#brief mention of sex

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - or Read on AO3

May 12, 1992: Today.

Hold yourself together, hold yourself together, hold yourself together.

It's an old familiar chant. Steve was practically raised on the mantra. He repeats it in his head as he leaves the exam room and passes through the doctor’s office lobby full of older folks reading outdated magazines. He chants it as he takes off running through the parking lot and throws himself into the driver's seat of his bimmer.

He holds himself together until he can't anymore. He bursts into tears in the safety of his car. It's explosive when Steve finally cries, he lets everything build up for far too long which tends to result in a snotty, messy display.

It's not fair, the news he was given. He'll never outrun his violent teenage years. It's getting harder and harder to find value in himself with the extensive list of health issues he's accumulating.

The voice in his head – the one that sounds like all the people who've ever hated Steve – is chastising him. 

Your life's not over, you're being pathetic. 

But he just wants to feel sorry for himself in peace.

What Steve needs is to talk to someone. But he can't even hear Robin when they talk on the phone anymore, which pulls another desperate sob out of him. He just wants his best friend. 

He's dreading telling his professional-musician-boyfriend the news, there’s no way that’s gonna go well. Part of Steve’s appeal to Eddie is that Steve has always gone to all of his shows. Even before they started dating, he’d show up to their Hideout gigs and compliment Eddie on little moments of each performance that he enjoyed. Steve’s pretty sure it’s what won Eddie over in the end.

So what’s gonna happen when the very foundation of their relationship is pulled out from under them? Will Eddie go looking for someone else to listen to music alongside? Lord knows there are plenty of men who would die to be in Steve’s shoes.

Unsure of where else to go for reassurance, he decides that when he stops crying maybe he'll drive to Jeff's. 

____________________________________

When Steve tried to remember the first time he noticed things getting bad, he pictured a concert. It was a warm summer night, a few years back. 

August 1990: Two years ago.

The final chord of the concert rang out across the stadium and vibrated through Steve. The drummer smashed a conclusion to the encore, sweat falling from his hairline. It was loud, so loud. Steve was flinching and wincing all night.

He and Eddie were pushed up snugly against the barricade in front of the stage; warm bodies caging them in. Really, Eddie was at the point in his music career where he needed to have security with him in a crowd like this, but he thought donning sunglasses and wearing his hair twisted up into a bun cut it as a "sufficient disguise." Steve was only slightly annoyed to admit that it was, in fact, sufficient because no fans had approached them. Eddie sacrificed his comfort for the evening to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered all of his demobat scars. They were one of the defining features of his on-stage persona. Those and his tattoos, probably.

And despite the fact that Eddie definitely could have pulled backstage access for them to watch the concert more comfortably, he always insisted on watching it like an audience member. "The experience is completely different," Eddie had argued, and yeah, Steve wasn’t disputing that.

The crowd roared as the band bid everyone a good night, and the stage lights went out conclusively. Sweaty bodies started pushing their way out of the stadium, away from Steve. He finally felt like he could breathe again, but boy were his ears ringing. He blinked at the crowd moving towards the exits when he felt clammy fingers wrap around his bicep and squeeze excitedly.

He looked over, and Eddie was beaming, practically bouncing with the adrenaline of seeing one of his favorite bands live. He looked like the zealous, music-obsessed kid that Steve fell in love with a handful of years ago and not the well-adjusted musician who had met or performed with nearly all of his role models by then. He had been so excited for the show, and by the looks of it, it was everything Eddie hoped it would be and more. Eddie pulled him towards the exit, keeping his head down so they could get home quickly.

"My ears are ringing really bad," Steve complained.

"Mine too," Eddie giggled and pumped his fist. He was celebrating as if ringing ears were an accomplishment. "That speaker setup was on another level." Steve nodded; his ears would be fine... probably.

"You had a good time?" Steve just wanted to hear about how much Eddie loved it because then the headache he’d probably get later wouldn't hurt so bad.

"Amazing time! Best concert yet, I think. So glad you were there with me." Eddie pushed down his sunglasses and blinked at Steve with big, shiny eyes. The headache would be worth it.

When they got home, Eddie ushered them both into the bathroom, pushed the shower knob on, and started stripping. He threw his clothes messily onto the counter. Steve followed, much less enthusiastically.

Eddie’s a big, fiery ball of energy; his social battery gets charged when he’s pushed around in big crowds and surrounded by loud music. Steve is the opposite; he’s always drained down to nothing by the end of a concert because he worries about Eddie's safety the whole time. He makes an effort to wear a smile, though, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Steve is having a good time.

Eddie pulled him into the satisfyingly warm water and immediately wrapped his tattooed arms around Steve’s waist. Steve fell back against the cold tiled wall, which made him hiss and arch away from it. Eddie leaned down to press heated kisses down his jaw and neck. When he got to the meat of Steve's shoulder, Eddie bit down softly.

His hands slowly migrated from the dimples of Steve's back down to his ass. With a cheek in either palm, Eddie squeezed greedily and pulled their bodies together. He moaned into Steve's shoulder. Steve didn’t hear the moan; he only felt it, vibrating against him. His ears were still ringing.

"Eddie?" Steve asked softly. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight. Can we take a normal shower, maybe? Please?"

Eddie pulled back with a startled expression. His hands retreated to rest on the wall on either side of Steve.

"Oh fuck, Steve. I'm sorry." Eddie searched Steve's eyes. "I should have asked; I'm sorry."

Steve felt guilty about making Eddie feel guilty, but honestly, he was worried about himself. He’s got health-related anxiety now, after years of living with his worrywart best friend, Robin, and consistently uncovering new side effects of upside-down related injuries. So the fact that his ears were ringing more intensely than they ever had before, made him nervous.

"It's okay," Steve assured him, but he felt small and kind of fragile. Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

"Want me to get out and give you some space?" Eddie asked with his hand already pushing back the curtain, ready to step out.

Steve shook his head and reached for the shampoo bottle. He grabbed Eddie's wrist and squeezed a dollop into his palm. Eddie always used more shampoo than him, had much more hair after all. Steve did the same to his own palm and started massaging it in. He could feel Eddie watching his back, probably with sad puppy dog eyes.

Steve made his shower a short one instead of going through his whole five-step process. He just shampooed his hair and stepped out, leaving Eddie alone under the hot spray of water.

He dressed himself in oversized baggy sweats, which made him feel like he was in control of himself again, for some reason. He cozied up on his side of the bed and nuzzled his face into his pillow for comfort.

It wasn't long until Steve felt the bed sink next to him. He turned his head to face Eddie and squinted against the lamplight coming from the bedside table. His man was still wrapped up in a towel, hair dripping onto his own pillow. Eddie brought a hand up to gently pet Steve's arm with the back of his index finger in a little windshield-wiping motion.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry for pushing and not asking. I feel bad."

Steve shook his head. "You're fine, don't even worry 'bout it. I just have a lot on my mind. Wasn't feeling it."

"Did you not like the concert?" Eddie sounds crestfallen as he reaches down to wrap the towel more snugly around himself.

"Always have so much fun with you, baby. I'm just tired is all. 'Kay?" Steve knew that the concert would be ruined in Eddie's mind if he found out Steve didn't really like it. So Steve always kept those thoughts locked away deep in the caverns of his mind. He would do just about anything to make Eddie happy anyway.

Eddie nodded and stood up to put on a pair of boxers.

"Alright," he responded, and Steve resolutely ignored the panic of how little of Eddie's voice he could hear. He tried to assure himself it would be better in the morning.

The ringing in his ears was gone when he woke up, which calmed him enough to ignore his hearing-related issues for a while. He's good at ignoring his problems.

_____________________________________

April 1991 - A year ago.

Steve was studying, believe it or not. 

When the band first moved out to California, Steve took up a job waiting tables at a chain restaurant that he never wanted to think about again. It was well and truly traumatic. 

Tired of being yelled at for minimum wage pay, Steve finally sat down and listened to Eddie list off some career options he reckoned his boyfriend might enjoy. Steve hated when people told him what he should do with his life. Eddie wasn't telling or demanding, Steve had to remind himself, he was just suggesting.

Steve was still deciding what he wanted to do. Eddie assured him there was no rush, but he feels useless if he’s not making strides toward some sort of focused career. He was speeding his way towards an undergraduate degree at a state school on Eddie's dime and flirting with the idea of becoming a physical therapist. He didn't know if he could handle that much education, though.

That afternoon, Steve had been thumbing through a stack of notecards for an anatomy exam he had the next morning. It was a Nancy Wheeler-approved study method. 

He paused when the phone rang. Steve rushed into the kitchen and answered with his signature, "Munson Residence, this is Steve." It made him smile every time. He liked to pretend that he was a Munson too.

He heard a garbled voice on the other end, but he was pretty sure it was Eddie calling from JFK airport. 

"I'm so sorry, I can't hear you. Could you talk a tad louder, please?" Steve asked politely just in case it was someone calling Eddie on business.

 "Hi baby," he could subtly make out. 

"Hi Teddy, what's up with you?" Steve responded, curling the phone cord around his finger. 

"I have bad news; my flight got delayed, so we'll actually be in at one... not eleven. And I know you have class in the morning-" 

"I'll be there, it's no problem," Steve confirmed. 

"Are you sure? We can-" Eddie cut off, and Steve pushed his ear impossibly closer to the phone. "Oops, Grant says I'm talking too loud..." and Eddie got quieter. Steve couldn't hear what he said next, but he guessed it was something about finding another way to get home. 

"I'll be there. Okay? Don't worry about me. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you." 

"Okay, love you. See you soon." Eddie chirped back.

Steve mounted the phone onto the receiver and trudged back over to the couch. He wondered if it would be a better use of his time to continue studying for his test tomorrow or nap so that he wouldn't be completely exhausted in the morning. High school Steve would have chosen to sleep, so he decided to study.

Steve pulled the van up and parked it right in front of the American Airlines door a little before 1 am. He waited and waited and motherfucking waited. He should have brought his flashcards, dammit. He did, however, buy one of those bouquets of black-dyed roses that Eddie loves. It was set carefully on the passenger seat next to him, waiting for Eddie.

Steve had to drive a few loops around the airport because it wasn't until around 1:45 am that the band exploded out through the airport doors with luggage in tow. Steve got out to help them pack it all into the back. There were a few teenage boys standing near the street, staring at the band with wide eyes. 

Please, Steve begged the universe, do not approach or ask for something silly like an autograph.

"Hi, Sweetness," Eddie crooned. He gave Steve a friendly-looking, publicly acceptable hug to tide them both over until they got home. "Missed you so much." Eddie stepped back and threw his suitcase into the trunk, slamming the back door shut as the other guys squeezed into their seats. 

Eddie lit up when he opened the passenger-side door and saw the bouquet. He grabbed his roses and held them up to his face to hide his smile. Gareth and Grant teased him in the backseat. Jeff stared on wistfully.

"Baggage claim take a while?" Steve asked while pulling away from the curb.

 "No, not really. We kinda sped out of there," Eddie confirmed. How can that be right? They were forty minutes late. 

"You said you were gonna get in at 1," Steve argued. 

"1:30, I said 1:30," Eddie responded as he turned back to confirm it with his friends. "I said 1:30, right?" Steve looked in the rearview mirror to see Grant's curly hair bob up and down with an over-the-top nod. 

Oh, well, fuck. 

"Must have misheard, my bad," Steve dismissed as he made his way through airport traffic. He felt Eddie's eyes on him. He was being watched with a concerned expression. He shrugged it off.

_____________________________________

May 9, 1992 - three days ago

Thank God it was Saturday, Steve thought contentedly, wiggling in the warmth of the bed. He threaded his fingers through Eddie's, which were splayed across his stomach possessively, even while asleep. Steve luxuriated in the simplicity of having no pressing or immediate responsibilities. He was surprised when Eddie squeezed his tummy. He turned over to see Eddie wide awake and watching him.

"Oh hi, didn't know you were awake yet," Steve rolled onto Eddie's chest and pressed gentle kisses to the tattoos inked across Eddie’s collarbone and shoulder. Eddie grabbed Steve's chin and lifted his face so that they were both looking at each other. He looked upset.

"I've been talking to you." Uh oh. This might be the tipping point. Eds might finally bring up the thing they'd both been blissfully ignoring. "I'm worried about you, Sweetness. About your hearing."

Yep. Steve sighed and flopped backward onto the sheets. He wished he could sink into them. There went his relaxing morning. Eddie chased him. He sat up and leaned over, placing a warm palm on Steve's cheek and tugging on Steve's earlobe.

"Maybe we should make a doctor's appointment." Which Eddie should have known was absolutely going to be met with one of Steve's dramatic eye-rolls.

"It's gonna cost a million dollars for them to tell me I have a little hearing loss. I'm not gonna do that." Steve didn’t have health insurance, much to everyone's chagrin.

"There could be things to prevent it from getting worse," Eddie suggested softly because he knew Steve was tender about perceived weaknesses. And then Steve realized that his hearing issues had probably become inconvenient to everyone around him, but they'd been too nice to say anything until now.

If Eddie didn't want to drag this out, then fine. Steve could suck it up and go see a doctor.

"Okay," Steve agreed, and Eddie gave him a relieved smile and a kiss on the forehead.

"Thought that would take a lot more convincing. Let's get you in sometime this week, that sound good?" Eddie asked and scooted down the bed to pad off to the bathroom.

It did not sound good. The whole reason he had been pushing off the diagnosis he knew was coming was because it would probably send Eddie running. He was trying to savor his limited time left in this bed.

[sunset-sunbun]

can you lot please censor your graphic content properly I don't want to see my current favorite character performing graphic acts while i'm just scrolling through their tag.

this isn't to say don't draw it or always blur it out, but there's a button to mark things as mature. so that those who don't want to see it normally won't get it and everyone can be cool. If you don't know. here's how,

firstly. spot the "For everyone" Drop down menu.

Secondly

Check any and all that apply.

i know there's also tags for it that I can block- but when I checked the tags for the post. none of them were about sex or even anything mature as a general umbrella for their content except "kinktober"...so I just want to ask to please use the community labels.

this is half a rant and half informative... like i'm totally fine with people drawing this shit by the way do what you please.

[luckyfailuregirl]

chat . chat did i cook/j

⚠️(TW: BRIGHT COLORS, MENTIONS OF DRUGS AND SEX)

(Lyrics from Limbo by Freddie Dredd, OCs besides Lucky by @shadow-9x , @cosmic-corporation , and my brother Ziggy!)

[vacantfields]

Memories

HEYYY decided to also post it here in case you do not like to use ao3 which is so so fair (:

anyways enjoy!! (its a little sad, a little silly and a little soft)

--

You looked at your bright laptop screen in the dark of your room, your bottom half covered by the heavy blanket; you don't even know what you're trying to do here with your shitty laptop; the screen just showed the tab you were on, which was random cooking videos. 

Eclipse, the 9ft android, was wandering around your apartment, or so you figured by the footsteps and little noises that escaped the tall robot. You could tell he tried to be quiet with his movements as if not to disturb. 

It was sleepover night, or so it used to be. You used to have nights with all three where you would stay up and talk or watch movies or even play games. The virus broke the thing you had built up with the three animatronics. The three years of relationship stayed strong with Sun and Moon, but... Eclipse, who got a stronger virus, seemed to lose himself. 

And this was your first time alone with Eclipse after the incident. 

You hadn't really spoken to the android since he arrived. Sun and Moon explained via phone that they had a busy weekend filled with work, so they thought getting some alone time with Eclipse might be good.

But this isn't your Eclipse. Your Eclipse is gone. He is not in there anymore; he hasn't been in there for a long time. All there's left is the shell or faint memories of the robot you once adored.

You sighed ever so gently, moving your hands so the heel of your palms pressed to your eyes. You sniffled the built-up tears in your eyes poured over, and now you were that loser who cried in bed; you let the tears fall as you moved your laptop to the side next to you on the bed.

You removed your hands and sniffled; you turned your head towards the bedroom door; you could see some light through the crack, but something was blocking it; you furrowed your brows before tracing the dark length up and jumped in surprise when you saw a pale grey and bright red eye watching you. Eclipse had been standing there for who knows how long. You wanted to get angry or maybe be playful, but you were unsure how he would react to those emotions.

You part your lips to speak to him, but the tall android opens the door slowly and bends under the door frame to walk into your dark room. You watched him, a little afraid to move, but he didn't seem to notice as he placed himself at the foot of your bed.

Eclipse took a deep breath even though you knew he didn't need to do that; it was a feature the androids used to calm people from panic attacks, etc. 

His eyes fell onto you, and you could see a faint smile in the dark; it made your heart flutter, but you reminded yourself that this wasn't the Eclipse you were together with. This was a stranger.

But despite your hesitation, Eclipse reached out his dark blue hand and rested it on your blanket-covered knee, letting his thumb trace over the small form.

"You... You have not spoken to me since I arrived. You haven't spoken to me for a long time, Angel Eyes." He spoke so softly, and yet it felt like an attack. Your Eclipse never used that theme of names, but this one does, and you could tell he meant well that he cared in his own odd way.

"Hm... I thought sleepovers or slumber parties, you talked and were doing things together?" the tall android on your bed said in thought as his thumb still traveled lightly over your knee. You felt lucky the heavy blanket covered your legs, so he couldn't feel how flustered you were getting from his touch. 

You didn't look at him the entire time he spoke, but you decided to talk after some silence between you and him. 

"I didn't want you here. I'm doing this for Sun and Moon because they think I just need to get to know you again and-" You choked up, frustrated. You hadn't even noticed that you had begun crying again.

When you took a glance at Eclipse through blurry eyes, you could see the frown on his perfect lips, the furrow in his brows, and his eyes searching for something. You glanced at his hands; he had raised the one on your knee, and it was now hovering as if he wanted to reach out and pull you close, but you moved back against the headboard of the bed and wrapped your arms around yourself as you sniffled, the tears running down your cheekbones and jaw soaking the collar of your shirt. 

You whimpered, moving your shaking hands up to your face to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt. 

"Angel-" Eclipse had managed to scoot closer to you, but you held a hand out to stop him. "Please." you pleaded. "Please, Eclipse, you have to understand how messed up this is for me." You didn't see his expression, but you could tell by his voice that his mechanical heart was breaking into pieces. 

"I try to understand, Angel Eyes, but it is hard since you do not let me close enough to try. I lost myself, or so I have been told, so I am learning everything again." He put his hands back on his lap, fidgeting with the ribbon he was still wearing around his wrist. "I am sorry," he says your name; it sounds like a soft plea of... Something. Anything. "I feel a connection to you, a past of sorts, connected with strings, but my fingers fall through when I try to reach them..." He took a sharp breath. 

"My memories are... It was hidden from me, but there is a note attached to my memory folder stating that only 'Comet' may open it, and I have a feeling that it's... You. You're Comet." The way he looks at you, his eyes seem distant, unfocused yet knowing.

You were shaking at the words coming from his lips; they were digging deep into the grave in your heart where you had buried your Eclipse. Comet, that was what your Eclipse used to call you, lovingly, teasingly, fondly; oh, he used it in any mood. 

"You... You are right, Eclipse. That's the nickname you used for me." 

You knew your voice was trembling, your mind frail and on the verge of a breakdown, your breath quickening. You couldn't believe your Eclipse; in the heat of his doomed moment, he saved his memories of you in a way the virus could not get to. 

As you tried to calm yourself, a warm hand settled on your cheek, startling you. Your eyes flicked up to the pale grey and the bright red ones in the dark. "Deep breaths, Angel," Eclipse said softly. "Deep breaths," He began mimicking the act of taking deep breaths. His eyes remained tenderly on you as his hand stayed on the apple of your cheek. 

While you attempted to follow his breathing, Eclipse moved his hand from your cheek to your shoulder in a smooth and careful manner. "You're doing so good, Angel." He lightly praised; you could spot a tiny lift in his lips in the dim lighting his eyes gave off as you managed to take a deep breath. 

"I... I'm sorry, Eclipse, I didn't mean to freak out like that-" You say through a strained voice, almost gritting your teeth as if that could allow your heart to calm down further, but a pale yellow thumb poked underneath your jaw in a gentle, although playful manner. 

"Do not apologize, my dear Angel," Eclipse said with a slight hum before his thumb traced under your chin while the rest of his hand still lay comfortably on your shoulder. "I feel... Bad. I do not remember us," He said with a sorrowful look. "And I figured telling you about this could help soothe the open wound my leaving left you." 

His eyes roamed over to the laptop next to you, the screen having faded to black. 

Eclipse had a tiny smile as he looked back at you. 

"I have an idea, Angel. Maybe you can access the folder if I let you attach a cord from my neck to your laptop." 

Your eyes widened. 

"Eclipse- That's-" You swallow, nervous.

The android's smile became softer, his hand sliding down your arm as he slowly reached your hand and intertwined your fingers; he looked at your connected hands for a moment. 

"I know, Angel. But it's okay. I want you to be able to see just how much I care about you." Eclipse lightly chuckled, his thumb tracing over your knuckles. "Or, well, how much my old version cared about you. I still care about you even though we are not at that level anymore." He spoke before looking into your eyes again. "Let's go to your desk, alright?" he lightly squeezed your tiny hand in his giant one. Before you could react, he let go of your hand and gently picked up the laptop beside you. 

Watching him move was wild. This giant was so gentle in everything he did, the way his arms moved at a slower pace as if he would scare anyone if he moved any faster, yet it didn't have the same warmth, love, and care the Eclipse you knew had. 

You watched as he held the laptop carefully in his hand; the laptop looked so tiny in his palm. Eclipse got up slowly and reached over to turn on the lights, which made you flinch as the light hit your tired eyes. He walked over to the desk, where he placed the laptop in its usual spot. 

Eclipse turned to face you, who still sat in the bed, half exhausted and half shocked by his words from earlier, but the android just smiled. "Do you need help, Angel?"

You let out a small groan and shook your head as you tilted your head down to rub the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment; when you lowered your hands, you watched him before getting your blanket off. 

"No, no, I got it. Just... I just cried my eyes out and had a panic attack or a start of one." 

Eclipse hummed at your response, his arms behind his back, his hands folded in each other. A comforting pose for him, you guessed. 

As you got up from the bed, you stretched and yawned. "What if I can't get into the folder? I mean, if you can't, then why-"

Eclipse chuckled. "Angel, did you not hear me? It said only Comet could get into it, and as we have established, you're the Comet. So! I am sure it will be easy for you to get into." He spoke with a lighter tone, almost on par with Sun's more timid excitement. You raised a brow at him and smiled just a tiny bit. 

"Alright. Well... I guess we will see if I'm smart enough to crack a folder."

You walked over to your desk, sat down on the chair, and looked up at Eclipse from where you were now sitting. "You gotta sit down for this buddy, else I can't reach." A soft grin was on your lips as you attached a standard phone cord to your laptop and wiggled the other end to Eclipse, who watched you with amusement before slowly lowering himself onto the soft carpet and his hand moved up, ensuring his hair was out of the way of his neck. 

"Just be careful when you touch Angel. Bad memories." 

Your smile softened, and you gently put your small hand on his broad shoulder, which made him look at you. 

"I will be careful, Eclipse. Don't worry, alright?" you patted his shoulder, and for a brief moment, you could have sworn you felt him press into the touch. 

With the phone cord in your other hand, a nervous sigh escaped your parted lips as you moved over and opened a panel on the back of Eclipse's neck with a soft press of your fingers; he flinched but remained still as you plugged the cord in. Eclipse shuddered, and you heard him hiss out some air through gritted teeth, a soft groan from his parted lips, and his fans whirring loudly before settling.

You leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to look at him, but he avoided your eyes. You noticed he was flushed, making you snicker before looking at the laptop screen again, but you couldn't help asking about what just happened as the connection slowly loaded. 

"So... Was there a reason for those noises when I plugged in the cord?" You asked as your tired eyes returned to the screen to give him some sort of chance of answering without getting too flustered. 

Despite everything that occurred earlier, you felt calm and collected. Even though you didn't really know this Eclipse, he still had many of the same traits as your Eclipse, you mused before you heard him.

Eclipse huffed at your question. "You are together with two androids. I think you know the reason for that reaction. Angel." He said with a shy smile, but his tone sounded teasing.

"I see. Interesting to know that about you." You said with an exhausted grin, and when the laptop pinged, you saw the menu for his system pop up on your screen and rubbed your eyes to ensure they weren't blurred. "I feel as if this shouldn't be so easy to do. Like just using a phone cable to hook you up to a shitty laptop to look at your files." 

Eclipse shrugged a shoulder in response before grabbing an unsolved rubrics cube from your desk in his massive hands. "I don't think it's easy, really." He said softly. "I think you're the only one this body allows in." He said with a soft grin as he leaned his back against the desk next to you, looking at you with the same grin.

Now, it was your turn to blush. "Right."

Eclipse chuckled at your reaction as he returned to fiddling with the rubrics cube. "It should be under one of the memory cards. It is probably called Comet and a bunch of numbers." 

You nodded, then remembered he wasn't looking at you and spoke. "Yeah, okay, thank you," you said softly as you pressed a finger on the mouse pad to start clicking around.

"Ah! There it is," You exclaimed, though the sound was muffled by your hand as you were leaning onto it. You let your hand fall down into your lap and looked at Eclipse. "Are you ready? Tell me if it feels weird or hurts, okay?"

Eclipse looked at you with a slight smile. "I am as ready as I can be, Angel. I will let you know if anything feels off." He returned to the toy in his hand, though his shoulders tensed a bit; you could tell through the thin material of his white t-shirt.

Once more, you took a deep breath and clicked on the folder called 'Comet,' but before you could look at what was slowly unfolding, you felt Eclipse twitch next to you. "You okay, buddy?"

Eclipse nodded. "Yes. Yes, Angel. I shut off the security that was about to react to you opening the folder. You may continue." He spoke in short sentences like he was straining, and you were about to suggest that they should just not do this, but then Eclipse sighed, settled his back against the desk, and hummed. You gathered that he was okay again and turned back to the screen, though now you were just a bit more jumpy and aware of Eclipse next to you. "Okay... Okay, here we go." You said softly to yourself, but you heard Eclipse respond with a slight chuckle.

You moved your cursor over the picture files and clicked.

All of it was from your Eclipse's point of view, which was fine. You got to see how he viewed his world. 

And oh. All the pictures Eclipse had ever taken with his camera feature were of you. When you laughed at his jokes or whatever Sun and Moon were doing or when you were alone and on dates together. 

Again, you felt tears build up in your eyes, and you sniffled; oh, you were so tired, but you smiled just a bit as you flipped through the pictures. The guy had taken a ton, it seemed, and some were more raunchy, which you wish you could yell at him for, but alas, you couldn't. 

Wiping the tears on your cheeks away with your wrist, you moved on to the recordings. 

The first video was when you two first met, and you could tell he was so interested in you, almost as if he hadn't seen a human before. You let out a slight giggle when you heard his flustered voice asking you how the weather was, and past you in the video looked so confused, but you answered anyway, humoring him. 

You felt yourself smile more as you went to the other recordings he had in the folder, and when you clicked on one, you got startled. It was you on the bed and him on top, but you were too slow to click away, and a moan came from the speakers. You closed the video as fast as possible, your face bright red as you glanced to the side. You saw Eclipse staring at you with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed.

"I wish to spare you of the embarrassment, but... I do wish to know how many videos of that sort of thing are in my head." He said quietly as his face was almost glowing from blushing so hard.

You wanted to die or dig yourself down in a hole. 

"Uhm.. I.. I never knew he recorded those moments. I- So I don't... know?" You said softly as you cleared your throat.

"Hm. Seeing that video, it seems Past Eclipse must have done it more than once... Good to know I have a whole stash of... Playtime in my head." He joked.

"you cannot watch those Eclipse!" You said with a slight whine. 

"I won't." He chuckled. "I can't anyway. Remember how it's only letting you into this folder?" He looked down at the rubrics cube in his hands.

"Oh... Right. Sorry." You laughed a little awkwardly. "Uh..." 

You swallowed. "let's continue."

Out of the corner of your eye, as you turned to the screen again, you saw Eclipse giving you a slight nod as he tried to calm his fans down. You hadn't even noticed that those were whirring very loudly.

You clicked on the very last video, and before you pressed play, you took a deep breath and curled up on your chair, your knees to your chest as you clicked play.

It started with Past Eclipse laughing warmly, just the way you remembered. He was playing with one of the kids outside at the little playground that used to be there. He was building sand castles with a little girl in a star-dotted dress. She had a little bandana on her head that matched her dress, and you guessed it was one of the rare sick kids that came to the Daycare. She had probably wanted alone time with Eclipse, as sick kids often got to pick between the three to get one-on-one time.

"Dad?" The girl asked Past Eclipse as she kept shoveling sand into her bucket. 

You were surprised to hear her call him that, but it was probably something he let her do as a comfort thing.

"Yes, My bright star?" You could hear him smiling as he spoke while making a little sand tower with his giant hands, carefully, of course.

"... That nice Daycare worker... Do you like them?" She asked this so innocently, so curiously, it made you blush. 

"Oh." Past Eclipse said softly. "Oh, I do like them a lot, my bright little Star. They are my Comet, after all," He said with a grin, and the little girl let out a bright giggle.

"Does that mean they are my parent too?"

"Oh, we will have to ask them that, won't we? I'm sure they would love to have the brightest Star as their daughter, hm?" He said with a soft chuckle as he wiped his hand on his shirt before running a knuckle over the girl's cheek to remove some sand. You were too tired to cry, but you felt the sensation of it building in your chest. Your heart clenching in your chest, and a sob trying to get out past your lips. You hadn't noticed, but Eclipse was watching along with you; his expression was unreadable.

The video continued.

The little girl giggled joyously and moved away from Past Eclipse's hand. "Dad!" 

Once again, you heard his laughter. "What? You are my brightest little Star, aren't you?" She kept giggling and laughing the way kids do as Past Eclipse moved closer a hand behind her so she didn't fall back. 

"The most beautiful star in the universe," He said fondly, his voice cooing and warm. It broke your heart. You didn't even know if the girl was still around. 

The recording was a few years old. You don't remember that little girl at all, only that Eclipse would disappear for a bit, and you suppose this is where he went at certain times.

The video continued for a while, and you guessed it was a couple of hours of them playing and talking until you could see Past Eclipse got a message in the corner of his eye. 

The Eclipse next to you muttered a soft. "Oh no." 

You turned to look at him, your brows furrowed at his reaction to seeing the message icon before you looked back at the laptop.

Past Eclipse hummed at the message but had yet to open it. He turned to the little girl and smiled. "Seems like we have to cut the day a little short, my bright star!" he said with a bright grin, you guessed. "I will take you to Sun and Moon." He got up from the sand and helped her to the wheelchair, gently placing her before brushing off the sand. 

She looked a little sad. "Dad?"

"Yes, Star?" he responded, head tilted, you guessed, due to the view. 

"Will I see you next Tuesday after my hospital visit?"

"Oh yes! I got special permission to come and pick you up!" Finally, the little girl smiled again and clapped her hands together. "Yay!" You could almost feel how happy Past Eclipse was during this moment.

He wheeled her back into the Daycare and briefly spoke with Sun and Moon before heading to the three's shared room. He sat down on the beat-up couch before opening the message.

The screen flickered, and you could hear Eclipse hiss and groan before the recording cut out and turned off. 

You looked confused, and the Eclipse next to you sighed. 

"I think... I think that was when the virus did it." He hummed. "that's my guess, at least. I still have the message in my head; I can't delete it."

You opened your mouth to ask, but Eclipse cut you off. 

"No, it doesn't say anything."

You frowned, guessing you couldn't ask more about it, and wiped your face with your hands before sighing and sitting back in your chair. "I'm sorry... Sorry you lost yourself like that, I-" You sniffled. "thank you for letting me do this, Eclipse. It was nice to see... See my Eclipse again." You whispered.

Eclipse put the rubrics cube on the desk, then reached back, slowly pulled the cord out of his neck, and hummed. "Anytime Angel. Sorry, you lost him." He said it with a tender smile.

You rested your cheek on your knees, your arms wrapped around your legs. "... Want to play a game or something? We could play Uno?"

Eclipse smiled a little brighter. "After all that, I would love to play Uno with you, Angel."

You smiled tiredly. "only until I fall asleep, though... I might fall asleep during a game, but who cares? Moon isn't here to tell us to go to bed!" You said with a tired giggle.

Eclipse chuckled. "Exactly! Let's have some fun before bed, then!" He stood up and stretched a little before holding a hand out to you, which you took and smiled up at him as you stood and closed down the laptop with your free hand before following him to the living room. 

You played Uno with the android for a long while, and somehow you were winning, but you guess Eclipse was letting you win, though he played it up when he lost hands up in the air dramatically and everything, which made you laugh.

When you had played the last round, you yawned, and Eclipse, the gentle giant that he is, carried you to bed, where he tucked you in, and as you dozed off, you felt a soft press of lips on your forehead.

You were out like a light after that.

Eclipse moved the charging cord he had brought over to sit next to you on your bed, his back against the headboard. Luckily, you had a huge and robust bed that could hold him. He plugged in the charger on his wrist and then looked at you for a moment before moving his free hand over and softly smiled as he gently moved some of your hair away from your face with his fingers.

"Good night, Angel. Sweet dreams."

[bonebabbles]

I keep starting and abandoning posts that go into my drafts, as I try to stay tasteful about how fucking revolted this part makes me. Like, I'm legitimately unsure if the very relevant trauma I have is making me see things that aren't here

But first we see that Star Flower is trying to ingratiate herself to the group, just after she reappears from chapter 5. Chapter 5 is about how Clear Sky is still abusive towards his son, and she comes in after stroking his ego, stressing how alone she is, and appealing to how she'll be loyal unlike his child. (She glances over at Thunder, directly implying this.)

Now in Chapter 9, she's babysitting and trying to care for Milkweed's kits (in spite of discomfort from Milkweed), taking a wet sleeping space away from the others, and pulling more than her own weight "without complaint." Putting herself through harsh sitations to prove her worth.

All while trying to appear extra attractive to Thunder, and later Clear Sky. Basically every man in power who can "protect her"

Like, am I going fucking crazy? With how we later find out that Star Flower was "promised as a mate" to One Eye's subordinate Slash, is... is that hypersexualization? One of the extremely stigmatized symptoms of sexual abuse?

She goes to find Clear Sky alone to throw herself at his paws, and he's very quickly attracted to how she promises to perfectly obey him, have no needs of her own, and finally be the perfect servant that he desires

"I don't deserve your trust because I am dirt. I understand you because I also regret something. I'd die for you. I'll never betray you unlike those who have."

This isn't manipulation. She means this. The story is playing their romance sincerely. She's comparing "betraying" Thunder by telling her own father about an assassination ambush to Clear Sky's history of child abuse, physical assault, and murder

She believes she's on the same level as this; a monster who murdered a childhood friend in a fit of entitled rage. She was a victim of One Eye who really believes that the way her father used her means she "understands" this monster, deserves this treatment.

And Clear Sky LIKES that.

He likes that she will have COMPLETE FAITH in him. That she will follow him WITHOUT QUESTION. That she will OBEY his orders. That's fucking verbatim, that's THE TEXT!!!

WHILE HE'S STILL CRYING ABOUT "ive tried to atone every day" FOLLOWING THE LAST TWO BOOKS WHERE THE ONLY SHITTY THING HE DOESN'T DO IS MURDER INNOCENT WOMEN

Am I insane?? Am I wrong??? Am I missing something here???? Why the fuck is the fandom takeaway "haha sexy girl steals his dad." Did I read the same book

[triptychofvoids]

If you have more then I'd gladly take more!! These are super funky I love em!! (Science party hcs anon)

im glad you like them! more science party headcanons coming right up B]

i have always seen medic as asexual (and maybe even somewhere on the aro spectrum), but like i said in the last post hes incredibly affectionate. he just doesnt really differentiate between platonic and romantic he just thinks he should be allowed to be like that with all his friends, but due to the nature of their relationship engie would probably recieve the majority of it and return it as well. also, medic would not be sex repulsed at all, the complete opposite actually and hes probably at least twice as horny as engie is on average. or more.

engie built an industrial grade air purifier for both the workshop and the lab since medic tends to have an entire flock of birds somewhere in his vicinity a good 80% of the time and pigeons are incredibly dusty birds. saves them some trouble.

i think the first instance of them getting together or asking each other out would be something really stupid. like maybe medic would present his interest as a hypothetical situation like what IF i liked you. what would you do. in this fictional completely made up scenario. asking for science and not for any other reasons. and they are both fully aware that this is a genuine question btw but engie would play along with it in the name of scientific progress of course. its dumb but if it works dont question the methods

ive always been a big fan of the idea that medic helped engie cut off his hand for the gunslinger. it just seems like something theyd do. and i also love the idea that medic would keep the hand

medic falling for engineers southern charm is so funny im completely obsessed. engie says some shit like 'youre lookin pretty as a peach in june today, doc' or just starts dropping the good old fashioned 'darlin' and 'hon' into conversation and medic goes into cardiac arrest. and vice versa medic would call him whatever romantic petnames he could think of in german but hed be biased towards 'Spatz' because. i mean. birds are his thing, of course thats going to be his favorite one to use.

[tobyfobywoahby]

Anyways my stepdad is wildin

he thinks the media + the music I listen to are giving me depression and not very obvious other things {HIS ACTUONS COUGH COUGH}

so now he banned mitski and tv girl literally 1984 bruh😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢

and yet. He. Lets my brother listen to music about agreesive sex???…man he’s like 8????

[puckish-rogue-archive-deux]

You know what? Since y'all have been so good to me, I'll treat you perverts to another spicy hc later on, along with the promised one about Django being a lapdog. Please look forward to it!

[razorsadness]

There is so much, so much to say. So much, these days. And I’m sleep-deprived so this entry will be a haphazard list rather than a well-thought-out piece of prose, but I need to get some of this down because there’s just going to keep being more and more and more.

—The last day of March I dressed up in a very queer-punk getup to attend the Queer Youth Assemble rally in Kenosha. I put my harness on along with my other undergarments, and over that I wore tall black boots and a loose, long black dress and my leather jacket that has studs and appliqué roses on it (the one I always describe as cowpunk-meets-Kathy Acker). I did elaborate eye makeup and darkened my wispy lil’ mustache with mascara, and went to the rally. And a bunch of my cishet ally friends were there, and a bunch of my queer and trans friends were there, including my crush Shelley. (Shelley is a pseudonym and yes, I did christen them that in an homage to both Mary and Percy Byshe, because they are goth and a poet.) All of us were in our Most Gender finery, complimenting each other, and Shelley looked super hot in their leopard coat and cat’s-eye glasses. After the rally ended due to rain, Shelley and a few other folks and I went out for beers and nachos and I can’t tell you how good it felt to be Out and Queer. In fact, our waiter (gender neutral) said they had wanted to be at the rally but couldn’t make it due to work and they thanked us for going and said we all looked ‘hot as fuck.’

—It got warmer as the day went on, rained more, then the fog rolled in, then thunderstorms, then back to just rain, and it was warm enough I was able to leave the window open overnight for the first time this year, and I could hear the rain and the trains.

—April first it got cold again, and the wind returned, and it was not my lover, this was brutal bitter asshole wind. I ran some errands, including meeting up with K. to pick up the Joe Strummer piece I commissioned him to do for Ali’s birthday. And then I had a bit of the sads, because the kids were cranky and I was PMSing. And because I was thinking about M., how it’s now been 18 years since he died, and how it still hurts that I can never tell him how much he meant to me. But I wrote some poems and took some selfies and then I drank a little too much wine and listened to W/IFS, like I do when I’m in my feelings.

—And the two days after that were kind of crappy, I was still sad and cranky from PMS, and stressed about the upcoming election. But I did some voter outreach stuff and wrote more poems and did some painting and ate dark chocolate and drank tea.

—Then election day, and despite the storms (including hail!) Wisconsin turned the fuck out, and the election turned out the way I had hoped, and I am so relieved that my state overwhelmingly voted against the right-wing extremist judge and that my town voted against the MAGA freak mayoral candidate. And P. and I had amazing sex that night.

—And the next couple days were mostly about packing for a trip to Door County, and more poems, and more sex. And there was more rain, more storms, but also warmth, and bits of sun and butterflies, and the greening grass.

—Two days before Easter, we headed north. Everything was muddy and brown and we saw e a lot of birds—hawks and herons and wild turkeys. There were road snacks and road silliness. We saw a truck that said Lubenow on it, and we figured out later it had to be someone’s last name (like Luben-ow), but it was like “got it, looks like Lube Now.” And at the rest area we usually stop at there’s this big Wisconsin tourism sign that’s supposed to look like a license plate, and it says LUV R AG (as in Love Our Agriculture), but again, because of the kerning and design, it looks like Luv Rag. So P. and I were making jokes about how Luv Rag sounds like the name of a band of sleazy middle-aged dudes trying to cling to their ‘80s hair metal days, and I said: “Thank you! We are Luv Rag, and this is our new single, ‘Lube Now!’”

—We were up there for five nights, 4.5 days. It was less stressful than staying with my parents usually is, and except for the first half of our first full day there, the weather was great. I ate a ton of good food and stayed up late writing most nights; found out about a sonnet contest I’m going to enter. P. and I got to go out, just the two of us, several times. We went out for drinks a few times; got to sit out by the fire pit at Door County Brewing Co. and listen to a great folk musician who goes by the name of Hunter Gatherer. (I already liked him cuz when we first arrived, he was playing a cover of Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” and then a bit later he was introducing one of his originals and said: “This song’s about running from the cops.” And I liked him even more.) Other times we just drove around the peninsula, or went hiking in Peninsula State Park and exploring our favorite tiny old cemetery. Our last full day there, we took the kids swimming (in a pool, not the lake—it’s still way too cold for that!), and I hadn’t been swimming in years and I had forgotten how much I love it, how at home I feel in the water, like that’s where I belong, like that’s where my body works the way it should.

—We arrived home to the daffodils and violets in bloom and everything even greener, buds on the trees, more warm weather, and there were days of childlike joys and nights of adult pleasures. Days of playing hopscotch with C. and reading endless books, of iced coffee and shooting hoops and watching the backyard birds and squirrels. One evening, we even got to grill for the first time this year, and make s’mores for dessert. Nights of drinking a bit, and hot sex, and staying up late writing.

—Then it got cold again, and it rained, then snowed. Yesterday I felt really bad for the first half of the day. Partly cuz of the weather; gray and cold and gloomy and it was hard being cooped up inside again after that week of warmth and sunshine. Partly cuz I was sleep-deprived (the kids have been waking up hella early lately.) Partly cuz fucking everything was making me cry. I dunno, I was having weird-bad gender feels, and also feeling uninspired/unmotivated writing-wise, like ‘oh, I made it through the first half of NaPoWriMo, but I think I’m tapped out now.’ And maybe a bit of that ol’ pre-Mercury Rx shadow period creeping in there, bringing up old issues and feelings—I was missing my good old bad old scumbag days. The days of freight hoppin’ and basement shows and circus freakery, and dumpster diving and busking and long bike rides across cities, of wheat paste and graffiti and stick n’ pokes and sleeping out, under the stars, giving myself over to scary thoughts, & omens, & excess. The days when most everyone I knew had a clown act and a copy of the Crew Change Guide. I made a cup of tea and lay in bed watching Netflix for a while. First I watched the “Beyond the Binary” episode of Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness, and then I watched Mae Martin’s new comedy special, Sap. And of course both of those have to do with gender stuff (at least in part), and both of them talked about growing up queer/GNC and having such a hard time and turning to drug abuse and other self-destructive behaviors, even though they were white, middle-class kids who were not kicked out by their parents. And I was like, oh hey, me too. And both shows made me cry, and it was good cathartic crying, but I still felt like shit afterwards. So then I started thinking about some ways to bring back some of the less-destructive aspects of my scumbag days back into my life, and I was still feeling sad, and then I decided to check in on the contest results of the WB Yeats Poetry Prize and the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize.

Both of them said they’d announce the contest winners on their websites sometime in or after March. The Yeats Prize said it would also contact the winners directly; the Ginsberg Prize said no such thing, but I assumed they would. Starting in mid-March, I was checking both sites every few days or so, and obsessively checking my email/snail mail. And nothing, nothing, nothing. The last time I’d checked the sites was April 3, and yesterday I was like: “Well, it’s been two weeks, there must be some news by now,” and I was assuming I would go on and see the list of winners and my name would not be there and maybe it was a bad idea because I was already feeling so crappy, but then I was also kinda like, well, I might as well get all the bad feelings out of the way at once. But still, on both websites, the most recent winner’s list was from 2022. And then, I shit you not, like eight minutes later, P. brought the mail in and handed me an envelope. Return address: The Poetry Center At Passaic County Community College, One College Blvd., Paterson, NJ. Location of the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize. My hands shook as I opened it. And…I fucking won! Not first, second, or third place, but I don’t even care because one of the poems I sent them (the one that is probably, in my opinion, among the best poems I’ve ever written, but also one of the riskiest) received an Editor’s Choice Award! And it’s gonna be published in the Spring 2024 issue of the Paterson Literary Review, and I’ve been invited to participate in the awards ceremony/reading there, next February.

I don’t even know how to express how much this means to me. Professionally, but also personally. Like, first of all, New Jersey is such a huge part of my personal mythology. I was conceived in New Jersey! So many of the people who have meant the most to me, personally/artistically, have New Jersey roots! Like Allen Ginsberg! And Jack Terricloth! And Bruce Springsteen! And my witchwife, Penny! And also just, well, I mean god, Allen Ginsberg. For better or worse, the Beat Generation and punk rock have been the most enduring influences on me/my writing, starting at a very young age, and Allen Ginsberg is definitely towards the very top of that “beat + punk influence list.” I just. Can’t. Fucking. Get Over It. Can’t quite believe it! I keep touching the letter they sent me to remind myself it’s real. (It’s on the Poetry Center’s official stationery, which is on beautiful, thick, creamy paper.) I keep blowing kisses at my framed photo of Ginsberg, one where he’s sitting at his typewriter, writing a poem.

—So yesterday evening, P. and I dropped the kids off at my folks’ house for a bit. We went to pick up takeout dinner for everyone, but also got to have a celebratory whiskey while we waited. And I stayed up late last night. First, I wrote a poem—guess I wasn’t totally tapped out, after all. Then I was just awake scheming and planning (and wishing and hoping). About immediate future stuff, like this year’s vegetable garden, and going through my books to find some to donate to the library’s book sale. As well as the positive scumbaggery I can reincorporate into my life—I remembered that I bought myself that stick n’ poke kit last year, so soon I’m gonna give myself a new tattoo; and I started thinking up ideas for a poetry wheatpaste project. And then—travel. I still wanna travel a bit this year, but I think I’m gonna keep it mostly midwest. Then, next year, I’m gonna head out east again finally, after all these years, for the awards ceremony, but I’m gonna try to book a mini-tour around it, and there will be old friends and new friends and old haunts and…yeah. I am so fucking ready.

—And today I’m sleep deprived, again—I was up late, and the kiddos once again got up stupid early. But I don’t even mind. I got some writing done and listened to some podcasts and oh, tomorrow I get to go see Bikini Kill. I’ve been waiting for this concert for over three years (from when I first bought the tickets in December 2019, before it got postponed many many times due to CoViD), but I’ve also been waiting for this concert since I was twelve—from when I first heard Bikini Kill, and wanted to go see them, but then they broke up before I got the chance. (And yeah, I saw Le Tigre a couple times, and that was fun, but not the same.) And there’s a lot of stuff going on right now that teen me and early-to-mid twenties me would be super stoked about—like the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize, like seeing Bikini Kill, like stick n’ pokes and wheatpaste and travel plans. And that feels kinda great; showing my younger self that I am still rocking that shit at my advanced (haha) age. And just overall, things are so good lately. There is so much joy, even in the mundane. Even the bad shit doesn’t seem as bad as it did for a while, because in these past four months I have proven to myself that my life isn’t over, that I can still do rad shit, that I can still experience beauty and joy.

[armandjolras]

20 fun things in phantom of manhattan:

Jesus is a character in this book

Darius (the antagonist, who has LND Meg’s storyline) serves Mammon, the God of Money, who is also a character. Darius’s only motivation is to get as rich as possible

Jesus says that Darius is too evil to achieve salvation

Jesus says Erik is NOT too evil for salvation, because he has love in his heart 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Erik’s murders are retconned — he didn’t actually kill Buquet, Buquet committed suicide, and he didn’t mean to kill Piangi, he was just trying to keep him quiet and accidentally strangled him

The phantom learns that gustave/pierre is his son when Madame giry tells him on her deathbed that as a teenager, raoul got shot in the dick (technically right above it but that’s not as funny to say), so Raoul and Christine always knew the kid was not Raoul’s

Christine calls the music box melody “Masquerade” several times, implying that she knows the names of the songs in the musical

the author has a Jewish New Yorker character refer to an important person as “very big bagels”

there are three giant winks to the reader where the author mentions something that we know becomes big in history later, but the characters are like, that won’t ever amount to anything ha ha! (e.g. motion pictures). All three happen immediately after one another in the space of only 2 pages

Meg is now christine’s ladys maid. Honestly that’s pretty cute. She’s not mean in this version, but she has no personality

no one has a personality. They are all cardboard cutout people

Raoul does not appear until 20 pages from the end, and does not speak until 9 pages from the end

When Christine dies, Raoul immediately gives Gustave/Pierre to Erik. He’s like ok you want him, he’s your son now. Raoul has only known Erik as the guy who kidnapped his wife. AND there’s no Beauty Underneath bonding moment between Gustave/Pierre and Erik, they’ve interacted i think once. But Gustave/Pierre is completely chill with leaving his father and living with a strange man in a foreign country immediately after his mother was murdered

this is not funny but actually horrible. Erik and Christine having sex is unquestionably rape/non consensual in this version because it happens during the final lair when he has kidnapped her. She also describes herself as “half swooning” from fear when they had sex

Not exaggerating this book devotes 5% of its page time to Erik/Christine and the vast, vast majority to long dull backstories of new characters that don’t matter

Erik’s first person narration randomly breaks into rhyme for a few sentences and then goes back to normal prose. This is not explained

french characters randomly speak English with each other. This is done so the eavesdropping english-speakers, who they often don’t know are listening, understand them

3/4 of the way through the book, the author has one of the narrators recap the entirety of what has happened so far, which we just already read, and this takes 10 pages

the author is apparently an incredibly successful bestselling writer

this book is one of the worst things I’ve ever read

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[sahkuna]

OH, HIM? HE'S SPOKEN FOR — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: one too many women at this wedding think they've got a shot with gojo satoru. but what they fail to realize is none of them are you, the one who holds his unwavering devotion.

content warning(s): non-curse au, plot before the eventual smut so 18+ mdni, afab/fem! reader, mentions reader wearing a dress, established relationship, unprotected sex, gojo's impatient so you guys get it on an empty room upstairs, exhibitionism (sorta kinda?), brief mentions of jealousy, pet names.

word count: 4.6k+ // i lurve weddings.

For the fifth time this evening, Gojo’s teeth catch his inner cheek, biting back a smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

You’ve got a cute habit of toying with pieces of your clothing or whatever object was within your range whenever something’s nagging at your mind. He wonders to himself if this was something you were aware of.

Unconscious of Satoru’s intense gaze on you, you idly gulp down a cold glass of water and breathe a heavy sigh.

As the evening persists, you’re starting to feel your social battery deplete by the second. It’s been almost a whopping 5 hours since the wedding reception began, and with every hour that crept closer to midnight the more you wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

The poor music selection blaring from the speakers stationed around the venue— a collection composed by the newlywed couple, you presume— didn’t aid in your fight to stay here any longer than necessary.

Your index finger mindlessly loops and unloops around the straps of your attire, and Gojo can’t help but softly knock his foot with yours underneath the table to pull you out of your daze.

Rather than blatantly asking what was wrong, Satoru settles for something else. 

“Relax,” he says in an attempt to settle your nerves. Any effort that he’s previously made to stop himself from smiling is ultimately shot down the moment your eyes catch his. “You look nice, quit worryin’.”

Though you did look nice, the word alone wasn’t enough to bring any justice to how you looked tonight. The venue’s warm and orange lighting flattered and illuminated you too well. There’s more he wants to say, and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

But Gojo opts to sit back, eyes soft as they make a trail across your bare shoulders, eventually working his gaze up to your face. There, he traces your features slowly, from your eyes down to your cheeks and they finally stop at your lips.

And his eyes just stay there for a few seconds, lingering on your mouth.

He wants to kiss you so badly. 

To him, it didn’t matter if there was a group of old geezers who you two had to share a table with. Gojo would tune them all out if he had to. But knowing him, the moment his lips would press against yours he wouldn’t be able to pull away on his own accord. 

And you’d rip him a new one if you two ever became “that couple” engaging in heavy practices of PDA in front of such critical eyes.

So, picking up the same glass that you drank from, Gojo drinks from it, swallowing down the rest of your water along with the nagging urge to nip and lick his way into your mouth.

Huffing at the fact that he’s chugged down your drink in one go— despite clearly having more than enough in his glass— you wrestle the cup out of Gojo’s grasp and place it far from his reach.

“Thank you for that, Satoru,” you respond, to both his compliment and how he’s done away with all your water.  

Gojo hums in acknowledgement, completely missing the snarky tone your voice carried. “I’m serious though, you look really good.” 

You flash him a small smile at this. However, it’s short-lived because seconds later your lips pull into a soft pout. 

Noticing the drastic change in your mood, Gojo scoots his chair closer to you so he can get a better read on the situation.

He presses his finger to your forehead, tapping once, then twice. “What’s going on up there, hm?” he inquires.

A bit apprehensive, you start with a drawn-out, “Well…”

Throughout the evening as Gojo's plus one to his distant relative’s wedding, you’ve noticed that no matter where you step the guests at this venue seem to have eyes on you. Or more so to speak, who you came with.

It’s no secret that Gojo draws attention to himself wherever he goes, that part doesn’t need much explaining— especially when his appearance sticks out like a ridiculously beautiful, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sore thumb. But today his magnetic charm has pulled much more than you expected.

Like now.

A couple of tables away from where you two sit— perhaps two or three— is where you spot them. There’s a small group of women who hide their blushes and bashful smiles behind their hands, giggling and blatantly ogling at your dashing boyfriend.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you.

…Because it did, big time. 

Suppressing the urge to cringe physically, you turn your sights toward Gojo. “Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask, nodding your head toward the table of women who were whispering amongst themselves.

You could count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to pretend not to eavesdrop whenever one of the bridesmaids would muster up their courage and make their way up to Gojo whenever he was away from you— which was rare because despite being the one who invited you to the wedding, Satoru stuck to you as if he knew no one here.

Humming for a bit, Gojo throws an uncaring glance over his shoulder to view the mini fan club he had unknowingly accumulated tonight. A few have the decency to abruptly look away when he does so, not wanting to be caught in the act. But the others? They boldly send him flirtatious smiles and shy waves, accented with blushing cheeks.

None of which he returns, but you still feel a gnawing ache settle in your stomach.

Gross. 

Finally answering your question, Gojo meets your troubled gaze. “Nah, not really,” he replies. “It gets bothersome, sure, but I usually just ignore it all.”

You don’t respond to this and decide to flick your gaze elsewhere. If he isn’t bothered by it, then this isn’t even that big of a deal. Don’t let it get to you. It’s fine! Perfectly fine.

Blue eyes trail along your face, tracing your expression slowly. Gojo’s face softens, and his hand slips under the table and brushes against your knee before he squeezes. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Does it bother you?” 

Yes. “No,” you respond a bit too quickly.

“‘No’?” he tries again. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to crack.

“Fine. It does a bit,” you hiss bitterly, your poker face falling into shambles completely. Gojo’s smile stretches a little wider. “So can we leave now, please?”

You don’t know if you can withstand another hour in here with all things considered. 

It’s also essential to note how you gradually find yourself nodding off to sleep every ten minutes or so the longer you’re here at this venue. You’re hoping and praying Gojo takes the bait so he would finally shoot Ichiji a text telling him he should be coming to the venue to pick you two up soon. 

Behind his rounded shades, confusion swirls in his gaze and a subtle pout tugs at his lips. “But they haven’t even handed out the cake yet!” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

You want to throw your head back in exasperation at the fact that the sole reason why you guys were staying out so late was over a damn cake. 

Throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder, you spot the culprit. An extravagant-looking tower of vanilla fondant stares back at you, where it’s situated many tables away from you and over to where the bride and groom sit. 

You don’t know why Satoru likes that crap anyway, fondant is known for its notoriously awful flavour because of how it tastes like an extremely sugary, yet stale donut glaze left out for far too long.

“Oh my God,” you wail, but you’re abruptly aware that your volume has garnered a few pairs of curious eyes to land on you and Satoru from various tables around you.

Smiling awkwardly at your tablemates, you’re prompted to lean in close to the stubborn white-haired man and lower your tone so only he’s privy to what you say next. “Can’t you ask Ijichi to grab something sweet for you on our way to your place?”

Unyielding, Gojo shakes his head. “I’ve tried, believe me,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. “But he's always on about how impractical it is for a sweets shop to be open at this time of night.” 

He can’t be serious right now. You think you’re starting to reach your wits' end. “You’re kidding me.”

Thinking you also find Ijichi’s claims outlandish, Gojo leans back in his seat more comfortably. He’s relieved you’re taking his side. “Right?! I tell him all the time that there’s bound to be—”

“I mean you, Satoru,” you say, flashing him a face of disbelief. Gojo wilts a little at this and pouts. 

Pursing his lips, it seems like he’s seriously giving your question some thought. You don’t fault Gojo for having a sweet tooth, but sometimes you wish you could ween him off it. Especially since they got you into predicaments such as this.

But, there is one more thing that Gojo Satoru loves more than his sweets. 

And that’s you.

“Those women really did a number on you, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you throw an incredulous look Gojo’s way. The abrupt topic change flipped so fast it could’ve given you whiplash. He’s purposefully trying to provoke you. 

But why?

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, “What does that have to do with—”

Gojo pushes his chair away from the fancy table and shoves himself up to his feet. Just where does he think he’s going? “You wanna leave, right?”

Like this, you’re able to drink in just how appealing he looks tonight. It’s no wonder since walking in, everyone seemed to rubber-neck their attention to where you two were seated.

You nod slowly, and your hesitant nature has him practically purring when he says, “So let me take you upstairs then. Show ‘em that I’m spoken for already.” 

And at that very moment, you swear you hear the middle-aged woman whose chair is seated one space away from you choke on her drink— you don’t blame her. 

But there’s no way she could’ve heard everything… let alone understand the connotations of what he’s said, right?

She aims a displeased once over toward you and Satoru’s direction and dramatically shuffles her seat closer toward her unsuspecting husband. “My goodness,” she mutters under her breath.

Okay, so she’s heard everything.

Gojo laughs under his breath at the guest’s over-the-top antics and your blood runs a little hot.

Pushing his frames off the bridge of his nose, Gojo’s hand slides them past his hairline to rest on his head. He offers you his hand. “Come with me.”

And you’re sitting there, staring dumbly at his perfectly glossed lips that are decorated with a wicked smile because he knows. He knows you’ll let him whisk you away upstairs to do what even God wants nothing to know of. 

Carefully, Gojo wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you to your feet. “Let’s go.” Delicate fingers slide down past your palm and lace themselves with yours. You move with him when he pulls you toward the back of the venue, near the huge wooden double doors and toward the exit. Leaving behind many shocked guests and a dejected party of bridesmaids.

Which reminds you…

Before you both slip out from view entirely, over your right shoulder you childishly poke your tongue out at the group of women right as the door is about to click shut. 

A sense of relief washes over you when you both finally step out of the ballroom and into the vacant grand hallway. There’s no boisterous noise to pound away inside your skull, just the gentle sound of you and Satoru’s footsteps padding down the marble flooring.

There’s a mix of emotions that swirl inside of you with each step that’s taken toward the main staircase and up to whichever room Gojo wishes to… well, fool around with you in. “You stick your tongue out at them?” he asks.

How in the hell would he have been able to guess that? You stare long and hard at the back of his head, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a third eye you didn’t know was there. However, there’s nothing but white tufts of snowy, white hair glaring back at you.

Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“By accident,” you murmur, not even bothering to think up an explanation for your weak excuse.

Repeating your answer to himself, Satoru grins. “Cute.”

Stopping in front of one of the doors, with your hand still in his, he knocks on the door with his free hand, silently waiting for a response. 

When there are no signs of life on the other side, Satoru twists the knob and carelessly kicks the door wide open with his black leather shoe. The action was so harsh that the metal knob clunks loudly against the wall,— seeing that there was no door stopper— its sound reverberating off the many walls inside the building.

“Satoru!”

Uncaring for the commotion he’s made, Satoru squeezes your hand before he releases his grip and pulls you inside the small room. 

“Relax,” he drawls, before flicking on the light and kicking the door shut behind him— this time with a little more tact. “It’s fine, no one’s here anyway.” 

No longer tethered by your intertwined hands, Satoru plops himself down onto one of the two leather couches and sinks into the seat. 

Exhaling softly, you shake your head and follow your boyfriend to where he’s seated. You’re about to sit down adjacent to him until his hands abruptly shoot out to stop you.

“Y’know…” he starts, and you’re prompted to stand in between his open legs. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders when he glances up at you, cerulean eyes shimmering when he tells you, “It was kinda cute seeing you get all mad down there.”

“I wasn’t mad!” you deny, a half-truth and half-lie. “It just got to be too much is all.”

Pulling your body closer in between his spread legs, you feel something firm press against you. He couldn’t possibly be… “Are you seriously…” You swallow and clear your throat, trying to not let the heady tone of your voice take over. “Are you seriously hard right now?!”

You emit a pathetic squawk when Satoru’s hands brush up against the back of your knees. His palms run higher and higher up your legs, and the fabric of your dress pools around his forearms until they stop right under the swell of your ass.

“What can I say?” he breathes, his eyes burning with intensity the more he stares at your face, searching for something. “I like it when you get jealous over me.”

This man…

“Wasn’t jealous, either,” you say, leaning more into his touch. The more you stay like this without the two of you doing anything to combat the growing sexual tension, the more desperate and needy you become.

“Yeah?”

A heavy heat settles through your entire body when you slide down and sit on Satoru’s lap. “Yeah…”

His breath heaving in his chest, Satoru leans forward and kisses you, sighing blissfully against your mouth the moment they’re pressed together. Eyes closing, the gentle press of Satoru’s lips— soft and warm— has got you smiling against his skin, to which he returns one of his own.

Dragging his mouth away from yours, he presses a trail of searing, lingering kisses from your cheek and down your jaw.

Pressing in closer, a puff of warm air fans out over the curve of your neck. 

“I’ll make you forget aaall about them,” he whispers his promise to you, fingers curling into your waist. “Make you feel so full.”

Growing flustered with how explicit he’s become with his words— a habit of his that seems to materialize only when you two get like this—your face is screwed tight with embarrassment and you faintly nudge his face out from your proximity and bury yours into his neck. 

“You… you talk a lot,” is all you can muster as you pull him tighter into your embrace.

Satoru’s lips curl into a small smile and he squeezes your hips. The deliberately slow trail of his fingertips smoothing their way from your waist down to the bottom hem of your dress had your mind dizzy with anticipation. 

When they slip underneath your attire, you’re not surprised when he starts to get more handsy. Palming at your thighs before ultimately winding up to the lacey material of your underwear. His index fingers hook around them, making an effort to tug them off you, but he can’t seem to do that just yet due to the obstacle of you sitting on his lap. 

Groaning, Satoru jumps his shoulder, prodding you to lift your face from his neck so that you may see what he wants from you. “Help me out, will you?”

You’re more than happy to oblige by a simple lift of your hips off his lap. With the weight of you temporarily gone, Satoru lowers the underwear down your thighs and to your knees.

One leg at a time you step out of them, leaving nothing but the cool, air-conditioned air of the room breeze past your exposed cunt.

Bunching the garment in his hand, Satoru skillfully tosses it across the room… only for it to land unceremoniously atop a fake fern tucked into a corner of the room.

“Hey!”

Breezing past your sudden exclamation, Satoru's hands slide up your bare thighs and his fingertips tease over your skin, eventually grazing your pussy. When your hips inadvertently jerk back the moment they brush over your clit, your boyfriend holds you still against him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he asks, turning his head to press an affectionate kiss onto your warm cheek. “That’s one of the things I like most about you, how reactive you are.”

Not stopping with his ministrations, your boyfriend’s fingers stroke your bud, rubbing excruciating slow circles against you that send you reeling at the palm of his hands. 

Sounds of content are breathed out from his lungs when he starts to feel you grow wetter and wetter the more he toys with you. Your heart’s pounding loud against your chest, and you’re positive that if Satoru were to press his ear against you and listen real close, he’d be able to hear it.

Groaning, you exhale a pathetic string of nonsense into your boyfriend’s clothed shoulder, tugging harshly at his tie when you start to feel that familiar searing heat start to come undone when he slinks a finger inside you— gathering at the slippery arousal pooling around your inner thighs— only to take it back out again, drawing intricate shapes onto your clit.

“Oh my God,” you mewl, riding his hand now, shedding out of the once flustered facade you had moments prior.

Whispering your name, Satoru unwraps his arm from your waist so he may turn your face to look at him with the free hand that isn’t currently hidden underneath your dress. The tips of your noses brush and he watches you silently with unadulterated desire as you practically come undone by his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, his palm pressing against the back of your nape to bring you closer to him, and you do as you’re told. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, your boyfriend presses one wet kiss after the other against your mouth before his tongue slides inside. The kiss is sloppy and fevered, and your whines are consumed by Satoru when his fingers are poking and curling inside you with passion.

You don’t think you can keep up with him if this continues.

Gasping, you pull away from an all too eager Satoru, who chases your lips only to be met with your cheek when you turn away from him. 

Pouting, the white-haired male searches your face for an explanation. “Why?” he whines, and a brief flash of disappointment strikes his features.

“It’s too much,” you murmur. At this, you feel Satoru’s fingers slow down inside your receptive pussy, but there is the subtle wiggle maybe once or twice to let you know he’s still there. “If you keep going like that I’ll—” You fling a lame hand in the air, hoping the unspoken gesture would speak for itself.

Seemingly catching your drift, a boyish and devilish grin is tacked onto his lips. “Want me to put it inside, then?” He bucks his hips up against your core, not caring if you’d make a mess of his lap. “I want you to feel all of me before that happens. Will you let me, sweetheart?”

There’s some sort of strangled scream that’s caught in your throat the moment the precious pet name drips off his tongue.

 You nod dumbly, to which Satoru laughs sweetly in response.

Lifting you off him, he settles you down onto the black leather seat beside you, not before hiking the bottom half of your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him. He presses your back down into the cushion and rests his knee between your legs.

Peeling off the black blazer from his shoulders, Gojo lets the article of clothing drop to the floor before his hands unbuckle his ridiculously expensive belt.

He’s taking his sweet ass time and he knows it because there’s an amused glint that swirls in his eyes the more he looks down at you.

“Hurry. Up,” you bite, unsure if you can withstand any more of his teasings. 

“You’re impatient as ever,” he jabs, tone laced with artificial annoyance.  Finally undoing his zipper, Satoru frees himself from the confines of his slacks and boxers before his hand finds the back of your knee, pushing it down toward your chest to get you ready for him. 

Right before the crown of his head can slip past the entrance of your slit, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking down the hallway catches your attention.

Shit, shit, shit!

You make moves to sit up and at least get yourself together, in case the oblivious stranger miraculously chooses your room out of all the others to walk into for God knows what.

However, Gojo has a different agenda. 

The corners of his lips quirk up as the sounds of what you predict to be two people, approach closer and closer down the hallway and toward your door. Satoru pins you back down and offers you a few words of encouragement along the lines of how good of a job you’re doing, before the thick head of his cock slides into you.

You both moan at the intoxicating sensation. However the sound of his runs deeper, like a pained grunt. It was as if he were a man possessed.

Fucking himself sweetly inside your tight, greedy hole, you can’t stop thinking of the fact that with each step you hear, the closer you are to toeing the line of you and Satoru being walked in on.

God, what would even do in such a situation? Keep going? Stop altogether?

“Fuuuck,” Satoru breathes, the vulgar somewhat audible sounds of your bodies grinding and bucking together had you thinking with other body parts rather than your head.

Yeah, no shot were you stopping anytime soon.

“I should’ve known he was taken, Airi!” You hear a voice exclaim from down the hall. “I mean, look at him!”

Yeah, look at him.

A furious pink blush crawls up Satoru’s neck and hues the tips of his ears as his hips drive in and out of you at such a gruelling, slow pace. His mouth is slightly parted open and the harsh sound of his laboured breathing can be heard echoing off the room’s wall with each thrust he sends inside your pussy.

He looks positively debauched right now. 

His tie (if you could even call it that now) barely can hold itself together, and a few buttons of his linen white shirt are now loose— revealing the milky expanse of his chest. He can’t seem to control his facial expressions either because one moment pale, white brows are furiously pinched together as he obscenely stretches your insides, and the next moment pleasure is etched onto those angelic features of his.

A second voice chips in, who you assume to be the woman’s friend. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

You can hear the sulk in the woman’s voice when she mutters, “I guess…” 

You’re half relieved when you hear their footsteps walk past your door entirely, unsuspecting of the pure filth that was going on behind it. 

But deep down in you, tucked somewhere far away is the feeling of excitement, knowing that you and Satoru could’ve been sniffed out at any second had you been a wee bit careless and more loud

With the coast clear, you cry out as Satoru sinks his throbbing hard length deeper inside you. His cock expertly works you open, leaving you twisting and writhing in pleasure as you start to near orgasm.

“Feels good, right?”

“So good,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him impossibly closer to you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop, Satoru,” you beg him weakly, you feel like you’re about to explode. It’s too hot. It feels too good and a bundle of nerves in your core is ready to snap.

With one hand secured on your leg, supporting how it rests around his slender yet muscular waist, Satoru’s other hand comes up to palm and kneads at your clothed breast.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans, kissing you through your panting breaths. “You take me so well, just hold on…”

Giving into the pleasure, Gojo’s hips now snap faster into you, his big hands gripping and squeezing your ass possessively, pinning your hips to the couch.

Rocking harder and faster now, Satoru’s whimpers reach a whole new octave as he’s forced to pull out of you when his balls start to pulse threateningly, alerting him that he’s nearing his release.

Shuddering, Satoru strokes mindlessly and you gasp when something warm and gooey dribbles down your lower belly and toward your pubic bone.

“Agh! I—” He’s still pumping and there are small beads of cum weeping out the slit of his tip when’s rubbed all that he’s had left to give out. It drools off his dick and drips onto your lips. “I couldn’t help it…” he responds, knowing that he had nothing nearby to wipe you off with.

At least he had the sense not to come on your dress. 

Content with his performance, Satoru gives your butt one last cheeky pinch before tucking himself back into his pants. You close your legs. “We should do this more often.”

Shimmying your dress back to its proper state, you turn to him with a questioning glance. “What— What do you mean?” you ask.

You’re hyper-aware of his cum that’s beginning its slow descent down your leg. You need to take of that and fast.

Gojo points a tired finger between you and him, and then circling it around the room, he adds to this by saying, “Getting it on in public? I like it, it heightens the ‘experience’.”

You push him away from your body and mutter for him to shut up as you prop yourself off your back and into a proper sitting position. 

Throwing an arm across his face with his forearm shielding his eyes, Gojo laughs a little. “So, are we heading back in?” he asks you. “They must’ve cut the cake by now…”

You have the most insufferable boyfriend known to man. After this whole ordeal, he was still thinking about that fucking cake. 

“I can’t stand you, Satoru.”

thank you for reading :)

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[syntheticpaperd0ll]

they understand the sensory hell a little too well

[hugtheangel]

[In another life it is the golden hour and we’re holding hands on the beach // In another life my body doesn’t feel like a cage of barbed wire and we make love until my legs are sore // In another life our names are on a book’s cover // In another life we live in the same universe]

[crystiesong]

Timeless Teachings

While the weather outside was beautiful and sunny, Robin and the others decided to spend the day inside. Currently they were holed up in Willa's library. The older wizard's library was ginormous, bigger than the local library downtown which was a whole building. And somehow it all fit in one room on the top floor of a building smaller than the library itself. When previously prompted, Willa had explained something about 'magical crystals', 'space magic' and how you could make rooms 'bigger on the inside'. Overall, Robin felt a bit miffed that he didn't know this room existed before now.

The young wizard let his hand glide as he walked alongside the books, searching for one to pick out. Eventually he landed on something that seemed pretty simple; it was called 'Shifters; The who, the where and the wonder'. Happy with his choice, Robin made his way back to the ground floor of the library where the others had congregated.

A giant pile of books had been gathered in the middle of the room with Aster perched atop it and Alex and Andy sitting at the bottom. The three of them were picking out books, searching through them. Meanwhile, Sam was sitting nearby, glancing up and down at the pile of books. Making his way over to a chair nearby, Robin sat down and began to read. But being the curious being he was, he lowered his book so he could watch the scene in front of him.

"So are we just gonna sit here all day and stare at books?" Sam questioned, his tail swaying back and forth in annoyance.

"Yeah, reading can be fun if you find the right book" Aster piped up while throwing a book to who knows where.

The young gargoyle let out a small huff "I can't read, I don't see how I can enjoy this"

"We can read to you" Aster stated, "Just pick out a book and we'll read the book to you, it can be story time"

"Anything in particular you wanna know about?" Andy inquired.

The young gargoyle's face morphed into a look of thinking for several moments before answering, "Well I don't know if there's any books in here on it but I'm curious about those big boxy things on the wide paths"

"You mean cars?" Alex asked from her place lying against the floor.

Sam nodded "I think that's what they're called. I'm just wondering how they work. I've seen people climb inside them and they move like some sort of creature but they don't seem alive"

Andy began to explain "Cars and similar things are basically modes of transport. They're made by people and you climb inside to control them since they're machines"

"Also those wide paths are called roads, they're for cars and other vehicles. Don't walk on them unless you want to get run over" Alex piped up.

The young gargoyle nodded in curiosity. Seemingly done with the books, Aster slid down to the ground and plopped herself next to Sam. "Here" she stated, pulling out her phone "I can show you what it's like to drive inside a car"

Holding up to where they could both see, the two teens began to watch what Robin could only assume was a video of a car. Sam's mouth hung open like he was in shock. "This.. This is amazing. How are you showing me this?" he exclaimed, examining the phone with amazement and caution.

"Oh this? This is my phone and what I'm showing you is a video from the internet" the youngest teen explained.

Sam tilted his head in curiosity "The inter net?" He gained a nod in reply.

"The internet is a huge thing that connects millions, heck, billions of people from all around the world. You can do so many things with the internet, like watching videos of stuff you wouldn't normally be able to see or do. Or you can just watch cat videos" Aster replied, scratching the back of her neck. She handed Sam her phone and the young gargoyle began pressing against the screen, a giant grin on his face. Robin couldn't help and stifle a laugh. He hoped Sam wouldn't get addicted to the internet; that's the last thing he and Willa needed.

After a few minutes, Aster plucked her phone out of Sam's hands.

"I will say, be careful when searching up things on the internet, there are many bad things you can stumble upon," she warned the young gargoyle.

"What bad things?"

Aster shook her head "You know, violence and sex and that sort of thing"

Confusion rolled over Sam's face "What's sex?"

All heads snapped in his direction, even Robin's.

"You.. You don't know what sex is? How old are you?" Andy questioned, his eyes wide with shock.

"I'm seventeen, does that matter?" the young gargoyle replied.

"Not really but I'm just… surprised you've never heard of it before"

Sam folded his arms "Well then, what is it? It can't be that bad"

No-one wanted to make the first move; well everyone except Aster. She gestured for Sam to lean down so she could kneel and whisper in Sam's ear. The young wizard couldn't hear what was being said but from the horror morphing onto Sam's face. Robin couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

Looks like Sam had a lot more to learn about the modern day.