#crashing in on him it won’t be bit by bit

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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[darnell-la]

FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

ohh these are so good!! I love bookshop aus

Wait for you by @marigold-hills (MarigoldWritesThings)

Sirius Black, on his way to the Potter's for Christmas, crashes his motorbike in a blizzard. Right into the bookshop now owned by his old Professor / long standing unrequited crush.

A Very Bad, Terrible, No Good Day by solar3cl1ip5e

On the worst day of his life, Remus wakes up with a cold, without power, and no tissues. He also rear-ends the most attractive man he's ever seen.

Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon by tealeavesandtrash

Four months ago the Potters moved from London to Hogsmeade. Now with Christmas approaching, Sirius finds himself making the trek up to the remote town he used to call home to spend the holiday season with his best friends. He’s only here for a few weeks and he intends to spend his time spoiling his godson, hanging out with James and (apparently) annoying the local bookseller.

Or: Wolfstar but make it a Hallmark movie

Succession of Halos by orphan_account

When Remus gets talked into seeing his favourite author--Astronomy Professor S. Black--hold a stargazing lecture, he anticipates a stodgy old man in tweed. He does not expect the ripped jeans and rolling-stones t-shirt wearing, motor-bike riding Sirius Black with his wicked smile and passion for the stars. Remus is sure there's no chance between them, but little does he know, Sirius has a passion for many things in life, one of which being Remus Lupin.

Of Book Shops and Floo Powder by tealeavesandtrash

The old floo fireplace was already there when Remus first bought his bookshop and he always assumed it had been disconnected from the network. Until one year later, when someone comes stumbling through it.

And now there’s a dog that wants to ruin his wallpaper and won’t leave him alone.

Don't Knock It by FivePips

Sirius Black's favorite book series is coming to an end. He attends a reading by the author, Hope Howell, but ends up getting chatted up by a good looking bloke with no interest in the books before hand.

It's a new dawn by ilbaritz

What took place in the Lycanthropy ward was thankless, rotten work. Sickening for those who didn’t care for the monsters; heart wrenching for those few who did. Remus had an inkling of which category Lily belonged to, and he didn’t think it was fair that she had to go through this so early in her studies. “Why would you choose this ward, Lily?” he asked again, gently.

Remus Lupin (19 years old, formerly homeschooled, currently employed in a bookshop, forever afflicted with lycanthropy and a cheeky mother) leads a peaceful - if a bit lonely - life.

Enter up-and-coming Healer in training Lily Evans, stubborn and determined to make a friend out of the sarcastic little shit that is her favourite patient. Secrets are disclosed, closets are exited, family is found. Lives are changed for the better.

As the Wolfstar Librarian I'm kind of shocked I haven't made this a list yet! And I just finished reading this cute book during the holidays so enjoy a late holiday rec!

Bookstore Wolfstar Fics

Collateral by fingerprintbruises The fic where Sirius flees from the paparazzi, Remus runs a bookstore, and Lily has great timing.

You've Got Love by @cruisinwritealong Remus connects with an enigmatic stranger online, runs an amazing bookstore, and has his life flipped upside down when a Potter Brothers Books megastore opens up just a few blocks away. To makes things even worse the owner of the megastore is charming, funny, and hot as hell. Based on the movie You've Got Mail

Wholly Civilised (orphaned account)

When Remus Lupin is mugged in an alley, the last thing he expects is to invite the mugger to his flat and offer him food and a job. But that's exactly what he does. What he learns about Sirius Black after that, turns his entire world upside down.

The Quiet War by CF_Casper "Let's use love like a knife try to cut through the surface Love can break through the ice when you're fighting a different kind of war” (Sirius and Lily are in a gang. James and Remus run a book shop. Everyone falls in love.)

The Certainty of You by uponavenueroad Sirius is a Hollywood actor who has not been entirely forthcoming about his identity to an undeniably charming, befuddled antique book seller from Notting Hill. The truth comes to a head the morning after a steamy one-night stand. A movie-star AU that’s loosely inspired by the classic romcom 'Notting Hill'.

A Likely Story (orphaned account Sirius Black is a famous Youtuber who can't help but keep coming back to the cozy bookstore, "A Likely Story". He quickly finds himself falling for the cute bookworm, Remus Lupin. This story won't be too long and is for all the softies that just need some fluff.

A Novel Idea by @haywirecompass Sirius writes horror, with the occasional help of his two best friends, who are raising a child and therefore worry him sometimes with the ideas they come up with. He loves reading just as much as he loves writing, so the new bookshop down the road seems like to perfect place to go to load his bookshelves to breaking point. Then he meets the owner, who is somehow adorable and hot at the same time, and everything goes a bit pear-shaped.

The Cafe Upstairs by @cottonpadenthusiast Remus Lupin can sum himself up in two words; book nerd. He can also sum up Sirius Black in three; hottest guy ever. Moreover, he can sum up the likelihood of a relationship between them in one; impossible.

Fine Motor Skills by @femme--de--lettres Sirius Black's car needs work—again. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin is amused to see his favorite customer back at his mechanic's shop.

the inconveniences in our favour by @magicbeings This is a story about a graffiti-covered wall, a boy unhealthily obsessed with it, and a man who really only wanted his dream of owning a peaceful bookshop not to be ruined by a stubborn artist. Sometimes, the most frustrating inconveniences turn out to really work in your favour.

A Very Bad, Terrible, No Good Day by @solar3cl1ip5e On the worst day of his life, Remus wakes up with a cold, without power, and no tissues. He also rear-ends the most attractive man he's ever seen.

Cupid Disarmed by Anonymous Remus Lupin has Veela blood, Sirius Black reads trite romance novels, and neither of them are quite sure what the fuck to do with their hands when they get to talking with one another.

You Burn Brighter than the Stars by The_wolf_the_rat_the_dog_and_the_stag Remus meets Sirius at the university bookstore where he works and falls instantly in love.

BOOK REC:

Looking for a book similar to these fics? With characters that are so lovable? Check out this book that features a queer bookstore owner and a romance novelist!

Look Up, Handsome by Jack Strange

[fortytworedvines]

25 from the drabble list? :)

Drabble list - send me a number! Thanks for the prompt! 1.2k of angst with a happy ending ahead:

25 - “Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

It was her own fault, Audrey reflected, as the cold bit deeper into her bones. She called Siegfried stubborn, but she was just as stubborn as him. And on this occasion they had butted heads and she, as she so often did, had won. She would allow him victories when they pertained to his work, his practice. Less often when it was people, their home. And she would never let him win when it regarded her own person and her job outside Skeldale.

More fool me, she mused. Should have let him win this one, Audrey. She huddled further into her coat and the scant shelter of the stone wall. Her bike, useless, wheel bent in two, lay next to her. Snow was piling up on everything. And she was so very, very, cold now.

-- “You’re going out?” He’d looked at her sharply when she came downstairs, neat and trig in her ARP uniform.

“I have my rounds.” She settled her helmet on her head and pulled on her thick winter coat.

“Absolutely not, Mrs Hall.” He gestured to the curtained windows. “The weather – it’s going to snow.”

“There’s no sign of it,” she retorted.

“The farmers know,” he said firmly. “You mustn’t go out.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr Farnon. But I have a job to do.” She buttoned her coat determinedly.

He slipped round her and stood in front of the door. “I won’t let you.”

“Mr Farnon!” She was torn between frustration and laughter as he spread-eagled himself against the door frame. “You’re being ridiculous! Either you stand aside and let me go and do my vital war job, or we can have a brawl and then I will go and do my job.”

“I’d like to see that,” said Tristan from the doorway. “Go on old chap. My money’s on her.”

Audrey rolled her eyes at the lad. His brother glared. Audrey tapped her foot impatiently. “I’m due out, Mr Farnon.”

With a sigh, he subsided. “Go on then,” he said, stepping away from the door. “But please,” he put out a hand to her as she passed him. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful, Mr Farnon.” She smiled at him and slipped out into the cold night air.

It had started to snow, of course. She’d been on her way back, at least. And it hadn’t been coming down so thickly. But then she’d skidded, lost her balance on a patch of ice. Crashed the bike into the wall and ricked her ankle.

She drew her arms out of the sleeves of her coat and huddled them into her body, pulled her coat over her knees so she was tucked up into a ball. Keep the extremities warm, she thought to herself.

She tried to shuffle her feet to keep them warm, but the pain in her ankle made her gasp. She curled herself even tighter and tried to ignore the cold biting and prickling into her.

Mr Farnon was going to be absolutely infuriating if she got home.

--

The fight between Mrs H and his brother had amused Tristan. He always enjoyed seeing his brother butt up against someone else and Mrs H could hold her own. He hadn’t thought anything about it when she went out on her rounds. Not until Siegfried stood, worried, at the window, tweaked the curtain aside and Tris had seen the flakes swirling down.

Siegfried watched the clock, and Tristan watched him.

“She should be back by now,” Siegfried said. His face was pale.

“She’s only a minute late,” Tris pointed out, always the optimist to his brother’s pessimist.

“Something’s wrong,” Siegfried said. “I can feel it.”

It had been a long time since Tristan had seen his brother so worked up. Worry slid into his own heart. “You really think she’s in trouble?”

“I know so. I’m going to find her.”

Tristan didn’t hesitate. He loved her like he’d loved their mother. “I’m coming with you.”

They took the Rover. “I should have driven her,” Siegfried said. “God, I should have driven her, what was I thinking?”

They knew the route – Audrey had shown them earlier in the year. In the bright summer sun, it had been lovely. Now in the dark and the snow, it had a very different aura.

They drove out of Darrowby, up through the narrow winding lanes. Siegfried grappled with the car while Tristan stared eagerly out, looking for any sign of their errant housekeeper.

Finally, they reached a dip, full of snow. “I can’t go through that,” Siegfried said. “It’ll never make it.” He gritted his teeth. “We carry on on foot.”

They’d put on their winter coats, scarves and hats before they’d left but even with them, Tris was unprepared for the way the wind bit him. For the first time, fear truly gripped him.

“Get moving!” Siegfried shouted.

They scrambled along the stone wall, avoiding the deep snow in the dip, and struck out together. Tristan followed his brother. He found himself irresistibly reminded of the carol – in the bleak midwinter. In his masters steps he trod, indeed! If he hadn’t been so desperately worried, he might have whistled it.

Finally, finally, Siegfried gave a shout. “She’s there!”

They scrambled the final metres and Siegfried fell to his knees next to the cold bundle of their housekeeper. She was huddled over, eyes closed, still.

“She’s not-” Tris couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Breathing,” Siegfried rapped out.

“Thank God.”

Siegfried clambered to his feet then bent and lifted the prone body.

“Let me help,” Tris demanded.

Siegfried shook his head. “I’ve got her.”

Carefully and swiftly, they made their way back to the car.

“You drive,” Siegfried said, as he lifted Mrs Hall into the back seat. He passed Tristan the keys and Tris took them dumbly. “Get a move on, man!”

With cold, shaking fingers, Tris turned the ignition. He glanced into the back seat. His brother had wrapped himself around Mrs Hall and was rubbing her back. He swallowed. Put the car into reverse and sped backwards as fast as he dared until there was a wide spot in the lane. Then he turned and drove like the devil to Skeldale. --

It hurt. Everything hurt. Pain was screaming through her fingers and her toes. But she was somewhere soft, somewhere warm. If it wasn’t for the pain, she’d think she’d died and gone to heaven.

She forced her eyes open. She was in her bed and in the chair by her side was Mr Farnon.

She opened her mouth to speak and managed only a croak.

“You’re awake!”

Never had she seen such relief as she did then in Mr Farnon’s eyes. He dropped to his knees by her bed, found her hand and gripped it tightly.

She stared at him, his dear face, the one she’d thought she’d never see again, when she’d finally lost her battle to stay awake.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “So sorry.”

He bent his head over their joined hands and pressed his forehead to them. When he finally raised it, there were tears in his eyes. “I thought I’d – we’d lost you.”

“Was – a fool.”

He didn’t disagree. Instead he pressed a kiss to her hand. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Will listen… next time.”

The pain was fading and she was so tired. Her eyes were drifting shut but she knew for certain this time that she would open them again. But one thing remained. “Please – don’t go,” she whispered.

He smiled at her, heartbreakingly tenderly. “Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

[ladyeyrewrites]

💭💭💭💭💭💭💭💭💭💭💭 MORE PLEASE I LOVE THIS SERIES

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Thanks so much anon! I've been blown away with the response to what I've posted so far. I'll probably start posting this on Ao3 later this week once I've got a bit more backlog built up. Have a little Tommy POV:

Tommy holds it together until Evan is calm enough to listen to the doctor explain next steps. He keeps himself in check, his weakness at bay, even though all he wants to do is breakdown and scream.

He tires to smile encouragingly as an orderly wheels Evan away to take him for a brain scan, but it’s strained. As the door closes behind Evan, Tommy slumps into the chair next to Evan’s bed and buries his head in his hands. He waits for tears to come.

They don’t, despite the fact he can feel them pressing against his eyelids, they refuse to fall.

“He’ll be okay.” Maddie places a hand on his shoulder and Tommy shudders, instinctively shying away from comfort before he forces himself to be still and accept it.

“What if he never remembers?” Tommy asks. “What if he decides he’d rather live a different life?” A different life than the one they’ve built together. A life without Tommy. And as devastating as this is, there’s a part of Tommy that’s not even all that shocked.

Four three years, he’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And here it is, Tommy flattened underneath its rubber sole.

That little voice that he thought had quieted down is back, the one that lurks in the back of his mind, whispering that he doesn’t deserve to be happy, that his relationship with Evan is a fluke, a cosmic mistake, that he was never meant to be the forever guy after all. Evan’s forever is still out there somewhere waiting for him. If Evan wants a divorce, Tommy won’t protest.

If?

Who’s Tommy kidding? Of course, Evan will want a divorce. As far as Evan knows, he’s twenty-five-years old and straight. He’s still in his Buck 1.0 days. Or is he an even earlier version because he’s not even Buck yet?

This Evan, this proto-Buck, has never been in a serious relationship, has never held a long-term lease, barely has a credit history because of all the under-the-table work and crashing at friends houses he’s done. Tommy really would be this Evan’s first.

“Breath, Tommy,” Maddie says and for the first time, Tommy realises his breathing is fast and ragged. He’s hyperventilating. Head spinning.

Spinning. Vision dark.

He squeezes his eyes tight and tries to breathe along with Maddie’s counts: in-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. Over and over until warmth returns to his face. He opens his eyes and gives Maddie a weak smile. “I’m good,” he says.

“You’re really not,” she replies. “Neither am I.”

“Ten years,” he says. “Ten fucking years.” He shouldn’t be angry. It’s not Evan’s fault this happened. As far as Tommy’s been told, there wasn’t time to issue an evacuation order before the roof collapsed on top of Evan. Tommy knows he should be relieved that Evan made it out alive. That the fire was nearly out by the time the roof collapsed. That Evan escaped with no burns or broken bones, only bruises and a gaping hole where their life together should be.

[mangionebabymama]

running your nails up lu’s neck and through his curls…bonus points if your nails have a bit of length so he can feel the scratching sensation

you have to be careful when doing this because if you do it when he’s driving, he’d probably crash that car from being so sensitive 😭

Oh, he’d love it when you bring your nails onto his skin, grazing them ever so deliberately across the frontier of his body. It soothes him, it comforts him—most of all, it excites him. The tantalizing sensation of your fingernails stroking almost every living skin cell, sending electrifying streaks to his nerves, where it awakens all of the goosebumps possible he could have. Almost always, it starts on his scalp, where your nails would be brushing each of his itty bitty curls, before it drops instantaneously down the back of his neck and from top to bottom of his spine.

If he could, he probably would crash the car—on accident, let’s be clear—because he would be that tuned in to your touch. It’s enough sensation and excitement that erect his nipples and that’s a confession of his that he won’t explode out of humiliation.

[treefory]

An offer you can’t turn down?

A 1,018 word fic that’s 95% monologue and 5% dialogue. I won’t let Capo and Hector have a break lol.

He found himself staring off the edge of the cliff of grove cove. Pink waters flowed in paths around the islands and dipped into tall waterfalls that led to the ocean below. The sounds of the crashing water almost completely drowned out the sounds of the bizzyboys playing volleyball behind him.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and with a few tries with his lighter, he had it lit in his mouth. The salty air drifted the smoke away after every draw. He always appreciated every bit of down time while he was on the clock.

Things are different now. Almost a month ago, the world almost ended. Inspekta fell from godhood and became human again. Everything seemed to change in one day.

“Heya capo!” A familiar voice called from behind- no, Nostalgic was a better word instead of familiar.

Capochin turned to face Inspek- wrong name, he turned to face Hector. His voice was different compared to when he was a god. It was older but still sounded the exact same when he ascended 33 years ago. Like hearing an old song from your childhood that brought back so many memories.

He still looked the same too. His dark blue curly hair that fell over his shoulders, A red and yellow sweater that was tucked into his pants, And A black button nose below his big red glasses. Other than some new wrinkles that decorated his face he looked the exact same way he did the day he became a god.

…The day he became Inspekta

“Yeah?” Capochin replied gruffly. It was so weird having Hector back. He wasn’t used to his boss being able to just walk up to him. A part of him missed the days where he chose when to see him.

“We’re all a getin shaboingboings.” Hector gestured over a nearby hotdog stand. But the way he said it was off. It was a command- an order- a demand. Not a question, but a fact.

A month ago, Capochin would have never batted an eye to his words. A devoted follower of the “one and only god” would never question his leader. He did whatever he said like how he was meant to. Workers answer to the boss and do as they’re told.

He has been there since day one. His first follower to bow to his feet. To hang on his every word. To be the god he prayed to when he felt his lowest and the god he thanked when he felt his highest. 33 years of pure loyalty to his eldest friend.

The way he cooked for him his favorite meal, burgers with tomato, lettuce, pickles, and steak. The meat was personal. A perfect representation of him giving himself up for his god. And he did it every day for him.

He’d watch inspekta take the first bite, and swoon when the flavor hit his tongue. His heart would skip a beat just by the look on his face.

He loves it

He loves me

He’d go to the end of the earth for his god. He’d destroy the world for his god. Rule over everyone with his one and only god. Then will they be equal, Side by side, together

“Nah” Capochin turned away, back to the ocean, and took a breath from his cigarette.

“What?” Hector faltered “but-“

“I’m not going” he deadpanned

All of that was 33 years ago. On his knees begging for something- ANYTHING more than praise. Give him an inch of respect and I’d feel like a yard- no, a mile!

And nothing

For 3 decades, treated like his dog. ‘Capo, deliver this letter!’ “Capo, put up more poy-sters!” “Capo, more burgies!” Capochin didn’t even sound like a name anymore when you toss it around like that.

It’s not even his real name. a name earned through accomplishments, how many letters were there now? Yet a name he clung on to with every fiber of his being. It was his worth

Everything he was worth to inspekta

But he’s gone now.

“But why not?” Hector challenged, his words had a layer of confusion to cover hostility

What? Not used to him saying no?

“Cuz I don’t want too” he said with a shrug

But he did want to. So so badly. A terrible force of habit. He was the god of leadership for a reason. His voice really was like a melody that you couldn’t help but get lost in.

That song was stuck in his head for 33 cobdanm years. This earworm told him to end the world and he danced along to the rhythm. Like a good little dog who only answered to his master

But he was tired of being his bitch

“And I don’t got to, if I don’t want to.” Capochin finished

Hector paused, he knew this ran deeper than not wanting hotdogs. “Capochin…” he held onto his own tail “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer

“I know I put yew threw a lot for a long time. And it’s just… I��m so, so sorry for what I did.” He began wringing his tail in his hands “but, fwom human to human, let’s just hang out! Like old times!”

Capochin took a drag “I appreciate the sentiment…” he took the used up cigarette from his mouth and stamped it out on the ground “but I don’t forgive you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

That hurts to admit. Would he really never? Not today at least. Too many raw feelings to stuff down. Jealousy, hatred, stress, admiration… love? There was no way to fit all that junk into a neat box. You Have to wait for it to cook down before it could fit.

“Oh… okay. Sorry for botherin’ yew.” He choked. With his tail still clutched in his hands, he turned and began walking away.

Capochin looked back and yelled “AND PUT YOUR TAIL DOWN! You want even more bandages?!”

“No sir!” Hector dropped his tail as he called back and hastily returned to the bizzyboys.

Even after all those years, he still couldn’t help but care.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

I know that we’re all waiting and excited for Euron Greyjoy to serve the Eldritch apocalypse in TWOW, but frankly I’m more interested in what Jon and Bran will be up to. Bran is probably spending the majority of the book under the tutelage of Bloodraven (and potentially breaking from it). He’s probably going to unlock, or rather expand, new powers and there could be elements of greenseer magic that we probably haven’t seen yet.

Then we have Jon who, post-resurrection, will have magic crashing into him like a dump track: old god magic, R’hllor magic, and all that other weird stuff he can do. All the powers he’s been suppressing in ADWD will come spilling out and I’d imagine part of TWOW will be Jon trying to adjust to this magic as he’s going through all this rage and resentment (brought on by learning the truth of his parentage and dealing with the betrayal at castle black). I expect TWOW to have Jon in a really dark place and there’s the chance that magic will spill out as he (understandably) lashes out; whether he’s using magic knowingly or unknowingly, who knows. There’s even potential for Jon to get a magic mentor in the form of Melisandre; though it’s unclear how long Mel will hang around at the Wall because she needs to get back to Stannis so that the Shireen-bonfire can happen.

And - this is pure speculation on my part - TWOW seems to be the one book where magic is dialed up to 1000; I’m envisioning magic in this book to be a constantly pulsating element that as some point bursts into a huge explosion. With the Others coming and whatever Euron’s doing (and potentially Dany and her dragons), magic should have a heightened presence which makes me think that Jon and Bran are going to be experiencing some upscaling in terms of raw power. As magic becomes more and more prominent, Jon and Bran will do bigger more impressive things. I really cannot wait to see what they pull off in this book.

[worstloki]

now i want an au where thor and loki two brothers are forced into a fake sugar daddy - sugarbaby relationship because Thor's lie blew up and he has to save his reputation in college lol

Ok ok so AU where Thor gets his allowance scrapped bc he was irresponsible with it and then a while later Loki gets ‘disowned’ and his name is removed from the company due to scandalous adoption reasons (still living in the same house tho, the parents just don’t want to see him) so the next time Loki shows to pick Thor the brother status is arguable and it’s less explaining to go ‘this is my sugar daddy’ as a joke than ‘this is my younger half-brother who is also in the process of getting kicked out of the house but it hasn’t happened yet’

[tonycries]

Something Stupid - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends-to-lóvers, canon fix-it, PINING, dry-húmping, face-sítting (fem receiving), creampíe, overstím, PÚSSYDRUNK GOJO, ríding him until he whínes, no smút until they’re adults obvs, slight ángst, manga spoilers, found family, THE HAPPY ENDING WE DESERVE, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.6k

A/N. Tumby lemme post this pwease? What canon? This is the only canon I know.

“Catch me if you-”

Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru doesn’t have the privilege of finishing his sentence - hell, he doesn’t even have the privilege of standing, apparently.

Because in the blink of an eye, his back is hitting the soft grass of Jujutsu Tech, followed very shortly by a bewildered you. Foreheads knocking together, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, his own wrapping around your waist for some sense of stability.

Years later, Gojo tells everyone that would listen - and anyone that won’t - that life became just a bit brighter ever since you crashed into his life that day - literally. 

But right now, he’s opening his mouth to spit an irritated, “Watch it!”

It’s the first words you ever say to him, a shrill - almost hysterical - “Huh? No, you watch it-”

“Nuh uh, you-” Head spinning, shades skewed, it takes Gojo a few seconds to screw his bleary eyes open to the sudden newcomer straddled on top of him. And a few more to register that no, he wasn’t in heaven and hey, that uniform looks familiar. And, unfortunately, not even a split-second longer to breathe out something stupid, “I…I think I love y-”

“You stupid, moronic- wait what?”

The next few words out of his mouth are just as bad as the last ones, if not worse. Because yes he knows - for once in his life - that maybe he should just stop talking. He knows that even a moment longer with you is gonna turn his mind into more of a melty, honeyed mess than Six Eyes ever could. 

Which is exactly what he blames when jumbling out a garbled, “Dinner tomorrow?” Wincing, Gojo swallows them back almost as quickly as he wished he was swallowed up by Geto’s rainbow dragon instead. 

To your credit, you look a lot less bumbling than the strongest currently pinned underneath you. That look of annoyance on your pretty features melts into something of concern. And before he can dig a deeper hole for himself, you’re raising the back of your hand to splay out across his forehead.

“I didn’t think you hit the ground that hard but-” you raise a brow, head tilting to the side. “-I think you’ve got a concussion.”

Oh, yeah he’s definitely in heaven - that or actually concussed. Maybe both.

A low whistle sounds from his right - and soon enough he’s staring at the shoes of the other first-year he’d met just today. Low bangs hanging over his face, jostling with light cackles, “Haven’t they told you not to confess your undying love until at least the second date, Gojo?”

Nevermind, he was in hell.

“Ieri!” Geto turns towards the other girl, who was busy typing away on her phone. But Gojo could’ve sworn he heard the shutter of a camera coming from her way. “He was flown out of bounds, that’s gotta count as one point for me, right? And another for the pretty girl. You keepin’ score?”

She only sighs, “No.”

What’s a first day at high school without a duel between two of the proudly self-proclaimed strongest? And, of course, you - the fourth addition to their little group, hastily scrambling off of Gojo’s lap at the jeering laughter from above. 

Dammit. 

Later, he might apologize for running headfirst into you - might. Ignoring the pointed giggles, and the burning rouge at the very tip of his ears, to find out your name. And to make up some stilted excuse about how that was completely the concussion talking and he totally wasn’t serious about having dinner so please, please, please don’t snitch to Yaga about the impromptu matches taking place on school grounds…unless? 

But for now, Gojo’s only lazily turning to look up at Geto, bringing a hand up to squint against the harsh sun beating down. Or, at least, that’s what it was meant to look like - “Technique amplification: Blue!”

He only hopes the property damage isn’t as high as what his poor heart had just gone through. Detention with Yaga be damned - and if by some grace of the universe he actually does end up escaping before he’s caught then, well, he’ll actually ask you out to dinner tomorrow. 

---

Gojo Satoru is almost eighteen when he thinks that not even the Gojo family’s most expensive insurance will cover whatever curse you’ve casted on his poor heart.

You’re both well into the second year, and by now he’d been to twelve different doctors, five shamans, and Principal Yaga himself before Geto smacked him upside the head. 

“Satoru, you complete imbecile-”

“Hey!” He fights out of his best friend’s grasp around the scruff of his uniform, crossing his arms over his chest with a whine, “I’ll have you know that I got the highest exam score last week, and I cheated only a little bit-”

Geto cuts him off with a sigh, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, “No- you idiot. What do you mean you went to Yaga to girl-talk with him about your crush.” And when Gojo’s mouth falls slack, he’s smirking, “Oh- my bad, I meant your love-”

It’s said that Gojo’s gasp echoed all throughout the wooden corridors of the school - maybe even the entire grounds. Hotly, he’s sputtering out broken little excuses, “I don’t- what do you-” Before turning away to cool the burning of his sweetly rosy cheeks, “You’re the imbecile for spewing out such nonsense, Suguru.”

“Are you sure?” Geto turns to get a better look at the way those pretentiously expensive glasses fail to cover even the half of it. He’s never been able to, when it comes to you. “Because that’s quite literally the first thing you said to her-”

“I had a concussion!”

“After she touched you?” 

And for perhaps the first time in the years he’s been wreaking havoc on Earth, Gojo is speechless. A welcome change for Geto, who mulls over in the silence while they loiter - very much missing whatever mission was assigned right now. 

“I…” he starts, voice small. Pathetic, even. “...was concussed.” And before Geto can let out the same frustrated, dragged-out groan he often does whenever he’s around the two of you, Gojo’s plowing on, “But if I did lo- like her - hypothetically speaking - how would I even tell her?”

Usually, the other’s first reaction would be to tease his best friend. But at this moment he sounded so…young, painfully sincere in a way that was so disgustingly un-Gojo-like that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well, Satoru.” he muses, throwing a hand around his shoulder. “You just gotta…tell her my man. Preferably before that big mission coming up because I am not dragging your moping self around.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “Gee, thanks. I’ll totally get on that tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome.”

BANG!

Yaga’s voice bellows, “Can you two stop doing this outside my office!”

And as much as Gojo hates to admit it, Geto was right - he usually was. 

Well - perhaps not about the love part, but subconsciously, he found himself seeking out every tiny moment with you. Every second by your side - ignoring the other two bothers - was a new opportunity to just tell you. To break that thick solitude inside your little bubble with those little words. Ones that would go and spoil it all. 

Not to be dramatic, but Gojo almost made a game out of it. Mouthing out the words whenever your back was turned - it started from “Dinner tomorrow?” to “I like you.” to something stupid that only gave Shoko aneurysms. 

And, expectedly, “tomorrow” doesn’t happen to be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow isn’t in your next class, or whatever mission Gojo tags along with you for “moral support.” Tomorrow isn’t the cozy little detention the two of you attend after catching Yaga’s interpretive dance routine - “that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- even more than any curse.” you whisper fearfully to him, and he thinks he might just blurt it out right then and there.

Tomorrow isn’t when he’s just about to leave on some confidential mission with Geto, bidding you goodbye with a roll of his eyes and a hug he pretends he doesn’t like as much as he actually does. Tomorrow isn’t even when he’s baking in Okinawan sun, or strewn out bloodied and left for dead on the very grounds he met you on. 

But oh how he wishes it was.

In that moment, incapacitated by Toji Fushiguro, and wondering where it went wrong, he thinks of you. Gojo thinks he’ll always remember you in every moment, and especially when they’re his last.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission and its aftermath takes up most of his mind afterward, even when he didn’t want it to. And all he can remember about tomorrow comes only a few months later, when an ashen-faced Gojo Satoru slams open the rickety door to your dorm.

“G-Gojo?” you sputter, sitting up in your bed. But before you can even think of reaching him, he’s crossed your floor in a few long strides. “Are you ok- mmpf!”

In an instant, he’s splaying out on your mattress, legs dangling off the end, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Your first instinct is to snap something snarky - but every tease at the very tip of your tongue vanishes when he buries his head into your lap. And you feel something wet, something drench though your skirt heatedly. 

“Is…” you’re gulping thickly. “Is everything okay, Satoru?”

Ah, his name sounds too perfect on your tongue. 

“Suguru…” Is all he shudders out wetly, jittery hands looping even more vice-like around your figure. “He-”

It’s just about the only thing he can get out, and it’s just about everything you need to hear before bringing his shivering body closer. Quiet. Steady. Rocking the strongest gently, while you hum a wordless melody. “S’alright. S’gonna be okay.”

Now, he thinks. Now now now now - tell her. Tell her. But when a tear of your own stains his shirt, he knows. Hauling you in even deeper to his chest, he prays you don’t hear his thundering heart. Perhaps tomorrow. 

---

Gojo is twenty-one by the time he’s dragging you hand-in-loveable-hand through the winding hallways of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo. Mumbling excited little mutters, and almost tripping over his own feet with how fast he was navigating the corridors. 

“Sato- S-Sato-” you’re squealing out, grimacing at the tugging burn of your hands in his. “Toru! Where are you- taking me?” 

Sheepishly, he looks at you over his shoulder, “Whoops, did I forget to tell you- I have kids!”

He doesn’t know what’s louder - your shocked shout of “What? When?...By who?” or the screeching of his own two shoes skidding to a halt in front of that familiar door. 

“Well, they’re not mine.” Gojo sighs ultimately, with a hand at the door. And that makes you quieten down just enough to hear his barely-audible little whisper. Determined. Reverent, almost. “But they’re mine.”

And when he finally opens the door, just one look at the tiny, black-haired little boy and his sharp scowl is all you need to understand. You’re whirling your eyes back to his beaming gaze, oh, Satoru.

Only mere moments later the two of you - accompanied by a very begrudging Megumi, and his sister - sit by the booth of one of your favorite cafés. Embarrassingly, he finds himself sighing while watching you crack jokes with the little girl. Turning to the server to order for her - it almost felt like a little family. Oh you’d make such a perfect mother. A completely objective observation, of course. Completely. Unless- 

“You’ll never do it.” a tug on his sleeve has him facing Megumi’s leveled stare. How the hell does a kid manage to look like he’s seen the monstrosities of the world already? Gojo blames the father.

Baring his teeth, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Little did he know that all it took was watching him seethe whenever the waiter by your side was just a bit too talkative, a bit too lingering with his gaze. In his little reverie, Gojo had accidentally croaked out a low, “I-” before you’d turned those pretty eyes his way, only to choke back embarrassingly on every syllable. Gesturing at you to ignore his little mishap. 

“Tell her, I mean.” Megumi hums. Taking a wizened sip of his milkshake, “She’ll date that waiter before you if you don’t tell her.”

“That’s so…so stupid.” Gojo whispers back hotly. “I will tell her.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will not.”

“Will-” 

“Boys!” Your scolding tone makes them both jump - mainly Gojo, however, caught off-guard. Who scratches behind his neck when you wag a finger admonishingly, “Stop arguing, we’re in public. Now, as for payment-” Before turning back politely to the waiter.

“See?” Megumi counters, back to appraising the last of his cupcake. “You’re such a loser.”

Gojo’s gaze, however, stray back your way, as he found them often doing these days. Only to find them already on him, scrunched into crescents with a smile and twinkling so bright that he could almost catch his idiotic gawking in them. 

Very pointedly he ignores the knowing roll of Megumi’s eyes, the exact type he’s seen too much with Shoko, and Nanami, and Utahime, and Yaga - and every single being to come into contact with his almost-tangibly hopeless feelings for you.

Instead, slamming that shiny new black card of his down in front of him - with enough fervor that the tabletop jostles, and you jolt out of your conversation with the waiter. 

“I’ll be the one paying for myself, and my two kids and-” His burning eyes drink in every shred of surprise on your features. “-my wife.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gojo can hear Tsumiki giggle, and Megumi smack a hand onto his forehead. But right now he’s too busy remembering the exact degree to which your lips curl up, the way you hold back a laugh at the waiter’s jaw dropping. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were way too young to have two kids of this age. 

“He was getting a bit pushy.” you’d conspire afterwards, now completely full and fatigued after a long day. “Thanks for that, Toru.”

Gojo sighs, flashing you a megawatt grin. If there were ever a time he thanks his Six Eyes for being able to memorize every little detail - every little feature in this picture - then it would be right now. He’s reveling in the bittersweet perfection. Yeah, he thinks, holding up a sleepy Megumi in his arms, maybe tomorrow.

---

There’s actually been about sixty different times over the years that Gojo knows you’d wanted to punch him straight in his face - and he’s sure, at the age of twenty-seven, that this is the very latest one. 

“How did you get hit, don’t you have limitless?”

He shoots a wink your way, “Maybe I wanted you to patch me up?”

You scoff, “You stupid, moronic-”

“-no-brained, glasses-wearing dumbass.” he finishes for you, flashing you a cocky smirk that wouldn’t have been endearing for anyone but him. Gojo makes himself more comfortable on the hard infirmary bed, “You know, you’ve really got to update your list of insults, sweetheart. I don’t even wear the shades that much anymore.”

It was new - as soon as you’d cackled at the idea of him being a teacher with perpetual sunglasses, he’d wrapped that blindfold around his head. It was a slight shame, frankly, he was always honest with his eyes - but what was more important was that change.

Sweetheart.

Sometime after you’d intertwined seamlessly into Gojo’s mishmashed little family, he’d taken to calling you syrupy sweet nicknames. It’d started out as a joke, you think - with “sugarplum” and “honeybuckets” and whatever grocery item he could think of, before turning into something very, very real. 

Though, they still made poor Megumi grimace in disgust just the same.

“Zoning out on me, babygirl?” 

Yeah, sometimes they made you grimace in disgust, too. 

“No-” you’re rolling your eyes, putting a little bit more force than necessary when you dab the warm napkin at those tiny specks of blood on his lip. “Just hoping you’d shut up.”

Gojo hisses, eyes crinkling at the edges - and you can’t help but think of how much older he looked than the disgruntled sixteen-year-old that swore at you on your first day. 

“What?” his snowy brows raise, catching the hints of your laughter. 

You take a moment longer to bask in the memories, before sighing. “Nothing. Just thinking about when we first met, s’been ten years already, hasn’t it?”

Of course, it has - it’s not like something the great Gojo Satoru could ever even think about forgetting. He remembers it in every cheesy selfie from high school you show him, he remembers in each and every one of your laughs at his overused jokes - the same ones he’d cracked way back then. 

“It has.” he’s settling on after a few rare beats of silence. The thick white sheets on the bed rustle as he grasps your hand in his, “And I think I remember that today more than any other.”

It was impossible not to, when you’d just met your best friend after ten years. When you’d just killed your best friend with your own two hands.

Your pretty eyes shine with all the tears you’d been hiding, “Yeah? Guess so, huh?” Without warning, you bend down to meet your forehead with his, gulping back heavily. You knew he didn’t just want to be patched up, you knew better. And you knew that even the strongest gets lonely. Especially the strongest. Your voice is strained, quiet. “Do you think he’s happier now, Toru?”

Truthfully, Gojo doesn’t know. 

But he whispers anyway, “I think so.”

To soothe you - and himself - if anything.

His eyes burn, and he’s scrunching them shut. A lump forming in his throat, Gojo can feel his entire being just rattle with the sudden wonder whether you’d feel it just the same when - if - he dies. Would you ask if he’s happy, too? Thinking he did and had everything he wanted in this life - not knowing he’s searching for you in every one? This life, and the next, and each one after.

“Sweetheart.” Gojo mumbles, eyes widening when you’re raising your head to look back at him, as if he didn’t even expect the words to fall from his lips. His jaw clenches, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips like the rest of it was just threatening to wrench from his throat. “He- Suguru. Back in high school - before he…left- he told me-” 

“Gojo sensei, where is the- Oh!”

The two of you jump apart as if it burned, and for Gojo, the angry split on his lower lip hurts infinitely less than losing your touch. Holding back a silent whine, he turns towards the dark-haired boy fretting by the doorway, “Yuta? Something wrong?”

“Oh, you’ve done it, newbie.” Panda’s deep voice sounds from behind the doorway, and he peaks his large head in. “Gojo’s got his serious voice on, should’ve just spied silently like me. I told you not to interrupt him and his wife.”

“You’re married?!”

“We’re not married!”

“Tuna.”

The room erupts in far too many voices, and before long you’re clapping your hands in that strict teacherly manner that Gojo teases you always learned from Yaga himself. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” you call out, before turning to the newest first year. “Okkotsu, do you need help with anything? I’ll be right with you.” 

“I…I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” he’s bowing with apologies, ones that you only wave away with a chuckled-out, “It’s okay, Panda’s joking. We’re not married or anything anyway.”

And Gojo doesn’t know whether the look Yuta gives him is more akin to pity or understanding - he prefers it be neither, which is why he’s covering his head with the blanket. Groaning dramatically until you’re turning your attention back to him. 

You ruffle the amount of his hair peaking, and he has to screw his glassy eyes shut. “Toru, what is it that you wanted to say?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.” His tone is unreadable, “I’ll tell you, hope- hopefully tomorrow.”

---

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart.” 

You’re barely holding up the clingy mess that is a twenty-nine-year-old Gojo Satoru. Huffing and puffing in a way that makes his heart and his arms around you just squeeze, “It’s not an option. You know I have to do this.”

How he wished he didn’t.

How he wished he could grab your hand and run away from the fight with Sukuna, hide in the countryside of his hometown and build a new life with you.

It’s already been a hellish few weeks trying to get Gojo unsealed, and you can feel the last few months pounding at your temples. You let out a sigh, one that has him holding back a strangely giddy laugh. But before you can open your mouth to yell at him to not go - or more accurately, beg him until he doesn’t - there’s a tentative voice speaking up from behind you. 

“Um…sensei?” Yuji’s wide eyes sweep over his two teachers, being at Jujutsu Tech for a few months, he’s seen everything there is to see about the two of you. He saw the way you smacked the strongest when he got too mouthy, the way he let down limitless just so you could smack him. He saw the laughs, the looks, the way you’d flown into a frenzy when Gojo was sealed. 

Everyone saw.

It was like you were crazed, and right now, only a month after his return - you were gripping onto Gojo like he was the only thing keeping you anything but. 

So, it shouldn’t be new at this point. But he still can’t hold back the wonder in his voice, “I uh- wanted to ask about your robes for tomorrow- but maybe I can come back another time?”

“Yes yes, come back another time-”

“What robes?” 

You narrow your eyes at the man, and that sheepish little curl of his lips does everything but soothe your worries. He knew you saw right through him, you always did. 

Gojo’s exclaiming out loud, “Well- remember Toji-?” He waves his hands around, trying for a slightly softer way to say ‘the sorcerer killer and father of our honorary kid, who just-so-happens to be on a rampage right now’, before ultimately settling on, “-the worm guy? Well, I just figured I might as well take a page out of his book and dress like him, y’know since I’m fighting…Megumi after all.”

It takes a few seconds of stunned silence for you to find your voice, “You stupid-” 

“-moronic, no-brained, blindfold-wearing-”

“-dumbass! You remember what happened to him!” 

He bats his long, long lashes at you, “Why? Would you get this heated if I died just the same way he did?”

“No!” Your voice makes even Yuji flinch, which in turn has you reaching over to pat his head, “This is not on you, darling, of course. But your teacher here-” And it was comical, almost, the way the strongest stands up ramrod straight at just a leveled glare from you, “-will be getting it when he comes back from the fight.”

Comes back.

Oh, as much as Gojo throws his head back with chortles, he can’t help the way his heart twinges at the very thought of leaving you. 

And he can’t be sure of just how long.

“Ah, you talk too much, pretty. I’ll tell Megs how much you miss him.” You’re not given a second’s warning before you’re back in his embrace - more steady, this time. His arms securely around your waist, like they’d been twelve years ago and never wanted to leave since. Lips pressed up against the thundering pulse at your neck, Gojo’s voice dips just a bit lower than you’re used to. Breathing you in, “I will, too, y’know? Very much.”

Jittery, he could feel every slight tremor in your nervous fingers when you run them through his hair, dipping into the ends of his black blindfold. 

“Wh-what do you mean? S’only for a few hours, Toru.” you hum. “You better be back or so help me.”

“I know…” he heaves out, only pressing you close up against his broad frame. “But just in case- I-” Gojo’s voice cracks pathetically at the end, and he’s instantly too aware of Yuji’s keen eyes still watching. Edging up against the corner of the room like he wished he could have Gojo’s teleportation powers right about now. “-have something stupid to tell you. So I’ll hurry home anyways.”

You’re pulling back to quirk a brow, “Why not just tell me now?”

How he wished he could.

“Because it’s stupid.” 

Later, Gojo will find himself strewn across jujutsu hall with Yuji himself - the only one, other than you, he thinks, that can stand to be around a weapon like him right now. Listening to the hum of cursed energy in the air, he gets himself ready for the fight.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Especially now?” His student pipes up, suddenly, and Gojo remembers with a sigh just how uncomfortably in tune he is with everyone around him. Fearfully, so. “That you lov-”

“Because it’s stupid.” the older one grins. Such a sad, warmly smile - and for perhaps the first time, Yuji thinks that Gojo Satoru looks his age. “And I don’t think she’d want to hear it if I don’t make it to tomorrow.”

---

“Stupid.” you mutter, biting angrily at your nails. Hot tears burn behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but tighten your hand even more around his cold, cold ones. Limp. Like death. “You’re so, so stupid.”

There’s no response. No sing-song voice finishing off your insults, no large and ruffling your hair until you have to bat him away. 

Gojo Satoru was deathly still. 

Laid out on the cold mattress of his room, you’d bugged Shoko enough to let you move him here, knowing how much he hated the infirmary. 

“Being so reckless- having Yuta use your body-” in your fit of anger, you’re whirling your head up. Only for the pang of regret and grief to hit you tenfold all over again - because like this, he was too statuesque. A pretty mask of pale, what you’d give to have those eyes wink at you once more. “-if- when you wake up, I’m gonna kill you all over again.”

They told you he was dead - there was no point in waiting. In fact, you were sure there was a grave dug already, it was just a matter of how soon they could get to you. 

It was a strange thing, to be loved just enough to get a burial. In the end, it was lonely.

And so stupid. 

And at times, you felt that way, too. But all it took was one visit to where Geto’s grave was, a few long hours sat by his side, and you knew you couldn’t let Gojo escape you that easily. Not after everything, not after what he hasn’t told you, yet.

“Just wake up.” you sigh, the defeat bleeding into your every word. You run your thumb over the pronounced knuckles on his hand, calloused and scarred from his fight. “There’s so much to hear about. Higuruma’s alive, Nobara’s alive, pulling off that eyepatch. Like father, like daughter, huh? And Megumi- I saw Megumi laugh today. Yuji, too.”

Silence. Only stone-cold silence. He didn’t even move - not even the barest twitch of a finger.

“I just need you to wake up.” Your words are tumbling out a mile a minute, distantly, you wonder whether this was how Gojo felt when he first met you. How he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop wanting. “Shoko’s mad at you, y’know? But I know she misses you, no matter how much she pretends not to. I know that Jujutsu Tech can’t go any longer without Yaga, we- I need you. Didn’t even get to tell you-” 

It’s all croaked out into a deafening silence, at least if you were in the hospital room then maybe the pinging of the heart monitor might’ve accompanied you. But they’d pulled him off that, too. 

Unmistakable. 

“And I know that I…” You bury your face into the now-damp blankets, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s only the split-second you take to snap your head up before lips are crashing onto yours - plump, slightly-chapped but something so sweetly Satoru. Before you can even think about kissing back, however, he’s pulling away. 

Only to press hasty, chaste pecks again. And again. And again and again and-

Gojo kisses your wet eyelids, “I love you.” Your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips. “I love you I love you I love you- and you beat me to it.” Those strained little words strike your very core - because it’s unmistakably Gojo. Sounding anything but, they’re broken and wrenching painfully out of his wracking chest. “So I just- I just had to-” Big, strong arms wrap around your middle - when did they even get there? It pangs somewhere in your hazy mind that you’re basically hoisted up on Gojo’s bed now, “-to do exactly what I’ve been wanting to since we were like this, thirteen years ago. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

“Everything?” you whisper.

“Everything. Even the strongest has dreams, y’know?” And he flashes you that smile you’ve missed so much, one you don’t think you’ve quite seen in years. “Even something stupid like ‘I love you.’”

That makes you cautiously glide over your palms onto the planes of his muscled chest, lightly pushing away to take in all of him. 

It was him. Alive. 

Really alive.

“Gojo…” you whimper, tears welling up behind your eyelids all over again.

“Ouch. Really?”

“Satoru.”

“Hmmm…”

“Toru.”

“That’s more like it.” The circled warmth around your waist crashes you even closer onto every ridge and divot of his hard chest, into the sweetest embrace - the kind you really couldn’t be mad about after your best friend had almost left you forever. “Told ya I’d come back, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the sunshiney smile in his words, and his entire hulking body shook with emotion. 

“You’re back.” you breathe, dancing your arms upwards to wrap around his neck. “You’re here.” It takes only a second longer of being in his burning proximity, to catch that pearly white smile - tired, and infinitely harder than before - to have some semblance of rationality dipping into your mind. “-and- and we have to tell everyone!” you’re yelping. Moving to scramble off of his lap, “Oh- fuck, and they thought I was crazy. We have to- have to have Shoko give you a check-up and have Kusakabe finally ditch those funeral plans and-” 

You’re being shut up by Gojo’s lips on yours again, slow and sensual. It’s deeper this time, and he’s taking the time to part those candied lips of yours, sucking gently on the very tip of your hot tongue. 

“My funeral is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” he chuckles against your lips.

“But-”

“Tomorrow.” Gojo soothes, craning his weary neck to kiss your forehead. “We can do all that tomorrow. But right now, I just want to spend time with the love of my life.” His cerulean eyes just gleam with unshed tears and even more unspoken words, “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just right now.”

As promised, he’s petting up and down your body lazily. Kissing you until even smiling felt bruised and raw. But it’s only when the air grows thick, when the slight jostle of your body on top of his becomes hot, his own skin burning soon after that Gojo lets out a sullen hiss. 

“Toru-” you pull away panickedly, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the nonexistent air between you two. “We should really-”

“No- no no no no. Please wait-” Hastily, he’s bringing down a jittery hand to his hip, the buzz of reversed curse technique flowing through his thrumming veins. Meeting your uncertain gaze, “I’ve waited so long. Wontcha just let me worship you right now?”

As if to prove his point, he’s bucking upwards ever-so-slightly. The momentum teetering you precariously on his lap, dragging the heated core between your legs down in such a sloppy drag.

You’re gasping when the very outer edges of your panties rub up against something so hard, and rotund. Feeling the wet squelch of his angry tip gush out in a dripping wet wave at the friction. “A-are you sure?” you’re stammering, trying to hold back the way your greedy thighs were trying to rub together. Only achieving heavy, languid gyrations on top of the rock-hard outline of Gojo’s cock. “How about tomorrow? When you’re feeling better?”

It’s a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a ringing schwf! schwf! schwf! of sopping wet fabric, and it was driving him crazy. 

“Right now please- haaa-” Gojo’s tongue lolls out so sluttily to graze against your own, dazed blue irises rolling to the back of his head. His spine curves upwards, abs rippling with a harsh drag of your clothed pussy down his weepy shaft. “Whenever you’d have me.”

Almost tentatively, your hips roll forward. That flimsy excuse of your panties bunching up with each grazing rub, it’s all you can do to not just keen at the utterly delicious curve of his thick girth. Throbbing and twitchy under each of your motions. 

He’s hissing when your underwear snags on the very divot at his thick head, sitting up on two elbows, “S-sweetheart.”

“No, Toru.” your palms are back on his pecs, easily pinning the strongest down with a gentle push of your own. “Jus’ let me do all the work, m’kay?”

Gojo wasn’t all too happy - and the sullen pout jutting on his spit-glossed lips told you more than enough. But he wasn’t going down without a fight - that was for sure. 

“F-fine.” he grunts at a particularly harsh grind of your hips. Fuck, he felt like some animal, humping up into you like he was out of control. He could practically feel your puffed-up pussy lips through his pants, he could almost taste it. Two rough hands come to rest on your hips, grabbing and kneading a handful of your ass. “But then you’re not just hah- sitting there, pretty.” 

And, shit, even like this, you should’ve known better than to underestimate Gojo Satoru himself. Because whatever he wanted, he got. The one thing he didn’t was you - and now, since he had you, too, fuck- he might just be going insane. 

Not a moment’s wasted before you’re being so easily hauled up, up, up the entire expanse of Gojo’s body. Jittery body being balanced easily as if you were some type of toy, up from the slender curve of his toned hips, up around where his broad deltoids were spread, all the way until your cunt was hovering over his needy mouth. “Can’t believe I hngh- almost died without havin’ a taste of this pretty pussy.”

“Toru.”

“Sweetheart.” he mocks.

You shiver with each feverish puff of hot breath blown right onto your clothed cunt. And even more so when you’re feeling such a long, slender finger slide in through the translucent fabric. 

Fuck, Gojo swallows thickly, bunching up your skirt. You were so sopping wet he could almost see the outline of his index through your panties. He slides the back of it slowly up and down. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the volume of your saturated slick collecting on his digit, just trailing glossily down to his deft wrist. 

Mesmerized, your jaw falls slack at the sight down below of Gojo - cloudy hair mussed, cheeks all pink and burning a blushing rouge, tongue darting out to catch each stray drop of your sweet sweet juices. Drip! Drip! Drip! 

“Oh- sh-shiiit-” he rasps, lowly, mulling over your honeyed taste. Sounding so awed, breath hitching when Gojo tugs your panties just enough to the side to catch a mere glimpse of your messy cunt. Glistening and winking down lewdly at him. “S’jus’ you n’ me right now, huh?”

You don’t know who exactly he’s talking to - and you don’t get to find out, because that’s all it takes for Gojo’s kiss-bitten lips to clash messily against your cunt - panties and all. 

A soft swipe of his tongue glides the fabric to the side, so depraved, so needy that for that split-second he’s tasting you, he can’t even think of removing it. One taste of your sweetened pussy and he can’t even bear the thought of breaking apart, licking up in long, languid stripes that wet the very front of your swollen folds. 

Just the taste of you had him palming desperately at the tent in his pants, rubbing up and down at a pace that matched his rummaging tongue.

The very edge of your tastebuds rub so deliciously in teasing circles around the corners of your dripping silt, your inner thighs. 

“S-s’toru-” you’re letting out such throaty, dragged-out groans that send every drop of blood in Gojo’s body thumping to his achy cock. “Don’t be such a- a tease.”

You’re locking your glassy eyes with him and he feels like he could pass out. Groaning and smacking into your cunt, “Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything.” Your entire body arches into his hot mouth like such a slut, when he bullies between your folds. Barely flicking against the sensitive nub of your clit. “Everything. Anything for you.”  

When you’re weaving your fingers deliriously through his silky soft strands, he babbles, “Oh fuck- yeah, pull on my hair.” One of his hands come down to grip onto your panties, pulling the fabric so that you revel in the filthy friction. “Use me while you ride m’face, okay?”

With that, his mouth is sagging open even further letting your thighs straddle the entirety of his face so easily. So close. So messy how he was carding his tongue from the very base of your pussy, up into your quivering entrance.

“Fuck–” you’re whining, grinding into his touch when he wraps his soft lips around your clit. Barely even easing you with syrupy, wet circles of his heated tongue before sucking. Harsh. Depraved. But so, so him. “Don’- don’ stop, feels too good–!”

You didn’t know if he heard you, fuck you didn’t even know if Gojo was even breathing. 

Even if he wanted to stop - he didn’t think he could. Because he was so ravenous between your legs, forcing your pliant body into such smooth gyrations on his tongue. Silken, soft, such sultry licks of his tongue on your clit. 

Electricity sparks behind your eyes when with a wet slurp! he smacks away from your pretty pussy, “You think- you think I can stop?” And he sounds so genuinely in disbelief, as if the very thought of it was appalling. Through heavy, lingering kisses and sucks onto your clit, Gojo’s managing to get out, “I can’t have enough. Fuck- please.” The very rounded pads of his fingers dig so bruisingly into the flesh of your ass, jiggling and kneading with every drag of your hips. He’s begging at this point, “Fuck yourself on my face. Rougher, faster, c’mon now. You can do it, my sweetheart.” 

He was so fucking desperate, big fat tears almost welling in his eyes while he whined underneath you. Groping so obscenely at his sweltering hot erection. How could you not listen?

“If you say so.”

Using the vice-like grip on his locks, you’re managing to leverage your motions even deeper. Rougher, like he’d wanted. Every protesting creak of the bedpost was accompanied by a synchronized whimpering of ah! ah! ah! coming from both your mouths. 

“S’it good?” he gasps, and all you could see was the flushed upper half of his features. And the lower half - fuck, though the peaks and cracks you could make out just how glisteningly wet it was with all of your messy cunt. His lips were just drenched, slick-soaked mouth making out harshly with your pussy through your panties. Trailing all the way down in a glossy sheen over the lower half of his face, dripping off his chin, fuck- up to his cheekbones- 

As if that wasn’t enough, the massive palm resting at your thigh comes dancing down to tease around your sopping wet entrance. 

If you were in the right state of mind, you could’ve sworn that you heard a sharp rip! coming from that poor tattered fabric of your underwear right then and there. 

“Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- use that pretty voice of yours please.” Still suckling lewdly on your clit, his cheeks hollow out . Entire body just jolting upwards, forcing you to press down harder with your motions. “Use me. Use me.”

“S-so–” you mewl when his slender fingers bully easily past that first ring of muscle. So many cold inches of his digits, feeling around determinedly inside your heated, gummy walls for those sweet spots that will make you whine. “So loud, Toru-” you’re spitting, meshing his mouth even harder with yours down below. And you can practically feel him smirk against your cunt. “For someone that wants this s-so hngh! bad you sure are-”

There.

Right there.

Gojo Satoru had just crashed into the spongy cavern of your g-spot - easily, at that. And there was such a crazed, sloppy sting to each of his movements. Smashing in over and over-

“Heh…tha’s how I l-like it.” he’s spying up at your trembly thighs, the way his overworked lips were being coated with a fresh wave of our honeyed slick with each passing second. “Good girl- gooood fuckin’ girl–” 

Hazily, you’re wondering whether it doesn’t hurt. Whether his weepy cock ached just as badly as it looked, how his tongue isn’t fucking cramping up by now. 

But he goes on - like he couldn’t stop, like he was out of control. A greedy little push and pull, dragging his tongue all over until you saw flashes of white. Until you could only scream out his name like a mantra. Until you were cumming. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- Toru!” your slurring out a mile a minute. Both of your hands now steadfast on his head, riding out your high all over Gojo’s pretty, pretty face. And he let you - fuck, he let you. “M’cumming- shit, feel so good. M’cumming-”

So good, so filthy that it made your toes curl, your hips stutter sloppily. Arching like such a slut, you could barely even see properly. Your breath was coming out in such labored heaves at this point, and Gojo wasn’t any better. 

It was like he couldn’t stop, happily drinking up every single, sticky drop your cunt had to offer. Pussydrunken eyes drooping shut, unable to let out anything but satisfied grunts. The muscle of his tongue is just frenzied in eager slips and slides along your cunt - absolutely no rhythm or method right now. Sucking, licking, biting anywhere he could possibly reach. 

“F-fuck–” you’re crying out tearily once the very peak of your orgasm fades, and all that’s left are a few overstimulated tingles being wrenched out by a greedy Gojo. “Toru, m’done.” You tug desperately on his hair - but even that doesn’t bate him the slightest bit. “S’getting too much- fuck-”

“Awww, too much for my girl?” he’s cooing, the words jumbling together in his drunken state. There’s a glossy mess of spit and slick drooling down the corners of his smirk. “Does this cute cunt of yours need a break?”

At your barely-lucid nod, it only grows wider. Smugger. “Too bad-” And Gojo’s just taunting you with a final, long lick up the very core of your pussy, “Because if I almost hah- died without her once, then you best believe m’gonna c-crawl back from death for ya each and every single time.”

It takes his strong arms - even bruised and battered through battle - only two whole seconds to plop you back down prettily onto his lap. Right over where his angry cock was just weeping for attention. And suddenly, it hurts without you. “So you’re not getting a break anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ha ha.” You’re rolling your eyes, “Very funny.”

“Mhm.” Gojo looks up at you through his white lashes, and you can only watch when he brings up his syrupy-sweet, glossy fingers up to his mouth. One by one. Sucking. Slowly, looking right into your eyes. It makes your mouth just salivate. “Got that right.”

The sheets billow behind you when you’re fumbling deftly with his shirt, all but ripping - tearing that stupid thing off of his form. Your skirt and top are soon to follow - his jaw clenches with the slight strain, leaving it in poor tatters on the floor.

“Shit- shit you’ve been-” his mouth just waters when your tits are released from your bra. Jiggling tantalizingly in his face in a way that makes him bury into it. “-been holding out on me.”

“Oh-” you let out, traitorously, at the first sight of each curve and divot along his milky sculpted body. Gojo Satoru was serious about dressing up like Toji, and no matter how much his t-shirt looked so sinfully painted on - actually seeing it was something else. “You’re so pretty, Toru.” You smooth your palms down his large shoulders, the faint scars between his pecs, his abs - that scar. Stark and large, Shoko had done her best work, but it still looked so painful. It must feel so, too, being sewn back together like some ragdoll. He catches the way your expression dampers - of course, he does. “Toru…”

Gojo winces when your fingers glide over that jagged scar. But if that was pain, then it was absolutely nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated fear when you abruptly pull your hands away. 

“S-sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” he cuts you off, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. All but dragging it - right along with you - to his still-healing body. “Touch me. Hurts more when you don’t.”

You’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes his heart stutter, and his poor, angry cock twitch. “Hurts me when you lie.”

“M’not lying, see?” With a low nod of his head, he’s gesturing you to look down - where it was unmissable. 

Because straddled right in-between your pussy lips was Gojo’s erect cock - proud and so prominent, even through his pants. With the sheer girth bulging upwards you could feel your greedy pussy dampen over the cloth in anticipation. 

“Well…” He’s throwing his head back when you knead your palm over the very end of his print, “I can’t quite see-”

Gojo takes the hint - and you have to bite your lip from teasing that it was quite possibly the only hint you’d thrown his way that he’d actually understood. But it was so hard to - not when he was this eager. 

And, on those long, lonely nights, you’d imagined that your best friend would be suave, infinitely collected with things like this. 

But, no, he was fumbling and jittery with his movements. So needy to please you that it takes you to help him pull down his tight, sticky boxers over the curving muscle of his thighs. 

“O-oh fuck–” you breathe out, when he finally springs out. Sweeping up and down each and every long, thick inch of him - Gojo was as hard as if he was carved out of fucking diamond. Such a furious, rosy red at his leaky tip, glistening down, down, down into the most mouth-watering shade of creamy pink at his thick hilt. He was so big. Your thighs squeeze together in sultry need - with a slight tinge of fear. So unfairly pretty - even like this. “You’re- you’re so much bigger than I’d imagined, Toru.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re being flashed with his dark smirk once more, “You imagined this?” There’s a slight reverence to his voice, scared. 

It almost makes you shy - and Gojo can practically sense the waves of embarrassment rolling off of you. 

“Awww, come back to me, please, pretty- Please-” he purrs, cupping your cheeks. “I came hah- back, didn’t I?” You’re being jostled to and fro when he rests himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back to admire you further. “And now-” Your breath hitches in your throat when he situates himself right in-between your thighs, the fat curve of his head so swelteringly kissing your folds. Drenching it in his thick precum, “-now m’never gonna let ya go.” 

Fuck, you know you should heave in a few gasps of hair, you know you should relax, maybe even stretch your legs wide open.

Because Gojo was so fucking big, it felt like he was splitting you from the inside out. Just the slight push of his tip bullying between your folds has you moaning - crying.  

“You- you’re so big-” Your nails dig into the plush of his pecs for stability, leaving neat crescent patterns that stand out redly. “S’like you’re reaching into my hngh- l-lungs-”

Just those words have him expanding even deeper, ruddying even more furiously. Gojo gets so much bigger that you just can’t help but sink yourself down his shaft, feeling your elastic walls contort so easily around his length. 

“H-heh– ohhh-” he breathes out - baritone voice lilting a few pitches higher than usual. The hands around your waist grab you even harsher, feeding you each inch by fucking inch of his fat, pulsing cock. “You got me- so–” His hips thrust upwards in mindless little jabs, “-fucked up, right now, sweetheart.”

And while all you can do is whine and moan around his unforgiving cock, Gojo babbles on, “B-better get ready ngh- because I’m gonna be riiiight-” His thick index draws and invisible line up, up, up to somewhere midway up your stomach. Before pressing down. Brandingly. “-here.”

The pressure is enough to have your hips just slamming down with a wet smack! all the way to his hilt. The slap of skin-on-skin rings through the heady air and into both your drunken brains, making him just throw his head back into the plush pillows. 

“Yes-” you’re keening, your fingers wrapping subconsciously around Gojo’s pretty throat to have him facing you once more. He was so gorgeous this way - blue eyes falling shut with pleasure, mouth bitten raw and parted into a soft oh! pale muscles twitching with each breath. So fucked-out already that it almost made you think the sight alone could have you cumming. “Look at me, Toru- hah- gonna make up for lost time, right? Gonna fuck me good?”

His answering nods are more than enough, but Gojo doesn’t just stop there - no, he’s putting in every bit of last strength he has to just hammer into you upwards. Meeting every one of your relentless bounces down on him, he just clashes into your ravaged g-spot.

“Oh yeah, my girl.” he spits, a twinkling trail of drool dripping down the side of his lips. Crushing you so tight to his hardened front, “Ride me- ride me jus’ like that. Fuck- thought I saw heaven on the battlefield but it might jus’ be this pussy-” Over and over.

The back of your hand ends up on his forehead, “I think you’ve got a concussion.” It was in every little touch - that “something stupid.”  

At your surprised giggles, he’s rummaging your insides even more ferociously. Smushing the very end of his thick head against your spongy cervix. It was so soft, so swelteringly hot having him inside you. Clashing in long, wet glides against every inch of your pussy. 

The stretch was dizzying - and if it hadn’t been for Gojo’s lips attacking yours, then you’d have let your head loll backwards. It’s like he was marking you from the inside out, bruising the plushy insides of your cunt to every ridge and thumping vein down his possessive cock. 

“Spit on me.” 

His sudden plea puffs out of his plump lips, startling you out of your cockdrunk little reverie. “Spit on me, please, pretty. Mmpf-”

Gojo whimpers - whimpers - when the thick wad of your saliva hits his pink tongue, and the action has him delving into you impossibly deeper. Planting two feet onto the mattress, he angles his hips into your tight channel even harsher. Grimacing at the slight twinge of pain, “Shit-”

“Toru–”

“Wait wait- please- let me-” Expectedly, he’s cutting you off frantically. Begging, pleading with everything he had before activating reversed curse technique more. “Wanna fuck this gorgeous cunt so bad- fuck fuck fuck-”

But you’re only grinding your hips down faster - all the way from the pretty pink tip of his cock, until your ass massages against his tight, cum-filled balls. Thwacking! against your skin deliciously, pushing you up to scratch your clit against his snowy pubes. 

A few more unapologetic kisses up against your sweet spots have you blinking back stars, “Toru–” Your swiveling motions have him so hypnotized, following every move where his massive cock was disappearing in and out of your snug hole. “Kiss me-”

Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.

It’s such a sloppy kiss - all teeth and lips and Gojo grunting gutturally into your mouth. Letting you just use him like your favorite toy, fucking him until the bed creaked with effort and Gojo’s balls just smacked! angrily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. Drinking in your saccharine sweet gasps when he dips down one of his hands to your puffy clit, rolling the soft edge of his thumb in slow, methodical circles. “You’re gonna be the ah- d-death of me.”

Your hand around his throat tightens, making his eyes just roll back in ecstacy. “Better not die on me just y-yet, Toru. Not now, not tomorrow.”

For this, you’re being gifted with such a tight squeeze of his two fingers around your sensitive nub. Wracking your body forwards - exactly where he wanted you, exactly where he needed you to smash his sobbing tip into your g-spot. 

The stimulation is too much, and each of your pressurized slams down onto the sharp bones on Gojo’s v-line have him moaning. Bucking up helplessly whenever your heavenly walls drag sloppily up his shaft, like it hurt to not have each and every one of his heated inches buried inside. 

“Well- then-” You’re riding him now just as much as he was fucking up into you, leaving a damp puddle of slick and dredges of precum on the sheets below. Gojo’s punctuating each word with a harsh battering ram, “Better- cum f’me soon, huh? Because m’not gonna- fuck-” His nagging tip jolts into your sweet spots as if being zapped with white-hot electricity, in such a sloppy staccato with his feverish fingers. “-fuck I don’t think m’gonna last long.”

You’re nodding your head, clinging onto him like a second skin. “Mhm- m’so close, Toru.” Biting down wetly on his lower lip, “-gonna cum soon.”

Just the thought of it has him keening, stuttering up so messily. His precum coats your insides even more slippery slick, so heated in a way he thinks he might just explode. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart–” he’s simpering down in your tone, though his hips were anything but. Letting out some of the lewdest slurps that made your ears ring. “I got you. I got you, cum all over my cock, yeah?”

It only takes a few more mess strokes from both of your sweat-sheened bodies before you finally reach your high. Electricity thrums down your veins, your body arches so deeply into his. Bending into the perfect bow that has him spying down at your quivering folds, the way your gushing cunt expands and contracts through each and every one of your waves of pleasure. 

And he’s fucking you through it so filthy, fingers toying so erratically on your clit. Still reeling, still smashing the very divot of his cock into your bruised g-spot. Again and again.

“Ohh- fuuuck—” Gojo whines, eyes scrunching shut. Strained. Depraved. “Fuck fuck fuck me- please, please m’gonna-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s stuffing your snug pussy full with ribbon after ribbon of thick, velvety cum. Potent seed coating your gummy walls in such a milky sweet gloss, the squelches from below are so loud. So soppingly wet. 

The hand at your waist moves down to where your poor cunt was just bulging with all inches of his spazzing cock. Gojo’s thumbing apart the corners of your slit just enough that his swelteringly hot cum oozes out of you in a slow trail. Sinful. 

“Oh my god-” he breathes, eyes unwavering. Hips thrusting upwards to push his cum up into you even deeper. It glistens opaquely down his length, forming a creamy ring at his thick base. “Oh my god love you- fuck!”

“Toru- m’so full-” you whine. A hand of yours coming up to press exactly where he had before, except now you could feel the nudging pace of his ruthless cock, the sloshing of Gojo’s seed all up inside you. “-really can feel you right here.”

“Tha’s the point, girl - my girl, should I say.” he’s pressing such a chaste kiss to your lips. And it would be swee - almost - if it wasn’t for the way Gojo’s greedy fingers soak themselves in the obscene mess from your cunt down below. Bringing them all the way up, up, up to his mouth. Suckling gently, “But…but you wanna hear something stupid?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what?”

And he only grins,  “I hope you know I love you, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell aren’t walking tomorrow.”

A/N. Can y’all tell I’ve been widowed not too long ago? Anyways, last post before kínktober! I tried posting this on Sunday but it refused to work so pray for me this time y’all *SOBS* <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[eiightysixbaby]

thinking about eddie, leaned back and too fucking casual, while you straddle his lap with his cock buried deep inside of you. you’re so desperate, dripping wet and dying to get yourself to release.

eddie’s not even touching you. he has his arms folded behind his head, nonchalant, as he watches you bounce on him. he loves the little crease between your brows that always forms when you’re concentrating on trying to cum.

he almost reaches out to stroke your cute little pout with his thumb. almost.

“are you making yourself feel so good, baby?” he asks, knowing you likely won’t be able to get out a sentence in response.

you let out a breathy whine as an answer, hips moving faster on his lap. it drives you crazy, how he won’t touch you. the way he speaks, so cocky, knowing that he barely even has to try to completely unravel you.

“you’re such a good girl, working so hard on my cock,” he purrs, regarding you rather patronizingly down the slope of his nose.

his big brown eyes, now half-lidded, roam over your frame, like he’s analyzing you. you feel like your skin is blazing under his stare, your top teeth pulling at your bottom lip in a frenzied kind of urgency.

“what is it, baby?” eddie coos, mockingly. he can see your movements decreasing in precision, more sloppy by the second.

he finally gives in, just a little bit, wrapping an arm around your lower back and pulling you flush to him.

“cat got your tongue?” he teases into your ear, his hot breath fanning against it. you let out a shaky moan, whispers of ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’ slipping past your lips.

he knows the signs, can feel your muscles tensing up. “oh, she’s gonna cum for me, isn’t she?” he asks, his mouth splitting into a wicked grin.

all you can do is nod, eyes pinched shut so tight you’re seeing bursts of color behind them. pleasure mounts in the pit of your stomach, building and building before it comes crashing over you in waves.

he revels in the way you babble mindlessly as your orgasm rips through you; brought on entirely by you, without his help.

“you did such a good job, sweet thing,” he says, letting his hand rub softly up and down your back. “think i should give you a break from doing all the hard work, hm?”

you nod lazily, slumped against him.

“lay down for me then. spread your legs, baby. let me taste you.”

[chuluoyi]

✎ heaven's fury

- gojo satoru x reader

sometimes you forget that your husband has burdens as the strongest sorcerer alive. when he goes back home from a bad day and you're the first person he comes contact to, you're made aware of it once again

genre: angry!gojo, a bit of hurt with looots of comfort and fluff !! it’s self-indulgent too🤭

note: i knooow i said i'll post gojo angst next, but i forgot i have this in backburner too so... this hurt/comfort goes first :') based on an anon's request. loosely takes place after baby!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sukuna's vessel is a threat— he must be executed as soon as possible!”

“The more we put this off, the greater the risk he poses to society!”

“Gojo, you can't delay his sentence any longer—!”

Weak. All of them. They always make excuses. Trying to pin blame on someone else.

The jujutsu world he lives in… is wretched. Gojo Satoru thought he knew that well already, or at least knew enough to not get riled up over it.

Apparently not.

“Gojo-sensei? You look scary...”

Typically, he would mask his clear disdain with sharp-witted jibes, but he reached his limit this time. Especially since they had been pressuring him relentlessly to execute Itadori Yuji for at least five times a week, each week.

. . .

“Satoru, oh, you're home already!”

At the end of it all, he went home with the worst of moods. It served as a reminder—of his deep-seated contempt for weakness and how burdensome he found the task of protecting the insufferable to be.

“Satoru...?”

And it's because of their weakness that Suguru—

“Satoru, are you—?”

“Just fucking shut it!”

And that was when he saw you, standing before him with wide eyes, cradling your—his—precious baby in your arms, who was sound asleep.

“Huh…?”

Satoru immediately tensed up, realizing his mistake. And what hit him even harder was— is that a flicker of hurt he saw flashing across your face?

If so, then you quickly blinked it away because in the next instant, your face lit up with a warm smile— kind of forced, to his dismay. “Welcome home, Satoru.”

Something inside him churned, his heart started to ache, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth then.

There you were, as accepting as ever, and he cherished you for it.

But not tonight. Not for this. You didn't deserve any of his misplaced resentment.

Damn it. Damn it all!

In response, he offered you a subtle nod and headed to the bathroom, thinking a shower might help clear his foul mood away.

Contrary to what Satoru might think, you didn't really hold anything against him.

You were surprised, yes, because he was usually such a ball of energy even when he got back from intercity missions, but more than the hurt, you would understand if now, he was pissed some way or another.

Your husband is still a human. He is entitled to be upset on some days.

After ensuring your son was comfortably asleep in his cot, you returned to your bedroom to find Satoru already in bed, facing away from you. Hmph... now that you thought about it, this silence between you was unacceptable.

“Satoru.” You poked his side, but he didn't budge and still had his eyes shut. You arched an eyebrow. “Satoru? You can't be asleep.”

“…” No answer. Okay, let's try something else.

“Honey, talk to me? Hmm?” you decided to swallow the heat on your face as you addressed him more intimately. Mind you, you didn't usually call him that. He was the one in charge of pet names.

“…” This shithead. That's it.

“Satoru, my tummy hurts—”

“What?” In an instant, he flipped over, abruptly sitting up. “What hurts—”

Seizing the opportunity, you tugged him by the neck, and both of you tumbled onto the bed, with him landing on top of you. Satoru instinctively held himself up and cushioned the back of your head with his hand so you wouldn’t crash into the headboard—his blue eyes wildly flickering, searching for any sign of discomfort or harm.

“You good?” he made a face upon realizing your ruse.

“You won’t talk to me otherwise,” you noted with a hint of annoyance. But then your eyes softened into a concerned frown. “Satoru… what’s wrong?”

Once again, Satoru felt hollow. You were worried and it reached him. “It’s nothing,” he replied, looking away, trying to downplay his fury.

You pulled him close, his head against your chest, and though he was stiff and taken aback at first, he released a reluctant sigh and instinctively snuggled closer, finding comfort in your embrace.

“There, there…” you soothed with a smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Feel better now?”

He let out another sigh against you, returning the hug and nuzzling his face against your chest. His body heat enveloped you like a blanket.

And after a while...

“...’m sorry for yelling at you...” he muttered with such regret it made your eyes widen. “Didn’t mean it.”

The slight prickle in your heart dissipated at once, hearing his muffled voice.

“Mm-hmm, I know.”

“Really.”

“Mmm, really, really.”

He held you a little tighter, breathing in your scent, and you kept stroking his head. He looked so despondent it warmed your heart, and made you want to pet him. “Our baby loves being held like this too,” you giggled fondly. “You big baby… you’re just like him.”

Your husband let out a soft grunt against your chest, exhaling deeply.

“Whenever you’re ready, talk to me, yes?”

And so after several more pats on his head, Satoru finally told you everything, about how the higher-ups were relentlessly pressing him to put an end to Yuji, the new kid he recently enrolled to the jujutsu school.

“They're just some paranoid old fools—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—stinky, cringey, looks depressed most of the time—”

“Heh— now that's just plain disrespect.”

“Yuji is just clueless and just has a lot to learn,” Satoru grumbled sullenly. “They didn't even teach him a thing and incapable to— how dare they? To keep him ignorant and then murder him?”

...oh.

And at that moment, you found clarity. Why he got so worked up, why he got irate this time whereas he was usually insensitive.

First, it was because of your tragic youth. No one protected Haibara from his unfortunate incident and was there for Geto when he needed it the most—which still haunted him to this day.

And secondly, because he himself is a father too. No one deserves their youth being taken away. That has been his moral compass, and the sense grows even stronger ever since the baby was born.

It made something inside you flutter.

“Satoru...” you breathed out, smiling, squeezing him affectionately. “You’re ... a kind person.”

“Huh?”

“You take it upon yourself to mentor those kids,” you mused. “Just look at Megumi and Yuta; they've turned out just fine.”

Truthfully, Satoru didn't consider himself as kind as you made him out to be. At times he felt like he was doing it because it was right, sometimes he thought it was for fun, and at other times, he simply didn't feel like seeing more deaths or wrong paths. And he was sure if you had asked Megumi whether he was a good teacher or not, the grumpy boy would only roll his eyes.

But then, just as he looked up at you, the prettiest smile blossomed on your face, and you said to him—

“And as your wife, I’m... proud of you.”

The way you sincerely told him that made his breath catch in his throat, and his heart pound a little faster.

The woman who has become his everything. This unabashed, pure love you show him.

“Sweets, I—” he suddenly rose, back to on top of you. But his voice faltered, remembering the way he coldly snapped at you earlier. “I...”

You looked up at him innocently. And he swallowed the shame because he had to tell you too.

Because you were so, so incredibly precious to him, and he wanted you to know that.

“…love you,” he mumbled, his beautiful eyes meeting yours with no hesitation. His cheeks were burning, tinted with a shade of pink—and you out of all people knew best that him being embarrassed meant as good as him not being horny—

But before you could point it out, he leaned down towards you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. There was no trace of the man who was hungry for your body— it was just a long, chaste kiss that contained his feelings for you.

And when he pulled back, both of you were panting slightly, trying to catch your breath. Then, he pursed his lips, his eyes glittery—somehow reminding you of your baby's face just before he cried out for his milk.

“I wanna pay for my sin. Wanna cuddle you too.”

And so you let him. He held you close, his arm under your head and you traced lazy lines on his chest, feeling contented and somewhat giddy.

“You feel that bad, huh?” you chuckled, noticing his continued gloominess.

“I am,” he puffed out his cheeks before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Because if anyone else dares to tell you off like that, I'll wreck them on the spot.”

“Hmm, how romantic. But come to think about it... you did look a little scary though...”

At that moment, he felt his heart drop, his eyes instantly rounded in alarm, looking at you with dismay.

“No, no, I'm not scary! Wifey, I'm your devoted and loving husband!”

Epilogue

Your morning started with your baby's cries. When you glanced over, Satoru was gone from your bed already. Curious, you made your way to the baby's room, and what you saw there caused you to raise an eyebrow.

"Satoru... what are you...?"

He turned to you with an expression so heartbroken as he rocked his wailing baby. "He keeps crying, I don't know why..."

However, your attention was drawn more to his disheveled appearance. Messy hair, slitted eyes as if he hadn't brushed off sleep, and most of all, the dark eyebags under his eyes.

"Uh, Satoru... give him to me."

When he did, your baby calmed down almost instantly, his sobs turning into light sniffles, and your husband could only scratch his head in confusion.

"Why...? When I tried to look at him, he cried even harder—"

"...no offense, but if I were a baby and someone who looks like a panda holds me up, I'd get scared and cry too."

Satoru let out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest as he hovered over your baby—

"Nooo! Papa didn't mean to scare you—!"

...but to his horror, your baby turned away from him, hiding his face in your chest instead.

[tomboy014]

But if Batman won't adopt Danny... who will?

Starfire, and she is all over her new little brother!

Shortly after establishing the Teen Titans, Robin (Dick) introduces “Phantom” to the group, because seriously, he’s not introducing him as “Danny.”  Kinda defeats the purpose of a secret identity when you use your name in your superhero moniker.  And shows Phantom his room.

Robin’s actual goal is to get Phantom to join the Titans, but even taking short cuts through the Ghost Zone, Jump City is still a good ways away from Amity Park, and he has parents, so… It’s still a nice gesture and all, and Phantom will come visit, but no.

Still, he’s never met other teens who are heroes in their own right like he is, so he’s excited to meet Robin’s new team.  The other Titans think it’s a little weird for this not-member to have his own room in the Tower, but the place is huge, and Robin trusts him, so it’s fine.  It’s a bit awkward at first as they’re all still getting used to each other, but Phantom quickly makes friends with all of them.

But it’s his friendship with Starfire that grows first and fastest.  As soon as he finds out she’s an alien from another planet, he latches on and must know everything.  Starfire more than welcomes the attention. While she knows the Titans care for her, they’re not always… receptive to the traditions and customs of her culture. Phantom, on the other hand, is enraptured as she tells him about her culture, her holidays, the planets she’s been to, everything.

So she asks if he’d be interested in learning Tamaranean? Yes! 100%! Absolutely! Phantom picks up the language quickly and returns the favor by helping Starfire with her English. While the ability to absorb language through lips is handy, it’s by no means perfect, and Phantom helps her with things like contractions, slang, idioms, etc.

It also helps that after a couple sparring sessions with each other, Phantom and Starfire realize just how durable their partner is.  For Starfire, the people and things on Earth can be so delicate. And for Phantom, if he doesn’t watch himself and hurts a human too badly, it’s just more justification to call him an “evil ghost” that should be ripped apart molecule by molecule. Both are thrilled to finally be able to fight all out again without worrying about the consequences if they lose. And Starfire also uses it to teach Phantom some Tamaranean martial arts for aerial combat so maybe he’ll stop crashing into so many walls.

But what really changes the relationship is the Body Swap incident (not to be confused with the Freaky Friday incident). Similar to what happened with the Puppet King in Switched, Phantom and Starfire switch bodies while fighting an enemy.  Unlike what happened in Switched, Phantom and Starfire and two teen powerhouses with green energy powers triggered by emotions. And the emotional triggers they use are in the same ballpark. Starfire’s “unbridled joy of flight” to fly is very similar to how Phantom revels in the pure freedom of flight he feels. Both get angry when they use blasts. It’s very much a “if you believe in it, you can do it” kind of power set. Starfire can’t really figure out Phantom’s more ghostly abilities like invisibility or intangibility, but they very quickly adapt to each other’s shared powers on the fly during battle.  But there’s one power Starfire wants to use against the hordes of minions that Phantom won’t share the trigger for: the Ghostly Wail.  He tries to tell her it’s not a good move, that it’ll use up too much power, it should only be used as a last resort, it’ll cause too much collateral damage, etc., but Starfire wants to know, and eventually he tells her.

“T-terror… and desperation.”

Starfire rushes to give Phantom the biggest hug ever because those are such horrible feelings, and she doesn’t want to imagine what conditions must have led to him developing such a power because no one should have to feel such feelings. He is right; and that is not a power she needs to use to win this battle.  The minions are defeated, the villain is forced into a temporary retreat, and the Teen Titans return to the Tower to regroup and plan.

However, Starfire doesn’t know how to power through and hold onto Phantom’s ghostly form, and as soon as the adrenaline from the fight wears off, rings of white light spread out of her middle, and Phantom turns back into Danny in the middle of the living room.

But more importantly, everyone needs to get out of the way RIGHT NOW because while Phantom can ignore his biological needs for days, Danny can’t, and Starfire has never had to pee this badly ever in her whole life and everyone needs to MOVE, PLEASE! as she rushes into the nearest bathroom.

Phantom/Danny is now panicking, because even as an alien, he’s pretty sure she’s bound to notice that some bits of male anatomy that should be there are… missing.  He’s begging her, through the door in Tamaranean, not to tell anyone about his secret.  He’s not ready to come out yet, and he’s honestly pretty scared he’s about to lose her friendship, too.  Starfire doesn’t really care. So long as you’re a strong warrior, Tamaraneans don’t care what’s going on in someone’s pants, and she’s just relieved she didn’t have to figure out different plumbing while in his body.  Starfire opens the door.  While she knows that the people of Earth are not always as understanding, Danny need not fear her.  She will not tell anyone he's trans until he is ready to tell them himself and supports him and goes in for a hug.

Except you haven’t washed your hands; gross!  They both laugh it off, but when Starfire goes to wash her hands, the water freezes.  The cold energy in Danny’s core is building, and Starfire doesn’t know how to let it out.  They need to switch back to their own bodies soon, or Danny’s body, and Starfire, might not survive.  A little more training so Starfire can turn back into Phantom, and the Titans are ready for the final act, take down the final villain and Starfire and Phantom are back in their own bodies. 

But after that, Phantom is no longer Starfire’s friend.  Danny is her little brother, and she tells him her name is Koriand’r, or Kor’i for short.

<<Prev Next>>

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 III

Part I Part II Part IV

Took me so long to figure out how the rest of the story could go XP Also, I've seen how some of y'all want the reader to become a vigilante/villain :) It is definitely possible but not with the current story idea I have in mind. Maybe one day, I'll make a side story where the reader becomes a vigilante/villain

CW: Violence (Bar Fight), Stalking, Blood, "Death"

It has been a few weeks since you moved into Bludhaven and Nightwing being your nighttime companion

He always comes over to your apartment with a couple of injuries and asks to stay a bit

With Nightwing’s instructions, you learn to bandage injuries to help the hero

Maybe it’s because your mental wounds from your neglectful family are still fresh, but Nightwing quickly started to grow on you.

It just feels nice to have a friend while adjusting to your new life.

It also could be because he actually came to the rescue when you were attacked

This does make you wonder why Batman didn’t save you in Gotham but who knows what that big guy does.

Another thing you wonder about sometimes is who Nightwing is.

You were never really curious about the vigilantes in Gotham, even though four well-known vigilantes resided there.

Ever since you met Nightwing, you tried doing some research on him but you immediately stopped when you saw the words “Richard Grayson” in an article.

While the batfamily would be more than happy to stay in Bluvenon so they can meet you, Gotham needed them. (Also they may overwhelm you)

Because of this, the family (except Dick and Jason) return home where more plans are made.

Jason decided that he will be the next person you meet and he won’t take no for an answer.

There is one problem though, you’ve seen Jason with his Red Hood attire

You may not have connected the dots at the time but you definitely will when you see him again.

After debating with Dick, Jason finally agrees to primarily watch you from a distance

In an attempt to meet more people, you decided to participate in some summer events that your college was hosting

You make a couple of friends and go out together

College classes are just around the corner and your friends suggested going out to a bar

This is a special moment so you decide to go with them

You all made plans on the designated driver and kept an eye out for your drinks

When you go to the bar, it's almost sunset.

This is your first time drinking but you trust your friends to keep you safe. (You ended up hating the taste)

Unknown to you, Jason is watching you from outside of the bar

If it was Dick’s turn to watch over you, he’d drag you back to your apartment.

Jason just allows you to have your fun time with friends, getting lost in how happy and innocent you seem.

This all crashes down when a fight suddenly happens right next to you

You and your friends try to get away from the scene but you're suddenly knocked to the ground

A drunk person slams a glass of alcohol next to you, probably mistaking you for someone else, which gives you a ton of small cuts.

Jason quickly puts on his mask and breaks into the bar. He beats up any drunk person who tries to stop him from reaching you.

Your sober friend tries to pull you away from the fight but is worried about all of your cuts

Red Hood suddenly appears to drag you and your friend away from the fight.

The fight gets worse and some random person seems to have called the ambulance

When the ambulance arrives, your sober friend hands you over to them and Red Hood disappears

You’re given a few bandages before the medic has to focus on another injured individual

In your dizzy state, you manage to slip away to stop the ringing in your ears

Something in you also told you it wasn’t safe to go to the hospital

Walking through an alley, your bandages seem to loosen and you eventually collapse on the ground from blood loss

Red Hood steps away for a second and you suddenly disappear.

He didn't want to be seen by the ambulance so he got onto a nearby rooftop to update Nightwing on the situation.

At least you didn't get far but the blood pooling under you slowly grows. This would be the second time you died

Nightwing appears and finds you wrapped up in a jacket while Red Hood picks you up off the ground.

One of the walls of the alley seems to have gotten a hole from Red Hood punching it out of frustration

Getting closer, Nightwing can see that you were given fresh bandages before being wrapped up in Red Hood’s jacket.

Also, you’re still breathing!

Seeing that you may still be alive, you’re taken to Nightwing’s apartment

Red Hood places you on the bed while Nightwing contacts Batman.

After one final look over and a blanket thrown over your body, Red Hood joins Nightwing in the living room

You slowly wake up in an unknown room and immediately sit up

The first thing you notice is how dark the room is

Squinting a bit, you find a lamp on the nightstand and turn it on

You find yourself in a bedroom with a blue and black color palette

There’s a desk in front of the bed with two computer monitors

You turn on the computer to see the date and immediately recognize a name

Richard Grayson

The name is enough to fill you with annoyance but you try to stay focused

How did you get here? Are you back in Gotham? Back at the manor?

You go to the bedroom door to find a living room instead of a hallway

Maybe you were still in Bludhaven?

This room definitely looks like it belongs to Dick

You never found his room in the manor but you did learn about some of his interests when you tried to befriend him (Alfred had to tell you all this)

As you finish snooping around the bedroom, a sound from the other room makes you freeze up

You quickly turn the light off, lay back on the bed, close your eyes and pretend to be sleeping

There are some voices in the living room but it's hard to hear past the sound of your racing heartbeat

Your heart almost stops when you hear the bedroom door open and the voices get louder.

At least you can actually understand what they’re saying now

They mention Batman, Robin, Demon Spawn, and other things you don't understand.

Maybe this was Dick and his friend talking about vigilantes? Though…one of them sounds familiar….

Your train of thought is cut off by someone putting their wait on the bed and running their hand through your hair

To distract yourself, you try to recognize the voice the best you can. Could it be Nightwing? Does Dick know him?

A kiss is placed on your forehead before the two people leave the bedroom.

After waiting a couple of moments, you open your eyes and confirm that you’re alone.

You slowly slip out of bed to try to listen to hear more of their conversation.

It seems that they called someone because there are new voices but it isn't that clear

The conversation begins to scare you as they talk about you.

Calling you their sibling/daughter and status on how your injuries were healing

Based on what is being said, you figure out that five vigilantes know quite a bit about you…

Deciding that you’ve had enough, you find a way to sneak out of the apartment

Looking out the window, it looks like you're a few floors high.

You carefully open the window as quietly as you can and peek outside to find a fire escape just one window away

You must be lucky because you reach the stairs safely and immediately start going down the stairs

The sun is about to rise and you realize that you don't know where you are

You run around for an unknown amount of time before finding a bus stop

There isn't any money on you so you just pick up a map for the bus route

Looking over the map, you’re able to find a familiar street before finally making it home

It took you a long time to get a new key because you basically had nothing on you but eventually, you were able to finally collapse on your bed

You fall asleep immediately

By the time you wake up, it is night again

Getting up, you start making yourself some food while some research on vigilantes

Focused on finding answers, you’re able to connect the dots on who the vigilantes are based on your information from when you lived in the manor

At some point, a knock is heard from your window

On instinct, you walk over to your window and open your curtains

Seeing Nightwing and his dumb smile fills you with rage. Which you are more than happy to let him know

You close your curtain and can faintly hear Nightwing trying to talk to you from the other side of the window

Well, it seems that you now know their identity

Jason saw and heard you run off. He and Dick were about to follow but Bruce told them to not follow you

The next night, Jason watch you reject Dick as he tried to pretend last night didn’t even happen

But it seems you weren’t having any of it

Dick returns to Jason, dejected

A new plan would have to be made, and Tim knows exactly how to get back on track

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Law is obsessed with the idea of breeding. When you indulge him, he acts like a dog in heat. 😳😳😳 ~1.2k words. CW: afab reader, dirty talk, gendered language (“mommy”), ejaculation inside. Mildly edited~

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Law fantasized about having kids with you. He was especially preoccupied by the act itself, i.e. cumming inside of you and getting you pregnant. Realistically, he didn’t think a family would be feasible in the near future, but when he broached the topic with you, you were enthusiastic and on board for all of it, especially in bed. He went fucking feral for it.

Law was insatiable. He’d pull you away from the crew and fuck you anywhere he could get away with, whether that be his cabin, the supply closet, the laundry room, the galley, literally anywhere. He’d whisper or grunt out the nastiest words that he could think of (which were arguably very sweet, too) and he’d cum inside of you every time. He also made sure that you came on his cock every time, without fail.

Law wasn’t worried about actually getting you pregnant, because anytime he came inside of you, he either used his medical knowledge and timed it according to your cycle, or he used his devil fruit powers to simply remove his cum. It was a win-win scenario: Law got to live out his fantasies with reckless abandon, and you came every time.

Someday, though, he wasn’t going to do either of those things. He wasn’t going to plan around your cycle or take his cum out of you. He’d actually just get you pregnant. Anytime he fucked you, he’d tell himself that it was today. Today would be the day that he finally got you pregnant. That was a big part of the fantasy—the idea that he’d fuck you and today (whatever that day was) would be the day he finally pumped you full of his kids.

One random afternoon he pulled you into a random supply closet, ripped off your clothes and fingered you from behind until you came. Then, when you were dripping wet and shaking, he pinned you against the wall and slipped his cock into you. His chest pressed on your back while one of his hands gripped your hip. The other hand reached around your front, rubbing your clit in rough, euphoric circles.

Before you even had sex, Law started to get hard at the idea of how you would look pregnant, walking around like that for everyone to see and know that it was him who did that.

As he slid his cock into your messy cunt, he murmured in your ear. “Let me do all the work, gorgeous.”

Law’s hips crashed into yours and let out a wet, filthy sound each time. You tried to bite your tongue and keep the moans in, but you were struggling. His lips were centimeters from your ear, his voice was husky and gravelly. Desire trickled out of his lips at a rate comparable to the juices leaking out of you.

“Don’t you want to start a family, sweetheart?” Law growled, sending goosebumps down your neck. His wiry facial hair tickled your skin. “Gonna creampie you ‘till you get pregnant for me.”

His hips increased their pace at each nasty word he uttered in your ear.

“You wanna take it all for me? You’d look so f-fucking hot pregnant, baby, won’t you let me cum inside and make you a mom?”

The answer was obviously (and always) yes. When you whimpered and whined it only spurred him on.

“Gonna be such a good mommy for me, fuuuccckkk.”

Law’s cock grinded into you, scraping your walls and hitting your g-spot. Each thrust slammed ecstasy into your core, making you squirm and keen his name. Your legs were starting to give out, your face was pressed against the wall, and you barely had the strength to remain standing.

“Law, fuck, cum in me—f-fill me up, wanna have your k-kids” you moaned into the wall as his fingers on your clit pressed down.

Your words, as simple as they were, set him off. When you participated in the fantasy like that it drove him fucking crazy.

He started to kiss and nibble on your exposed shoulder, biting it like he was mating with you, like you were all his. When he bit down hard enough, you yelped. He loved that sound.

“’m gonna fuck you full,” Law groaned and his hips shuddered. “You gonna have my babies? Be a mommy for me?”

You attempted to nod while Law let out guttural noises in your ear. “Gonna breed this pretty pussy. Pregnant with all my—fuck—my kids, fuck baby—I—fucckkkk.”

Law could hardly speak. You just felt too good around him—it’s like you were swallowing him up, squeezing him, like your body was begging him to cum inside. He moaned, low and primal, fucking you at a feverish pace.

He was at his wits end.

“F—f—fuuuhhhhccckkk, fuck, ‘m cumming—I—mmm, ‘m cumming.”

With those heaving words, Law’s hips spasmed frantically and he shot his seed deep inside, as close to your cervix as he possibly could. You could feel the ropes of hot, sticky cum spurting out of him, filling you up.

Your orgasm was seconds after his, blissful and mind blowing. As you reeled in pleasure, your walls clenched around his cock he convulsed again. He imagined your walls milking him dry and almost blacked out from pleasure.

When Law was done cumming in you, he peeled his sweat-ridden chest off your back and flipped you around. He kissed you passionately for a minute before he realized how weak you were after cumming twice.

Law used his devil fruit powers to switch your clothes onto you from where they lay crumpled in a pile on the floor. He could have used his powers to get you into bed if he wanted to, but he preferred to carry you there in his arms. If anyone on the crew saw, they would know what happened (and he didn’t care).

When he fucked you ravenously, Law was hyperaware of the effects that such rough sex had on your body. He was cognizant of that always, but in the moments after you had sex he made sure to treat you like you were delicate and precious to him. While he carted you off to bed, he gave you a few more kisses. He always gave you as many as you'd take.

You nuzzled into his chest and the next thing you knew, he was cuddling you in bed. Law knew that you loved cuddling after sex, so he obliged with the sweetest smile on his face. He felt lucky that you let him fuck you in whatever depraved and fantastical way he could think of. What a privilege.

Law pondered it for a while and decided that maybe it would actually be today, if you were fine with it. If you’d let him, he’d actually get you pregnant this time. No devil fruit powers would be used to take his cum out of you, if you gave the go ahead. And if you said no, if you asked him to take his seed out of you, he’d be ecstatic to give it another go. After all, if today wasn’t the day he got you pregnant for good, maybe it would tomorrow. He would give you as many tomorrows as you wanted.

ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ thank u for reading!! (*ﾉ∀`*) also its law's birthday so i hope we all dream of fucking him tn, he deserves it (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october!

also trick or treat? (both tumblr links)

[lovieku]

ORDINARY THINGS ⋆ 정국

𐙚 ordinary things, as long as i’m with you.

after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you.

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairings: soccer captain!jk x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: lower case intended, i wanna say that i know very little about soccer, even more about what goes on behind the scenes, but of course i had to put jeongguk in bellingham’s iconic holey socks hehe 😻, it’s a bit angsty at first just bc ggukkie is an angsty boy, but then all of it is just fluff really! hints at mental illness, heavy use of the pet name baby, they’re so funny i love them, theyre also horny! only mentions of sex tho, and sexy kisses and touches keke

word count: 6990

a/n: waaa omg i managed to keep this under 10k words who’s proud of me! this is so slow but im in love w their domestic dynamic 🙁

────୨ৎ────

the piercing whistle cuts through the air.

it marks the official end of the match, sealing the loss of your boyfriend’s team. the sound feels sharp, final, not only to the game.

you knew this was fairly important. it wasn’t too decisive on the team’s position in the ranking, but you knew it mattered to him. like every other game, regardless of stakes.

whether it was a friendly or a tournament, jeongguk had no other mode but all in.

that dedication shows in every tense line of his body now. the weight of defeat begins to sink in, and you can see it on his face, the way it affects him.

you can already sense what’s swirling around in his mind, behind the quiet exterior. you’re sure of it from how he still stands there, avoids his surroundings, keeps his eyes glued to the ground, the green field suddenly more captivating.

you don’t need words to know. he’s retreating inward, locking away his disappointment, and likely taking on more than just the burden of his own loss.

he’s probably thinking of his teammates, feeling like he let them down too. allowing it all to crash on him, the single outcome of this match unraveling everything he worked hard for.

his confidence shatters with the referee’s whistle, and it shuts down the noise of the crowd, makes him unresponsive to the comforting pats on his back from his friends. it’s all a distant hum to him now.

jeongguk is deliberately slow as he almost mechanically leads his exhausted self out the pitch, body moving without his mind’s consent.

he doesn’t care if it’ll take him forever to take these steps. if he’s the last one leaving. he just needs a moment to figure out his next move.

but can he? can he face his team without this ugly feeling gnawing at him? can he keep lying, tell them they did well, that they’ll do better next time, while his own mask suffocates him? is he even deserving of the captain title?

he doubts it, his legs moving as if the world has time to offer him, body struggling under the weight of a lifeless feeling creeping in.

your heart clenches painfully. from the sidelines, watching him like this breaks something in you.

you grip the hem of your tennis skirt, fingers twitching as you fight the crazed urge rising in your throat to just run to him.

it’s hard to find your breaths when witnessing your boyfriend destroying himself as if that’s the only treatment he thinks he’s deserving of. but you also know the last thing you want to do right now is to draw more attention to him when he’s so raw, vulnerable. when every eye in the stadium strips him bare.

and you just want to put his every piece back, cover him in warmth. your mind is made up when you abruptly stand up, hastily making your way toward the locker room before he can get there, offering polite smiles to the players who are already getting inside.

you settle outside the door, waiting.

jeongguk drags behind the others, eyes still casted down. he’s so absorbed in his escape, so lost in the act of avoidance, that you’re certain he won’t notice you, with your beating heart held out to him in your cold hands.

yet, he does find some sort of answer in the ground he keeps staring at, asking for solutions.

amidst the worn, muddied football boots, he spots your shoes. dr. martens platforms, the ones you pair with white socks that ruffle at the top.

the sight is enough to pull him out of his daze, and he looks up.

the door to the locker room closes behind the last player, the heavy thump echoing in the long hallway. it startles you, just as jeongguk’s sudden awareness startles him, and you search for some sort of stability in each other’s eyes.

his own are glossy with unshed tears, and they glisten under the harsh fluorescent light. it doesn’t help the way his vision gets blurrier and pulls you farther from him.

but he needs to see you— the comfort in your face, the one that he feels as though he can’t breathe without.

jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, the tears slipping free, but the moment he flutters his eyelids open and meets you clearly, he doesn’t care.

his wide, tear-filled gaze takes you in. brows drawn up, your expression seems to mirror his. you’ve always absorbed people’s emotions to an almost extreme degree. when others cry, so do you. and when jeongguk cries, it feels like the whole world is falling apart.

but you can’t afford that happening, and you’ll hold its full weight on your shoulders to prevent such thing.

this time, you need to be stronger for him. swallowing the lump rising in your throat, you blink back your own tears and take a hesitant step toward him.

jeongguk, so much taller than you, seems to shrink before your eyes. right now, he’s the smallest, most fragile boy.

“baby,” your voice is a soft whisper, arms stretching open in a subtle invitation, one that he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

the moment you speak and break the quiet, the dam he’s been holding up crumbles. he crashes into you, hands wrapping tightly around your waist, his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

the impact makes you stumble slightly, but you hold him just as tight in return, focusing on his sharp breaths against your skin, wet with his tears, body trembling in your embrace.

your arms wrapped around his neck, you squeeze him hard, as if he’s a sponge that you’re trying to empty from all the dirty liquid. all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the guilt.

with the way he downright drops his full weight on you, you guide him to sit on the bench just outside the locker room. he slumps beside you, heavy and limp against you, seeking your warmth and comfort the way an addict seeks for the drug that’s able to keep them going.

you sit like that for a while, and you think it’s better this way. he has time to let it out against your chest, and you have the time that you need to compose yourself before you’re met with the full extent of his brokenness.

the second you see his tear stricken face, you think all of the effort was useless. you’re so, so weak.

jeongguk hiccups, lifts his face, his wide eyes flitting between yours like one would follow a tennis match at his peak point, searching for something, the smallest indicator of victory.

the tears make his cheeks red, and it adds to the frantic pleading he trips on, “b—baby, please. i don’t— i’m tired. wanna— home—“

“hey, gguk. ggukie, breathe,” you’re gentle when you cut him off, taking his face between your small palms to try and steady his panic, and mostly yourself. you’re fighting hard to not break too, to try and be the anchor he needs.

you take exaggerated deep breaths, hoping he’ll mirror you, and after a few moments his chest rises and falls in sync with yours, warm breath fanning over your lips.

imperceptibly, you feel his panic begin to ebb. his brows relax and his eyelids blink slower, regaining consciousness of his surroundings.

his hands reach up, covering yours as they rest at his jaw, squeezing them, and he exhales shakily, still not fully over his agitation, “i’m sorry. i wanna go home. i don’t— don’t wanna do interviews, don’t wanna see anyone. don’t wanna talk to coach. i just wanna be with you, please.”

his speech is hushed, pleading, his words slurred as if afraid you’re going to stop him, force him to go through the motions of what’s expected of him before he can beg further.

you brush his cheek with your thumb in a slow motion, moving him closer to you, your voice as careful as possible, “but, jeongguk… we can’t disappear without at least telling the others. coach will want you to answer—“

“please, love. please,” he cuts you, words trembling, “don’t make me go through this. i’m too weak now. i can’t.”

you’ve never seen jeongguk like this before.

it’s been over two years since he asked you to be his girlfriend. that night, he scored a goal for you. you knew it the moment the ball hit the net.

even with his teammates swarming him in celebration, his eyes searched for yours, locking on the moment he found you in the stands.

wrapped in your wool scarf, your face almost fully hidden, the way your eyes turned into crescents and your cheekbones so prominent was unmistakable.

the smile that you shared was sheepish, but brimming with meaning. carrying all those emotions you had both been tiptoeing around for so long.

for a while, your feelings had been caught in a slow dance, never fully picking up, but nonetheless comfortable with the motion.

jeongguk always found a reason to have you near, inviting you to practices and matches, because only your presence could give him the strength needed. and you always found a reason to show up.

even more when you easily fell into the routine that followed every encounter, evenings spent at your apartment, on your couch.

it was a schedule you soon came to love, with him making you laugh, an arm draped over your shoulder, your leg casually resting across his lap. the movies you would put on would quickly become background noise as his playful jokes turned into shared glances, quiet giggles, and stolen kisses.

kisses that felt like the ones teenagers share when they’re crushing on someone for the very first time.

kisses that didn’t evolve into anything more until that night, when he scored for you. it was unashamedly sweet, the feeling he gave you.

back at his flat, his face lit up with a grin so big it was infectious. the rush of adrenaline from winning the game and the joy of finally making you his girlfriend radiated from him.

it’s a stark contrast to his expression, now. it’s drawn with helplessness, clouded with a desperation that makes you ache.

he looks tired of fighting, of holding it all together. and it’s not just that— there’s a deep yearning, a frantic search, a needy plea to be understood, to be seen by you.

there’s nothing that truly comes more innately to you. it’s second nature, caring for him. knowing him. looking after him. tending to his physical and emotional scars. and you don’t want him to scrape his skin further.

you try to reason, “what— what about your things, don’t you at least want to—“

“i’ll ask taehyung to take my bag with him or something,” for the state he’s currently in, he still looks willing to do anything if it means getting out of here. and so, he begs again, “please. can we go home?”

you know you can’t say no to him. that’s not something that comes as good to you. not in your nature.

“this is not the way to your house.”

still in his soccer jersey, the uniform’s shorts touching his knees and holey socks high up his calves, muddy boots hurting his feet, jeongguk sits quietly next to you in the backseat of his car.

his chauffeur drives steadily, away from the hurt, and each mile puts more distance between jeongguk and the weight of the loss, the field, the pressure. he feels himself leave fragments of disappointment behind, back there.

it’s been a long time since it was just the two of you in his car. jeongguk would be the one driving, his left hand steady on the wheel, the right one always reaching for yours, a quiet confirmation of his love.

now, someone else takes care of the driving, especially after games, or in moments like these when jeongguk’s mind and body are too exhausted to handle anything more.

ever since the goal that changed everything between you two, jeongguk’s life took off. a big team recognized his potential and signed him, a moment that marked his breakthrough as pro in the football world.

then, it became a whirlwind. constant games, media attention, opportunities flooding in, and money pouring from every direction.

he bought a house — a mansion, really, — just outside the city, the kind of place he dreamed of as a small kid with big ambitions. everything about it is luxurious, grand, all jeongguk thought he wanted.

but there’s been something left behind, back in the quieter days when he was just a young player fighting for his place on this planet.

you met him before the fame, before his name was on the backs of jerseys and his face on billboards. you fell in love with the boyish version of him, the one who lived in a cramped flat, working tirelessly to make a name for himself.

you’ve been there through every step, enough to recognize the struggle in his eyes.

you so easily catch that flicker of awareness in him. the jolting confirmation that all of this is real, his orbs trembling. and when it hits, he retreats into himself, lets anxiety creep in.

he may not voice it, but you know the root of it. the fear of losing himself, of becoming someone else, of forgetting the version of him that’s grounded in simplicity and love.

jeongguk fears intertwining himself with what he always wanted will inevitably erase what he’s always been, the son of hardworking parents in busan, raised on sacrifice and dreams.

what he always had with you. quiet, uncomplicated. happy with the ordinary things, eating ramen on the floor of his tiny apartment, driving around just to talk about anything and nothing, reading quietly next to each other in the cafè you’ve introduced him to, your presence a comfort to him long before he realized he loved you as more than a friend.

jeongguk wants to hold onto that simplicity, and he wants you to be part of that. he wants you to stay by his side, to be the reminder of who he is beneath all the noise. what he wants to keep being.

because you’re his constant, unwavering, never changing. you’ve never needed him to be more than who he already is. you never look at him with the kind of judgment or disappointment that seems to follow him after every missed opportunity. there’s no pressure, no expectations of success.

in your eyes, he is just jeongguk— the same boy that approached you with a bad pun only to clumsily blame it on his drink. the one you built a familiar rhythm with, ordinariness always just enough for you. for the two of you, together.

you don’t need mansions, fancy restaurants, designer clothes. you don’t need grandeur. you’ll stay the way it’s always been, and the way you both want it to stay.

he quickly scans your face, letting your words register. your brows are furrowed slightly, pouty lips parted as if you’re about to tell the driver that he’s going the wrong way, headed somewhere other than the house he now calls home.

before you can speak, jeongguk interrupts you, his voice soft and suddenly self aware, “oh, i— sorry, i gave directions to your apartment. i just really wanted to be there with you.”

you blink at his fragile honesty. he had begged to be home, and now here you were, on the way to your own.

warmth spreads through you, and you can’t help but break into a big smile, one that eases the tension in his forehead, and mirrors softly in the grin that tugs at his pierced lips.

leaning in, you place a peck on his cheek, “it’s okay, baby. i’ve got so many of your clothes in my closet, there won’t be a problem.”

his low chuckle is comforting, and he scrunches his nose in that familiar way, shuffling closer to nuzzle into your shoulder. for a moment, the world outside fades. you’re hopeful as you think you can feel the weight on his heart lifting.

looking up, a teasing smile spreads across his face, “i wonder why.”

his playful shift surprises you, though you try not to show it. you want him to feel normal, like there’s nothing you should keep being sad over. your brows raise ever so slightly before you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, the fond amusement clear on your features.

it’s enough for jeongguk’s giggles to fill the car, an arm snaking around your waist, “it’s because you always steal my clothes.”

feigning shock, you gasp dramatically, swatting him lightly. he only laughs more, soft sounds bubbling up again, and you can feel love rushing through you, swarming frantically in your chest.

you play along with him, “no, it’s because you always leave your stuff behind after we— we…”

you trip on your words and pause when you realize what nearly slipped out, sheepishly averting your gaze to glance at the chauffeur, who seemingly looks too focused on the road to hear what you’re saying.

jeongguk’s eyes light up, his smile widening as his fingers teasingly pinch your sides, “after we what? say it, baby.”

you flinch at his ticklish touch, breaking into a grin and stubbornly shaking your head no. his laughter mingles with yours, bodies pressing tighter as he leans his weight into you, his nose brushing your jaw.

being this close to him, you inhale his scent. he still smells like adrenaline, mixed with exhaustion, sweat pearling his back. the feeling grounds you.

he hums lowly against your skin, his lips trailing wet pecks along your throat, “i miss doing that.”

your chuckle turns into a frenzied groan, and you steady yourself with your hands on his arm still squeezing around you, feeling your face heat up, “that was three days ago.”

”too long,” he mumbles, kisses slowly becoming more languid, savoring you.

when he pulls away from your neck, he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe before his lips find yours. the kiss is simple, sweet, but you can feel each beat of his pulse against your mouth.

you break the contact first, your hand slipping into his damp hair, gently brushing the long strands out of his eyes. you think out loud, admiring his perfectly framed face, “you need to cut these.”

but jeongguk isn’t currently interested in haircuts. he ignores your suggestion, his focus entirely on you, and his whispered words hold a kind of raw vulnerability, “i missed you.”

you hum, threading through his locks, “missed you too, my boy.”

that’s all he needs to close the gap between you again. this time, his kiss is more intent, deeper, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. his hands pull you closer, your chest arching into him, and in between the wet sounds of your lips meeting he lets a moan escape him.

you’re quick to swallow it, your own quiet noises vibrating against him before you put distance once again, softly tugging at his hair and finding his eyes lovingly, “let’s get home first, yeah?”

but he protests, a childlike groan reverberating in his throat, eyelids fluttering shut as he basks in the feeling of you against his lips. he attacks your cheeks next, trailing down, and down, and down, kissing you through your shirt.

then, it’s his fingers touching you under it, hand traveling up and kneading your breasts through your bra, only to slide around to trace the curve of your spine.

the sudden contact is overwhelmingly pleasuring, head thrown back on the headrest as quiet whimpers leave you. jeongguk is as hungry as ever, seeking for proximity no matter your bodies already molding with one another, his teeth scraping against your most sensitive spots, almost digging, eating, tasting.

and you want to let go, allow him to give you every last thing he’s holding onto, be selfish and take it all for yourself.

but you can’t when you know this is just another one of his escapes. he’s using this moment to drown out the chaos in his mind, to run from his pain, to bury his burdens and get high on a dopamine rush.

“baby, wait—“ in between gasps, you manage to get your voice out, but its whisper doesn’t seem to reach jeongguk’s ears, his long digits boring holes in the flesh of your bare thighs, prickling with goosebumps at his feverish touch.

in your own daze, you carefully take a hold of his face in your palms, lifting him up from the devoting motion of his lips on the edge of your shoulder, and the look in his eyes is hazed, inhebriated on the the burning of your skin under him, but it’s tinged with desperation.

behind his orbs there’s no other thought but to chase you, his only refuge, and your sweet smile only aggravates his crazed desire, trying to catch your mouth with his before you open it to speak, “i don’t want us to do this while you— you’re still mentally fragile.”

your worry is laced with love, it’s clear from the way it spills out of you, seeps from your delicate touch on his cheeks. but jeongguk’s eyes still widen in shock and shame, orbs shaking with panic.

his brows furrow in an attempt to conceal his turbulent emotions, but the city lights continuously flashing through the car windows only accentuate the glistening under his eyelids. he stammers, “i— i’m not— i’m… please. don’t reject me.”

the plea is shaky, and it makes your pulse race with agitation, fingers grasping his jaw with more intent as you’re quicker on your words than your own thoughts, “oh, honey, i’m not. look at me, please,” the way he flickers his gaze down only makes more panic flood in your veins, and you frantically search for him.

you manage to sound stable, whispered words fanning over his lips, “i just want what’s best for you, okay? do you trust me?”

he seems to lean into your touch, looking up at you through his lashes, brows still betraying him with the way they’re drawn up in sorrow. he hums in agreement.

you smile reassuringly, “perfect. then, i’ll tell you what we’re gonna do, hm?” when he nods, you continue, brushing his hair back through your calm words, “we get to my flat. take a hot shower. i make us something warm to eat. and then, if you still want to, i’m all yours. in our bed. sound good?”

our bed. the flicker in your boyfriend’s face doesn’t go missed. it’s fond, it softens his eyes, and it rushes down to his lips, struggling not to break into a grin. he pouts to hide it, and you can see he’s still ashamed by his earlier rush, his response muffled, “okay. i love you. i’m sorry.”

you coo, pulling his head to rest on your chest, drawing comforting strokes along his damp back, “i love you more. you did nothing wrong, baby.”

the both of you stay like that for a while. his cheek is squished against your breasts, lips parting to release quiet huffs, and your soothing motions run down his arm.

the quiet moment is interrupted by jeongguk’s phone ringing once again, loud and persisent, for the nth time in less than half a hour. he doesn’t even glance at the device when declining the call, and you catch the name flashing before the screen goes black.

it’s his coach calling. you stay quiet as he shuts off his phone completely, tossing it onto the empty seat next to him.

only a few moments pass before he looks up at you, his expression hesitant, a timid smile trying to mask the uncertainty in his eyes. you return his gaze with quiet confidence, nodding subtly, letting him know that you’re here with him— no matter what.

right now, all that matters is that jeongguk feels safe in your arms. you don’t care about the consequences he might face tomorrow. you’ll be there for him, just as you are now, when he needs you the most.

the moment you both step in your apartment, shoes messily discarded at the entrance (you’ll make sure to take care of his boots later), he trails after you like a lost puppy. he becomes your shadow, mirroring your every step with big eyes and a natural pout.

“take your uniform off, baby,” you gently instruct him while letting the water run from the shower head, adjusting the temperature until it’s hot enough for the both of you.

he slumps over on the toilet lid, eyes never leaving you as you move around the bathroom. when he lets them travel down your figure, a low groan escapes him.

you look so good in your skirt, the high socks triggering a weird, primal instinct in him, stirring dark fantasies that have him wishing you’d let him take you right there on the sink.

but he knows better than to mess with the plan you set earlier in his car for the both of you to enjoy the night, so he only allows himself to play with you a little, “can you do it for me? i’m tired.”

he really does seem tired, the exhaustion visible from the way his hands tremble slightly and his eyelids drop, but the look only adds to the lazy smirk spreading on his pierced lips. he knows what he’s truly asking for.

you narrow your gaze at him only to roll your eyes when he doesn’t look like he’s going to surrender any soon, grin only widening, and you pull him up by the jersey.

he complies, brows wiggling in teasing disobedience, looking down at you from his taller stance, “woah, commanding. i like it.”

“shut up,” you only murmur as you hastily strip off his sweaty uniform, throwing it right in the laundry bin. you leave him in his high socks and boxers, smacking his round ass playfully, “take these off yourself, mister.”

he’s ready to protest, to demand your touch back on him, but you shoot him a look with your raised eyebrows, “ah-ah. c’mon, and get in the shower, i’ll bring your change.”

before he can respond, you leave the bathroom. he whines childishly, slipping off his underwear along with the uncomfortable socks, adding them to the pile in the basket under the sink. he yells over the sound of running water, “you’re coming too, right?”

“yes!” you quickly call out from the bedroom, voice raised to reach him over the distance.

you know how difficult your boyfriend can be— if he hasn’t come to drag you in yet, you’re at least hoping he’s taken off the rest of his clothes. you foolishly hope he’s already in the shower, though the chances are slim if he’s not completely sure you’ll be joining him.

that’s why you move fast, grabbing his change of clothes from the drawer where you keep all his left-behind things. in your rush, you take one of his oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers for yourself, too.

when you return to the bathroom, you’re not surprised to find jeongguk standing in the middle of it, bare and waiting for you. his eyes light up when he sees you, taking the clothes from your hold and placing them on the counter, “i was about to come and get you.”

you scoff lightly, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but it’s no use. especially when he reaches out to pull you closer, fingers working at the zip of your skirt and sliding it off with ease, his own grin warm on his expression.

you gently push him toward the shower, pretending to scold him, “i can do this myself, thank you. now get in, silly.”

with a disappointed, and very adorable huff, he finally obeys, stepping under the hot steam of water. you can tell by the subtle way his shoulder relax that the heat soothes him, but the tension doesn’t completely ease from his muscles.

he tracks your movements attentively, taking in the way you strip yourself completely bare, and only when you step in the small cabin and close the sliding window door behind you he sighs in relief.

jeongguk engulfs you immediately, positioning you both directly under the cascade of water. it blurs your vision slightly, your bangs flattening on your forehead.

you push them out of the way, your hands then finding his own hair to slick it back, allowing you to see the fondness in his eyes clearly.

you look up at him through wet lashes, chin placed on his toned chest, and his own is dipped low to meet your gaze, take in the smile spreading and making your dimples show.

it grows bigger when he sheepishly scrunches his nose, the love seeping from your orbs suddenly overwhelming, and you press a gentle kiss to his adam’s apple before pulling yourself away, voice a whisper, “let me take care of you.”

jeongguk doesn’t argue, complying when you ask to hand you his shampoo. you’d originally bought it as a joke during one of your grocery runs together, picking it off the shelf with a laugh and pointing out the label— johnson’s baby shampoo, made with honey and wheat extracts, and on sale too. you’d exclaimed how it was so jeongguk, and he’d let you try it on him as soon as you got home.

the joke had stuck, and to your surprise, he ended up liking it more than you did. now, it was the only shampoo you used on him whenever he stayed at your place, a small tradition between the two of you.

as you work it into his damp hair, jeongguk’s eyelids flutter shut. he eases into your touch, body going loose as your fingers massage his scalp with the perfect amount of pressure, the kind that always seems to make him melt, the one that could immediately put him to sleep.

you wash it off and repeat the motion once more, taking your time. only when his hair is thoroughly cleaned do you reach for your vanilla body wash, moving on to carefully lather it over his skin.

tracing every line of his body, you watch the way he softens more with your touch, unconsciously swaying closer.

you’re slow, deliberate in your motions, letting your hands run over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest. his skin is warm and slick under your palms, and every now and then he lets out a contented sigh.

the sounds get fuller when you finally reach his back. you press a little harder, working out the knots you can feel lingering there. he groans softly, his head falling forward slightly, droplets of water dripping from his hair onto your face.

“feel good?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

he nods, his voice low and drowsy. “yeah, feels amazing.”

his moans grow unrestrainedly louder, eyes rolling back, and you would tease him for it if the sight of him like this wasn’t having its own effect on you.

biting your lip, you press your fingers deeper into his muscles, and suddenly his hands grip your waist, tight enough to startle you.

it has your mouth opening unconsciously, brows furrowed at the sensitivity. you almost give in when his palms slip further down, resting on the curve of your ass, and for a moment you consider the temptation, but the triumphant smirk on his face immediately pulls you out of your daze. your own fingers work to move his hands to rest at your shoulders.

you manage to sound stable, but you can feel the slight shake in your voice, “hands up here, mister.”

“oh, c’mon,” he has the audacity to whine, the sound muffled by his pouty, and so inviting lips.

you almost cave at the sight of him, his eyes wide and pleading. but you know better. if you let him push the boundaries now, things won’t stop here, and the careful rhythm you’ve set will be forgotten.

it’s not just him you’re trying to hold back— it’s yourself too, especially when his gaze almost breaks through your resolve.

you shake your head, trying to gather your composure, suddenly turning off the water and sliding the shower door open.

jeongguk groans in protest at the contrasting cold air hitting his skin, but you promptly step out to reach for your bathrobe and wrap it around him.

pout stubborn on his lips, he follows you out the shower, but instead of arguing further, he surprises you by engulfing you both in the same robe, pressing his chest against your back.

his arms circle you, and he starts rubbing the spongy material of his sleeves against your body, trying to dry you both at once.

you snort, amused by his antics, “what are you doing?”

“i’m drying us.”

“this will take us forever—”

“no, see? i’m already done,” with ease, he slips out of the robe, laying it over your shoulders and tying the belt snugly around you.

then he casually walks over to grab his change of clothes, pulling the t-shirt over his head despite the fact that his hair is still dripping with water.

you roll your eyes at the sight of it soaking into the fabric and gently push him to sit on the toilet lid, “don’t move. you’re still wet, god.”

“that’s what she said,” he wiggles his brows, eyes gleaming with immature delight as he grins mischeviously.

you sigh, struggling not to laugh at his pun. instead, you wordlessly grab the hairdryer and start running it through his damp locks.

he obediently leans into you, closing his eyes and resting his head against your chest as your fingers run along his hair. the warmth from the device makes him nuzzle even closer, his posture fully relaxed between your legs.

once his hair is dry and his clothes no longer clinging to his skin, you finally shut off the hairdryer, giving his now fluffy locks a final pat.

the time it took to dry jeongguk allowed the bathrobe to work its magic on you too. you quickly slip into his boxers and one of his many stussy t-shirts you picked randomly, tying a towel around your hair.

you prepare to head out of the bathroom, but before you can his hand gently stops you, gripping your forearm, suddenly towering over you when he stands up, “where are you going?”

“to make us dinner.”

“i’ll do it. you should dry your hair, or else you’ll get a headache.”

“but—”

“no but. you already did enough, baby. i’m okay, i swear,” his voice softens, and the fond look in his eyes makes it clear he won’t let you argue further. he doesn’t even let you respond, stepping out of the room and heading to the kitchen.

a smile tugs at your lips, and you take a deep breath, the comforting scent of vanilla and honey still lingering after he leaves.

you’ve always appreciated jeongguk’s attention to detail. he knows how long it takes you to care for your thick, long hair and also remembers the countless nights you complained about your head hurting from leaving it damp. he always listens, even to the smallest things.

twenty minutes later, you’re warm and dry, stepping into the kitchen where the delicious smell of soup greets you. jeongguk is behind the stove, stirring a pot and softly whistling as he tends to another pan on the burner.

when he notices you, his eyes brighten, trailing over your legs and the way his t-shirt sits just above your thighs, revealing glimpses of his boxers. as you approach, he grins, “what’s a pretty woman like you doing here, alone?”

you’ve been with him long enough to know this is just the start of one of his playful roleplays, so of course you instantly know your line, “i have a boyfriend, actually.”

“oh, really? is he here too? can he fight?” his voice drops lower with every step you take towards him, with the last words coming out as a growl as you stand in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

you snort, “you’re so dumb.”

he stays in character, raising his eyebrows, “no, tell me. can he?”

you hum thoughtfully, pursuing your lips as you pretend to consider, your eyes wandering before settling on his again, “yes. he’ll break your nose.”

he chuckles, feigning surprise, “god, he sounds tough.”

“he is.”

with an arm snaking around your waist, he pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear, nose tickling your lobe, and he whispers, “but i just want you so bad, young lady. don’t tell him, hm?”

his mouth is on yours next, molding together in a sickeningly sweet, lingering kiss, and you let him find your tongue with his own, your front arching against his.

with your arms wrapped around his neck, you part slightly, your eyes jumping on every corner of his face. your voice is thick with pure love, “do you feel better, big boy?”

jeongguk smiles, presses it against your forehead, “so much better, thanks to you. i love you.”

“i love you more,” you momentarily lose yourself in his expression, and you have to blink harshly to pull yourself out of the daze before you fall too deeply into your emotions and start waxing poetic, letting your heart run as wild as the love in your veins.

you move from his hold, busying yourself with setting the small table in your kitchen, grabbing the usual pink glass for yourself and the yellow one for him.

he chose them himself a long ago, said pink reminded him of the way you blushed at his every action, and the yellow symbolized a sunflower always turning toward its sun, because, “that’s how i’ve felt ever since i met you.”

as you arrange the glasses, you almost forget what you were about to ask, but the faint ring of your phone from the bedroom reminds you, “is your phone still off? coach has been calling me.”

his brows knit slightly, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor, but he doesn't meet your eyes, focusing instead on plating the soup. “can we— not talk about it? just for tonight?”

a small gasp escapes you at his quiet plea, and you rush to his side to help him, taking the plates from him and placing them gently on the table, your words hushed, “of course, baby. i was just worried you might want to hear from him. i don’t care about all of that, i only care about you.”

a sheepish smile breaks through his composure, his front teeth worrying at his lip piercing. he looks up at you, lets himself be coddled by the warmth of your gaze, and he sounds just as timid as he looks, “hm. that’s what i wanted to hear.”

you shake your head fondly at his vulnerable side, motioning for him to sit with you, “silly. come, let’s eat, and then we can get some sleep.”

even after swallowing the burning soup, jeongguk still finds a way to tease, nudging your foot under the table with a mischievous grin.

"you’re not getting any sleep tonight," he quips, his voice low with playful intent. you roll your eyes and kick him lightly, making him yelp in exaggerated shock.

it becomes a game of back and forth, his dirty jokes pushing boundaries just enough to make you question if he’s actually serious. there’s a part of you that selfishly hopes he means it, but the side of you that knows him inside and out knows better.

sex for jeongguk isn’t just a casual thing, especially after a night like this. for the two of you, intimacy is more than physical— it’s an act of devotion, a way to connect deeply when words can’t express everything.

it’s never about distraction or escape, but about grounding one another, the flicker of something real and tender at the core of it.

tucked under the covers, waiting for him after he convinced you he could handle the dishes himself — arguing that picking a movie was just as much work — you’re not surprised by what he says when he finally enters the room.

“baby… i think i’m happy with just cuddles for tonight. that okay with you?”

you break into a big grin, brimming with unspeakable feelings for the man standing at the foot of your bed, for which you spread your arms open, “of course, sweetheart. come here, you big child.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly burrowing himself against the warm sheets, intertwining his limbs with yours. he nestles his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as if he’s found the safest place, “i love you. have i said that already?”

“a million times. and i’m never sick of it.”

“say it back.”

you snort at the insistence in his tone, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt, and your fingers unconsciously play with his straight locks as you swing one of your legs around his waist, your voice a whisper above the shuffling, “i love you more.”

he tilts his head up, chin resting on the softness of your breasts, “no, you don’t.”

brushing his bangs away from his eyes, you smile fondly, “i do. believe me.”

he huffs in faux protest, narrowing his eyes. but he gives in as quickly as he tried to argue, his cheek settling back to rest just where your heart beats, its steady beat lulling him into calm along with your gentle strokes along his nape.

jeongguk doesn’t resist it, doesn’t fight your love. accepts it as the purest form of closure he can get for himself, “hm. okay. i love you.”