct when he said he knew what you needed. That you don't respond to yelling. Because it turns out, the thing you respond to is him.

Unfortunately your mind is so full of Kino that you aren't prepared for triggers to your impulsivity outside of your routine. Outside of the things that you've been practicing and can think through.

So when you're heading for a break in the middle of your shift, and from table 4 you hear your name followed by the words "Kino's bitch," you stop. You tense. And you're turning before you can think about it.

"Must be nice to serve your time doing nothing but bossing people around all day and getting laid at night. Or getting special treatment because you suck the boss's dick." There are a few chuckles at your expense, even though some of them see you standing there and know you can hear all of it.

"Excuse me?" Your voice is careful and controlled, but still manages to sound every bit as furious as you actually are. Maybe you've been spending too much time getting yelled at by Kino.

"Wasn't talking to you." The man, whose name you don't know, says sharply. You take a step towards the table.

"No, you were just intentionally talking about me, loudly, while I was walking by so I would hear it. In an attempt to, what? Make me feel ashamed?" You take another step closer, every movement controlled and tight. "Sad? Cowed? Humiliated?"

"I don't know, any reason you should feel any of those things? Like spreading your legs for the shift manager? As a random example." He shrugs.

"Classy." You smile at No Name, and it doesn't reach your eyes.

"You're definitely not that." He glances at several of the other men at his table, and they all laugh.

"You seem really preoccupied with whether or not I'm fucking anyone." You fake pout at him. "You got a crush? Wish it was you, maybe?"

He glares at you. "You wish."

You tilt your head at him. "If I really was Kino's bitch, how did you think this would end for you? Hmm?"

He rolls his eyes. "Why, you gonna sick him on me for being mean? Because nothing we said was wrong. We all know you're fucking him."

"Nah. Why bother wasting his time on something that doesn't matter? I don't even know your name, dude! But you sure know mine, huh? I think we both know I'm not the one with my panties in a bunch here." You hear one of What's His Face's tablemates choke on a sudden laugh before he can stop himself, and you grin knowing you struck a nerve. The guy next to him hits him with a 'shut up.' You lean forward and lower your voice. "So instead I'm gonna fuck him so good he won't be able to see straight, keep crushing your ass in the numbers, and go back to forgetting you even exist. But word of advice before I do? Jealousy isn't a good look for you."

When he looks away, you know you won whatever weird, jealous display of masculine posturing and defiance this was. You know none of them will ever treat you like that again. At least not to your face. As if getting laid dehumanized you or concentrated your worth as a woman down to being Kino's bitch. As if they could ever make you feel small when he made you feel like the center of the fucking galaxy.

"Enjoy last place, assholes." You give the rest of his table the finger as you walk away backwards, feeling fucking awesome about how you handled that situation. You really wish your table had heard because they would lose their shit. Especially Alis because you—you back into something solid.

You turn to see what it is, and find yourself looking directly into Kino's furious face.

"Kino!" You gasp. A little wave of panic washes over you. "How are you so fucking sneaky all the damn time?! And how…how much of that did you hear?" You hear a snicker behind you. He glares over your shoulder at the table, which immediately silences it.

"I heard enough." He grits out.

"Oh," is all you can say.

"Yeah, 'oh.'" He grabs you by your upper arm. "What did I say about coming to me first if you have a problem with someone?"

"To do so?" You wince.

"Good, you were paying attention!"

"He started it." You mumble under your breath. Because, well, he did. And because telling that asshole off may have made you a little cocky.

You know immediately that he hears you because then he's dragging you by the arm out to the hallway.

At first you're angry and indignant because he HAD started it. HE didn't go to Kino first. HE called you Kino's bitch. And he's not even in trouble. That's so fucking stupid!

Then you realize: if he was being dragged out to the hallway with you, you couldn't be punished, and oh right! You're about to have Kino's hands on you.

He pulls you into the alcove and lets you go with a light shove. You stumble, but quickly right yourself and turn to face him.

"What the hell was that?" He shouts, and you begin to wonder if maybe he's actually really mad at you.

"He called me your bitch! And insulted you!" You feel yourself begin to grow defensive.

"So?! What do you care what that asshole says?"

"I don't! I just didn't want anyone talking shit about you! Because if he's saying it, that means other people are saying it!"

"I can handle them just fine," he says confidently.

"You don't need to because I already handled it." Your defensiveness is melting into exasperation because you don't understand why he isn't more upset at the other guy. Why isn't he defensive about you.

"That's NOT how this works!" He hisses.

"Fine! But I'm supposed to just let someone call me your bitch?"

"No! That's why you come to me first! Instead of attracting attention!"

"I wasn't attracting attention! Except maybe embarrassing him." You huff.

He grabs you by the shoulders, shoves you into the wall, and closes the distance so he's pinning you there. "You said you were going to fuck me so good I wouldn't be able to see straight. Or did you forget that part?"

You squirm, suddenly overwhelmed at feeling him against you, and a little turned on as he says the part about you fucking him. "How could I?" You groan.

"Well, I hope it was worth not getting to fuck me anytime soon." He growls.

Your face falls. "I didn't…" you bite your lip to stop yourself from finishing your sentence. Instead you just say, "I'm sorry."

"I know you aren't. Not really." He leans forward to snarl in your ear, "but you will be." Then he releases you and takes a step back.

You whimper, "Kino, please. I AM sorry!"

"Turn around and bend over." His voice is hard and unyielding as he ignores your pleading.

You push yourself away from where you're still leaning against the wall and follow his instructions without argument. You know there's no point anymore. He's going to punish you. If you argue, you'll just make it worse for yourself. Though there's a part of you that thrills with excitement at the thought. The rest of you knows you're already going to miss out on more because of it and that fucking sucks.

While you're bent forward and staring at the wall, you can hear him shuffling around behind you. You want to look over your shoulder so badly, but you know it will just make him angrier. It's a shock when he pushes your shirt up to your waist and exposes your back. You shiver in anticipation wondering if he might touch you, but then he grabs the waistband of your pants and pulls them down to expose your ass as well. Now you think he's going to spank you instead, and you don't completely hate the idea. There's more shuffling behind you and you can feel him standing close.

"Keep your eyes forward," he orders.

You gulp and nod as you ready yourself for the stinging pain of a slap on your bare ass. But it never happens. Instead you begin to hear the slick sound of flesh sliding against flesh and he moans, deep in his throat.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He's touching himself.

He's jerking off behind you and you aren't allowed to look.

Fuck.

"You're going to walk around the rest of the day," his breath catches, "thinking about what you missed out on tonight."

"Kino, I'm—"

"Be quiet," he growls. "Bend over farther."

You lean forward so your ass is sticking up into the air, completely on display for him. If you reached your arms out, you could touch the floor. It reminds you so much of last night that you feel a swell of wetness at the thought. His foot nudges the inside of your ankle and harshly pushes it outward, and you shift your stance wider to stop from falling over. He groans and the sound of his fist speeds up. It's then you realize he can probably see your dampening sex as well. Which means his erection is inches away from your spread opening. You brace your hands on the floor as your knees feel weak.

"If you'd behaved, you could have finally sucked my cock," he pants. You let out a little sob of frustration. "I could've come in your mouth. I wanted to come in your mouth. That would have been a better use for it than running it off."

Your sob turns into a wail, which you bite down so the sound doesn't echo. You want to cry and beg and grovel, but you know it's too late. He isn't the kind of man to change his mind easily or lose control. You have to really work for it to get it to happen. Like last night, you think with another wave of arousal.

"God, I can see how wet you are. You love this, don't you?" He groans. "Being punished."

"Yes," you say so quietly that you wonder if he even heard you.

"Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to fuck you right now? To slide into you? I'd just have to thrust forward and I could be deep inside of you. I bet you would be so tight for me." Something lightly brushes against your folds and you can't tell if it's his knuckle or something else. You're so horny and frustrated that you start to cry.

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes," you weep.

"If you wanted my come inside of you, then you should have thought about that before you opened your mouth!" His voice is strained and you can hear his breathing becoming erratic. "Instead you're going to wear it again."

"Please, I'm sorry! I was just trying to help," you choke out. "I won't do it again, I swear! Kino, please!"

"No, you won't do it again." He lets out a deep, pleasurable groan. One that you recognize now, and the thought makes your eyes burn with fresh tears and your core throb with want. There's the warm splatter of his release on your lower back, across your ass, and down your thighs as he paints you with his come. He continues to suck in hisses of air and grunt as he shudders and strokes out the last of climax behind you.

You let out a small sob into the ensuing silence. He sighs heavily through his nose, disappointed, but doesn't say anything. You don't move as you hear him tucking himself back into his clothing. After his own uniform is straightened, he slides your pants back up over your hips and to your waist. Then he lifts your shirt and gently lowers it over your back, covering his mess with your clothes.

"Leave it until you shower after the shift," he orders.

"But Kino-" you straighten up and start to protest because that's four hours you have to stand at your table like this.

"I said leave it," he growls.

You nod back at him with your eyes on the floor, dejected. "Yes, Kino," you murmur. You can feel something running down the middle of your back, and you try not to shiver. Or think about it, or else you won't think about anything else.

"Now get back on the floor." He steps to the side.

You had considered staying behind so you could hide in the corner and touch yourself while thinking about his hand on his cock as he teased your entrance. But he must have read your mind and wanted to deny it to you. For now. OR he was worried you would try to clean up. Maybe both.

You walk past him, nearly brushing your shoulder against his arm as you do. It's a very different feeling that settles in your chest as you walk back to your table this time around versus five days ago when you wanted to sob on the floor. Because you're upset, you're disappointed, you're even angry, but you're not broken.

And was it really only five days ago? Have you only been doing this for five days? Maybe it's because it feels like you've been doing this since the moment he grabbed you by the uniform. Maybe you have been, even though you were too off kilter to realize.

You take your place at your table. Alis glances up and starts to say, "welcome back," but instead his eyes widen as he takes in your blotchy red face and puffy eyes.

"What the hell? What happened to you?" He asks, concerned. Everyone else at the table looks up from what they're doing and you watch the concern spread amongst them as they see your appearance.

"I'm mostly fine, I promise, but I'll tell you after shift." You sniffle and take a deep calming breath. "Jevid, how are the numbers?" Your voice is still shaky and you're trying not to think about your back.

"Down by less than a rack. Eight right now."

"Think we can catch up and take first?" You give him a determined look.

He puffs his cheeks out as he sighs. "It could be doable. It'd be close though."

"How about it fellas?" You look around at the rest of them. "Wanna help me take first?"

Threl stares at you for a moment, like he's trying to deduce what happened just based on your mood. "Why's that, kid?"

"Because there are some mother fuckers at table 4 I want to punch in their stupid faces, but I can't so destroying them in the numbers is all I got."

Several of them look over at table 4, where some of the men there are also glancing up in your direction.

"Did they do this?" Sorrek's voice is low and dangerous, not the gentle woe of sad dad. He straightens to his full, now admittedly intimidating, height and glowers at them. Kino's words about Sorrek's previous occupation ring in your ears.

"I was crying because Kino yelled at me, but they're the reason." You clear your throat. "I'll tell you all what happened after shift, I swear, but until then, they deserve it. So you in?"

"Yeah, I'm in. Those guys are assholes anyway." Alis begins tightening a bolt and you've never known how he moves that fast. He makes you feel clumsy and slow.

"Hell yeah!" Taybus is so excited, he shakes Edii by the shoulder and the other man just stares at him. Bewildered, but not angry. Which is progress.

"Well, then let's kick it into gear. Don't forget to sound off when you're done and call out parts. Goes faster when we get a feel for the whole table." Threl says as he begins to move. Everyone else begins to follow his lead.

Your table takes the shift by one fucking part. That's only because you guys got the last one put up minutes before the bell. …And because table 3 had a slight malfunction that slowed them down enough that you could catch up. You'll still take it.

You know Kino will be proud of you and it will somewhat make up for him being angry. That fills you with gratification. You also know table 4 is pissed. Partially because you're sneering at them. But mostly because they're about to be fried. And that also fills you with gratification.

A/N: That's right. I "Secretary (2002) starring Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader"-ed them. Just added a Kino punishment twist. I regret nothing. I live outside of God's sight and by consequence outside of his love.

Also, boy, I really am doing everything I can to keep them from fucking for as long as possible, huh? 😇

And I promise things get better for her in Chapter 12! 😏 In the meantime, have another chapter meme:

NEXT CHAPTER->

[fierceawakening]

Yeah no, people are just on a hair-trigger on the internet and are probably incorrectly pattern-matching you to the kind of a-holes who say "if you can't provide a logical reason for your traditions (that dont hurt anyone) they're unnecessary so we aren't gonna accommodate them". And anyhow they are being way too narrow about what being Jewish is, I'm secular Jewish and I only follow the traditions that are meaningful and valuable to me, I don't do or want to do All The Things right now

Thank you! That makes sense to me. Like the actual Jews I know, including the ones I follow on here, seem when they tell me what they’re actually DOING to be picking and choosing like I am. But then they make these broad info posts that make it sound like the only people in the world who question tradition are ex Christian atheists, and that we’re only doing it because we’ve experienced religious abuse. And it just feels super rude to me?

Like yes, part of why I vehemently defend anyone’s right to depart from tradition if they want to is that I’ve been in coercive groups! Sure. Guilty as charged your Honor.

But! That’s also had a positive side. Looking at traditions with a critical eye isn’t always about being upset! Sometimes it’s about noticing something is meaningful to you and thinking in depth about why, and realizing neat things about yourself along the way.

Like, I never thought that I’d go back to Christianity. But when I really thought about what religious practice HAD felt good to me, I realized that actually, for myself personally, I want spirituality to be about believing everyone is redeemable. Religion gives me a place to put that, as a higher value, without it being my personal duty to forgive when I find I can’t or feel unsafe.

Which led me to the idea that what I wanted was modified Christianity actually. I already understood and knew the traditions of a religion that did that, and the only thingsstopping me were 1) worry people would find out I don’t literally believe in god and 2) feeling like I’d be giving in to the man.

With 1, I realized that actually a lot of practicing Christians ARE functionally atheist. People don’t say it too loud, but if you look into a lot of art and writing, you’ll find “if there is a God, I pray that…” I realized this is super common! You can find people in Ancient Greece saying things in this way! If it’s common, then… people know about it already, and they only avoid saying they’re agnostic out of neurotypical social conventions. Which I’m not good at, so I say it openly.

Which means there are a whole lot more me's out there than a lot of people think, and that was ultimately enough for me to decide I was True Scotsman enough.

With 2, I realized that I’d become hugely invested in finding something cooler, but that I really didn’t have a concept of what this was. So I was posturing, when I already knew there was a community I would like and fit well into. So, you know? It was 2016 and I was scared and fuck it, I wanted to feel better and I didn’t care anymore.

But is that “I dunno I’m Christian because I just am lol?” It could be said, yes! Likely the reason I went back to how I was raised is in part that it’s how I was raised.

But I would not answer the question that way.

Instead, i would say that I spent a long time suspicious of religion in general, and ultimately thought about what purpose I wanted it to have in my life, so while “practicing Christian “ PROBABLY describes it, I mean something very personal and not generalizable about what I decided religion should be for.

I would be really surprised if some people’s relationship to their Judaism isn’t similar! But the narrative Tumblr has latched onto for dear life is “only Christians are like that. If you think it’s common for adolescents to have concerns around religious identity you don’t know what an ethnoreligion is.”

Which is ESPECIALLY galling to me. Yes I know what an ethnoreligion is, many of my relatives are Greek Orthodox.

Greek, the ethno, is right there in the name!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Awkward - a Malevolent fic

It was just fucking dinner.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

-------

Hastur had known tension. He’d known sharp-toothed civility that led to conflict (or worse, didn’t, and remained unsatisfied). He’d laughed and danced through terrible scenes taut with pressure, with hair-trigger terms and gods ready for war.

This was worse. Planning for dinner with these stupid humans, with a shared past he didn’t know, with pieces of him he couldn’t control, was worse.

Even just preparing had been a nightmare. He had assumed that giving Arthur a two-day heads up would be plenty, after Parker and the Slice (Sunny, he reminded himself) had politely requested to join them for the evening meal. He’d assumed that Arthur and John would be able to come to some sort of consensus, get the dramatics out of the way, and proceed like civilized beings.

They did not.

Arthur spent the next two days in a stupor, so focused inward on his own mounting distress he was nearly intolerable. John, predictably, responded to this by snapping like a rabid animal at anyone who so much as looked at them. Arthur was then absolutely useless at the piano for the next day, and John threw a fit in the middle of court again, and Hastur almost wished he had not said anything whatsoever.

It was just fucking dinner.

Faroe’s response was different. “He’s coming?” she said, brightening. “Really?”

“Yes. Be gentle with them. They are—”

“Did you know he almost hit Dis?” said Faroe, bouncing on her toes. “I mean, he didn’t manage it, but he almost did?”

“That is certainly impressive,” said Hastur, sounding calm in spite of the abrupt realization that for some reason, his daughter was watching that man train. 

“Thank you, daddy!” she said as if this had all been his idea, hugging him quickly, then running off to language practice.

Well. Well.  

He wasn’t thrilled that this tiny infatuation would be happening with a human the first time, but maybe that was unavoidable. He wondered if Arthur would pick up on it on his own. Eh; Hastur wouldn’t tell him. He clearly wasn’t in any condition for more shocks at the moment.

#

Even just dressing Arthur for the occasion was difficult. “Too flashy,” he murmured, putting John’s selection back in the wardrobe.

I like that one, John protested. The green looks great on you! It compliments your skin!

“It’s embroidery and brocade,” Arthur said, pointedly shoving it further into the wardrobe as John’s hand scrabbled back to retrieve it. “I’m having dinner with—with my friend, John, not going to meet the bloody president.”

You live in a fucking palace, John snapped. All of our clothes look like that. At least let me pick ones that aren’t shapeless, ugly sacks!

“Maybe I want to look like a sack,” said Arthur nonsensically.

Do you want to look like a sack?

“Fuck you. Maybe.”

Well, maybe I don’t want to! Did you think of that?

“No, because apparently, you look adorable, so what do you have to worry about?”

John growled. 

Arthur grabbed something—he wasn’t even sure what—and started pulling it on.

Ugh! It’s yellow!

“The fucking world is yellow here,” Arthur muttered.

But not this much! What the fuck!

“Shut up. We’re getting this over with, and if I have to do it in… in sunshine colors, so be it!”

Well, John knew how to fix that. At least this one shows your ass.

Off it came, and Arthur reached for something else.

John counted that as a point hard won.

#

Parker, Sunny said, voice gentle, are you sure you’re alright for this?

“Of course,” Parker said, perhaps a bit gruffer than he intended. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I hit you with a lot of unpleasant information, Sunny sighed, and Parker could feel the nervous twinge in his jaw. Make no mistake; I have no question about your ability to be friendly and professional and handle this with the grace of a true actor, but if you’re not ready to deal with the King…

“I’ve dealt with a lotta guys like the King,” Parker said, brushing his fingertips along the curve of his jaw. “Not too worried about him, as much as I’d still like to make him answer for… all that. More worried about you.”

Please, Parker, this was my idea.

“Lots of ideas are good in the planning stages and not so good in practice. We could be walking into a real charged room.” Parker sighed and rolled his shoulder—Dis had gotten him good with one of their sparring bouts, and it was sore as all hell. “Bud, shoot straight with me here: are you ready?”

Sunny was quiet for a long moment. Hear me out, fully, first.

“Alright.”

I… I’m not, Parker. I really don’t want to face down Arthur Lester and make small talk, no matter how good the curry will be.

Parker sucked in a sharp breath.

But, Sunny said quickly, I… I don’t think staying isolated is a good idea for either of us. I don’t want to spend six years hiding in our rooms just in case a—a wet scarecrow of a man might say something mean to me. Alright?

Parker let out the breath he was holding in a laugh. “He’s more likely to curse you out than say something mean. And hey, be fair—he looks pretty good right now.”

Not this again. Ugh.

“I’m just saying.”

Must you say?

Parker grinned. “Don’t go judging me.”

Parker, I love you, but I am absolutely allowed to judge you for that.

He laughed. “Eh. Fair enough. Let’s get this done.”

Ahem. Forgetting something?

Parker grinned. “Really? You ain’t sick of hearing it yet?”

No, I am not. Sunny  paused. Are you?

“Never. Love you, sunshine. Let’s go.”

#

Curries of all kinds steamed on the table, rich in color, accompanied by tiny spice dishes and rice and scents that could nearly carry the conversation by themselves.

If only.

Parker eyed John.

John eyed Sunny.

Sunny shied away from Arthur.

Arthur stared at nothing, clutching his fork.

Faroe babbled, happily telling everyone about the crazy new language she’d begun, and how hard the double-l sound was.

Hastur rumbled, pleased. “You shine in the reports I’m given.”

“They said I’m two full years ahead of the planned schedule,” said Faroe, and then peeked to make sure Parker heard.

She’d been doing that all night.

Parker nodded, perfectly polite, and scooped some curry-drenched rice onto flatbread. “That’s really somethin’. I only ever learned English.”

That’s not true. You’re learning R’ylehian, Sunny said, helpful.

“You are?” said Faroe, her eyes going wide. “Want to practice?”

John eyed Faroe.

Sunny eyed Faroe.

Hastur eyed Parker.

Arthur stared at nothing, tip of his tongue out, focusing on getting curry onto his flatbread without spilling it everywhere.

Nibbles stole a flatbread out of a basket at the end of the table.

“Uh,” said Parker, unsure what was going on. “Sure?”

Faroe smiled like the sun rising.

Hm, said John.

“What?” whispered Arthur.

The lamb is excellent, Sunny said, attempting to drag the conversation somewhere less weird. Curries are my favorite.

“I haven’t really had these. They’re delicious,” Arthur tried. 

Sunny shut right up.

“Yeah, we fell in love with these… fuck, way far west,” said Parker. 

“I’d love more of them,” said Faroe.

“I’m fairly sure our kitchen can handle that request,” said Hastur warmly.

Nibbles was staining her nose orange as she ate from her own plate.

“There’s a bunch of kinds,” said Parker. “Sweet ones, hot ones. Different spices. It’s fuckin’ great.”

“How long were you out there?” said Arthur.

“‘Bout eight months.”

Arthur sat up straight. “You were out there all that time?”

Fuck. We could’ve passed each other on the road, or something, said John.

“Highly unlikely,” said Hastur.

Arthur was pale. “No offense, but I’m glad we didn’t. I don’t know how that would’ve gone.”

“Eh,” said Parker. “Shouting. Then I probably would’ve punched you. Then we’d talk it out. It’d all be over quicker than this mess.”

Arthur grinned. “You know, you’re probably right.”

“Punched him?” said Faroe, sounding shocked. “Why?”

There was a moment of tension. Arthur stared in Parker’s direction, pleading on his face.

Parker studied Arthur for a moment, then turned with a smile to Faroe. “Well. Let’s just say John did some shit worthy of a good punch or two. I’m bettin’ you can believe that.”

Her little chin rose. “I certainly can.”

John snorted. 

“One way to put it,” Arthur murmured.

Fuck you both, said John, sort of conversationally.

Parker flipped him off. “Right in the kissah,” he said, leaning into his accent.

Faroe giggled. “The kisser?” 

Parker pantomimed punching himself in the mouth. “Boom.”

She giggled again.

Nibbles made an amused noise and stole another flatbread right off Faroe’s plate.

“You know that detective stuff I taught you?” said Arthur out of nowhere. “Parker’s the one who taught me.”

She gasped. “He was your partner?”

Now Parker looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. Long time ago.” Not that it was so long for him.

“He saved my life,” said Arthur.

“Okay, don’t get too serious on me, here,” said Parker, sort of gently.

“I’m not,” said Arthur. “I just thought she should know.”

Faroe was looking at Parker like he hung the moon.

He didn’t seem sure why. “Well.” He shrugged. “Anybody’d. You know.”

Parker, could we try that palak paneer? Sunny said.

Parker jumped right onto that topic change. “Sure, bud. Wow, that smells good.”

While we were… on the road, we often worked for food, Sunny said, voice barely above a mumble. We learned a lot about the people of the Dreamlands that way. I’d never tried so many different things.

Parker set down his flatbread to gently pat his cheek. Despite his efforts, it was subtle as a freight train.

“What was that like?” said Faroe. “I’ve traveled a little, but I… had to avoid towns and things.”

“I bet, with daddy dearest here,” said Parker.

“No, I was alone,” said Faroe, who was tiny.

Parker looked concerned. 

The missing princess, Sunny said softly. So that was true? We’d thought… we’d thought it was… just rumors.

“I went on a quest,” said Faroe carefully, who definitely should not have been on her own.

Parker eyed Faroe.

Hastur eyed Parker.

Nibbles gently pressed her forehead against Faroe’s shoulder, and Faroe leaned into that.

Arthur stared blindly at his curry, looking traumatized.

I am glad you saw it through safely, Sunny continued, suddenly stronger, but gentle. We heard a lot of conflicting things after the storm, but couldn’t verify any of them. We were kept busy. He paused. This is… maybe a bad topic of conversation.

Faroe’s eyes were huge. “I’m sorry.”

No. Sunny’s voice hitched. I brought it up. I should apologize to you. I don’t know what happened, but—

“So Dis is a hell of a trainer, huh?” Parker said. “Whips my ass every time we spar.”

Fuck, Sunny mumbled, voice trembling.

“You’re doing fine,” Parker murmured back.

Faroe clearly had no idea what to make of all that, but she’d been trained in conversation, and she could at least pretend to follow it. “Dis is incredible. You almost hit her the other day! I saw it!”

“Well, I didn’t get that close,” said  Parker.

“You did. Your footwork is excellent,” said Faroe, sounding randomly lofty.

It was cute. Parker grinned. “I’d need to be twice as fast to even get near hitting that bi…uh, lady.”

“She’s tough,” said Arthur.

“She’s something else,” said Parker.

“She’s going to help me become a warrior,” said Faroe.

“A warrior, eh?” said Parker without a hint of condescension.

“Yes,” said Faroe, and perhaps unconsciously, touched the scar on her throat.

This was not the time to ask. “That’s a good goal. More girls were tough, there’d be a shit-ton less problems.”

“An admirable viewpoint,” said Hastur, “with which I agree. It isn’t often shared by your human peers.”

Arthur scowled.

You will find that Parker is very wise, Sunny said.

“I ain’t supposed to be tough, either,” said Parker mildly. “Supposed to ‘know my place.’ Keep my head down. Fuck that.”

“Fuck that,” Faroe whispered under her breath, barely audible.

“An excellent goal,” said Hastur.

Arthur wanted to talk so badly. He kept starting to speak, then chickening out. It was getting hard to watch.

Very low, very soft, Sunny spoke. Parker, you should… help him.

Parker stroked his jaw. “You gettin’ tough, too, Arthur? That’s new.”

Arthur’s smile was crooked. “Yeah, it is. I can’t say I’m loving it.”

“We’re training buddies,” said Faroe.

Sunny let out a low sound of encouragement for her.

“I’ve never seen you this, uh… capable, that’s for sure,” Parker said.

“Dis is a monster,” said Arthur, just fondly enough not to be insulting. “She’s brutal.”

“She got you to run. I never managed that.”

“Well, you didn’t poke me in the back with a knife, either.”

“That’s all it would’a took? Should’ve tried it.”

Arthur grinned and flipped Parker off.

Parker’s answering grin was big, real, wide. “Same to you, pal.”

Faroe looked back and forth, riveted.

Parker was instrumental in us staying safe on the roads, Sunny said, and his physical abilities certainly helped. It is… good, that you’re training with Dis.

“Well, they had to make me,” Arthur admitted.

We did, said John, who was being so well-behaved he had to be breaking something. And we’re going to keep doing it. 

Arthur’s smile now was… warm. Secret. Directed at the table. Maybe at John. “Whacko.”

Parker could feel a nervous twitch of his tongue, and casually as he was able, stroked the curve of his jaw.

Maybe, Sunny said, voice cautious, like a frightened animal slowly coming out from under a piece of furniture, maybe in time, we could… train together. 

Arthur looked up with hope on his face. “We could?”

You could learn very much from Parker. He punched out a wizard to stop a spell, once.

“He did?”

“He did?” said Faroe. “What? How?”

Parker shrugged. “Some spells take time to work up, you know? So I socked the guy before he could finish it.”

“In the kisser?” said Faroe.

“Chin, actually,” said Parker, grinning at her. “Asshole bit through his tongue. Knew he wouldn’t be casting shit after that.”

Parker kept us from being captured, Sunny said, voice warm. He dropped the wizard in one hit. A magnificent uppercut. The fool never expected it.

Arthur laughed. “That’s incredible. I love it.”

Faroe looked grim. “You were very lucky the spell didn’t explode.”

“Oh, it did,” said Parker. “Sunny got a shield up.”

Sunny made a small noise. Your timing was excellent; it mostly backfired on the caster. It was barely a shield. Little more than a puff of air to blow it away.

“What was this guy trying to do?” said Arthur.

“One of Larson’s idiots,” said Parker. “Trying to make some kinda portal.”

“Humans don’t handle the creation of portals well,” said Faroe, her eyes huge. “It’s brain physiognomy. We’re too limited by three dimensions.”

“Doubtless, the caster would have died to cast it,” said Hastur.

He very much would. His nose was already starting to drip blood. Sunny’s voice was soft and tired. Parker saved his life, assuming it wasn’t taken later for failure.

“Larson did… that?” said Faroe quietly, and looked at her dad. “Why?”

Hastur sighed deeply. “There are past actions you do not know,” he said, caressing Faroe’s face with a tenderness that made Parker rework some assumptions. “He has a chance now to change his ways.”

Faroe studied him, frowning, then looked at Parker. “What was he trying to do?”

Parker hesitated.

“Maybe we can talk about it later,” suggested Arthur.

“All right,” said Faroe, looking between them.

I’m sorry, Sunny said, very quietly. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Why are you sorry?” said Faroe with innocent puzzlement. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Courage gone, Sunny stayed silent.

“Sunny just doesn’t wanna hurt anyone,” said Parker. “Gets nervous that maybe he did, sometimes—but he didn’t, right?”

“As far as I can tell,” said Faroe, “nothing wrong was said tonight.”

“I agree,” said Hastur as though passing judgment.

Arthur nodded. looking at the table as though fearful what his unseeing gaze might do.

Sunny let out a little breath. Thank you, he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

“It’s gonna be weird for a bit,” Parker said, firm and slow. “But I think we’re all gonna be okay.”

The Dancers came in then with dessert—some glorious confection of thin pastry layers and honey—and Parker was happy to direct conversation toward that for the rest of the meal.

#

He didn’t speak to Arthur again until they were leaving, until the meal was done. Arthur hunched; he was clearly uncomfortable, and didn’t know how to continue.

John’s gaze never left Parker’s face. It was sharp; foreign. Arthur Lester had never looked at anyone like that in his life.

Parker knew the difference. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said, low, meaning so much more that the physical.

Arthur’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and that wasn’t John. “I don’t think I can express in words how glad I am you’re not.”

“I believe you.” Parker said the words evenly. The significance of that statement—a judgment of his own—was earth-shattering.

Or maybe rebuilding.

Arthur raised his face.

“Night,” said Parker, and left, hands in his pockets, striding fast. He had a partner to take care of.

#

Hastur checked in.

His servitors on Earth were handling things well. Larson was following the rules, yelling at people on the phone, pulling out files to hand to his chaperones, throwing things into his large fireplace so no one could have them if he couldn’t. 

Faroe was getting ready for bed, humming, thinking over dinner, happy. She was trying to speak to Nibbles in Welsh. The goat may or may not have understood, but made for an apt listener.

Arthur was exhausted, collapsed on his bed, uh-huh-ing to John.

John was complaining. He’d been very very good all dinner long, and was making up for it now. He didn’t trust Sunny, and kept trying to spin some idea (which did not land) that Parker was up to something.

Parker was not up to something. He was quietly reassuring Sunny, who had convinced himself he’d committed some sort of grievous faux pas.

This had all gone about as well as could be expected.

Hastur wished he could rest along with them. Wished he could hold Arthur, and be still, and…

There was no time. He had to begin conversation with Mnomquah tonight, and wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

He waited until his family was all in their beds, and then left to tackle the next part of his plan. Behind him, Carcosa slept. Through a window, Nibbles watched him flying away, and did not draw attention to his departure.

[askticcitobyshit]

CHEV CAN GO INTO HEAT??? WHAT IN THE OMEGAVERSE-

((ASDFGHKLLAONDND ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE I PROMISE!!

I'll explain under the cut!! Its a bit personal, TMI, and possibly triggering))

So Chev is based off of myself and my experience with my mental illness/disorders and physical illnesses

I've recently come to terms that I have hypersexuality, and have had it since I was little. It's a mental disorder that makes it hard to function in everyday life most of the time. (idk what caused it, but it could be a plethora of things. Its usually caused by abuse or neglect, which I have experienced throughout my teenaged years. I'm in a better place now though!)

I sometimes go through long periods of time where I have "flare ups", and absolutely can't think or function properly. I sometimes joke that I "go into heat" during these times, and my bf has also jokingly referred to me as a "secret succubus".

With that being said, I decided to put my hypersexuality onto Chev, along with her going into heat because she's half demon. (Because let's be real, we all force our traumas and mental illnesses onto our ocs lmao) it's kinda like a coping mechanism for me.

And of course I'm not gonna do anything lewd with Chev or do oc x canon nsfw with her, since she is practically my sona and looks exactly like how I did a few years ago when my hair was longer. I just wanna torture her and give her as much pain as possible, while also making her stronger for it lmao

Chev also hasn't told any of the creeps about her hypersexuality or her heat cycle, so there's a low chance of anything happening anyway. Though, there might be some demons out there who can just smell it on her, so there's that I guess

I also kinda wanted to spread more awareness of hypersexuality. It's not a hot and quirky thing that makes you a slut or an "easy lay", or whatever, and it also doesnt mean you're a sex maniac that can't control themselves. That's purely on the person who has the disorder. The disorder itself is pretty tricky because theres not a whole lot of resources for us, and if you're a woman seeking help to control it, doctors most of the time don't give a shit. I mean, hypersexuality in women just means the possibility of more babies running around and that's the whole reason for a women's existence, right?? (This is sarcasm btw. I'm so fucking tired, yall)

And side note, idk how I made it through the 2010s without knowing much about the omegaverse, but I recently did some research on it a couple weeks ago because of a fanfic I was reading LMAO. I'm not really into the alpha/omega/beta stuff, but the heat/rut stuff was interesting to me

Sorry this was so long, I just have a lot to say about this subject 👉👈

[peakyswritings]

The Danger We Come From

CHAPTER II

A Peaky Blinders x Hunger Games crossover

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Nina Ferrante

Summary: on her first year as a mentor, Nina has one hope: to keep at least one of her tributes alive. Meanwhile, an encounter triggers some old memories.

Warnings: violence, death, drinking, English is not my first language, no proofreading.

A/N: brief mention of @call-sign-shark and @justrainandcoffee ’ s OCs, Heaven and Rose.

Nina Ferrante is the OC from my Tommy Shelby x OC series Heart, Body and Soul (set in canon times).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

AU MASTERLIST

71st Hunger Games - The Goodbye

“I’m not going to die.”

Nina grabbed her mother’s shoulders, breaking free from her embrace to force her to look at her. “You hear me?” She insisted, but the older woman’s gaze remained empty as gasping sobs escaped her lips. “I’m not going to die,” she slightly shook her, feeling more frustrated with each second that passed, but nothing seemed to be enough to stop her mother’s crying. It was as if she wasn’t even listening to her, so consumed in the pain of losing another child.

Letting go of her mother, Nina shifted her gaze on her father and brothers, hoping to see even the smallest hint of faith on their faces. Faith in her, in the fact that she could find a way to survive. But they were looking at her with the hopeless grief of a family bound to be broken once again, to lose another piece, to slowly fade into dust. They really thought she didn’t stand a chance.

“I’m not going to fucking die!” She was yelling now, and tears of anger were starting to well up in her eyes. Why couldn’t they believe in her?

“I’ll come back…” her voice lowered to a little more than a whisper. Their time together was almost up, and the only thing she wished for was a mere glimpse of trust before the peacekeepers took her away. Fighting back the tears, Nina forbade herself to cry. She wouldn’t give them yet another reason to believe her weak. “I’ll come back,” she repeated firmly, but her words fell on deaf ears.

In that moment, Nina swore to herself that she’d make it out of the Arena, no matter how many terrible actions she’d have to commit in the process. And if she couldn’t overcome the other tributes in terms of strength, she would outsmart them. The Hunger Games were deadly, but they were still games. She would play them.

72nd Hunger Games - Gymnasium

Standing behind a glass wall, Nina watched Nora practicing in the snare section. She had learned how to build a trap that would leave a tribute hanging from one foot, and was becoming quicker and quicker at it. In the meantime, Alfie assisted as Lucas practiced hand-to-hand combat with a trainer. At least for the moment, both their tributes were focusing on learning new stuff, rather than concentrating on what they could already do.

It felt strange, to step into that room again. Only a year before, Nina was training with the tributes, spending what could possibly be the last days of her life making up strategies and learning how to use a weapon. Now she was there again, but with a whole different role, and she had never felt more out of place. However, she pushed her uneasiness aside for her tributes’ sake, because they needed someone to focus on them and only them.

When a dark-haired girl joined Nora in the snare section, Nina felt someone stopping next to her, and it only took her a glance to recognise him: Tommy Shelby, victor of the 63rd edition of the Hunger Games. The edition in which her brother had died, at the mere age of twelve.

A favourite from the very beginning, Tommy Shelby had everyone in the Capitol rooting for him since the moment he volunteered for his little brother. By giving District 12 its first (and last) volunteer, he had caused quite a stir among the public. And with his cleverness and charisma, he had managed to win over the sponsors, who had sent him several gifts which spared him from an awful fate. Nina wouldn’t be surprised if even the Gamemakers had started to be on his side at some point.

It’d be a lie to say that encounter didn’t trigger the worst memory she had, imprinted in her mind since she was ten. The blood flowing from the slit in Vittorio’s throat, his eyes still open in a terrified expression, a tear staining his dirty cheek. But as much as she tried to, she couldn’t find it in herself to resent the man standing by her side. Although was too young at the time to remember much, she hadn’t forgotten what he had done for little Vittorio.

For a while, they watched in silence as the girls started to cooperate in order to figure out another type of restraining trap. They clicked almost immediately, and Nina wondered if they would form an alliance during the Games. Since alliances often led to betrayal, she was usually against them, but she was aware that in some cases they were kind of necessary, especially at the beginning, with the Careers teaming up to hunt their adversaries.

“They should be building killing traps,” Tommy broke the silence, a mixture of disapproval and resignation in his voice.

Nina shook her head, not completely agreeing with that. Despite being less effective than killing traps, restraining traps were easier and far less dangerous to build, and the materials would probably be easier to find in the Arena.

“At least they don’t risk cutting some fingers off in the process,” she murmured. “They need all ten if they want a chance to survive.”

When she turned to him, Tommy was already looking at her, and for a moment she was taken aback by the dark veil that seemed to cover his blue eyes. In that cold, stoic facade there was no trace of the charm and magnetism that had made him one of the most loved victors of all times. Then a strange glimpse crossed his gaze, and Nina realised his eyes had fallen on her scar, visible now that she was showing him both sides of her face. Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned around again, focusing on Nora with a bitter taste on her tongue.

They left their conversation behind, and no more words were exchanged between them for the rest of the training.

The summer breeze slightly ruffled Nina’s hair as she sat on a chair out on the balcony, looking at the Capitol in the distance. Despite all the lights shining in the darkness of the night, it was eerily quiet. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine being on the porch of her house in the Victors’ village, away from the Capitol, away from the Games. There it was easier to pretend that none of that existed, that she was fine and that nothing had ever happened to her. She took a sip from the beer bottle in her hand, stretching her legs on the chair in front of her.

Her former mentor was lazily sitting next to her, holding an identical bottle, and she wondered if he ever found himself pretending the same things. At some point, his gravel voice resounded in the silence of the balcony. “How did Nora do?”

“She did well. She learned how to build some traps, and practiced on the climbing wall. She knows a lot about plants, edible and venomous.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “How about Lucas?”

“He didn’t lie when he said he was strong.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Alfie slowly rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “The Careers are strong too, though.”

Not only them, she thought to herself. She had taken some time to observe the tributes, earlier that day, to try to understand what her kids should expect. Some were stronger than others, some smarter, but some were just ruthless. The ones who had volunteered almost seemed to find the whole thing funny, as if it were indeed just a game. They would find out very soon what they had signed up for. But it was someone else who had caught her attention, and it was that someone that made her fear for Lucas and Nora. “It’s not the Careers I’m worried about,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“The boy from five?”

“The girl from seven.”

Alfie turned to look at her, frowning. “The one with the white hair?” He asked, skepticism transpiring from his words.

“I watched her train, Alfie. There’s something about her…” she trailed off, remembering the chilling coldness in her eyes. “You ask me, she’ll win the Games.”

Even the Careers, so bold in their self-confidence, carried glimpses of fear in their gazes, when the awareness of their situation awoke inside them. That girl didn’t even seem scared.

But if she was right, it meant that neither Lucas nor Nora would come back, and as much as she told herself that there was only so much she could do for them, she wasn’t sure she was ready to lose them. “We’ll help them,” she asserted, trying to keep her voice firm.

Alfie opened his mouth to say something, but just as he was about to voice his thoughts, he changed his mind. Instead, he exhaled through his nostrils, pausing for a moment. “We can try,” he said eventually, a hint of ill-concealed doubt in his voice. “They’re good,” he added, sounding more convinced this time. “And they listen, unlike some little shit I mentored not so long ago,” he said somewhere between a joke and a scolding, and the annoyed tone he was faking - or half-faking - managed to lighten the atmosphere a bit. “She never fucking listened.”

A grin grew on Nina’s face, and she hid it by taking another sip from the bottle. “Mh, she must’ve been awful.”

Neither of them said another word for a few seconds, then a chuckle rumbled in Alfie’s chest. Nina’s laughter followed his, and soon they found each other laughing uncontrollably. They didn’t have a reason to, since nothing actually funny had been said, but that only seemed to make them laugh more.

When the laughters ceased, Alfie held out the almost empty bottle, moving it closer to Nina’s. “To kids who don’t listen.”

“To kids who don’t listen,” she clinked her bottle with his, before they stumbled into silence again.

Once she had emptied the content of the bottle, Nina placed it on the table with a thud. “You know, a little bird told me a certain stylist has been closed in her office all day to make adjustments for the kid’s clothes,” she changed the subject. “I bet she’d enjoy some company.”

“A little bird, eh?” Alfie raised his eyebrows, getting up from the chair. “Goodnight, kid. Try to get some sleep.”

Alone on the balcony, Nina shifted in her seat, leaning with her head back against the back of the chair. There was no point in going to bed, she already knew she wasn’t going to sleep. And when she slept, she had nightmares. Her mind went back to the Games, the Arena, the Capitol, to everything that happened and everything that would come.

There had to be a way to stop it.

NEXT CHAPTER

@call-sign-shark @justrainandcoffee @evita-shelby @emotionalcadaver

[maginxlia]

Starring Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Toji and Sukuna Ryomen in When You get Disrespected ✰ The Headcanons

Rated R

Contains Foul Language, Violence and Suggestive themes

Trigger Warning ⚠️Catcalling and street harassment under the cut

Dictionary❤️‍🔥S/C is for Skin colour

No pronouns in this bih

Masterlist

Coming in Piping Hot❤️‍🔥I hope y’all enjoy this❤️‍🔥 I’m very thankful for all the likes, Follows, Reblogs and comments ❤️‍🔥Y’all make me feel special and I am very grateful ❤️‍🔥I love y’all a lot and I hope y’all enjoying spring❤️‍🔥Ask box open 24/7 like 7-Eleven

Gojo Satoru

✰ It’s not unusual for Your man and you to walk to the cafe near y’all place for sweets or a small meal

✰ Gojo likes to spend as much time he can with you when he’s has time off

✰ So practically he’s glued to your hip when’s not in charge of his students or helping his dear boy Megumi

✰ The Day was quite pleasant and windy

✰ Gojo had his hand gingerly holding yours and his soul was pleased

✰ Y’all was nearing the cafe when You heard the obnoxious noise of a poor attempt of wolf whistling From Drunken Bastard

✰ Drunken Bastard: Damn Baby! How you fit all that in them jeans!

✰ He act like Gojo wasn’t even there and Gojo was ready to make himself KNOWN

✰ Gojo: Sit your bitch ass down and stop talking like that to my baby.

✰ Drunken Bastard was appalled, Who the fuck do this white haired Boy think he is ruining his game?

✰ Gojo had you safely behind him in case this Drunk fucker wanted to be a bigger issue

✰ for some reason Drunken Bastard took offence to that and decided bitch slapping Gojo would be the cure to all his problems

✰ As soon as his hand pushed against the air, forming into a slap it was caught by Gojo who Then proceeded to beat the brakes and Drunkeness off The bastard

✰ Gojo composed himself, grabbed your hand and when y’all was away from the Bastard he checked in on you

✰ Gojo will be very attentive to you even more than usual if that’s possible

Nanami Kento

✰ Nanami finally got a day off after working overtime for two works

✰ Only perk of Overtime? That check gonna be fat (They Tax overtime harder than they do your regular hours so beware babes)

✰ He wants to treat you to a day of shopping because you deserve it

✰ Gucci, Coach and Vuitton about to be your new fashion

✰ Nanami also brought you rolled ice cream too

✰ Your day was amazing up until Disrespectful Scum walked past you in the parking lot and spanked your ass hard as he could

✰ Nanami heard the smack and saw your reaction

✰ He quickly turned around and approached Disrespectful Scum who was smirking hard

✰ Nanami: Oh so you think it’s funny to put your filthy hands on someone without their permission??

✰ Disrespectful Scum: Hell yeah I do, especially when they got a ass that begging to be slapped! Ya got a problem four eyes?? You need take it up with your Babe.

✰ Alright Nanami just had the permission to beat Disrespectful Scum ass if he was that kind of man

✰ See Nanami already knows it’s a very unfair fight, He could spin this dumb fool jaw before he knows it

✰ So Nanami let the environment Beat Disrespectful Scum ass for him

✰ You watch as Nanami step towards Disrespectful Scum who’s now backing up in fear not noticing his own skateboard behind his feet, He slips on the skateboard mid step and falls to the ground with a sickening thud

✰ Nanami then proceeded to call the ambulance for Disrespectful Scum because he’s still a merciful man even to those who don’t deserve it

✰ Nanami will 100% Spoil you more and shower you with love & affection

Geto Suguru

✰ It’s Friday and that means pay day for your mans

✰ Like Every Pay day he’s taking you out on the town

✰ Texts you to wear that little black ensemble he likes so much and be ready by 6:30 PM

✰ Geto pulls up at 6:25 PM In his Black mustang GT with the purple stripe just waiting for you to get in

✰ Once you’re in his car, he’s going to get y’all snacks and drinks for y’all late night Drive at the Gas station

✰ Geto always go in and it get the stuff you want

✰ So while he’s in the store you’re in his car just messing with his stereo

✰ making sure your phone connected and Getting the playlist you made for y’all time together

✰ When you was startled by someone knocking on the passenger window

✰ You saw a group of Gas station Dwelling Bums looking at you through the glass

✰ The Leader of the Bums: Gah damn baby you in this nice car all alone?? Come on and let daddy take it for a spin, I swear I won’t hurt ya

✰ But when the group saw you wasn’t going to let the window down and respond, They got rowdy

✰ Words like bitch and ugly was being Thown around repeatedly and they was scaring the hell outta of you

✰ But it all suddenly stop when the ringleader was tossed across the pavement by your man

✰ Geto was paying for y’all items when he heard the commotion and the rage he felt when he saw the scene was uncontrollable

✰ These fucking stench ridden Losers have the nerve to harass you??? Oh it’s on

✰ After Seeing their leader effortlessly tossed Harder than Mankind off the top of Hell in the cell, The Gas station dwellers was Skeptical to even try to beat Geto ass

✰ Geto could easily paint the parking lot red with their blood and you knew this

✰ Sorry’s soon fell outta of the same mouths that just called you a bitch mere seconds ago

✰ Geto still wasn’t satisfied with their apology but they scattered off before he could beat them senseless

✰ Another time and place he would’ve chased them down but he’s not going to leave you alone after what you just been through

✰ After disinfectanting himself, he gets in the car and make sure you’re okay

✰ He’s understands if you want to pick some food up and go home

✰ It’s all up to you and how you’re feeling Babe

Fushiguro Toji

✰ The Sun was Shining and The weather was quite warm

✰ Toji was pleased and in a great mood

✰ See He won a *Big* sum of money gambling

✰ So your man decided to take you out on the town to enjoy the weather and the day

✰ The way the sun danced on your S/C skin made Toji hungry for what the night might hold too

✰ Toji had a small smile on his face and had deemed this one of the greatest days to exist

✰ But shit always has to go sideways

✰ The moment occurred when Y’all was walking in the park

✰ You wanted some bubble tea and Toji was more than happy to get it for you

✰ Toji wasn’t that far from you and could still make sure you was safe

✰ You was looking at the scenery when your day was disturbed by Stank Breath McGee.

✰ Stank Breath McGee: Ayo Baby won’t you bounce that ass over here!

✰ As he reached out to smack your ass and his lips forming his next dumbass line, he was suddenly stopped

✰ Toji was holding Stank Breath by the fucking Neck

✰ Toji: Alright bitch. I think you made your move too soon.

✰ Stank Breath was begging for his life while you watch the spectacle

✰ Toji usually would end a fool’s existence for just having the fucking Audacity

✰ But He was feeling Generous Today!

✰ Before you knew it Toji had crushed Stank Breath Voice box and hand

✰ Toji: Now try to do that shit Again.

✰ Your man just crushed a man voice box with the same hands he choke you in bed with……. Put shit into perspective huh?????

Ryomen Sukuna

✰ Yuuji and Sukuna had came to a agreement that if Sukuna watched his mouth and attitude around people He can have full control of the “vessel” (as Sukuna calls it) to take you out on a date

✰ You had Sukuna uncut and untamed all to yourself because he behaved Well

✰ Dinner was great and the movie was WACK but hell you got your king beside you the whole damn time

✰ Shit was going good until Yuuji car decided to put y’all asses down in the middle of the road

✰ Sukuna was able to push the car EASILY to a empty shopping center parking lot but man was he Bitchin

✰ Sukuna: Lousy brat and his fucking unreliable rust eaten Hooptie

✰ He was pissed but didn’t want to ruin your night so rein in his anger

✰ Sukuna: Fuck it. We’ll just go to brat’s place since it’s closer.

✰ Y’all had to take the metro and imma be honest if you didn’t have Sukuna with you would be Scared baby Scared

✰ The Subway weirdos at 12:30 am?? They act like Freddy Kruger on speed

✰ Sukuna is holding you tight while you wait for the train to take it sweet time

✰ His guard is UP and the only moment he let you go is when y’all are entering the train

✰ Little did he know Nefarious Jackass was leaving the train as y’all was boarding in

✰ Now Nefarious Jackass was about to make a fatal mistake one which he will NEVER get the chance to live down

✰ Nefarious Jackass decided that Spanking your ass while commenting on the softness was a great idea, Boy did he fuck up

✰ Before Nefarious Jackass knew it Sukuna was Waving at him with his Own fucking Arm as the train door closed and sped away

✰ Nefarious Jackass: Man that was a soft ass…..wait that man waving have three ar- THATS MY FUCKING ARM

✰ As Nefarious Jackass passed out, you where surprised to notice that nobody was freaking out over what Sukuna did they was in a trance like state

✰ No cops where called, All the cameras in the area stopped working and No witnesses…. Is this a new ability of Sukuna ??? Who knows

✰ Also it’s a mystery of what Sukuna did with the arm of Nefarious Jackass

Likes, Comments, Reblogs and Asks is Appreciated & Loved❤️‍🔥

Please Don’t Steal My Shit

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,�� he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.