#even if he always things he is just one step away from fucking up

[greengoblinswifey]

Steamy Nights—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you’re a sheltered college student who recently got your first job as a housekeeper at a fancy hotel. you stumble upon Nicholas Chavez while cleaning and he invites you to his hot tub in his room where one thing leads to another. based on this request.

warnings— age gap(reader is 19) praise kink, slight body worship, fingering, oral(f!receiving), daddy kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, creampie, aftercare.

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It had been a few weeks since you left your hometown and the ever-watchful eyes of your parents. You were finally in college, away from the suffocating grip of your sheltered upbringing. Now, you were free—free to explore, meet new people, and experience the world on your own terms. You'd always been the quiet, reserved type, but something inside you wanted to change that. You were ready to break out of your shell, to do what everyone else seemed to be doing, partying, flirting, and fucking.

You'd just landed your first job, working as a housekeeper at one of the fanciest hotels in the city. The kind of place where top CEOs, celebrities, and influencers stayed. The pay was decent, and it gave you the freedom you longed for, even though you were still adjusting to the hustle of your new life. You had a lot of cleaning to do, and the hours passed by quickly, but today was different. You were already thinking about the freedom you'd have once your shift was over, but you hadn't expected to find what you did next.

As you entered another room to clean, you realized there was no “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging from the door handle. You assumed it was just another room to tidy, so you entered without hesitation. The sight that greeted you, however, left you frozen.

The man standing before you was unreal. His body was sculpted like a Greek statue, muscles rippling under his damp skin, droplets of water glistening on his chest. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. For a moment, you couldn't find your voice.

“Sorry! I—I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your face flushed. “There wasn't a sign on the door and I just thought—”

You tried to turn away quickly, but your gaze was fixed on him, unable to tear yourself away from his presence. Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but be entranced by his sharp features, the way the towel clung to his waist.

He chuckled softly, his deep voice sending a wave of warmth through your body. “It's fine, princess. Why so nervous?” he asked, his smirk playful yet intense.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect yourself. “I, um, I’m sorry, really.”

He took a step closer, and your breath hitched as he looked you over with what felt like a mixture of curiosity and awe. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “I'm Nicholas by the way, Nicholas Chavez.”

You blinked, a realization dawning on you. Nicholas Chavez. The famous actor. You’d seen him on billboards, in tv shows, and even heard girls talk about him endlessly. He was everywhere. And now, here he was, standing before you in nothing but a towel.

“I, uh, I know who you are,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up even more.

He smiled, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Good. You have a name?”

“Yeah, it's Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said smoothly, his voice low. He took a small step toward you, and you felt your pulse quicken. “So, how old are you?” he asked casually, his gaze lingering on you.

“I’m nineteen,” you replied, feeling a little shy under his attention.

He chuckled, his gaze never leaving you. “Nineteen, huh? You're—full of surprises.”

You blinked, unsure what he meant by that, but his next words made your heart skip a beat.

“How about this,” he said with a sly grin. “When your shift is over, come find me. My private hot tub’s always open. I’ll be waiting.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your mind racing. You’d always been the shy, sheltered girl, but something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, it made you feel different. More alive. Maybe this was your chance to break free from your past, to do something bold.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

His smile widened, and he gave you a wink before turning away, heading back to the bed. “The door’s always open for you,” he said over his shoulder as he flopped onto the bed, his gaze lingering on you. “Take your time.”

You felt a rush of excitement and nerves all at once. You finished your cleaning quickly, your thoughts buzzing with what was to come. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—about his body, his voice, the way he had looked at you. You felt like you were about to step into a new chapter of your life, one that you had been longing for.

The hours passed slowly, but finally, it was time. You’d made sure to pick out a sexy bathing suit, to wear underneath your clothes. As you approached his room, your heart raced with anticipation. You unlocked the door with your housekeeper’s key and pushed it open, your eyes immediately falling on him.

Nicholas was there, lounging on the bed in nothing but his trunks, his body looking just as perfect as before. He looked up and saw you standing there, and his eyes darkened, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You came,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You swallowed, nodding. “I— I came.”

As he sat up on the bed, your eyes couldn't help but trace the lines of his muscles, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was a vision of pure temptation, and for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel nervous. You felt almost empowered.

You stepped out of your clothes and into the soft light of his hotel suite, the anticipation buzzing in the air. You tugged at the straps of your bathing suit, a sudden surge of confidence rushing through you as you revealed the simple yet daring swimwear underneath. His eyes flickered, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you, his gaze darkening with something deeper.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice low and appreciative. “You’re gorgeous. Look at you.”

Your heart raced at his words, the heat in your cheeks making you feel more alive than you ever. You gave him a shy smile, but he could see through it, he knew exactly how his words were making you feel. He moved toward you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you as his hands gently took you in his arms.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady and warm. You squealed in surprise as he effortlessly swept you off your feet, carrying you toward the hot tub on the balcony. The steam rising from the water mingled with the cool night air, creating a perfect atmosphere that made your pulse race even faster.

He set you down gently, the water soothing against your skin as he stepped in after you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something magnetic about him, something raw and unspoken. He was powerful, confident, and completely in control, yet there was a kindness in his gaze that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he asked, his voice smooth like velvet. His hand brushed against your back, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the warmth of his touch.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “Well, I’m new to all of this. I grew up a little sheltered, honestly. But I’m in college now, and I wanted to break out of my shell—experience things for myself.”

Nicholas’ eyes softened with understanding, and he gave you a small nod. “I like that,” he said, his voice deepening. “You’ve got spirit.”

You could feel your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little nervously. “I guess I’m just tired of playing it safe.”

He stepped closer, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in just enough to make you dizzy. “What if I told you that you don’t have to play it safe anymore?” His hand found your cheek, cupping it gently as he held your gaze. “What if I told you there’s so much more to explore, if you’re willing?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you nodded, not trusting your voice for a moment. His words had unlocked something inside you, something that felt like a new beginning.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, barely above a whisper. You could feel the tension between you two, the chemistry so thick you could almost taste it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “A lot of things. Are you down for anything?”

You could feel your pulse spike, the weight of his question making your stomach flip with excitement. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but the conviction behind it was clear. You were ready. Ready to let go and experience everything that this night had to offer.

Nicholas didn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow at first. But then the kiss deepened, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You responded eagerly, your body moving against his as you got lost in the moment. His mouth was hungry, but gentle, as if savoring every second.

He broke away for a moment, looking down at you with something unreadable in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel the heat of his gaze burning into you. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his fingers gently grazing your skin.

Nicholas was so close now, his body radiating warmth as his hands gently traced the contours of your body, making you feel things you’d never experienced before. His eyes never left yours, and you could feel the raw hunger in his gaze.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing your ear. “Everything about you is perfect.” His fingers slowly moved up, grazing your side, sending a rush of heat straight to your pussy. He paused, then gently tugged at the strings of your bikini top, his eyes darkening as the fabric loosened. “God,” he breathed, looking at you in awe as the top fell away, exposing your tits to him.

You couldn’t stop the flutter in your chest, the way your pulse quickened at his words. You’d never felt more exposed, yet somehow, with him, it felt right. “So juicy,” he whispered, his voice husky as he lowered his head. His lips brushed the soft curve of your breast, and you gasped softly, unable to stop the soft moans that escaped your lips. “Your moans are hot,” he said.

Your body reacted to every touch, every brush of his hands. His touch felt like fire on your skin, leaving you trembling. The sensation of his hands on your body was overwhelming, and when his fingers gently cupped your breast, you couldn’t help but let out another moan, louder this time.

“God, your boobs are amazing,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin as his lips found yours again in a hungry kiss. You kissed him back with the same fervor, your body pressing closer to his, feeling the heat of his chest against you. His body was solid, strong, and you could feel every inch of him as he held you close.

His hand moved slowly down your body, his fingers grazing the edge of your bikini bottom. He didn’t rush, he was savoring every moment, as if he knew this was all new to you. His hand lingered there, rubbing over pussy through the fabric, making you squirm slightly. The water splashed around you, but it only heightened the lust between you both.

You moaned softly as he rubbed your clothed pussy faster, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your chest rose and fell with each breath, and the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your body, his eyes full of desire. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said. There was no mistaking the way he felt—he wanted you, just as much as you wanted him.

With a gentle but insistent pull, he guided you closer, your bodies pressed together, the heat from the water mixing with the heat between you. His lips found yours once more, and as you kissed him back, you felt the world narrowing down to just the two of you, two bodies, two souls connecting in the steam and the quiet night.

What do you want, princess?” His voice was thick with desire, his lips lingering near your ear.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding as you thought about what you wanted. “I need to feel more. I need you to make me—make me cum.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm on your neck. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to your bikini bottom. He was so careful, making sure you were comfortable with every movement. He kissed you again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as though he couldn’t wait to explore more of you.

The water splashed lightly around you as you both moved, the sound of your breaths mingling with the soft hum of the jets. His hand moved lower, brushing gently against you. He pulled your strings, easily ripping off your bikini then slipped a finger inside your wetness. You couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation of his fingers inside you unfamiliar yet thrilling.

“I’m a virgin by the way, I should’ve mentioned that earlier.”

“Shit, are you okay, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, pulling away slightly to look at you. You nodded, your fingers curling into his chest as you pulled him closer.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you whispered, your body reacting instinctively to his finger curling inside you. He slipped another finger inside you, your nails digging into his huge biceps and he took the moment to rub your clit. Your moans and the sound of water splashing was all he could hear.

“Nick— I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice thick with approval. “Cum for me, baby.”

And for the first time in your life, you did. You squirted on his fingers, feeling the tension in your body release as you surrendered to the moment, to him.

“Fucking hell, you look so pretty when you cum, y’know that?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this so, no,” you laughed.

You suddenly realized you were butt ass naked in front of a man for the first time as his eyes raked over your body, drinking you in like you were a sculpture in a museum. Your hands went instinctively to your boobs, covering yourself as he stared too long.

“Oh baby, don’t hide yourself, you’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured, taking your hands and placing it on his bulge. You felt how hard he was, and how big.

Nicholas pulled down his swim trunks, and stepped out of the water in all his glory. The warm water cascaded over his body and all the way down to his cock that was standing at attention. The steam was a paid actor like himself—setting the mood and reflecting the heat between you. He took your hand and helped you out of the hot tub, both of you dripping with arousal and remnants of water.

As you stood there, his towel draped loosely around his waist, you couldn’t help but notice how impossibly broad and strong his frame was. The water glistened off his chest, highlighting his defined muscles, and you felt an involuntary shiver of anticipation.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against your skin as he took up a towel and dried you off. You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest as his hands lingered just a little longer than necessary, making it hard for you to breathe.

“Come on baby,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as he led you back toward the bedroom, your pulse quickening with every step. The moment you entered, he closed the door behind you, the weight of his presence filling the room.

Before you could even process what was happening, he pushed you gently onto the bed, your body sinking into the softness of the mattress. The action was quick, but there was nothing hurried about the way he looked at you—there was a quiet intensity in his gaze, like he couldn’t wait to see where this would go.

He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching you as you caught your breath, your body still damp from the hot tub. “You know,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “you’re absolutely beautiful.” His words sent a wave of heat through you, making you flush as his gaze dropped to your body, his eyes darkening with desire.

You could barely find your voice. “Th-thank you,” you stammered, trying to steady yourself, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to focus. You weren’t sure if you were nervous or excited, maybe both.

Nicholas moved closer, leaning down until his face was just inches from your glistening pussy. “Can I taste you?” he asked softly, his lips hovering over you.

You nodded, barely able to speak, but your lips parted as he moved in. His mouth moved against your pussy slow at first, tentative almost, as if testing the waters. But as he began licking faster, his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You responded by pressing your pussy against him, the heat of his mouth making you dizzy with desire.

“You’re taste so fucking good,” he murmured against your clit, his voice a husky growl. You moaned softly in response, your body already reacting to his tongue all over you. It was the first time anyone had made you feel like this, so exposed and yet so wanted.

Your breath caught in your throat as you gathered the courage to speak. “Shit, daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whispered.

He smiled, that wicked grin curling at the edges of his lips at the nickname you appointed to him. “Wow, we’ll address that after you cum on my tongue, so go ahead,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval.

As if your body was waiting for the go ahead, you arched from the bed, your hands immediately gripping his hair as you ground your pussy all over his mouth. You moaned as you squirted and he took the opportunity to slurp every drop of what your pussy had to over.

“Mm— that’s my good girl, you taste like fucking Heaven, sweetheart,” he praised in between his licks.

He moved up to you, his lips glistening with your arousal and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him and relishing in your savory taste. As you did, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you, his pre cum leaking and smearing on you. It felt so good, you wanted to suck his dick but you needed him to fuck you even more.

“So, daddy kink hmm? Just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter,” Nicholas said, that gorgeous smirk on his face.

You buried your face in his neck, grinding your pussy against his shaft as you let out small whimpers in his ear. You needed that dick, bad.

“You’re so needy sweetheart, what is it, you want my cock?”

You let out a soft ‘mhmm’ still grinding against him as your body shuddered, if you weren’t careful, you knew you’d cum from just doing that.

“Words baby, I need words, do you want daddy to take your virginity?” he asked. When he saw you, he knew he wanted you for a fun night and more, he would’ve never thought a beautiful woman like you was still a virgin and would be up for a night with him. Let’s be real, if a guy like him asked you to come to his room after hours, he was looking to fuck and you, a virgin, knowingly came to his room. Though, he needed to know you were on board.

“Yes, please, I want you to take my virginity, please fuck me,” you whimpered.

He reached to pull out the nightstand drawer and you knew immediately what he was reaching for.

“N-no condom,” you muttered, grabbing his hand, “I’d like to feel all of you for my first time, i-if that’s okay.”

“‘Course baby, anything for you,” he smiled.

He moved back on top of you, stroking his length and spreading the pre cum all over. Looking at how big he was, you wondered how he would fit.

“You sure you want to do this sweetheart? You can still back out if you want to, the decision is all yours,” he said, concern etched on his face.

“I’m sure Nicholas,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down.

His leaking tip rubbed against your folds, the sound of your wetness filling the hotel room.

“I’m gonna go slow baby but it’s still going to be a bit uncomfortable at first, if it’s gets too painful, all you have to say is stop, yeah?”

You nodded your head and smiled, appreciative of his words, you wouldn’t want to be losing your virginity in any other scenario with anyone else but him.

Slowly, he began easing his cock into you, muttering praises and placing kisses all over your face. Your face contorted from the pain and pleasure and you tried your best to relax so he could move further.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay, the worst part’s gonna be over soon,” he uttered, before placing a kiss on your lips.

He slowly pushed into you more, peppering kisses and cooing at you. You’d never felt to full, your fingers when you touched yourself didn’t compare to how big he was inside you. Your jaw fell agape as the slight pain finally subsided and you were overcome with pleasure.

“Daddy,” you moaned as he began to move at a steady pace, his cocky repeatedly brushing against your sweet spot.

“There she is, there’s daddy’s girl,” he cooed, placing another kiss on your lips.

His words made your pussy clench and a flutter grew in your heart, this man was doing things to you no man had ever done.

“Faster,” you urged, grinding against him.

He granted your wish, pounding into you faster and making your body jolt upwards. Your moans and the sound of skin slapping filled the room and soon, you felt your approaching orgasm.

“So fucking tight, just clenching around me like that, I know you wanna cum, cum on daddy’s cock baby.”

Your nails dug into his back leaving a trail of fire and he pounded into you just the way you liked it.

“Oh fuck— daddy,” you cried, grabbing him and pulling him flush against you. You shuddered as your orgasm ripped through you, your juices soaking the bed as he pulled out.

As he looked down, there was a bit of blood between your legs and on his cock. He quickly grabbed a towel and cleaned you up then himself, placing a kiss on your thigh.

You glimpsed the blood stained towel and buried your face in your hands.

“I— I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

He cut you off with a passionate kiss, cupping your cheeks.

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s natural and normal sweetheart.”

You gave him a small smile and he flipped you on top of him swiftly, making you squeal.

“I know it’s your first time but I need you to ride me baby, need to see those fucking tits bounce and have you on top of me.”

“Anything for you,” you smirked, though nervous.

You lined his awaiting cock with your dripping pussy, rubbing it against you and making it drip down his shaft.

“Fucking hell, you’re amazing,” he moaned, bucking his hips.

Slowly, you sank down onto him, both moaning in unison as your warmth and wetness engulfed each other. It was like fireworks exploded, this was everything you had dreamed of. It was a burning stretch but the pain soon turned into pleasure.

You bounced on his cock and he moved his hips to meet your thrusts.

“Oh God— daddy,” you moaned, feeling him hit a whole new spot inside you, you thought was impossible.

“Yeah? You like that? You like riding daddy’s cock? Fucking say it,” he panted.

“I— I love riding daddy’s cock, fuck me harder,” you moaned.

“Good fucking girl.”

He thrusted up into you, grabbing your boobs and playing with your nipples as he did. Your moans were like music to his ears and soon, he felt the familiar feeling of your pussy fluttering and clenching around him like you didn’t want to let him go.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight baby, cum for daddy, soak daddy’s cock.”

Falling on top of him, your body convulsed and your orgasm overtook you, soaking his length and the sheets below you once more. You knew the housekeepers would complain, they always did when the sheets were covered in bodily fluid, hell, you did too, oh the irony.

“Stay just like that baby, daddy’s gonna pump you full of cum,” he murmured.

Nicholas pinned your hands behind your back, the action unusual but making your head swoon.

“Oh, you like that don’t you?” he asked, fucking up into you hard.

“I love it daddy, faster,” you begged.

“As you wish.” His cock began slamming into you faster and soon, you felt the unmistakable feeling of something warm, filling you to the brim.

“That feels so good,” you moaned, grinding against him.

“I know baby, take daddy’s cum, take it in that tight fucking pussy.”

He slowly thrusted into you before he pulled out, the feeling leaving you empty yet fulfilled.

You laid there, tangled in each other, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

“Did you enjoy yourself beautiful?,” he asked, as you leaned up to look at him.

“More than I could ever imagine.”

He smiled and gave you a kiss on the lips before making his way to the bathroom and coming back with a warm cloth. He cleaned you up, littering kisses as he did.

“You’re so beautiful, I’m so lucky,” he muttered. His words made your heart flutter, would this be a regular occurrence?

“I think I’m lucky too,” you laughed, “a famous actor just took my virginity.”

“And I’d like to take it all over again in the morning, will you stay the night?” he inquired, tossing the cloth on the couch.

“I don’t think I can, I already broke a rule sleeping with a guest but literally sleeping over in a guest’s room? I’d get fired and it’s my first job I—“

He cut you off with a finger over your lips. “Shh, forget who I am? I’ll pull some strings, and even if you do get fired, I’ll easily take care of you.”

You buried your face in his firm chest and he fell onto the bed beside you. The romantic night went on with you tangled in each other’s arms and Nicholas littering kisses all over your face. Who knew being a housekeeper would score you such a big tip.

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Price and his marriage problems with you

Angst to comfort 'cause I just can't deal with leavin' it hangin' and being angry at the writer (me) for just endin' it like that Playlist Inspo: Yaur, it ain't a song but a whole ass playlist 'cause we in for a hellavu ride *fire sound effects*

Price just sometimes gets too prideful for his own good, his bravado taking the step forward instinctively when it comes to serious conversations involving you.

Deep down, he always wants what's best for you-- for you and him together as partners.

But that sometimes doesn't get translated in the way you would understand his intent, and this is proven true once again when he comes to learn that you driven home drunk after a night out with your friends.

"You could've gotten hurt."

Price, whenever in an argument with you, would never shout. That to you, speak volumes from the way he positioned himself to a wide legged stance, arms crossed to the way his icy glare seeped into the words coming out of his mouth.

But you've had enough of it.

"Well, you look like you could care less." You huffed out, slamming your front door closed and tossing away your shoes.

"Care less?" He hums, one eyebrow raised as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "Then my texts asking where you were and offering a ride home are just nothing to you?"

"No!"

"Then tell me," he steps closer but you step back. "how does it look like to you?"

This feels like he's cornering you, badgering for an answer he wants to hear and not about how you feel-- but you just can't seem to gather the courage to speak on it, after being denied of such things for so long.

So you bit your lip, backing up so far with your arms wrapped around, that you hit your back on the door-- and you had half a mind to run away from this, from everything, and most of all-

From him.

Price sees the panicked look on your face and feels his hand tucked under his armpit twitch, but his rational brain stops him-- knowing that if he let his inhibitions go right now, he'd see you hurt even more.

"Darlin'," he softly calls out this time, "tell me." But the demand remains the same-- and for a moment this made you believe he'd finally get the point and ask how you feel.

About him. About how this relationship have crumbled into.

"Y'know what John," you scoffed, "you wouldn't understand anyways."

He feels the ire grow from the way his hairs stand on end at your dismissiveness, your unwillingness to give an olive branch and just let him help you.

"Tell me anyways." He insists and you couldn't help how you obviously rolled your eyes at his one insistent dialogue option. Persistent in his ways of getting you to talk.

"And I said," you growled, "you wouldn't understand nor care to anyways!"

"THEN FUCKING MAKE ME!"

He cracks.

You crack.

And something inside both of you does as well.

Like a snap of a cord, the tension in its high rise grow cold.

Silence permeating the area you once found comfort in and called- "home."

Price sees the terror in your eyes and he just fucking knows he fucked up.

Fucked everything up just because he broke first-- snapped too hard at someone who held so dearly, but has now broken himself.

And he's panickily trying to fix it. Fix you. Fix each other.

His deepest nightmare coming into reality, the side of him he tried so hard to keep from you resurfacing, the acknowledgements of his faults getting the better of him as he you stare each other soullessly-- eyes not showing the same spark it did the first time he took you out.

Price knows he gets scary and unreasonable-- its part of his identity and how he deals with the other aspect of his life that he tries so damn hard to keep away from you.

Yet here it is- making its appearance in the worst. fucking. time. possible.

The silence is now broken with a sob coming from you.

You, who is unable to take in the state of the proud John you know and love now look to utterly destroyed from the one sentence leaving his mouth.

And the fact that its now out there, speaking a thousand emotions behind the four words he released in desperation.

You do love him. You love John so much sometimes it hurts to see him hurt you.

You're so damn frustrated with yourself that you can't handle being hurt by the man you love- you feel so pathetic, unable to take his concerns guised in criticism, his messages of tough love behind the formal texts on your phone, his small actions of appreciation from respecting your space and letting you breath after another argument.

"Are we done for John?"

You ask, through hiccups, forcing the matter on hand-- one of which you both desperately avoided for so long.

You wait.

You could hear the air still once again, it taking a chokehold on you, making you more desperate of the deprived oxygen.

You hear him shuffle to you.

The arms you previously wrapped around yourself were now around someone else, a different set now covering your own torso.

"My love," he chokes out, a soft "...Please" is all that he could manage.

"Please what?" You, yourself could barely respond but you knew you had to. He had to as well.

"Don't..." he sighs, head falling onto your shoulder. "...don't say such things."

"Why not?"

He feel him still.

"Tell me John."

He feels your position now. Vulnerable, wounded, and cornered without a choice.

"I'm sorry," he finally says with his chest heavy, "I'm so sorry my love, please."

He grabs your face desperately, hands now cupping your face instead of your waist.

And you could just see- how equally broken this man is.

You never saw Price cry, but that one time he slotted that ring on your finger and finally called you, 'his.'

But this... this is completely different.

From the way his eyes are dilated, not in love, but in genuine distraught. His hands shaky, not in nervousness, but anxiousness. His hands soft, not in care, but of fright.

If this is destroying him, then it did for you too.

Price continues to beg and plead, wiping your tears and dismissing his own. It doesn't matter if he can taste his salty tears and snot-- you just mattered more, and refusing to just stand there and watch you cry.

With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand to his hand softly grabbing it and Price thinks he finally got to you.

But you pull it away.

Instead, you pull in downward and intertwine it with yours, slightly swinging it between you.

"John."

You call out and he opens his ears, replies, anything to get you talking--, "yes my dear?"

"I'm hurt."

He's about to ask why, where, how-- he wants to know everything.

"And I think I'm hurting you... well, more like us."

He shakes his head, disagreeing immediately.

"Darling, no." He fumbles his words, "its me- I'm hurting you, hurting us, and I-."

"No, its my fault."

"No, its mine."

"No, I just sometimes can't take it."

"Then its me! I'm at fault."

But you both insist and it seems endless until you both run out of breath again, yet... your intertwined hands persist. Grip so tight that you wouldn't even think of letting go.

This...makes you laugh, a soft one, and John swear he could hear bells ringing again.

You test it and try to pull away but he doesn't let you.

You giggle again and its infectious that Price couldn't help doing it as well.

"Why..." his chuckles die down but a smile stays painted on his lips, "why were you laughing?"

You shook your head and continue swinging your hands with more energy, "don't know..."

"But," you raised your head- eyes connecting once more, "this is just so silly."

"Silly?" He scoffs, so confused at the how quick the emotions are changing.

"Silly." You insisted but end of sighing, hands slowing down.

"I think," you began with your voice down back to a whisper, "we should be honest and talk."

Price immediately nods in agreement and adds a, "and take a step back?" And he does this literally too, making you chuckle.

Realizing as well at how cold the room has been, contrasting the warmth of your hands.

"yeah..." you mumble and unconsciously reach out for him again. "let's try... again?"

He reaches for you but this time, his grip is soft as if he was ready to let you pull away again.

"Together."

A/N: gonna be makin one for the other boiyos too so... part 1/4? :>> Masterlist for my other works here!

[hollyhomburg]

(Angst) I have this headcannon for the angsty alternative ending for BILY, that when the pack are in their ‘living apart, no idea where the m/c is or if she’s safe/hurting/needs them but trying to be respectful of the fact that she does not want to be apart of the pack anymore’ era sometimes… her mating mark starts to feel like an ache, and the loneliness burns through her no matter how much she tries to ignore it.

And she tosses and turns in her little attic apartment aware that she doesn’t even have their numbers anymore because it’s been a year or two too long, she doesn’t even remember what yoongis might be. But she knows where the house is, she knows how to get too it.

So…she goes, looks at it from the street first, the warm windows upstairs, the dark downstairs, the soft light in taes library room. Sometimes she gets angry by the fact that she can’t turn back time, can’t go back.

Other times- when the touchstarvedness feels like a gaping wound, she ascends those steps and sits on the outdoor furniture, just for a bit. Just to soak in the little bit of the packs scents, just a tiny bit of their comforting presence. Aware that someone is watching from the window, that there is light under the door, that it’s probably not locked, she could go in but-

She doesn’t. She just sits out there and closes her eyes and then leaves. Sometimes she wishes the packmate watching her would come out and yell at her, shake her by her baggy hoody, and ask her what the fuck shes doing- sitting out here like a stray dog when she’s the one who ran away but they never do.

Once she falls asleep and wakes up to a blanket covering her. Unsure who noticed her out there cheeks burning angry suddenly at no one and nothing just- angry at how things played out. And she leaves- without ever knowing who in the pack is still holding a flame for her.

If I had to put my money on who it was, I’d say jimin. Because logically- anyone else would confront her, spook her with their concern, or worse. But jimin has always been a calculating alpha, has always been able to picture the long con.

He takes in everything- her clothes, not dirty (so she isn’t Litterally homeless, which is good because then he might not manage to resist dragging her inside), but that her wrists- thin and her cheeks- hollow. more hollow than they’ve ever been before (which is not good, because if she dies yoongi dies and she might- she needs)

She looks like rage and grief and trauma are eating her alive again. And jimin would be startled by this- but he sees it every day in yoongi so- he’s a little too used to it.

So Jimîn turns his instincts down to a simmer, and settles for the long hunt

Maybe once or twice when she comes over jimin notices and comes outside- doesn’t say anything just sits next to her, neither of them offering a hand- but maybe a cigarette every now and then. The smoke burning out the words they can’t say- or maybe they actually do talk. Eventually, after the first few times. I imagine it’s one where she comes to him and her hands are visibly shaking. It’s not even winter out anymore- it’s not even cold but she couldn’t lift a glass to her lips without spilling it.

And jimîn wonders if it’s Parkingsons? Drugs? Hunger? It’s hard to tell.

So instead jimîn asks, “do you need money?”

“No, why?” Her voice sounds the same, and jimin does not cry hearing it. Somehow he thought she’d sound different. But it’s the same voice that tae hears in her nightmares, the same voice that jimin once heard begging for namjoons life- the same voice he hears on one of the few recordings yoongi has on his old phone that seem to be the only thing that helps these days.

It’s the same, and jimin almost thought she might not be able to talk still.

He breathes deep, because those times have passed now. They’re both here. Mostly Alive. Jimin geastures with the cigarette.

“To stop whatever that is.” But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything but shove her hands in her pockets. She leaves- and jimin almost lets her go without saying anything.

“You could come inside you know.” Jimin drinks in the way she looks back at him, half hidden in the shadow at the edge of the streetlight already.

“I know, I just don’t want too.”

And that hurts, that leaves jimjn smoking a whole pack on the porch until the sun starts to rise and his eyes are bloodshot But she comes back, she always comes back.

Jimin starts to store little facts about her. The faded x’s on the back of her hands, the sometimes stamps, the tattoos poking out from under her sleves the thick one over the mating mark on her neck, a rose- is that for tae? Can she smell taes scent from here? does she know that tae fell asleep tonight crying? Jimin’s drenched with the smell of her displeasure. Jimin did notice- the second he walked out- the flare of her nostrils. He doesn’t want to say it.

Good. He thought. She should know

We all miss you

They sit like that. Burning out one cigarette between the two of them, then another, then another before jimin speaks.

“Tae published another book”

“I know, I saw, I even bought the damn thing but-“

“it’s about you, you know”

“I know, I could tell from the damn cover” she takes another puff. “I’m not gonna read it.”

“her readers are eating it up, might even get made into a movie, you know how much teenage girls love starcrossed lovers and all that.”

The m/c would pause, looking jimin up and down, “I know”

another time the m/c offers him a cigarette and jimin says “I quit” and maybe it’s because he already looks guilty that has the m/c asking for more.

“why?”

And then he’d say slowly like he didn’t want to admit it, “jins pregnant again, you know what they say about second hand smoke.” And jimin would- feel not quite so vindicated about the brief look of betrayal across her face but- at least a bit soothed by it. At least she has emotions for them, at least she might want- “more for me then”

and jimin might try and reach up, might try and knock it out of her hand- but she flinches back from the touch, denying it.

Maybe they never touch, maybe that’s one of their rules. I bet she doesn’t come back for a good long while after that. And then one night, jimîn sees her - the back of her head catching the porch light, the distant coos of the new pup upstairs, namjoon’s voice soothing. He pauses looking at the back of her head. Waiting long enough that namjoon calls down the stairs soft “minnîe? Is there something on the porch?” And namjoon might be able to see jimjn from the top of the steps, sees the alpha school his expression neutral, aware that the m/c has turned at the sound of his voice and that she’s looking at jimin and-

And someone’s hurt her. Someone- it had to be someone. Her eyes is swollen, her lip is bloody. Jimin’s heart kicks up and his scent goes sour- upstairs the little pup starts to cry instead of coo, picking up on it.

But jimj schools his scent into something manageable says “it’s nothing hyung, just a stray” And jimin goes back upstairs to get namjoon a bottle but by the Time he gets back down she’s already gone.

There’s a bit of blood on the cushion though. And a note shoved under one of the cushions. Shoved inside a empty pack of cigarettes. “I thought you’d told them I was coming here.”

And when the m/c gets back to her apartment after a long night of work (as a bartender or maybe manager probably) she finds a note under the coffee pot in her kitchen, the edge sticking out.

‘Of course I didn’t tell, I’ll always keep your secrets’

[noproofread]

Closer (NSFW)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those who celebrate lol

this took me forever APOLOGIES, writing is hard and my mental health is in rough waters. BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME

Song inspired by this saucy song lol

Eustass "Captain" Kidd x fem!reader

public (kinda), fingering, dom!kidd, unprotected sex, penetration, dirty talk, strawhat reader. Reader provokes Kidd and he falls into the trap, yet he still has the upper hand.

masterlist here

word count: 1,577

He was always crude, obnoxious, aggressive. All qualities that you hated in men. And yet you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. You were thankful to your captain for forming an alliance with the Kidd pirates. He didn’t know about your crush on their captain, and he didn’t need to know. Not that he would care. Emperor Straw Hat Luffy didn’t care as long as his crew was happy. And boy were you happy that you got to be close to Eustass “Captain” Kidd. You just wanted him to get closer to you. You hated making the first move and you were determined to get him to move first.

Luffy had found out that the Kidd Pirates were on the same island and he wanted to go “hang out” with his “friend.” And you were tasked to accompany him alongside Zoro to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble. You put on the most flattering red dress. You loved the way the fabric hugged and clinged to your body. It made you look good enough to eat. And that’s exactly what you wanted. Zoro glanced at you as the two of you followed your loud and excited captain.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for this?” He asked, turning his gaze back to the straw hat captain. “Well if all goes well, hopefully I’ll end up underdressed.” You joked. You were good friends with Zoro, him and Robin were the only ones in the crew that knew about your thing for Captain Kidd. He chuckled under his breath at your comment. “Just don’t do anything too stupid. We promised Nami we wouldn’t get into trouble.”

"We promised Nami we wouldn’t let Luffy get into trouble. I never promised anything.” You stuck out your tongue, teasing.

“OI! JAGGY!” Luffy yelled out as he approached Kidd’s ship, prompting the fiery-red haired pirate to walk out. “What d-ya want?!” He yelled back. Luffy stretched out his arms and launched himself onto the ship. In the midst of the chaos, Kidd glanced in your direction. His eyes almost immediately shooting away. He was taken aback by how good you looked and he didn’t want it to show. You watched him as he and Luffy argued. You climbed aboard the ship, making sure you were behind Zoro. You were close but you weren’t “Look at my ass in this dress” close.

Once on the ship, you sauntered over to greet Eustass Kidd. He refused to look at you, not wanting you to see how visibly flustered he was at the sight of you in that dress. “Hello Captain Kidd. Been a while” You smiled. “Yeah.” Kidd was short with you. Zoro scoffed, walking away muttering about finding alcohol. You turned to Luffy, who was about to scurry away after the smell of food coming from the kitchen. “We were uh- about to have dinner. Do ya want to-” Kidd was cut off by Luffy sprinting away, all he needed was the notion of a green light.

Kidd continued to avoid eye contact with you, wouldn’t even look in your direction. “You’re quiet… And nice. What the fuck is your deal?” You asked him. “No I’m not. What are you talking about?” He was defensive, yet still wouldn’t look at you. “You totally are. Have you gone soft on me Captain Kidd? That’s no fun.” You wanted to provoke him. You wanted him angry. “I’m not soft, shut it.”

It was working.

“Really?” You stepped closer to him. “Because it looks like you’re being a welcoming host.” You laughed. “Shut your whore mouth” Kidd said under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. “What was that?” You placed a hand on his shoulder, he tensed beneath your touch for a moment. “I couldn’t hear your soft voice.” You chuckled. He grabbed onto your wrist, turning his body to face you. “Shut the fuck up.” His stature was intimidating on its own, he towered over you. And yet you weren’t scared of him. You were excited. His hand had a firm grip on your wrist, keeping you in place. You wanted to keep poking the bear to see how far he would go. “And what if I don’t shut up? What are you gonna do about it?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

He smiled at you. He pulled you closer to him, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Do what I say and we can have a nice peaceful dinner between both our crews. Shut it.” His voice had dropped down, almost a growl. You stood up on your toes to get slightly closer to his face.

“Make me.”

His smile turned into a devilish grin. He pulled you to the back of the ship. Once you were far enough away from the rowdy crew in the midst of dinner, he put one hand up your dress. You gasped at the sudden contact of his fingers against your bare skin. “Gotta be quiet unless you wan’ em to find us like this.” He smiled. “And no panties? You had a plan didn’t ya?” He chuckled, grazing his fingers softly over your clit. A small moan escaped your lips and he placed a hand over your mouth.

“Shhh. If you want it that bad you have to listen to me and shut the fuck up.”

You looked up at him and nodded. Your confident persona dropping as soon as you felt his warm hands on your skin. His body pressed up against yours while he teased you. He coated his fingers in your slick before pushing two up inside you. You bit your lip as you moaned into his hand softly. He was moving them in an agonizingly slow pace, torturing you as you were desperate for more. “You look so good like this. Fuck, ya wore this red dress to get me worked up huh?” Kidd’s voice was low and gravely, his eyes had dilated with lust. You felt foggy, intoxicated with the feeling of his fingers inside you. It took everything in you to look directly into his eyes, remove his hand from your mouth, and speak. “It worked though. You’re so easy.”

He chuckled. Slipping his fingers out and licking them clean before he picked you up with his metal arm, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. You yelped as he did so. “I’m easy? You’re the one dripping wet in anticipation bitch.” He whispered in your ear as he used his free hand to undo his pants. His dick was bigger than you had anticipated, you felt it as Kidd pushed the tip in a little. You gasped, bracing yourself.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re not going to be able to walk.” He spoke in a soft growl. He kissed your neck roughly, leaving traces of his lip paint behind. He moaned against your skin as he pushed more of himself inside you slowly. “You’re so fucking tight” His breath tickled you. You felt him stretch you. It was deliciously painful, you found yourself gripping his hair tightly, earning a hiss of pleasure from him. Kidd pushed himself in more and more, allowing for little moments of adjustments. He was waiting for you to get used to him before fucking you as violently as he had promised.

Once he was entirely inside, he gave no warning before pulling his dick out and ramming it back inside. A loud moan escaped from your lips, forcing you to bite his shoulder to muffle the sound. You felt his dick twitch inside you as you bit down. Kidd’s pace was aggressive and fast. You could barely see as you bounced with every thrust. Your vision had gone blurry. The air filled with the sound of crashing waves, your muffled moans, Kidd’s grunts, and his skin slapping against yours. He nipped at your skin, running his tongue over the sensitive skin. You felt electricity course all over your body as the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter, the two of you desperately chasing that high.

Your walls were getting tighter around him. Kidd was putting all his attention on making sure you came before him. He wrapped a hand in your hair, pulling you off his shoulder. He looked into your eyes hungrily for a brief moment before kissing you. His kiss was passionate and wet. His tongue entered your mouth with no permission, it felt soft against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling every part of your body catch fire as you reached your orgasm. You tightened around him as you threw your head back and rode out your climax. Quickly he pulled himself out and painted your dress with his cum.

He sets you down on the floor, your knees betraying you as they are too weak to keep you up. He sits next to you and sees what he did to your dress. “Oh shit, sorry.” He chuckles, ripping off the fabric on the bottom of his shirt and using that to clean your dress up as best as he could. You giggle at the somewhat sweet gesture. “Just give me some of your clothes and we’ll call it even” “What if straw hat says somethin?” He asked genuinely before realizing who he was talking about. “Nah, he’s too stupid to notice.” He laughed and helped you up, guiding you to his room to pick out clean clothes.

[storiesaplenty]

Jelly Bracelets (13) (18+)

Eddie Munson x f/Reader

Jelly Bracelets Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy, though.

Warnings: swearing. Oral (m and f receiving) 69 position. Pussy fingering. Clit sucking. Ball playing. Cum swallowing.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me: 1st gif @depressedbagpipe

WC: 1342

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: Do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Glittery Green - the wearer is willing to "69"

Eddie Munson may be the freak of Hawkins, but he is your best friend. Who is always willing to teach you new things, even when you get new bracelets from your cousin. Eddie will even go as far as teaching & showing you what each one means.

Eddie Munson's Pov:

I actually cleaned up the place.

I mean, a proper cleaning.

Scrubbing down the counters, moving the cushions from the sofa and vacuuming there.

Even changing my bed sheets and pillow cases.

I have no idea what is going to happen tonight, as she still has three bracelets left.

I gulped just thinking about what is left, and if she will even do the one I am keeping for last.

My thoughts were pulled by the knock on the door.

She is early.

Fuck.

Of course she is.

If she is on time, she considers that late.

I opened the door and to my suprise, there was Henderson.

"Don't have time for you tonight." I told him.

"Come on man, let's go out. I know you haven't been out a bit." He held up a $20.00 bill, and I was about to ask him where he got that much, but I could see her car turning into the park.

"Get out of here. I have plans." I shooed him away towards Max's trailer.

"Why are you trying to get rid of me so bad?" He asked me, confused, until he heard the sound of the car door closing shut.

He turned his head and saw who it was, then looking back at me, one eyebrow raised.

"I see. Have a good night with your girlfriend." The little shit smirked as he walked back to Max's place.

I noticed that he wasn't the only one there with her, and I was going to call out and say she isn't my girlfriend, when she is now standing in front of me.

"Hey Eddie." She said to me with a soft smile on her face.

"You look good sweetheart." I looked her up and down. Her hair was down, with a bit of makeup on.

Her hands smoothed down her skirt, and she was wearing a Hellfire Club shirt.

One of my spare ones that I gave her.

"You going to let me in?" She asked as I am blocking the door.

I scoffed and stepped to the side, bowing to her dramatically as she walked past, me catching a wiff of her perfume.

I closed the door behind her, not even to bother to look back at the teens that were watching the two of us.

Already knowing that Henderson has a smirk on his face.

"Did you clean?" She asked as she looked around.

"Yeah, I time to spare." I said, acting like I wasn't nervous inside.

"Eddie, it is just me." She said to me as she looked at me.

"And that is why I cleaned." I told her as she took the few steps towards me, placing her hand on my chest.

I couldn't help myself as I placed my hand at the nape of her neck and leaned down to kiss her, gently.

This didn't feel rushed as I deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping around my neck to bring us even closer.

The two of us standing there, making out in the kitchen of the trailer.

My hands left her neck and started to trail down her body, until my hands were cupping her ass, pulling her lower body closer to mine, making her gasp at how hard I am for her.

Only for her.

"You see what you do to me? Always have." I muttered against her lips, but I don't think she heard me, as when I pulled my head back, her eyes were already but glazed.

"Want you Eddie." She whined.

I ran my thumb across her cheek and then placed it on her bottom lip.

She wrapped her lips around my thumb and started to suck, making my cock twitch in my jeans.

Instant flashes of her sucking my cock came to mind, and I groaned at the thought of her sucking me off again.

"You will have me sweet girl, but for now, why don't we help one another out in a different way."

My other hand snapped the lone bracelet on her right arm, as the other two are on the left.

I held it up for her to see.

Glittery Green, 69.

She let go of my thumb with a pop.

"I have never done that before. Eddie."

"Neither have I. We can learn together."

♣︎

I grabbed her hand and gently pulled her down the hall towards my room, already knowing that this is one step closer to us actually sleeping with one another.

◆

Her and I slowly took off eachother clothes, our lips barely leaving one another unless we had too.

I laid on my bed, my back flat against the mattress.

I grabbed her hand and helped her climb over me, her head facing my feet.

She is hovering over me, as I grabbed her hips.

"Sit on my face. I won't die." Was all I said before I pulled her hips down, and gently licked her pussy up and down, making her gasp out my name.

She placed her hands on my thighs as she leaned down to take my cock in her mouth.

I groaned against her pussy, as she took more of me into her mouth.

"That's it baby. Just like that. Damn." I groaned against her as I placed two fingers on her pussy, and spread it, burying my face even closer in her pussy.

I couldn't help myself as I raised my hips, forcing another inch or two down her throat, making her gag around my cock.

I inserted one finger, then another one, all the while still eating her out.

She ground her hips against my fingers and face, clearly enjoying what I am doing to her.

Her hand was at the base of my cock, twisting and jerking me off every single time she slowly brought her mouth up.

She is making me lose my mind as I have dreamt about this more times that I will ever admit.

"Eddie." She pulled her mouth away from my cock, her hand still jerking me off.

"Tell me what you need." I said, as I wrapped my lips around her clit, and sucked.

She let out a long drawn out moan at that.

"Add another." She finally said.

"Oh you want another. I got you." I inserted another finger, groaning against her pussy at how tight she felt wrapped around my three fingers as I fingered her and ate her out.

My cock is back down her throat, and I knew I was going to last much longer.

I sped up my fingers and wrapped my lips around her clit one final time, and sucked, hard.

She moaned around my cock as she ground her pussy against my mouth as her juices soaked my face.

I am loving every single second of this, and then her hand cupped my balls and pulled on them gently, and I couldn't hold back anymore.

I groaned, loudly as I came.

Her mouth wrapped around the tip as she swallowed quickly.

Her other hand was jerking me off, trying to get every last drop of me.

"Fuck." I groaned as I pulled my mouth from her pussy, leisurely fingering her still as she pulled her mouth away and her hands.

She pulled away from me, and I couldn't help but look her up and down once again, this time taking in her naked body.

"Eddie..." Her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Kind of hungry." I snorted when she said that, already knowing she hasn't ate since this afternoon.

"I'll make us some spaghetti." I said to her, already feeling hungry as well.

She got dressed before me, and I was sitting on the side of my bed, just pulling on my jeans when she spoke up.

"Eddie. I will be staying the night."

I looked up at her, and she was staring intently back at me. I caught on to what she was meaning.

"If you are sure." I said.

"I have never been more sure about anything."

"Okay sweetheart. Let's get you fed." I teased.

Red (18+) ♥︎ Black (18+) - coming soon

[dreamwatch]

Part 2 Part 3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Part 1

Word Count: Pt1 - 3080 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)

There’s a wispy smell of smoke wafting under his bedroom door.

Something’s on fire.

His eyes fly open. Holy shit, something’s on fire!

Eddie pulls himself out of bed as quick as he can; in a fraction of a second his mind has managed to flick through his options like a rolodex  - grab his crutches, yes or no? Should he put clothes on? It’s freezing outside, he should at least bring a sweater, right? Shoes though, those are definitely important. Maybe he doesn’t need to go out at all, maybe it’s small and he can deal with it himself—

He’s hears crashing and banging from his kitchen, followed by a loud “Mother fucker!” 

That is definitely not Wayne.

He’s on fire and he’s being burgled.

He grabs a crutch with the full intention of braining someone with it, and drags his sleep addled body through the house. He stumbles into his kitchen, crutch raised to find Steve Harrington waving a towel around, and something smouldering in the sink while being doused with water.

“Uh, what the fuck is going on?”

Steve spins around, the towel waving come to an abrupt end.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Eddie limps to the kitchen table and gingerly lowers himself into a seat. It’s been eight months since… since. His mind is in a surprisingly good place, all things considered, but his body, not so much. After everything, after Chrissy, God rest her soul, and Patrick, and being hunted by an entire town, and then being ripped apart by creatures that shouldn’t exist outside of comic books and fantasy games, after all of that his body just said ‘enough.’ The bats got enough bone, muscle and tendon to leave him changed in ways he couldn’t imagine when he was sitting under Skull Rock trying to make sense of what his life was going to be like if he lived long enough to see it;  court cases, long prison sentences (or death row), and a complete and utter mental breakdown. He avoided the court proceedings and prison, but he got his mental breakdown eventually, once the relief of being alive and the undoing of handcuffs had sunk in. He was free. He was going to live. Time for his mind to try and process the tsunami of emotions that overwhelmed it during the summer.

He got through it.

There’s a number of reasons for that. Wayne, first and foremost. Wayne, who never doubted him, who had always done his best by Eddie, somehow managed to step it up another notch. He took extended leave from work, that Eddie knows he couldn’t afford unless he had managed to dip into what Eddie knew to be an extremely meagre savings account. Eddie doesn’t love easy, trusts people even less so. People leave. People can be bitterly mean, people can hit and lash out when you’re least expecting it. His father was a viper in their nest of a home, always coiled, ready to strike. Wayne was never like that. Eddie pushed that mans buttons so hard but there were no hands raised, no words that couldn’t be taken back. Just disappointment. Anger was rare, but Eddie had been beyond a fucker to him at times, when he was young and the world had torn away everything he knew, the good and the bad. They fought, then they made up. Nothing was held over his head, nothing got filed away and thrown at him at a later date. They fought, they said sorry, they moved on. 

Eddie doesn’t love easy, and he trusts people even less so, but the exception to that is, and always will be, Wayne Munson.

Of course, there is also the Nerd Brigade that he kind of thought he would just never really hear from again, if he’s honest. They went to school together, he ran campaigns for them, and okay, they saved him from something horrific but like, it’s just something he got caught up in right? He didn’t really mean anything to them, after all. 

Except, they visited him in the hospital. They came to visit him at home. They brought him books and tapes and magazines, and kept him company when he was stuck in bed most days. Brought him movies once he could make it to the sofa. He wasn’t in the mood for them in those early days, especially when he was stuck in his little tar pit, but they kept throwing him ropes until he hung on. Stubborn to the bitter end.

Gareth, and Jeff and Matt. Well, that was more complicated, because they couldn’t ever know what had happened, and explaining away injuries like his was tough when you can’t say the words ‘inter-dimensional bats.’ There was a wall there for a while. It’s a fence now. They can see over the top of it, can link hands and shoot the shit, but it’s still a divider. Maybe one day they’ll get to push the last of it down.

The last reason he managed to climb out that nasty fucking pit of self loathing and pity was currently standing in his kitchen with an exasperated look on his face, dish towel over his shoulders and hands on his hips. 

Dustin and the other kids he could understand. They’re excitable chimps, nerds of the highest order. They have things in common, things to talk to him about that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, and get out of bed. And his band, well they’re his band, you know? Brothers in arms, even if the arms are linked a little looser than before.

But Steve Harrington turning up to their new home? Nope, that was not on his recovery bingo card.

Steve was there in the hospital, dropping off and picking up kids. So sometimes he sat with him a while, when the chimps were visiting Max. And then one day Chief Powell walks in, mutters some half assed apology and uncuffs him. Just like that. As it turned out, those cuffs were the finger in the dam. And once you take the finger away, it all comes pouring out.

Eddie’s not entirely sure about what happened next. He knows he let out the most embarrassingly loud sob, and that spurred Steve into motion because then he’s being held; Steve was on his bed wrapping his arms around him, and fuck if Eddie didn’t hurt all over, his skin, his legs, his everything on fire, but it felt good to be held. To have someone to press their mouth so close to his ear and tell him it’s okay, you’re going to be okay, for someone to stroke his hair, lay a comforting hand on his back. For someone to reach the pain that morphine could never dull.

After that, Steve was just there, with or without the little assholes that tormented him. He was there the day the doctors told him they couldn’t do much more for him, he was there the day Eddie went home. He had been there even when Eddie wasn’t; the asshole had helped Wayne move into their new little house and decorate the place. 

He was there through the summer, there with the kids, there without. He was there when all Eddie could do was stare blankly at a wall, and he was there when all Eddie could do was cry. He was there when things started to get better.

And now he’s here, setting fire to Wayne’s new kitchen at eight P.M.  on Thanksgiving. 

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, obviously, but um… why are you setting fire to my home?”

“I wasn’t setting fire to your home, asshole. I was trying to—“ he gestures angrily at the sink, “make you dinner. Or heat, it up at least. But that’s ruined, so…”

“Dinner?”

Steve shrugs at him, flushes a little across his cheeks, and Eddie does his best not to think about that too much.

“I just— when you said Wayne was working tonight, I just thought, you know. Like, your first Thanksgiving after… and I just thought—” He’s beet red, looks firmly at the floor, at the wall, at literally anywhere other than Eddie. “I just didn’t want you to be on your own, thats all.”

It’s not a revelation, exactly. He had several offers for Thanksgiving dinner; Hop and The Byers, which would have been desperately awkward, the Wheelers, an absolutely firm but polite no, and even the Sinclair and Hendersons. And it was all lovely, honestly, that people were over the Satan workshopping thing, but they’d moved onto the pity thing. And more fundamentally than that, their Thanksgivings were never going to be like his and Wayne’s Thanksgiving, and that’s fine. Variety is the spice of life, and he’s sure they’ll have a great time. It’s just not for him.

But maybe it is. Because Steve didn’t want him to be alone, and there’s a little lump growing deep in his throat. 

“That’s… really nice, actually.”

Steve huffs, dramatically. “Yeah, well, it’s ruined. Mom gave me all this left over food and all I had to do was leave it in the oven,” he scrabbles around on the counter, in amongst the dishes and retrieves a piece of paper. “It’s all here, all the times, the temperatures. And I fucking nodded off and now it’s—“ he gestures to the sink again.

Eddie climbs out of his seat and makes his way to the sink. He winces at the sight of what he thinks might have been some turkey.

“It’s pretty black.”

Steve sighs. “Understatement.”

“If you were trying to make charcoal you did a pretty good job.”

“Ha ha.” 

Steve flops into the chair Eddie vacated. “I just wanted it to be perfect for you. You know, it’s been a shitty year, like for everyone, but you especially.” He tails off, his voice gets quieter, as if he’s embarrassed by it.

Something swells inside of Eddie, a knot of happiness. Not at how dejected Steve is, but at how much it had clearly meant to him that this was good for Eddie. 

Perfect. He wanted it to be perfect. 

He needs to not be reading into things so much. There be dragons, after all.

Steve looks miserable, and Eddie hates that, can’t bear it actually, so he makes his way back to the table and flops into the chair facing Steve’s.

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging Steve’s hand with his. “Honestly I really appreciate the thought.” 

And who is this Eddie Munson that doesn’t mock people for being considerate, for putting effort into things he’s never considered important? A habit born out of bitterness at not having parents like everyone else’s, at not just being different, but having to lean into the different, to own otherness before someone else takes it and wraps it around him anyway. 

He does appreciate the thought. He’s revelling in it and trying desperately to keep a lid on just how much it means to him. Outside of Wayne, who has cared this much about whether he has nice things?

Steve leans back in his seat, that quick flash of red colouring his cheeks again. “Yeah, well, the thought isn’t much good if it’s sitting in the sink burnt to a fucking crisp, is it?”

“How was your Thanksgiving?”

Steve shrugs. “It was okay. Mom was hosting this year, so we had like, a million people in the house. My cousins are a fucking nightmare, honestly, probably ripping my room apart as we speak. Animals.”

“Was the food good?”

The confused little ripple on Steve’s face is cuter than it has any right to be, and Eddie doesn’t even make an effort to stop the little smile that he knows is pulling at his own lips. He rests his head in on hand, elbow planted on the table.

“Yeah, it was good. You’d know that if I didn’t fuck up reheating it. I should have just put it in the microwave, seriously, I don’t why my mom—“

“Was the company good?”

“Uh, sure. It’s nice to see the family, yeah.”

“Was it perfect?”

There’s a silence, a little wrinkle as Steve wonders on the question. There’s something about sitting here with Steve, just the two of them at the kitchen table, burnt food in the sink. Something warm. Something homey. Like Steve fits in ways Eddie had never imagined anyone fitting. It’s resolute and fast and comes from nowhere - I want this. Eddie buries it as fast as it came.

“I mean, it was nice, sure.”

“But was it perfect?”

Steve shrugs and it strikes Eddie that Steve might think he’s being made fun of, that Eddie is goading him somehow, and nothing could be further from the truth.

“You know how I usually spend Thanksgiving? Wayne usually works it, money’s too good to pass up, you know? So he works, and I get up early and then we have a couple of Turkey dinners and a couple of beers, and maybe pie if we could get one. And then we sit in front of the TV until Wayne falls asleep in his chair. And I cover the old man up in a blanket, and I leave him to sleep for the day. I go to my room and I listen to music and I read and then when it’s time to wake him up we have waffles and ice cream and maybe some more pie if we’re feeling extra decadent. Then he goes to work. 

“And I’m here by myself and yeah, it’s lonely, sometimes. But I have Wayne, and so I get a day to be thankful for that. It’s not perfect by most people’s standards, but it’s perfect for me.”

Steve looks at him, awed.

“Holy shit.”

It feels reverent, oddly, like Steve has seen this gentle part of him, like he’s unpicked locks for Steve, like he’s—

“You’re such a sap.”

Asshole!

“I am not!”

Steve leans back in the dining chair, wood creaking dangerously, grinning widely. 

“You are! You’re a fucking sap, Eddie Munson. How did anyone think you were cool enough to be a Satan worshipper?”

Eddie damn near splutters at it. “Oh fuck you Harrington! Look at me, I’m practically the Prince of Darkness.”

“Okay, so that’s Ozzy—.”

“You remember—“

“—and also you’re a fucking pussycat.”

He has to bite his tongue, can’t say anything else or it might be something he can’t take back. And he doesn’t want to lose this. He’s never been short of friends, he has the band, and okay, they’re like eleven years old or something, but Dustin and the dweeb crew are friends now, too. There’s Robin, and Nancy - Nancy fucking Wheeler for Christ’s sake - and then there’s Steve.

There’s something to be said for people seeing you at your worst and sticking with you regardless. All of those people - okay, not the band - have seen him at his worst. Dead is probably him at his worst. Bloodied and torn open is not a good look for anyone. He feels sick thinking about it. But they saw it. 

Steve saw it, then he tried to fix it.

Or well, Steve gave him CPR; no one wants to know they’ve had CPR performed on them, it’s a window into an event that he really doesn’t want to think about. But it was Steve, and somehow that feels big in a way he can’t put his finger on.

And then Steve got him out, and Steve kept him alive in the car all the way to the hospital, and Steve screamed at a nurse until they brought a gurney, and Steve, Steve, Steve. It always comes back to Steve.

Crushes are childish things, things for hair twirling girls and handsome boys, and Eddie has never had crushes. He watches someone from afar and then stuffs it away, squashes it before it gets that far. He watched Steve, once, before folding that feeling neatly and stuffing it in a box marked ‘I Can’t Have It.’ 

But there’s something to be said for a man saving your life, for risking his own to save yours, and then for sticking with you for months after. For not just being there physically, but mentally, emotionally. There’s a bond that has been growing, a root deep within Eddie, a seed that’s been there for years but has finally been watered, has had the sun of a long hot summer to grow it; Steve is his best friend. But the flutter of more, of want, sings within him.

Sitting here with him, hands almost touching over the worn top of the kitchen table, burnt turkey in the sink, over cooked potatoes and solid gravy on the counter, it’s as close to looking at that neatly folded thing as he dares, and this time when he stuffs it back inside it hurts.

“So,” Steve says, with a soft knock-knock on the table. “Have you got plans for tomorrow? Hitting up the stores?”

Eddie can’t help the snort of laughter. “Uh, no. Just chilling here, I think. The guys asked me to go with them to Indie, but… not really in the mood for walking around the mall all day, you know?”

Steve flashes a look, like concern maybe? 

“Oh. Everything okay?”

“No, yeah, everything’s fine. Just tired is all. And you know,” he taps his leg, the only shorthand he needs for the shit show that has become his body. He smiles, big and as genuine as he can make it and it does the trick as Steve’s shoulders relax.

“What about you? Big plans?” Eddie crosses his arms and leans across the table with a wide grin on his face. “A date, maybe?” It stings his lips to say it.

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffs. “Robin wants to get away from her family for the day, I think she has about a hundred Buckley’s camped out in her place. You’re welcome to join us?”

That flutter again. He’s so close to saying yes before he reins it in.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to laze around in my pyjamas for the day. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind…”

They spend the rest of the evening throwing out what’s left of Mrs Harrington’s prize, and very, very black, turkey, and ordering a pizza. And Eddie doesn’t think anymore about that thing folded up inside of him.

[sunllghtt]

Hi are you up for a messy scene analysis thing

Ofc it's this scene who do you think I am

I've been wanting to do this for God knows how long but I never had the balls and neither the words to (still don't) but I wanna try to properly talk about this scene. My primal instinct is to sit here and tell you how much this 30 second scene changed the trajectory of these characters in the next movies, how it made their friendship grow and develop and how much of a storytelling lesson it is (oh the so so deep understanding you need to have of your characters to have them say things so vaguely and still express exactly what they mean). I could also go down the emotional and subjective road and ramble about how much it means to me and how I resonate with it, but I've done that at least 837382 times and I think everyone knows it by now 😭 so!!! Let's get to the real thing

(I'm trying to keep it as analytical and straightforward as possible but please note that this is my favorite scene that's ever existed so neutrality is not really a possibility)

Rocket is a brat. He's restless, he's loud, he's always puffing up his chest and yelling at someone and picking fights with the wind cuz it was blowing in a way he didn't like and he's just an overall bastard. In this scene, though, we see him inside out. His head is low, his shoulders are slumped, he has his tail between his knees and he looks tired. He speaks quietly (curiously like he doesn't want anybody else to hear him), he's not deliberately insulting anyone and he's just..... defeated??

Up until that point I don't think we ever got to see Rocket like that. From what the movies have shown us he'd never had to. But in the past few days that led to this, Rocket had stolen batteries for no apparent reason (which we'll later learn why💀), ruined their ship, got literally kidnapped by Ravagers, blew up a creepy planet-guy-thing and oh my god attended his friend's dad's funeral. At least half of these things were directly or indirectly his fault and he knows it.

I don't think he ever doubted it was (we see it earlier in the movie when the Guardians leave to "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac and Rocket scowls and winces like he either stepped in a pile of shit or got hit in the face by regret), but he still argued with Peter even knowing he was in the wrong just to keep up apparences or hold on to a little thread of pride when he was already feeling ashamed for being caught red-handed stealing shit he didn't need AND destroying their ship etc etc, and he just kinda fucked up big time. And I think that's (besides the general exhaustion of parenting a tree and fighting a planet and Yondu's death) is what got him so devastated in that scene.

Ofc Yondu played an extremely important role in that. He was the one to open Rocket's eyes, to give him some sort of reality check and show him the only thing isolation is ever gonna bring him is regret and bitterness (or, in other words, Yondu). Rocket is most of all hopeless and tired and just sad like that because he knows he hurt his friends. He knows he's chasing them away, that he yells at them, that he's always mean and that he steals batteries he doesn't need. He knows he's not awesome to put up with and seeing what happened to Yondu and his former friends probably made him terrified it'd happen to him and the Guardians too. He's stuck in this cycle of pushing them away with everything he can (and we could get into all his trauma regarding betrayal and death and literally endless other things but it's all very clear at this point) and he knows patience doesn't last forever. He's just scared, he feels bad and he's tired.

Now on the other hand we have Quill. He's also destroyed, he lost two fathers (3 if you count what Ego could've been, what he wanted him to be), basically relived his mother's death and had to watch literally every single one of them die. He's also scared and tired, yes, but all he has left is this unstable family of weird idiots who are learning how to show care and he's... pretty much fine with it. He wants it.

And when what Rocket's saying clicks, when he realizes who he's talking about, Quill, who's usually all smirks and teasing and bickering and name-calling, looks at his best friend like this,

because

(From vol 2 script!! Won't even try to comment on that last part before Quill's last line but I also really like that Peter just "shakes his head" over and over like he's just barely listening until he realizes what Rocket really means cuz it also shows a lot about his character. He's naturally a little slow and downright stupid when it comes to this kind of hidden emotional thing and he's also exhausted and depressed from everything that happened and STILL he stops and just. Sees Rocket, and sees Yondu.)

He's not doing well. He's probably sore and hurt and sad and miserable and yet he takes his sweet time to look down at Rocket, let go of his resentment from before and see right through him. In order to understand this scene it's important to remember he most likely doesn't know what Yondu told Rocket at all, he doesn't know anything they said to each other and how Yondu showed him they're mirrors. He doesn't know any of that. He just knows his best friend and his father and how much they resemble each other. He puts up with Rocket's bullshit because he knows how to deal with Yondu.

He could've just ignored him or pretended he didn't know what he was talking about. He could've made Rocket swallow his pride and "teach him a lesson" by making him say what he means without hiding behind metaphors and vague self-deprecation, because Rocket was probably vulnerable and defeated enough to be honest in that moment. And yet, he just looks at his friend, who's usually a loud and mean and restless brat, and is now staring at the floor with his ears droopy and his tail between his knees, and just says, as a form of reassurance and tenderness that's just as subtle and shy as Rocket's insecurities, "Well, of course not."

(The kind and soft and sweet DETERMINATION on his face tho like no!!! No we're not ditching you even though you suck I'm!!! Serious!!!!)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

let's take a chance and fly away somewhere alone

a steddie upsidedown au oneshot

||Jonathan Byers & Nancy Wheeler & Barbara Holland || Nancy Wheeler/Jonathan Byers || ~17k, complete || Complicated Relationships || Canon Typical Violence || Trauma || Mutual Pining || Friendship ||

Nancy’s jaw felt tight–aching with how hard she's clenching it as she walks the halls of the school. Beside her, Barb’s shoulders were curling forward, rounding in in a way that made her furious. If she’d known going to one of Steve Harrington’s famous parties would end like this, she wouldn’t have bothered.

They’d both heard the rumors by now. They’d seemingly circled throughout the school, passed on from person to person like a messed up game of telephone. It’d started innocuously, word spreading that she’d had a fight with Steve, and Barb had been there, but by the time she’d reached her locker,  it’d mutated beyond recognition.

Nancy had glared at the girls loitering by her locker that morning as one whispered in the ear of the other, purposefully loud enough to carry—Did you hear Steve Harrington’s loser girlfriend tried to get his friend to fuck hers? 

She’s heard too many iterations to count. Barb tried to have sex with Tommy, and stormed out of the party when he said no. Nancy tried to have a threesome with Barb and Steve. And, most hurtful, Steve cheated on Nancy with Barb.

Each one was whispered with such weight, like they didn’t have any other cares in the world. Not grades, not extracurriculars, not even the fact that there’s still a kid missing. Jonathan Byers keeps putting up missing posters, but that’s yesterday’s news. There’s new gossip to be passed around. 

Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d seen it all go down last night in the Harrington’s living room. No one, apparently, had seen Tommy call Barb a loser and then drench her in his shaken up beer. 

Worse, Steve wasn’t here to put the rumors to rest, his words holding more weight than either Nancy or Barb’s. She was starting to worry that he’d skipped on purpose—who knows what excuses had come out of his own mouth once they’d left.

By lunch, she’s ready to stand up on a table and shout, if only it would stop everyone from looking at them.

“It’s not worth it,” Barb mutters as they sink into their old, familiar seats in the cafeteria, abandoned weeks ago for the more central popular table.

It’s nice, almost, to be back to just the two of them, no boyfriends or parties where people picked on her friend.

“Do you think Steve knows about this?” Nancy asks, voice hushed as she glares around the cafeteria, huffing as peering faces suddenly whip down to full lunch trays when their gazes lock.

Barb doesn’t answer right away. She picks at her tepid lasagna, not meeting Nancy’s eyes. 

“Barb?”

She sighs. “I don’t know,” she says, that mulish tilt to her chin that only comes out when she’s made up her mind but isn’t admitting to it. “I never thought he was good enough for you.”

Nancy picks up a carrot stick and bites it in two with a sharp snap. Steve wouldn’t have done this, not on purpose; she knows it. But one way or another, she’ll find him after school and get to the bottom of this. And if he had? She knew of an extremely sharp drop-off in the quarry he could stumble off. 

Barb plays reluctant chauffeur after school, idling in her car as Nancy pounds on the Harrington’s front door. 

Even though his car’s in the driveway, no one answers. 

Nancy goes around the side of the house. The gate’s still open, and the yard’s a mess of cups and overturned chairs, exactly as she’d seen it last night.

A kernel of worry sinks into her gut. Steve’s fussy about a lot of things—his hair, his possessions, his clothes—and she’d always thought that would transfer over to his own house. And yet, he’d left it like this?

The sound of a car door slamming echoes through the deserted cul-de-sac followed by Barb’s jogging steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

Nancy tries the side door, peeking her head through when it opens. “His car’s here,” she says, stepping inside when no one immediately jumps out to arrest her. “He’s here.”

“So you break and enter?” Barb demands, but she follows Nancy inside, shutting the door behind her. 

“Steve?” Nancy calls. 

The house is big enough that her voice seems to bounce off the walls and echo right back at her. No one else says a word. She makes her way through the house, kicking abandoned cups out of the way.

She jogs up the stairs, Barb hot on her heels. When she reaches Steve’s bedroom door, she knocks quietly before pushing it open just enough to poke her head in and peer inside. 

It’s neater than she’d expected, what with the state of the rest of the house. There’s nothing on the floor aside from his backpack, no clutter on his desk, no clothes strewn about. His bed’s even made. 

“Steve?” she calls again.

No one responds, so she steps inside, peeking into his en suite bathroom, opening his closet, pulling back his blankets like he can somehow be inside. She stalls in the middle of the room, surrounded by Steve’s things, no boy in sight. 

Something that feels uncomfortably close to worry starts to pool in her stomach. “Where would he have gone?” she asks the empty room.

Barb’s the one that answers with an exasperated, “I don’t know, Nancy.” Nancy turns to find her standing in the entryway to Steve’s bedroom, arms crossed, clearly fed up with all of this. “Maybe he’s off with his parents vacationing in Europe or something. Who cares? Can we go before someone calls the police?”

Nancy looks around the empty room again. “Will is missing, though,” she replies. “Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

Barb throws her hands in the air with a vehement, “yes!” 

Barb’s exclamation rings through Steve’s bedroom, filling up all that vacant air. 

“What if something’s wrong?”

Barb sighs, slumping down and softening her voice. “Look, I’m sure he’s fine,” she says. “If he’s not in school tomorrow, you can always ask those two trolls if they’ve seen him.”

Nancy nods, looking down at her feet. She doesn’t want to talk to Carol or Tommy who very clearly share her mutual dislike. But, Steve’s not allowed to just up and leave when he owes her an apology and answers both. 

***

They use the side entrance to leave again. Barb’s tiptoeing out, some part of her waiting for Steve Harrington to step out of the recesses of his house and call the cops on them. But, when she closes the door behind them with a quiet click, all that greets them is silence. 

The pool’s got plastic cups floating in it, and there’s a pile of what looks like vomit gathering flies by the diving board. Her nose wrinkles when she catches a whiff. 

“Come on,” Barb says, heading toward the still-open gate and her waiting car. But Nancy’s circling the perimeter of the pool in the exact opposite direction. “Nancy?”

“I just want to make sure he’s not back here,” she says, peering into the trees like Harrington will be passed out drunk in the woods almost twenty-four hours after his rager ended. 

Barb stands by the gate, glaring at Nancy’s back until it’s entirely obscured by trees. All this fuss for a boy who couldn’t even be bothered to show up and apologize. 

Something snaps in the woods, like Nancy stepped on a felled branch and it broke beneath her foot. Nancy calls, “Steve?” and Barb’s ready to roll her eyes at whatever practical joke the guy’s pulling, but then there’s another sound.

It’s guttural, and twisted up on itself, and entirely indescribable. Nancy gasps, and there’s a thump. That’s when Barb comes running. Her sneaker slips on a wet patch and she almost goes tumbling into the pool.

Nancy rushes out of the forest, barreling into her hard enough to send both of them sprawling on the hard pavement. Nancy jumps up, yanking Barb upright right alongside her before dragging her by the wrist, trotting toward the gate at a fast clip.

“What happened?” Barb asks, craning her neck to look behind her, trying to catch sight of whatever made that noise, whatever freaked Nancy out this much. “What did you see?”

Nancy doesn’t answer until they’ve both slipped into the car and Nancy’s locked her door with shaking hands. Sensing the urgency of the moment, Barb hits her own lock and starts the car, backing out as quickly as she can.

Nancy stays twisted in her seat, peering out the back window until they’re down the Harrington’s long driveway and off his street entirely. “Nancy?”

Nancy finally turns forward, face blanched white. “There was something in the woods,” she says. 

“What, like a wolf?” Barb asks, thinking of that sound, the way it almost echoed through her head. 

When Barb glances away from the road, Nancy’s shaking her head. “It was bipedal,” she replies, staring at the windshield more than through it. “And it had no face.”

Barb scrunches up her face. “Like a person in a ski-mask?” she asks. It hadn’t sounded like a person. It hadn’t even sounded like a wolf. Barb never wants to hear it again. 

Nancy shakes her head, and all she says is, “I have a terrible feeling about this.”

Barb does, too. She wants to go home, and forget this entire day completely. She almost manages it, but it all comes rushing back when Harrington still doesn’t show the next day.

Barb nibbles on her lunch, watching Nancy talk to Carol and Tommy in hushed whispers. Tommy leans back in his chair, laughing at whatever Nancy said. Carol doesn’t look amused, but when Tommy wraps his arm around her, she leans into his side, glaring up at Nancy. 

Whatever Carol says next has Nancy storming out of the cafeteria entirely, not even glancing at where Barb’s sitting at their usual table. She still follows, the remains of her lunch left abandoned on the table, but Nancy’s nowhere in sight. 

There’s a pit sinking into her stomach as she walks to her next class without Nancy by her side. 

*** 

Jonathan doesn’t stay for the well-wishes and the throwing of the roses. He can’t, not surrounded by all these people who know Will–knew Will. Not when his Mom’s standing right beside him and still a million miles away. 

He shuffles out of the graveyard, head bowed, shoulders curled, hoping to remain unnoticed. He collapses on the sidewalk, letting his head rest against the fence surrounding it even though it’s rusted. Maybe he’ll get tetanus and die. Is that how tetanus works?

Will was always the smart one, but now there’s a grave with his name on it, not even a body to bury beneath all that dirt.

He knows he should feel bad, that’s what a good brother would feel, but all Jonathan feels is empty, sucked dry of everything. His whole life’s crumbled at his feet, and he feels nothing. 

Something warm settles against his side. He sighs, expecting his mom, but it’s Nancy Wheeler, smiling uncomfortably across at him.

“Hey,” she says, quietly. Private.

“Hey.”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Jonathan feels his lips quirk up, but it’s a nothing gesture, empty of everything. “We are talking.”

“Steve’s missing,” she says, no further preamble wasted on useless condolences.

It takes him a second to connect the name to a face, but when he does, Jonathan leans away, creating distance between their bodies without having to get up. He keeps staring at her face, waiting for her to continue, but that’s apparently it. “Why would he be here?” he asks, words coming out dead on arrival. 

“No,” Nancy says, scrunching her nose up. “No one’s seen him since the party.”

Jonathan knows the party she means. He’s got a few photos from it in his room right now, developed in haste in the school’s darkroom. But there hadn’t been any hints of Will, no matter how hard he’d scoured them. 

He’d still kept them, couldn’t bear to throw them away. There was just something about the way when you flipped through them, the people slowly dwindled, shrinking down until the photo was just of two subjects. 

Steve Harrington, hand clenched as it drips blood onto the grass beneath him while Eddie Munson sits, staring up at him with his usual manic grin where he sits beside the pool. 

Jonathan had left not long after. He knew what that particular look on King Steve’s face meant, and he wasn’t keen to get caught in the fallout.

“Did you call the cops?” Jonathan asks because that’s what he’s supposed to ask, right?

Nancy nods, throat bobbing as she swallows. “They’re not doing anything,” she says, and there’s something righteous in the way she sits up straighter, neck high, spine stiff. 

What would it be like to live in Nancy Wheeler’s world, where everything is just so? Where you’ve got the time and money to dot every i in your planner, cross every t? Where every minor injustice is immediately rectified? 

Jonathan’s just so tired. 

But then Nancy says, “even after I told them what I saw,” under her breath, and an electric current runs through him. 

He leans back toward her. “What did you see?” he asks fervently. 

She ducks her head as he gets close, picking at the seam on the end of her black dress with perfectly rounded fingernails. “I went back to Steve’s to look for him,” she asks, lilting up at the end like it’s a question, so Jonathan nods. “And I thought I…saw something. Some weird man?” she glances at him out of the corner of her eyes before shaking her head. “I don’t know what it was.”

She stops talking again, pursing her lips. Jonathan wants to reach over and pluck the words from her throat. “Why are you telling me?”

Nancy straightens, turning fully to him again as she says, “your brother, and now Steve,” before stalling out, biting her lip as she finally meets his eyes. “I just thought, maybe you’d seen something?”

He stares at her, mind ticking away against the fog he’s been in since they’d fished Will out of the quarry. He must take too long, though because she starts to stand, muttering quiet apologies, as she smooths down her dress.

“Wait!” Jonathan cries, desperation bubbling out of him until he’s reaching for her arm and gripping it too tightly. She drops to her knees, and Jonathan lets go, holding his own wrist to his chest like it’s the one with a blooming red mark on it. “Sorry, just…”

But he trails off, not sure what to say. It’s just that Nancy had seen a man, and he’s at his brother’s funeral, and nothing is connecting right in his brain anymore. “What did he look like?” he asks finally, after another too-long pause.

Nancy settles back down, almost smiling as she shakes her head and says, “I don’t know.” Jonathan thinks that’s it, because the smile drops and she’s looking down at the pavement. “It was almost like he, like he—”

“Didn’t have a face?” Jonathan says it by rote, finishing the same delusions his Mom has been spouting.

But Nancy’s meeting his eyes now, brows furrowed as she asks, “how did you know that?”

The thing that bubbles up in Jonathan now is delicate. Dangerous. He’d just buried his brother, but Mom’s been talking to him through the lights for days. If one delusion is true, who’s to say another isn’t. 

Hope is the most dangerous killer, but he grasps it with both hands. 

*** 

“What’s up with you?” Barb finally asks, unable to stand the quiet a moment longer.

Nancy startles, eyes wide as she whips her head around to look at Barb for the first time since she’d hopped into her car before school.

“What do you mean?”

Barb sighs. “Is this still about Steve?” she asks.

Harrington’s corner of the cafeteria has been growing quieter every day, the empty spot where he usually sits growing a presence of its own. Like, even in absentia, Harrington is determined to haunt their minds.

Nancy smiles, but it’s her fake, lying to her parents' smile – she’s never used it on Barb before. “I’m fine, Barb.”

Barb digs her ragged nails into the steering wheel, jaw clenching painfully as she pulls into a parking spot. Nancy keeps up her prattling small talk all the way to class, like covering up the silence with meaningless words will distract Barb enough that she’ll forget the car was ever quiet at all.

Something’s wrong though, and Barb won’t be shaken off, so when she sees Nancy skulking around with Jonathan Byers of all people, Barb trails them. It’s better than eating lunch alone again.

They disappear into the dark room, Jonathan flipping the sign on the door to “in use, please knock” before letting the door slide shut. The hallway’s deserted, so Barb presses her ear to it, just barely able to hear the intonation of their words through its thick wood. She stays there long enough to grow bored, torn between barging in and walking away, when the volume of Nancy’s voice raises.

“That’s it!” she says, “that’s what I saw.”

Her mind goes to that sound, the inhuman growl that had sent Nancy running. Alone in the brightly lit hallway, Barb freezes like she’s prey being hunted by something bigger and scarier than she is.

She wants to leave. 

But Nancy’s in there, doing something stupid the way only she can, so she knocks. All noise on the other side of the door stops entirely for a second before whispering starts up, too quiet for her to make out.

When the door finally opens, it’s not Nancy behind it, but Jonathan. Up close, she can see the bags under his eyes from too many sleepless nights, the way the worry lines at the side of his mouth look like they’ve somehow been permanently etched into his skin in the past few days.

Barb’s never been in the dark room, but it’s about what she expected: a cramped bare room with a couple of sinks and a clothesline, all bathed in a light so red that it feels like it’s drilling into her skull. 

When she steps in, Jonathan skulks away from her toward the corner, like she’s switched from prey to predator. Behind him, Nancy’s got her fingers frozen mid-reach toward a photo. Barb ignores Jonathan to go look at the photo she’s standing in front of.

It’s grainy and dark, but she can Eddie Munson grinning, and the edge of someone else’s arm, and there, on the edge of the photo, is something else. It looks tall, like its body has been distorted, fingers stretched out to improbable points. 

“That thing has Harrington?” Barb asks, leaning closer, trying to get a better look at it, but there’s not much to see. Where the face should be, there’s what looks like folds of skin, tightly sealed against each other.

She tries to imagine the thing making that sound, and can’t. There’s no mouth visible by which it could growl through.

“And maybe Eddie Munson.” Nancy says, and Barb looks back at the guy’s grinning face. She hasn’t been subjected to a tabletop rant all week. 

“And Will,” Jonathan says, finally uncurling from the corner to join them by the picture.

“Isn’t he dead?” she asks, wincing once she realizes what she’d just said, and who she’d said it to. She hadn’t gone to the funeral, but she was there when the news broke, saw the shock of such a young death hit the small town. 

“Mom doesn’t think so,” Jonathan replies, not meeting her eyes. 

Barb looks back at the thing in the photo. There’s no way it’s real, probably doctored or a prank gone wrong, but even with her feet planted firmly against the floor, all she wants to do is run out of the room and never look back.

But, Nancy’s here, and she’s clearly not leaving, so all Barb says is, “what’s the plan to get them back?”

*** 

The car’s quiet, the heater pushing around stagnant air the only sound aside from Nancy’s well-loved Blondie tape, still stuffed into Barb’s car’s tape deck. Halfway to Nancy’s house, Barb reaches out and smacks the eject button abruptly enough that Nancy flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re mad,” Nancy says, not looking away from the cassette now sticking out of the player, waiting to be taken out or pressed back in.

Barb snorts, but doesn’t reply. Nancy’s hands curl into fists in her lap.

She loves Barb—she’s her best friend, but that doesn’t make her any less frustrating. It’s like she doesn’t know how to face an emotion head on. Sadness comes out as isolation, and anger? That comes out in snide comments and cold silences.

Nancy hates it.

“Can we just talk about it?” Nancy asks, glancing at Barb out of the corner of her eye, wincing at the way her jaw’s clenched. “Just this once? There’s a monster, and we don’t really have time for—“

“That’s the problem, Nancy,” Barb interrupts, voice even, tone cold. “There’s a monster, and instead of telling me you, what? Snuck around behind my back with that loser, Jonathan?”

“Jonathan’s not a loser,” Nancy replies quietly.

“God, Nancy!” Barb throws her hands in the air in clear exasperation, before grabbing the steering wheel again as the car swerves toward the sidewalk. “That’s not the point, and you know it!”

Nancy looks down at her lap, picking at the debris beneath her nails as the silence settles between them, a third passenger looming in the backseat. Barb’s right; she does know what Barb’s talking around, the question she wants answered without having to ask it.

Why did Nancy tell Jonathan Byers and not her?

“You don’t like Steve,” Nancy says, finally glancing Barb’s way. Her fingers are clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to turn white, and there’s that same mulish tilt to her jaw, but she’s not interrupting, so Nancy keeps speaking, keeps answering unasked questions.

“And I thought Jonathan might know something, you know, with his brother?” Nancy asks, wincing when that just gets another huff.

It’s the truth, but there’s a bigger, deeper truth that she doesn’t want to speak into existence, doesn’t want to give the weight of her words, lest it come true. But, that’s just useless superstition—the same kind of horse shit that makes Steve wear the same pair of tube socks for every away game.

So, when Barb still doesn’t have anything to say, she opens her mouth, and voices it out into the world. “Mike’s devastated, after Will,” she says, picking at her nails again, digging her thumbnail hard enough into the cuticle of the pinkie on her opposite hand that a bead of blood wells up. “And this seems dangerous, Barb. That thing in the woods? It was—it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Barb parallel parks in front of Nancy’s house so her dad doesn’t get mad about being blocked in, and cuts the engine. When Nancy looks over at her, Barb’s looking back, eyebrows still furrowed, but she’s no longer got a death grip on the wheel, and her jaw’s relaxed, teeth no longer grinding themselves into nubs.

Nancy meets Barb’s piercing gaze and finally says what she’s been talking around. “I don’t want to lose my best friend, too.”

Barb softens, reaching across the distance, the silence, the secrets separating them to take Nancy’s hand. Her fingers are soft as they squeeze around her own.

“I’m not going  anywhere,” Barb says, squeezing her hand once, hard enough that Nancy jolts. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go search for your boyfriend alone.”

Nancy laughs. She doesn’t bring up that Jonathan will be there, the moment too fragile and easy to shatter. “Steve’s not my boyfriend.”

Barb snorts, noise full of humor this time, as she steps out of the car, Nancy following her lead. “You might want to tell him that.”

Nancy’s mouth twists. Maybe she’ll tell Steve, maybe she’ll fall into his arms, maybe they’ll yell at each other about their fight at the party and go their separate ways. She’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter right now. First, they have to find him.

*** 

It turns out to be less of a plan, and more of reenacting a hodgepodge of training montages that they’d seen on TV. Barb can’t even blame them—as Nancy practices swinging a baseball bat like she in any way knows how, she’s doing the exact same with the crow bar nabbed from Ted Wheeler’s trunk.

They look like fools, and if there really is a monster, they’re going to die, but Barb still climbs back into her car and drives them out to meet Jonathan. She’s in this now, had damn-near begged to be involved, and no matter how stupid this whole thing is, she’ll stick it out to the end.

They go to her house next, but it’s got less options for weapons than Nancy’s own, neither of her parents sporty enough for a bat or handy enough to own a crow bar. They sit out on the front porch, waiting for Jonathan to show up after grabbing his own supplies.

When he finally arrives, Barb climbs into the backseat without complaint.

Her conviction is tested as she stands behind Jonathan and Nancy, watching as they flirt their way through a shooting lesson, somehow segueing from Jonathan’s failed hunting trip as a kid into their parent’s failed relationships.

“Yeah, I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but I wasn’t around for that part,” Jonathan says, lowering the gun after failing miserably to hit even one of the glass bottles he was aiming for.

Nancy holds out her hand impatiently, and Barb watches as she looks down at the gun like she’s never seen one before. “I don’t think my parents ever loved each other,” she says, and Barb flinches.

Nancy’s parents have always been a sore subject. Her dad’s as absent as a parent you live with can be, and her mom flits around Nancy like she’s trying to relive her glory days through her daughter. These sorts of conversations are usually reserved for two in the morning during sleepovers, the space between them in the bed just enough to keep their shoulders from brushing.

Hearing her talk about it so freely now, makes jealousy churn in Barb’s stomach like bile.

“They must have married for some reason,” Jonathan says, staring at Nancy with a focus that makes Barb twitch.

“My mom was young, my dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So, they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family.”

There’s scorn in Nancy’s voice—it’s the way she always sounds when she talks about her parents’ relationship, but she’s not talking to Barb this time. Barb’s behind her, almost a specter in this moment, lost in the face of attention from Jonathan Byers.

It almost makes her wish Harrington was back, such a shallow pool of a boy that there was no way Nancy was ever going to stick around. There was always a looming end to their relationship, and it looks like it’s well past its expiration date, with the way Nancy’s flirting with Byers right now.

“Screw that,” Jonathan says, and Nancy smiles, shoulders shoring up like what he said was profound, unexpected, unique.

Barb and Nancy had made plans to get out of here together. Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, anywhere with people who had bigger dreams than settling down and marrying the closest eligible bachelor. As she watches Nancy line up the gun, squinting at the targets with the same focus she usually reserves for pop quizzes, Barb can feel that future crumbling beneath her feet.

“Yeah, screw that,” Nancy says, punctuating her words with the loud bang of the gun going off, exploding one of the glass bottles with unerring accuracy.

Barb claps condescendingly. Jonathan and Nancy both whirl, clearly having forgotten she was there at all based on their wide eyes. “Congratulations, Nance, you’re a crack shot,” she says. Nancy’s cheeks darken, whether from the compliment or being caught flirting with Byers, she’s not sure. “Now can we get this show on the road? Daylight’s burning.”

Jonathan nods, picking up the bat and not meeting anyone’s eyes as they shuffle off into the woods to look for a monster that probably doesn’t exist, no matter what Jonathan’s camera had captured in grainy film.

*** 

“You’re cooler than I thought you would be,” Jonathan says, walking close enough that their shoulders brush.

Nancy elects to pretend she can’t hear Barb scoffing from behind them. “Yeah?” she asks, smiling down at her feet as she steps over a root in her path.

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies, swinging the bat foward to hold a branch out of their way, waiting until even Barb’s made it through before jogging to catch back up with Nancy. “When you started seeing Harrington, I thought maybe you were just like the rest of them, but now? I don’t know.”

Nancy’s gut sinks. She takes a step to the left, creating distance between them, face dropping into a scowl. “Steve’s actually a good guy, you know,” she says, unsure if she even believes her own words. She had thought so before, but after Steve had defended Tommy H’s actions at his party, she wasn’t so sure anymore. But Steve’s missing, and he deserves the chance to explain himself.

“Sure he is,” Jonathan replies, tone derisive.

Nancy bristles, angry, as she replies, “Steve’s missing,” like it’ll mean anything to him. Maybe it does, because he goes catastrophically quiet beside her, the only sound filling the silence the sound of their stomping feet. That’s almost worse, somehow. Nancy doesn’t want this quiet; she wants a fight—something, anything that’ll get this bubbling dread out of her throat.

“You know, I was actually starting to think you were okay,” she says, waiting until she feels Jonathan’s gaze on her to continue speaking. “I was thinking, Jonathan Byers, maybe he’s not the pretentious creep everyone says he is.”

Jonathan snorts, sounding so much like Barb that Nancy glances back at her. She’s walking a few feet behind, crow bar still clutched in her hands as she looks down at her feet, clearly uninterested in joining the conversation.

Looking at her now, all Nancy wants to do is go back to when things were simpler, last week, last month, last year. It’s been nearly a decade of just the two of them—she’d had Barb, and Barb had her, and that’s all they’d needed. Steve had changed that. Something had twisted in on itself, Barb taking the change in lunch tables like a betrayal, and now she’s not sure how to crawl back in time to where they were before.

She’s not sure she wants to.

“Well, I was starting to think you were okay,” Jonathan says, and she snaps back to the present, turning forward to find a pretentious sneer plastered on his face.

“Oh,” she says, watching as his face cracks right down the middle, something gaping and hollow shining out of his eyes as he lands the final blow.

“I was thinking, Nancy Wheeler, she’s not just another suburban girl who thinks she’s rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock that now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of the cul-de-sac exactly like their par—“

“Hey!” Barb snarls, pushing between them and crowding into Jonathan’s space, crowbar held like a silent threat. “If you finish that sentence, I’ll put this crowbar somewhere you won’t enjoy.”

To emphasize her point, Barb raises the crow bar above her head and steps forward until Jonathan’s back hits the trunk of a tree. He looks like a startled deer, doe eyes wide and scared in a way that would usually make Nancy feel bad, but his words are still ringing in her ears, cruel and pointed unerringly at her soft underbelly.

Nancy continues walking, and it’s Barb that catches up and takes her rightful place at her side, Jonathan trailing behind, a quiet skulking shadow to their fruitless searching.

By the time the sun’s setting, Nancy’s worried that there’s nothing to find.

But before she can open her mouth and suggest they turn back, she hears it: a quiet, moaning sound that makes her blood pound, fight or flight kicking in harder than ever before. She stops, Barb and Jonathan halting with her as she tries to strain her ears past the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.

“What’s—” Jonathan starts before she shushes him, eyes closed in concentration, hand raised to silence them both.

It happens again, and Barb clearly hears it as well because she immediately starts walking that direction, stepping cautiously, clearly trying not to make any sound. Nancy and Jonathan follow, the darkness hemming them all in.

She doesn’t know what she expects, but the deer isn’t it. It’s on its side, blood leaking slowly from its side, leg mangled, panting like a dog left out in the sun to bake. Barb and Jonathan just stare, but Nancy drops down, fingers fluttering over its side like there’s anything at all she could do.

“It’s been hit by a car,” she says, finally brushing her fingers against its bloody flank, like somehow her touch will heal it. All it does is pant and moan. “We can’t leave it.”

When she looks up, Barb’s looking down at the gun in Nancy’s pocket. Nancy shudders, but stands and draws it out, pointing it at the poor thing’s head. She shudders, staring into its rolling eyes, gut roiling right along with it.

“I can do it,” Jonathan says, taking the gun before she even responds.

She’s a better shot—she doesn’t take the gun back, the emptiness in her hand feeling worryingly like relief. Jonathan lines up the gun, hand shaking slightly. It won’t matter from the close of a range, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger.

There’s a growl, something unearthly and clacking, and the deer’s yanked sideways so abruptly that her eyes can’t follow its movement. Then it’s just—gone.

“What was that?” Jonathan asks, lowering the gun, eyes wide.

When Nancy looks at Barb, there’s a knowing look in her eyes. Nancy’s not surprised; they’d both heard that same sound outside the Harrington house.

“Did it leave a blood trail?” Barb asks, and Nancy looks down. There’s nothing there, the deer’s body snatched up too quickly to leave any of it remaining.

“It can’t have gone far,” Nancy replies, already walking forward, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Barb follows her, but Jonathan goes a separate direction without a word, slinking off to search nearby patches of the woods. It’s quiet, so quiet Nancy can hear Barb’s rapid breathing in her ear, can hear Jonathan’s steps as he foolishly separates from the group.

There’s nothing but trees, dark and silent around her, almost choking her with the fear of the dark she was sure she’d kicked years ago. But, this isn’t just the dark—there’s something in here with her, she knows it.

It’s still just trees, but she stops, stunned as she stares at the bark of one of them, squinting as she trains the beam of her flashlight precisely on it. It’s red, and she’d think it was blood if it wasn’t for the way it was almost pulsing, like the tree had a heart beating beneath all that wood.

“Nancy!” Barb hisses, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s reaching out to touch it.

It’s colder than the air around it, a shock to her system as she presses against the tree, only for it to give under her touch. It feels like pinching an egg’s yoke between her fingers, cold and sticky before the membrane gives and splatters back into the bowl with the whites.

Her whole hand goes through, then her arm, then the rest of her until she’s all the way through, Barb’s panicking voice still calling her name, words now muffled like she’s talking through a straw.

She’s still in the woods, but it’s colder now, and the sky’s a nauseating red, almost pulsing the way the tree had. She stares up at it, heart almost beating straight out of her chest. But then there’s a sound, wet and slurping, and Nancy looks back down.

It’s not a man in a ski mask like Barb had asked. It’s not human at all, despite the way it stands on two legs, hunched over the dead deer, impossible mouth pressed into its intestines. The deer twitches with the thing’s movements, body jittering around almost like it’s gasping for breath.

Nancy can’t help it—she screams.

The thing stops eating its meal, somehow looking straight at her even with its lack of eyes. She stands frozen as the thing straightens, looming over her with its impossible height, backlit by the deep red sky. Nancy shrinks into the trunk of the tree behind her as it takes a threatening step forward.

Then, Jonathan’s voice joins Barb’s, almost drowning it out as he calls for her, trying to get her to come back, like she’s not frozen like a fly beneath a microscope, pressed between two slides.

But then Jonathan says, “follow my voice!” and without question, she does, slinking slowly sideways, matching the thing step for step in a dance she never wanted to be a part of. She doesn’t look away until her hand touches a tree and sinks in. She turns, peering into the red hole in the world she’d slipped through.

She’s about to slip right back out the way she’d come and hope she can make it before that thing gets her, but before she can, she hears a scream, loud and angry and terribly human. She spins back around just in time to watch Steve Harrington, dirty and bloody and alive, punch the monster in the head and flee into the woods, that horrible thing right behind him.

“Steve?” she calls, staring at where he’d just disappeared, willing him to come back. He doesn’t.

“Eddie!” She turns toward the shout, and there’s Will Byers, yanking a resisting Eddie Munson toward her.

She reaches out when they’re close enough, snatching Eddie’s hand and falling back toward the hole in the world, hoping the momentum of her falling body weight is enough to yank him and Will both through. She tumbles painfully to the other side, Will and Eddie on top of her restricting her breathing until Eddie scrambles up off her and pounds against the tree trunk, now a damningly normal brown color, and wails for Steve Harrington, trapped and alone in that horrible place they’d just fled.

*** 

Jonathan stares at his little brother, his little brother, dirty and tired, but whole in front of him. The brother he’d identified a body for, had picked out a coffin for, had lowered into the ground, never to be seen again.

And now he’s here, staring at Eddie Munson having a meltdown in the dirt.

“Will?” Jonathan says, voice strangled as it croaks out of his throat.

Will turns, brown eyes wide as he looks up at Jonathan. That’s all it takes to get him moving, knees hitting the dirt hard as he scoops Will into his chest, grip almost crushing as Will melts into him, small arms going around his waist.

“You’re okay,” Jonathan murmurs into Will’s greasy hair, like he can make it true, even as Will shakes in his arms, never taking his eyes off Eddie. “You’re okay, right? You’re okay.”

Will doesn’t respond, instead calling, “Eddie?”

Eddie turns, eyes wild, clearly not all there even now that he’s stopped clawing at the bark on the tree like it’ll somehow open for him and let him go back to wherever he’d been. Jonathan wants to hide Will behind his body, shield him from whatever the hell’s wrong with Munson.

“I’ve got to go back,” he says, finally turning away from Will to look up at Nancy with those same imploring eyes. “How do I go back?”

Jonathan turns his head toward her, still clutching at Will’s shaking frame. Nancy’s shaking too, voice trembling right along with her as she says, “I don’t—I don’t know,” with more hesitation than he’s ever heard from self-assured Nancy Wheeler.

“Why the hell would we go back?” Barb asks, finally voicing Jonathan’s own thoughts into the world.

Eddie’s hysterics reach a fever pitch at that—he sobs into the dirt, no longer looking any direction at all. Jonathan presses a kiss to the top of Will’s head, ignoring the way dust coats his lips, because Will’s shaking worse now, as he says, “it’s Steve,” voice quacking with emotions Jonathan doesn’t, can’t, understand. “He’s still in there.”

Steve Harrington, the jock, the king, has Eddie Munson, has his brother, quaking with emotion at the thought of losing him. It writhes in his gut, a rancid jealousy, he can’t voice. It curdles more, the dregs of a milk carton turning viscous and sweet on the kitchen’s counter as Will climbs into the backseat of his car and latches onto Munson like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered to his seat.

That used to be Jonathan’s job—how could so much have changed in five of the longest days in Jonathan’s life?

The car’s quiet as Jonathan drives, steering wheel creaking beneath his grip until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

When they get to the house, it’s in disarray—Mom’s hung Christmas lights haphazardly in the living room, the dining table’s overturned, and the same dishes have been in the sink long enough to mold. 

He’s sure Harrington’s house is pristine, it probably smells like lilacs instead of the mildew and damp that’s always clung to their home. The roof’s been leaking for years, and the insulation doesn’t keep it from rotting the walls somewhere underneath where they can’t quite reach.

“Mom?” Jonathan calls, desperate suddenly to see her, to have their family unit together when he’d thought they never would be again. “Mom?”

He goes through the house, turning on lights and opening doors, but it’s an empty shell, no one inside.

He stalls out, unsure of next moves as Nancy orders him around his own house. He follows her lead, making sandwiches, and doing the dishes, one eye on Will where he’s curled up on the couch, tucked into Munson’s side.

Jonathan’s not hungry, but he eats his sandwich anyway, watching as Will eats two, looking so much like a starving dog given snacks that it makes Jonathan sick. Plans are made to get Harrington back—desperate, stupid plans, but Jonathan barely listens, only interjecting to make sure Will stays with him.

Even as he gets in the car, Nancy once again in the passenger seat, Will in the back, all Jonathan wants is to find his Mom.

***

Barb watches Jonathan and Nancy riff off each other’s ideas, syncing up seamlessly even in this catastrophic situation. In contrast, Will and Eddie are crumbling into themselves without Harrington. They want him back with such ruthless vigor that it makes her curious.

She sits on the fringes of two fractions, not quite fitting into either, left floundering on the sidelines as the world crumbles around her.

Until she’d seen Nancy crawl through the fabric of reality, she hadn’t really believed any of it. Even with the photo, and the growling, none of it convincing enough to make her stop doubting the impossibility of the world she’d found herself in.

But then Nancy had disappeared into a different world and come back with two out of three of Hawkins current missing persons.

Steve Harrington sits like a ghost between them.

So, when Nancy volunteers to go with Jonathan to the army surplus without a glance in Barb’s way, she volunteers to take Eddie to go see his uncle after they pick up her car.

When they’re alone in her car, she asks, “you live in the trailer park, right?” not even waiting for his affirmation before heading that way. They’re not friends, but Hawkins isn’t that big—she knows where he lives.

Eddie’s quiet, staring out the window at the passing houses like he’s looking for something. Barb’s got a sinking suspicion it’s less of something, and more of someone.

“Why are you so focused on Steve Harrington?” She says it before she even knows she’s going to open her mouth. It’s just, he’s Eddie the freak Munson, and the last she’d heard, Harrington wouldn’t spit on people like him even if he was on fire.

“He’s not what you think,” Eddie murmurs, still looking out the window even as his hands clench in his lap.

He looks mad, like he’d like nothing more than to reach out and hit her with one of his fisted hands. But, beneath that there’s that same desperate edge, and it’s not violence he’s desperate for.

“Coming from you, that might actually mean something,” she says, trying to reconcile the look on Eddie’s face with the last glimpse she’d gotten of Harrington, laughing as Hagan had shaken his beer up and squirted it in her face.

The subject drops in favor of walking up the Munson’s short drive and stepping into his trailer. When Eddie walks in, she follows, hovering awkwardly as Eddie’s uncle scoops him up in a hug tight enough that it must hurt.

It’s only as introductions are made that she realizes that Eddie doesn’t even know her name. She reaches her hand out to shake Wayne’s hand, smiling tightly as she introduces herself. Wayne shifts his gaze between the pair of them, eyebrow raised as he asks Eddie, “you got something to tell me?”

The implication of that hits Barb as Wayne glances down at her stomach. She grimaces, shaking her head against the disgust at even the thought of having sex with Eddie Munson, much less carrying his spawn. It flies right over Eddie’s head entirely.

He breaks down. Again. She’s getting tired of hearing Eddie cry like the world’s ending. She steps past them, settling into their dinky dining room table as unobtrusively as possible as Eddie cries into his uncle’s arms, babbling about having gone to hell, about leaving Steve there.

“Steve Harrington?” Wayne asks incredulously. Barb’s never empathized with something more in her life.

“He saved my life,” Eddie says, and she watches in real time as the look on Wayne’s face turns determined.

He leans over and pulls a shotgun from behind the recliner he’s sitting in, laying it across his knees as he says, “let’s go save your guardian angel.”

It’s only as Eddie’s cheeks burst with the most vibrant blush she’s ever seen that Barb clues in on what must be happening here. Eddie is in love with Nancy’s boyfriend. God, this is going to blow up in all of their faces.

But she’s in it now, and she’s curious enough to want to see what all the fuss is about. There’s got to be more to Harrington than hair to put that look on Eddie’s face. Besides, she’s always been too nosy for her own good.

*** 

They’ve got all the weapons they could find at the army surplus in town, garnering strange looks from the cashier. But, he takes Jonathan’s money anyway, so they scoop it all up and take it back to his car.

“You know, last week I was shopping for a top I thought Steve might like,” she says, smiling nostalgically as she drops her load into the trunk, Will and Jonathan following her lead. “It took me and Barb all weekend.”

Barb had complained for the first few hours, but as the trip had drawn on, they’d fallen back into their usual dynamic, goofing off in dressing room stalls and picking out terrible outfits for each other. Now, Barb’s tongue has gone back to being barbed. Nancy wonders if things will ever be that simple again.

“It seemed like life or death, you know?” she asks wistfully. She doesn’t think she’ll ever wear the shirt again, not after it had been tainted, first by Steve’s actions, and then by his disappearance. “And now—”

“You’re shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers?” Jonathan asks, that ironic tone to his voice that always makes her laugh.

“Yeah, and I don’t know if I even want him to like me like that anymore.”

It’d started with Tommy H’s cruel words, then rumors spread around the school the next day had felt like the final nail in their relationship’s coffin, but it’s more than that now. There’s Jonathan and the way, even when he’s hurling insults at her, she can’t seem to look away.

“We got into this fight that night he disappeared,” she continues, remembering the way his laughter had sounded almost mocking as Barb had wiped the beer from her face. “And I was so mad, but now I just hope he’s alive.”

She’s mad, still, but she wants to yell at him, to forgive him, to see him at all after all this time.

“He’s alive,” Will cuts in, and she jerks, having forgotten entirely that he was there, too caught up in memory.

She looks him in the eye and nods, firm and assured until the kid relaxes. Will’s always been a little anxious, but it’s understandably worse now, after whatever the hell he’d been through over in that terrible place. Still, she’s happy they got him back, would trade almost anything for the relief that’s going to flood Mike’s face when he sees Will again.

They just need to get Steve back first.

*** 

Wayne Munson doesn’t hesitate to take charge once he’s joined the fray. Jonathan stands in his own house and watches Will lead Mr. Munson to the kitchen and over to the phone, determined to get ahold of mom.

As Mr. Munson hangs up the phone, assured that both her and Chief Hopper will be arriving shortly, the tension on Jonathan’s shoulders finally eases. They’ve been fumbling in the dark for days now, and it’s a relief to have an adult doing something useful.

When his mom stumbles into the house after Chief Hopper, all Jonathan wants to do is collapse onto the couch and not move a muscle for an entire week. His brother’s back, everyone he cares about is in his line of sight, there’s nothing else he needs to do.

In contrast, Eddie and Will only seem to get more worked up as they spill the entirety of the sordid tale across the kitchen table. It hurts to hear, just like it had the first time. He doesn’t want to picture Will alone in that place with no one but Eddie and Harrington to protect him.

It rankles, and keeps on rankling as Eddie pulls Will into his side the same way Jonathan always has to comfort him.

“You mean blood draws this thing?” Hopper asks, only looking more fed up as Nancy, Barb, and Eddie shout entirely different answers at him.

“We’ve got a plan,” Nancy cuts in, self-assured, even in this. “To test the theory.”

They do have a plan, but it’s stupid and reckless from start to finish. Jonathan knows this, Eddie knows this, even Barb knows this. It’s only Nancy that’s affronted when it’s shot down from all sides. Her fists clench and her chin juts stubbornly forward.

Before she can argue further, mom yells, “this is not yours to fix!” with enough furious indignation that everyone shuts their mouths immediately. “It’s not you kids’ responsibility to save another kid.”

It embitters him, right down to his marrow. 

He’s a kid now, but why has it always been Jonathan’s responsibility to watch Will? Why is it Jonathan’s fault when he goes missing? He would do anything for Will, give up anything for Will, but he can’t help but feel that he shouldn’t have to. Why does she get to pick and choose when it’s convenient for him to step up and be an adult, and when he should sit back and let the adults fix his problems?

He bites his lip against the words that want to pour out. He bets Harrington has always got to be the kid, big house with parents to cover up all his messes. 

“Anyone called the boy’s parents?” Wayne asks, and Jonathan’s surprised by the derision everyone answers him with, like the Harrington’s caring that their son is missing is out of the question.

Jonathan’s gut churns as the implication of that response hits, Lonnie an invisible specter to this horrifying conversation. He looks down at his own knees and tries his best to disappear into the chair beneath him.

It’s only mom saying, “Will?” so worriedly that brings him back to himself in time to watch Will disappear down the hall toward his bedroom, Munson hot on his heels.

When his mom makes to follow, Jonathan grabs her mom, says, “Munson’s got him,” even though that rankles, too. Even in his own family, he’s been pushed to the side. Mom’s only got eyes for Will, and Will? All he seems to think about is Eddie and Harrington, like a couple days with them really has overwritten all their shared history.

While Nancy and Chief Hopper argue about next steps, Jonathan does what he does best: he sits and waits for someone to tell him what he’s supposed to do.

***

Nancy doesn’t understand how Barb and Jonathan can be so calm about this. They’d spent hours on this plan, and it was a good one, and now, what? They’re not allowed to do it because a few people that hold no authority over her have forbidden it?

She loathes it.

It gets even worse when Will comes out of his room, hands shaking and tells them that some “bad men” have her brother and his friends pinned down in the junk yard, her house being watched by unknown government entities. And the chief of police is trying to leave. Without her.

“He’s my brother,” Nancy hisses, standing with both her fists balled, rage boiling up her throat.

“I don’t care,” Chief Hopper declares, looking down at her like she’s a bug he’d accidentally squashed beneath his shoe. “You’re not coming.”

“You want me to just sit here?” she demands, hating how quiet her foot is when she stomps it down, hating the derisive snort the Chief sends her way—hating, hating, hating.

“You are staying here,” he asserts.

Neither Barb nor Jonathan make a move to back her up. Nancy stews in the feeling, unable to do anything else without a license or a car. She’s stuck.

Nancy joins Ms. Byers at the table and maps out their locations, knowing even as she does it that it won’t help at all. But she needs something to keep from yanking her hair out in little clumps the way Munson is.

“You’re not the only one worried, you know,” Nancy grits through her teeth when she can’t stand to see him pacing along her periphery anymore.

It works, but now his big, wet, accusatory eyes are pointed right at her as he asks, “excuse me?”

“Nancy,” Jonathan cuts in, going so far as to place a hand on her shoulder, like she’s a wild dog he’s keeping leashed. She shakes him off and takes a step forward.

“My parents’ house is being watched,” she says, the horror of it not touching her voice even as it permeates her. “Mike is out there, trapped and defenseless.”

“Yeah, but–”

“And I care about Steve, too,” she interrupts, her hold on the situation dissolving beneath her hands.

Munson doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, chewing on his hair. She wants him to talk back, wants him to fight, so she can fight back before the silence lingers long enough for the knot in her throat to form in her tear ducts and trail down her cheeks.

Before either of them can make a scene, Mike rushes through the door, bypassing her entirely to barrel into Will, knocking him and Munson both down with the force of his hug. It doesn’t take long for the whole thing to end in a mess of kid’s limbs and jumbled conversations, catching the kids up with what’s been happening.

It’s only when Lucas asks to go home that anyone brings up Steve.

“We’re not leaving Steve,” Eddie cuts through their loud voices, glaring around the room like anyone had even suggested it.

“Steve? Nancy’s stupid boyfriend?” Mike demands.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

The words are out of her mouth before she even thinks them. She wants to stuff them back in her throat and swallow them down. It feels wrong to announce it to the room, Steve missing, gone, maybe dead when the last words Nancy would ever say to him were used to tell him how much he’d disappointed her.

She wants him in front of her so she can yell at him about all the rumors circling the school about Barb, tell him that his friend is rotten, and she’s upset that he’d taken Tommy H’s side over hers. She wants to be able to break up with him, if they were ever even dating at all. They’d never talked about it. Before this, there was always more time.

As the conversation moves on without her, Jonathan squeezes her shoulder. She leans back into him, and doesn’t think about how Steve would feel about it.

*** 

Barb doesn’t even know why she’s surprised when they all end up at the middle school to set up some sort of sensory deprivation chamber to help the girl with super powers get them to work. Barb’s not sure how a bandana and a kiddie pool are going to make a lick of difference in finding Harrington, but she’s not the one in charge of the plans here.

She’s pretty sure the whole thing is bullshit, but then the lights go dark, and she finds herself huddling against Nancy and Jonathan as they stare down at the floating girl. When she says Steve isn’t in the Munson’s trailer like Eddie had suggested, Nancy reaches down and squeezes Barb’s hand tight enough to cut off her circulation. She can see her other hand clutched in Jonathan’s, a trio on the fringes of this entire fucked up situation.

As the girl finds Harrington in his own damn house, as Eddie bullies his way into the search party, as Ms. Byers corrals the kids left waiting on the bench, she’s not sure why she’s even still here.

“We have to do something,” Nancy says, voice quiet but firm.

Barb sighs. She knows that tone of voice—no matter what anyone says, Nancy’s already decided on her course, and with most of the adults off on a suicide mission, there’s no one left to stop her. She also knows that no matter how fucking stupid it is, Barb will be going right along with her.

She’d done it at seven when Nancy wanted to sneak out and go to the library, done it last week when Nancy had wanted to go to that party, and she’ll do it again now.

Jonathan’s not as up to date on the way Nancy Wheeler operates, though, so he asks, “what?” in such a befuddled voice that she almost wants to laugh.

“Demogorogn’s are drawn to blood,” Nancy whispers, looking furtively over at where Ms. Byers is fussing over Will. “The hypothesis is sound, even if we didn’t get to test it.”

Barb sighs again. She wants to climb into bed and sleep for the rest of the year. This has been the longest week of her life so far, and Nancy’s determined to make it longer.

 “So, bear traps?” Barb asks, exhaustion hitting her even more as Nancy nods firmly.

Jonathan’s not looking at either of them. His eyes are fixed on his brother sitting on the bleachers with the rest of his friends, “But, Will is—”

“Fine!” Nancy hisses, loud enough that Lucas looks suspiciously their way, glaring over at them until Dustin sucks him back into whatever inane conversation they’re having. “Will is fine, but he’s going to be devastated if they can’t save Steve.”

Jonathan’s whole face drops, tinting almost green like he’s going to be sick at the thought. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t destined to break that poor little kid’s heart.

“Munson’s the biggest freak in the school, and he seems pretty determined to get him back,” Barb says. She winces as both of their eyes turn straight to her, piercing her where she stands. “Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?”

Barb grimaces, Jonathan making the same face right at her. She means it, really she does. She doesn’t know Munson, but he seems nice, and if he’s willing to risk his life to save Harrington, maybe there’s something there that she’s not seeing.

Jonathan sighs. “So, bear traps?”

He blushes when Nancy smiles with all her teeth, pointed directly up at him. God, she can’t even blame him. There was a time when she’d turn just as red at the force of Nancy’s smile. But they don’t have time for whatever weird courting ritual they have going on right now.

“Should we go before Ms. Byers stops fussing over Will long enough to notice us leaving?” Barb asks.

Nancy jumps, like she’d forgotten Barb was even there. Again. But they all file out of the gym quietly, entirely unnoticed. As she slides into the back of Jonathan’s car, all she feels is tired.

*** 

Tension knots up Jonathan’s shoulders as he watches the middle school disappear in his rear-view mirror. It feels wrong to leave Will after only just getting him back, even with mom there to keep an eye on him. But Nancy’s words are ringing through his ears—if Steve dies, Will will be devastated.

He doesn’t get it, can’t get Harrington’s smirking face out of his mind long enough to see anything else, but maybe that doesn’t matter. It’s not about him, it never is. This is about Will. And Jonathan would do worse things than save a guy he hates to keep Will happy.

“Where are we doing this?” Jonathan asks, rolling his shoulders as he drives, trying to unknot them as best he can. It doesn’t work.

“Harrington’s house, right?” Barb asks, leaning forward between him and Nancy. “That’s where the girl said he was in the Upside-Down.”

Without question, Jonathan turns and heads toward Loch Nora, happy it won’t be his own house they’re trashing.

It’s late enough that the streets are vacant as he drives through them, and all that’s in Harrington’s driveway is Steve’s own douchey car. He parks behind it, cutting his noisy engine as fast as possible to avoid getting the cops called.

“How are we getting in?” Jonathan asks, turning to look at Nancy, only to find she’s already out of the car waiting for him to unlock the trunk.

“The side door’s unlocked,” Barb replies, following Nancy out.

Electing not to ask how the hell they know that, Jonathan sighs and follows them. Now that it’s time, the supplies in the trunk seem inadequate. Still, he piles it all into his arms and follows the girls through an open gate and into the Harrington’s yard.

There’s a pool, in-ground and everything, surrounded by precisely trimmed bushes. It would be a perfect depiction of the upper crust’s suburbia if it wasn’t for the red cups scattered all around, abandoned and not cleaned up, even all these days after Harrington had gone missing.

He follows them through a side door, and the house proper looks just the same. Huge, colorless, and empty if not for those cups scattered around. It isn’t until he sees the abandoned house, almost a week after their son went missing, that Jonathan really lets the insidious thoughts creep in. Big house, no parents has always been something said about Steve, lauded as the perfect life for a perfect king.

Now, with the king absconded from the throne and his castle abandoned, it just seems lonely, and the castle isn’t much more than an empty shell of a place.

Nancy and Barb seem to share none of his compunctions. Barb goes through the house, turning on all the lights she finds until the whole thing’s lit up bright enough to show all its pristine corners, and Nancy kicks all the cups to the side to make enough room to set their main trap.

She pulls the Harrington’s auspicious rug back from in front of the couch and drops the bear trap down hard enough that Jonathan’s worried the floor will dent. Still, he follows her lead, pulling nails and a hammer from the box so he can nail the thing down, make it sturdy enough to hold the monster.

When he steps back, the set-up looks macabrely like whoever’s on the couch is supposed to watch the spectacle, view of the fuck-off huge television doomed to be obscured with whatever’s caught in the deadly points of their trap. Jonathan elects to never, ever sit on that couch.

Nancy puts bullets in his dad’s gun, Jonathan hammers nails into the bat, hoping for a weapon that has a chance of making a dent in a monster, while Barb pours gas all over the Harrington’s fancy hardwood floor.

The finishing touch is Will’s yellow yo-yo, commandeered without his permission, hung precisely over one of the Harrington’s dining room chairs placed just inside of what must be Mr. Harrington’s dusty office, a fucked-up warning system to let them know when the monster’s ensnared.

It’s a mess, and the more they prepare, the less he feels sure that any of this is going to work. But, there’s a steel behind Nancy’s eyes, so when she grabs three knives from the Harrington’s butcher block and asks, “ready?” he holds out his hand just like Barb does.

The steel feels heavy and cold in Jonathan’s hand. He clutches it, fingers shaking just a little as Barb says, “on three?”

“One,” Nancy replies, not giving them any more time to hesitate.

“Two,” Barb continues in the pause between words.

When they both turn to him, he looks between them, panic sinking into his stomach like lead. All this for Steve fucking Harrington. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Jonathan,” Nancy says on a disappointed sigh.

“I’m just saying, we don’t—”

“Three,” Barb cuts in, and Jonathan moves before he knows what’s happening.

The knife’s sharp enough that he doesn’t feel it at first, even as it parts his palm like butter. It’s only as blood starts pooling out of the cut into his cupped hand that the pain hits, sharp and clarifying.

“Shit,” Barb says, clutching her own hand to her chest, getting blood all over her shirt. 

Jonathan doesn’t look at either of them. He’s looking up at the lights, looking for any of the flickering that shows something from the other side is present. Nothing happens. The house is cold, and empty, nothing faceless creeping free of any nooks or crannies to kill them.

“Is that it?” Barb asks.

Did they trash the Harrington’s house—worse than it already was—for no reason at all?

“Maybe it takes a while?” Nancy replies, but she sounds the least sure Jonathan’s ever heard her, voice small and scared, not that the monster might come, but that it won’t.

Blood’s dripping down from his hand, splattering against the hardwood until he cups his other hand and catches it. Nancy moves abruptly enough that he jumps, their self-inflicted wounds giving her enough purpose to find her footing as she heads over to their supplies to fish out the bandages.

She wraps Jonathan’s first, moving quickly to Barb’s and then, finally her own, staunching the blood flow enough not to let it drip everywhere. It’s only as Nancy uses her teeth to rip the final piece of her bandage from the roll that the lights in the Harrington house start flashing, fast enough to be blinding.

Nancy picks up the gun, shuffling backward until she’s pressed against Barb, who’s snatched the bat from the carpet and is eyeing the house wildly. Left without his own weapon, he grabs Barb’s crow bar and settles into the circle, back to back to back.

Barb’s indrawn breath is the only warning he gets. He spins, eyes roving wildly until he catches sight of what’s caught her attention. He stands, transfixed, staring at the Harrington’s ceiling. There’s something wrong with it. It’s turned elastic and it’s pulsing as something presses on it from the other side, pushing and pushing as it descends until it gives way entirely.

What comes through isn’t what he pictured. It’s bigger, standing taller than any man, legs and arms bending at angles that should be impossible. They all stand, frozen, as it drops to the ground with barely a sound. No amount of prepping or planning could have prepared them for this.

They stay like that until the thing turns toward them, opens its face, and screeches loud enough to reverberate through his head and bounce around inside his skull. He hears the sound of Nancy shooting at it, close enough to make his ears ring, but the thing just screeches again and begins coming their way.

Jonathan grabs the closest wrist and runs, following the plan by rote, heading toward Harrington senior’s office. It’s only as he skids to a stop just past the threshold that he realizes it’s Barb he grabbed. She’s panting, staring wide eyed at him.

“Where’s Na—” he starts to ask, turning back toward the open door just in time to catch her in his arms, barely stopping her momentum without taking them both down.

Barb slams the door and they all three shuffle back, staring at the closed door, and Will’s yellow yo-yo stationary where it’s slung over the top of an office chair.

Nothing happens, The house is eerily still.

*** 

The longer the yo-yo doesn’t move, the tenser everyone gets. Steve’s house is eerily silent, and the lights are no longer flashing. Nancy holds her hand steady, gun pointed unerringly at the closed door, waiting for the heavy wood to splinter and let the monster through.

“Can you hear anything?” Barb whispers, voice quavering.

Nancy can’t blame her—she’s sure that if she opens up her mouth, bile will be the only thing that comes out.

“No,” Jonathan murmurs.

No one moves. The gun’s warmed up beneath Nancy’s hands with how tight she’s clutching it, how fast her blood is zinging through her veins. But, she’s the one who’d dragged them into this. She’s the one who’d insisted they distract the monster, help give the rescue party a better chance at success.

If anything happens to either of them, it’s on her. Besides, Steve’s her—friend. She wants to help him, so she takes the first step toward the closed door.

“Nancy,” Barb hisses.

She doesn’t answer her, just reaches out and opens the door, gun raised to shoot anything that so much as twitches on the other side. Nothing does. The air’s still, house silent and settled in its foundation. It feels like a herculean task to step over the threshold and back into the hall, but when she hears two sets of footsteps follow her out, her stride gains assurance.

The trap is still in the living room, intact but empty. The whole house seems empty, lights on and no longer flashing.

“Do you think it’s gone?” Jonathan asks, and as if his voice had summoned it, the lights begin to flash.

Nancy snaps her eyes closed on instinct, only opening them again when Barb and Jonathan’s backs press against hers, completing the circle. Moments later, the lights go out, leaving them in the relative darkness of the unlit Harrington house.

“Shit,” Barb says, and before Nancy can even turn, something heavy hits her back, knocking her down and sending her gun flying out of her hand just before she’s pinned to the floor.

Something screeches and Nancy rolls, terrified that the monster is atop her, but it’s just Barb. Nancy’s scrabbling for the gun, hands running over the floor, desperately trying to locate it in the dark.

Just as her hand closes around its reassuring metal handle, finger automatically resting against the trigger, Barb screeches and there’s the meaty thwack of a something hitting a living body. She scrambles to her feet, gun already raised.

Jonathan’s on the ground, crowbar raised in defense as Barb crashes the nail-studded bat into the thing’s back. It turns away from Jonathan, mouth open as it screeches in Barb’s face, that unholy sound reverberating through the house with such force that she’s surprised the walls don’t shake.

Nancy points and shoots, nicking the thing’s head just as Barb raises her bat again and yells right back in its face, bringing it down into its flesh again and again, nails embedding into the thing’s side. Afraid to clip Barb in any attempt to help, Nancy rushes forward to haul Jonathan to his feet, both of them stumbling to right themselves

Nancy’s brain’s not working, it’s shut off sometime between the monster dropping through the ceiling for the first time and Barb knocking her flat on her ass. So, when Jonathan clutches at her shoulder to steady himself, she just stares up into his eyes, brain ticking against itself as he stares right back, the sound of Barb’s assault gaining an echoing quality the farther away it gets.

They don’t snap out of it until Barb calls, “it’s in the trap!”

Jonathan drops his hand from her shoulder and turns, running toward Barb’s shout, Nancy hot on his heels.

Barb’s got black ooze splattered on her face, and her glasses are missing, but she looks remarkably calm and collected as Jonathan pulls the lighter out of his pocket and drops it to the Harrington’s gasoline-soaked floor. The flames lick up the hardwood remarkably fast, and Nancy’s caught watching the moment like it’s a movie and not real life, frozen and staring at the growing fire. 

The thing screeches as the flames caress its feet, almost dancing in the bright light like it’s trying to escape the heat even if it means losing the foot that’s caught in the trap. She watches, entranced as it writhes in the split second before the monsters entirely engulfed in flickering flames.

Nancy stands there, staring at the flickering fire, bathed in the relief of surviving the night, entire body shaking, when Jonathan Byers surges toward her, cups her face in his big hands, and kisses her like he wants to consume her.

***

For a second, it’s perfect. Nancy’s lips move against his, firm, and warm, and open just enough for the air to moisten between them. It’s the best moment of Jonathan’s life, his first kiss since Nicole in fifth grade who’d only done it for a dare. He wants to live in this moment, suffocate on Nancy’s breath and die happily.

But, then there’s a sharp, hissing sound, and they both jump back just in time for Barb to put out the remains of the fire with the extinguisher they’d brought for just this reason.

There’s nothing left on the Harrington’s fancy hardwood except a black scorch mark.

“Where is it?” Nancy asks, and when Jonathan looks her way, her lips are spit-slick and swollen, like their kiss really had lasted eons instead of the seconds that must have passed.

Jonathan jerks his head away, abruptly reminded of the real-life danger they’re in, eyes roving over ceilings and floors and walls, trying to find the Demogorgon, or any clue as to where it had gone. A tear in the Harrington’s gaudy wallpaper, a spot on the ceiling that’s distending bizarrely. But, there’s nothing.

“It has to be dead,” Jonathan says, looking back at the burnt patch of floor.

The Demogorgon had been entirely engulfed in flames, not visible past the flickering oranges and red that entombed it. Could anything survive that?

Barb snorts, dropping the empty fire extinguisher down with a clatter. “That thing’s from an entirely different world, why would you assume it’s dead just because it’s not here?”

She sounds exhausted—Jonathan doesn’t blame her for slinking around the burnt patch of floor to slump down on the Harrington’s hideous floral couch. She leans back into the cushions, head slumping back like it’s too heavy to carry. Nancy follows her lead, settling on the middle cushion, feet tucked beneath herself, her shoes no-doubt getting dirt and soot all over the cushions.

Despite promising not to, Jonathan sits beside her, facing forward as Nancy uses the hem of her shirt to wipe the black blood from Barb’s face. He keeps his feet planted on the floor, staring forward at the black TV screen, eyes dipping down to the burnt floor every few seconds. He’s right—it does feel macabre to see that trap there, even now that it’s signed and closed. What would it have been like to sit here and watch it burn?

He almost wishes he had—for Eddie, for Will, and hell, even for Steve fucking Harrington who might be dead right now. Whose girlfriend he’d just kissed. Whose girlfriend had kissed him back. God, this is fucked.

His shoulders hurt from wielding the crow bar with tensed muscles for so long, so he follows Barb’s lead and leans back, hoping to sink into the cushions and finally relax.

“This couch fucking sucks,” he says, and on the other side of the couch, Barb laughs.

“Fucking rich people,” she echoes, reaching her hand past Nancy to whack him on the shoulder in a way he’s pretty sure is supposed to be companionable, but just fucking hurts.

They stay like that, quiet and exhausted in each other’s presence. Jonathan doesn’t know what time it is when he closes his eyes, mind drifting in that place between sleep and awake, thoughts flitting in and out of his brain too gentle to be caught.

“We should clean up,” Nancy says, and Jonathan shakes himself back awake like a dog after a bath.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep—maybe they all had with the way Nancy’s slumped into him, head resting on his shoulder, feet curled up into Barb’s lap. Nancy gets up first, hair tickling Jonathan’s chin as she removes her body heat from his side.

On the other side of the couch, Barb groans, eyes blinking to half-mast, short hair mussed, and drool coming out of the side of her mouth. It’s cold on the couch without Nancy’s body heat. Jonathan’s tempted to lean into Barb instead and fall back to sleep for a few more blissful minutes, but then Nancy turns on the living room light and Jonathan shuts his eyes against the blinding light.

Nancy comes back, Barb’s glasses held out to her, and Barb levers her body upright, knee popping as it changes position. She takes her glasses and puts them on her face, still squinting as she dutifully begins following Nancy’s lead.

Jonathan’s own body feels weighed down with too many sleepless nights, but he levers himself up, entire body aching from his uncomfortable slumber as he joins the girls in cleaning up their mess.

There’s not much to be done, in the end. They pry up the nails securing the trap with the end of the hammer, cover the tarnished portion of floor back up with the rug, put the dining room chair back where it belongs, and make sure the knives they’d used are back in their respective slots in the block, sans blood stains. Once they’ve carted all their supplies out of the house and stuffed them into Jonathan’s trunk, the house is still a mess, but it’s like they were never there at all.

Jonathan slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition, and stalls out, staring at the blinking 3:03 on his dash. God, they must have been asleep for hours. There’s no way his mom still has the kids at the school this late. Should he check the hospital for Harrington? His house for mom and Will? What’s he supposed to do here, now that all his goals have been accomplished?

“Where am I going?” he asks, finger poised to turn the key once one of them tells him what to do.

Barb stays silent in his back seat, but Nancy hums, that small little sound she makes when she’s thinking. “My house?” she asks. “Visiting hours at the hospital are over, so we should get some sleep and check there in the morning.”

Jonathan follows her direction, driving toward the Wheeler house in exhausted silence. He wants to check on Will, but his mom’s bound to have some angry words to shout at him over his disappearance, and he just can’t right now. Nancy’s house is dark, only the porch light on to guide them in once Jonathan’s parked on the street. They slip on silent feet through the house, and Jonathan’s reminded of how quiet they’d tried to be after they’d found the dying deer. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.

When they finally reach it, Nancy’s room is nice—it’s organized, clean, and full of light pinks that suit her. Jonathan stares around at it with tired eyes and wonders how many times Steve Harrington has been in here, how many times he’s settled into her pink paisley sheets, Nancy beneath him.

Nancy’s sitting close to him, shoulders brushing as they wait for Barb to get back from the bathroom to turn out the light.

“Nancy,” Jonathan whispers, reaching out to take her hand. “With Harrington—”

“Not now,” she cuts in, squeezing his hand gently, the bandages on their palms brushing together. “Not until I talk to Steve, okay?”

Jonathan shudders when she says his name. Steve, Steve, Steve, as if Nancy hadn’t kissed him back. As if they even know if Harrington’s even around to talk to. But Barb’s words echo through his head. Eddie likes him, and so does Will. Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?

“Okay,” Jonathan says, squeezing her hand right back. He’ll try his best to offer up that chance and hope against all that he is, that he doesn’t regret it.

When Barb gets back, she climbs into bed right alongside them, shuffling until her back’s to Nancy. Jonathan does the same just before Barb reaches over to turn off the lamp, ready to watch both of their backs for one more night.

*** 

“Where the hell were you?”

Nancy bolts up out of bed, disoriented. Mike’s standing in her doorway, backlit by the bright light in the hallway. He’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, arms crossed, and a ferocious snarl on his face as he glares down at her.

“Mike?” she asks, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up. “What are you—”

“The bad men came, and you were all just gone,” he hisses, quiet enough not to disturb their parents, wherever they are. “El almost died.”

“Bad men?” Nancy prompts, brain still fuzzy with exhaustion. “El, what…?”

“They pointed guns at us,” he says, taking a step into her room to loom more effectively over her. “I’m fine, if you even care.”

“Mike—”

“But good to know you were all too busy sleeping together to care!” And with that, he storms out of the room, slamming the door hard enough that mom yells at him from somewhere downstairs.

She stares at the closed door for a minute, mind still clogged to work all that well.

“I need to go check on Will,” Jonathan says, and when Nancy whips her head toward him, he’s already up and out of the bed.

“Jonathan—” she tries, hand reaching out toward him, but he’s already too far away, grabbing his keys off her desk and shoving them in the pocket of his jeans.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” he says, pausing at the threshold of her bedroom door, soulful eyes staring back at her. “Maybe after you talk to Harrington?”

Nancy’s gut twists. “Okay,” she says, voice as small as she feels as Jonathan walks out the door.

She drops back onto the bed with a groan, beyond frazzled. Beside her, Barb still breathes deeply, always an absurdly deep sleeper. The shape of her warmth is a comfort, now that Jonathan’s stormed out, his side of the bed slowly growing cold.

She should talk to Steve.

Should she talk to Steve? From what Eddie and Will had said, he’d been through hell. Did he really need all of this on top of everything else? But, didn’t he deserve to know? Wouldn’t she want to know?

It seems like hours before Barb rolls over with a yawn, blinking confusedly over at Nancy where she’s staring up at the ceiling.

“Where’s Jonathan?” she asks, voice sleep-rough and low.

“Should I tell Steve?” Nancy asks, the question sitting on her tongue long enough that it escapes her mouth at the first chance of a willing audience.

“About Jonathan?” Barb asks, scratching her stomach beneath her t-shirt as she waits for Nancy to nod her affirmation. “Definitely. Kind of fucked up if you didn’t tell your boyfriend you kissed someone else.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she blurts out, and for the first time, she wonders who she’s trying to convince. “Besides, I thought you didn’t even like him.”

Barb shrugs her shoulders awkwardly against the mattress. “I don’t,” she confirms, heading out of Nancy’s room. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to know.”

Barb doesn’t close the door behind her as she heads down the hall to the bathroom.

After Barb goes home, Nancy stews on it. Barb says Steve deserves to know, but what if knowing does more harm than good? What if it sets back any progress he’s made? No matter what fight they’d had, it feels stupid now. She doesn’t want to hurt him, and this will.

Nancy collapses back down into her bed, stewing in the silence of her bedroom, the other side of the bed feeling cold without Jonathan to warm it up. 

***

He finds Will at the hospital, tucked into Eddie’s side as they both stare down at Harrington like he’ll disappear if they don’t keep their eyes on him. When Jonathan sees the state Harrington’s in, he’s not sure he can blame them.

His hair’s all shaved off, and he looks sunken down tucked under a thin hospital blanket, like he’s lost an impossible amount of weight in the few days he was gone. He’s got bandages wrapped around his shoulder, peeking out from beneath his hospital gown.

He looks washed out, tired, sick, nothing left of King Steve, just a boy who’s lost his crown.

He steps into the room, staring down at his prone form in the bed, something swirling through him, a mix of pity, and jealousy, and a nauseous sort of shame that’s only quelled when Will calls his name and jumps up, throwing his arms around Jonathan’s waist.

“You’re okay!” he cries, small arms wrapping Jonathan up tight and holding all his squirming guts inside.

Jonathan drops his hand on Will’s head and cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” Jonathan replies, voice choking as he remembers Mike’s words about bad men and guns. “Are you?”

Will nods, head rubbing against Jonathan’s ribs as he turns his head back toward Harrington lying lifeless on the bed. “I’m okay,” he whispers, “but Steve…”

He doesn’t have to finish the thought, he can see it in the sallow tint to Harrington’s skin. “What’s the prognosis?”

“They won’t tell us anything.” It’s Eddie who replies, barely glancing up from his vigil at Harrington’s side. “Johnny boy.”

“Eddie,” Jonathan replies, leading Will back over to his chair, pulling another over to his side so they’re all stacked against each other, staring at Harrington as he sleeps on, unaware.

He doesn’t wake up this time, or the next time he brings Will by, or the time after that. Eddie’s always at his side, looking more skeletal and drawn at each visit, like whatever umbilical cord is tying those two together is sucking all the life from Eddie to keep Harrington alive.

Jonathan just hopes Will won’t go down right along with him.

He doesn’t hear from Nancy or Barb, wonders if either had come to see Harrington at all, or if they’d both washed their hands of him now that he’s relatively safe. A small, quiet voice in the back of his head wonders if they’re doing the same thing with him.

It’s on their fourth visit that something changes: Harrington’s eyes are open, and as soon as they walk in, they’re trained on Will with that same unerring intensity that Will and Eddie have when they look at him.

“Will,” he says, and by the cracking of his voice, it must hurt, but he’s smiling. Smiling as Will clambers onto his bed, smiling as he burrows into his chest, smiling as he bursts into tears.

Jonathan follows him in, settles uncomfortably in that same hospital chair as Steve murmurs platitudes into Will’s hair, and Eddie rubs his back. He’s left to the side, watching his little brother break apart in front of him, two people who aren’t him or his mom piecing him back together with kind words and gentle hands.

It burns, like acid reflux boiling up his throat after movie nights with Will where they both eat too many off-brand chips, and chug sodas like they’re at one of Harrington’s house parties shotgunning a beer. He’s not a part of this moment, out on the front lawn watching a picture-perfect family moment through someone’s warmly-lit window.

Jonathan clears his throat, and Will shuffles back away from Harrington, rubbing his tacky eyes. While his eyes are covered, Harrington winces, hand coming up to cradle his side, like Will’s hug had hurt him, and he’d held on just as tightly anyway. By the time Will’s dropped his hand from his face, Harrington’s hidden any pain behind a smiling face.

“Thanks, man,” Jonathan says, speaking before he even knows what’s going to come out of his mouth. Steve’s eyes look startled, wider than they normally would with his shorn hair and gaunt face. Jonathan looks down at his lap, unable to meet his gaze as he continues. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–”

There’s a sob building in his throat, at the thought of Will alone over there, Will dead in the coffin they’d buried. Will gone. He’s choking on it.

“Hey, man, your brother’s a badass,” Harrington says, like he’s trying to comfort Jonathan. “He would’ve been fine. You would’ve found him.”

“Yeah, Baby Byers definitely saved my life,” Eddie chimes in, going so far as to reach over and pat Jonathan’s back roughly, like he’s trying to burp a baby.

The sob in his throat dissolves as he looks between the two who’d saved Will when he couldn’t, who’d still wanted to see him once there wasn’t a monster to kill. They’re both smiling, and not at each other: at Jonathan.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says, voice cracking on all that saltwater he’d refused to shed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably even as he smiles up at Jonathan, small and shy, and so far from the usual King Steve that Jonathan remembers from across the cafeteria that for the first time, Jonathan wonders if he actually means it.

***

Nancy waffles for three days, the guilt over not even visiting him growing with each consecutive day. God, what must he think?

For the entire three days, she doesn’t hear from Jonathan at all.

It’s a relief when Barb agrees to go with her. Nancy feels almost sick with how clammy she feels as she slinks into Steve’s hospital room and catches sight of him for the first time. He’s sallow, thinner than she’s ever seen him, and his hair’s gone, shaved down until it’s just stubble.

Nancy’s throat clogs up as she looks at him, pale enough to blend in with the pillows he’s propped up against. In the chair closest to his bedside, Eddie sits, staring fixedly at her. She stares back, trying not to blink. It feels like he’s flaying her open. Does he know, somehow, what she’s done? Can she see the press of Jonathan’s lips against hers?

“Harrington,” Barb says, Steve’s answering response croaky enough that it must hurt to speak. “Glad you’re not dead.”

She can see Steve shuffling out of the corner of her eye, but Eddie’s still staring at her, and she won’t be the first to break.

But then Steve says, “I’m sorry about Tommy,” with such a contrite tone of voice, that she snaps her gaze toward him. He’s looking down at his own lap like he’s trying to hide his expression behind his hair, but it’s all gone now, and she can see everything. His mouth’s twisted up, eyes squinted closed, like a little boy being shamed for not doing his homework in front of the entire class. “That wasn’t cool.”

Nancy watches him, nauseous at the way he just says it, what little anger she’d been able to hold onto leaking out of her and leaving shame in its wake.

“You’re not responsible for Tommy Hagan,” Barb replies, caustic and biting. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I care that you’re friends with such a piece of shit.”

“Barb!” Nancy cries, trying to get her to shut up. Barb doesn’t even look away, eyes trained solely on Steve’s wide eyes.

“You don’t get a free pass because you tried to get eaten by a monster.”

Nancy gasps, but all Steve does is laugh, mouth twitching up at the corners like he thinks it’s funny, looking more alive than he had since they’d walked into his room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Steve says, still smiling up at her, open, honest, happy to be called out on his shit. She doesn’t know the Steve Harrington that’s sitting in front of her.

Like that’s all it takes, Barb sits down beside Eddie, quizzing the pair about Steve’s injuries. Nancy watches, shocked as Eddie and Steve banter, jumping off each other’s sentences like that’s how it has always been. When Eddie had been so desperate to get Steve back, this hadn’t been what she’d expected.

There’s something there, she can almost see it.

It’s gone as soon as she steps further into the room, all candor in Eddie’s face dropping as she inches toward the trio, settling on the foot of Steve’s bed, carefully keeping distance between them, if only to stop Eddie from lunging toward her and slitting her throat.

“Steve?” Nancy asks, all conversation dropping away as Steve and Barb turn to look at her as well. She feels small under their eyes, twisted and wrong, as she says, “I’m sorry,” and really, really means it.

“For what?” Steve asks.

For Jonathan. “For leaving you at the party,” she says, catching Barb’s scathing glare. She swallows the knot in her throat and finally, finally says what she really means. “And for—you were gone, and Jonathan—”

She stops, can’t force the words past the lump in her throat. She stares at Steve, trying to beam the knowledge into his head, as he looks from her, to Eddie, to Barb in turn.

Barb, always both a thorn and salvation for Nancy, says it for her, looking Steve head on as she says, “Nancy and Jonathan have a thing going on.”

It feels like both more and less than it really is. They’d kissed, they’d slept side by side in her cramped bed. They’d saved each other’s lives, and spilled their own blood in Steve’s living room, and they haven’t talked in three days. Only three days, and she misses him, wants to kiss him again, see if she can recreate those handful of seconds where things seemed simple.

“Nancy, it’s fine,” Steve says, voice soothing even beyond the scratch of its disuse. “We kissed a few times, that’s all.”

Her gut sinks, and then balloons up and out of her entirely. Momentary hurt swept away on a tidal wave of relief.

“Really?” Nancy asks, eyes watering as she looks at him, ignoring Eddie’s scathing question from Steve’s side.

“Really,” he replies, like it’s easy. Like he means it. This is not the Steve Harrington that she knew. But maybe, that’s okay. Maybe that’s better.

So when Steve asks, “Friends?” all awkward and shy, she smiles and says, “friends” right back.

And when she climbs into the passenger side of Barb’s car after their visit she asks, “can you take me to Jonathan’s?” feeling hopeful for the first time all week.

*** 

Barb drops Nancy off at Jonathan’s house, and she can feel it coming—Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan becoming Nancy and Jonathan. She’d felt it coming curled up in Nancy’s too-small bed, pretending not to notice the other two curl into each other on the other side of the bed.

It’s been a waiting game ever since. Waiting while Nancy muddled through her feelings about Steve, waiting until Steve was allowed visitors, waiting for Nancy to break his heart so she can move on to Jonathan.

It hurts, that she’s right.

It’s not like they cut her out. She sits at their table at lunch, watching them hold hands beneath the table. They still talk to her in stints before getting wrapped back up in each other.

She can’t remember the last time her and Nancy had a sleepover.

It curdles, makes her bitter and mean, but she’s got nowhere else to go. It’s always just been her and Nancy. She hasn’t bothered to make any other friends. But, maybe she should.

When Steve comes back to school, part of Barb expects Nancy to approach him, make good on his request that they stay friends, but she doesn’t even seem to notice he’s back. Barb watches him as she stays at Nancy and Jonathan’s side.

He’s wearing Eddie’s clothes, bags dark beneath his eyes, hair still shorn startlingly close to the top of his head, and all the students part to let him through like whatever’s wrong with him is catching. And Eddie’s attached to his side like a barnacle Steve’s not even trying to shake loose.

She stands behind Nancy and Jonathan in the lunch line, waiting for them to pick out their lunches so they can sit down at their usual seats. They’re flirting over the school’s atrocious lasagna, so Barb lets her gaze wander over the rest of the cafeteria. She’s unsurprised to find Steve settled at the freaks and geeks table, Eddie tucked close to his side.

She leaves the line, heading straight for Steve and Eddie, unsurprised when neither Nancy or Jonathan notice she leaves.

“Barb would cry if she heard you say that,” Eddie’s saying as she walks up.

“I would cry if Steve said what?” Barb asks as she sits down at Steve’s side. She’s curious, nosey, warmed by them thinking about her when she’s not here.

“Steve here said you two aren’t friends,” Eddie, always the consonant shit-stirrer, replies.

That twinges, but she looks over at Steve, there’s no King Steve in sight. He looks awkward, worried, shy, as he picks at his lunch without actually eating it.

“You’ll do, I guess,” she replies, watching the pleased smile bloom across Steve’s face before she looks back at where Jonathan and Nancy are sitting at their usual table. Their bodies are pointed toward each other, closed parenthesis containing their inner circle, neither having seemed to notice she’s not in her usual seat across from them. “Besides, I’m going to need some new friends at this rate.”

Eddie nudges her sympathetically, but if anything, Steve seems more confused as he squints across the cafeteria at the pair, so she explains further, pulling the sandwich her mom had made that morning from her back pack and nibbling on it.

“All Nancy cares about right now is Jonathan.” As if to punctuate her point, Jonathan reaches out and tucks one of Nancy’s loose curls behind her ear, Nancy’s face blushing a rosy pink. Barb looks down at her sandwich, unwilling to watch it anymore. “At least with you, I knew it wouldn’t last. Now, when am I going to get my friend back?”

When she looks up from picking at her lunch, Steve’s staring at her, eyebrows still furrowed. “She’s right there,” he says, going so far as to point directly at the lovebirds. “Can’t you just go hang out with both of them?”

As if she hasn’t spent weeks doing just that, being left to the wayside while they stare soulfully into each other’s eyes. “They’re all…wrapped up in each other,” she explains, trying to keep her temper in check.

“Didn’t Hagan and Perkins go through a honeymoon phase?” Eddie asks. It’s not a phrase Barb’s heard used about high schoolers before, but it seems right. Phase implies it’ll end at some point, Barb just hopes it won’t take too long. Nancy’s smiling around the carrot stick in her mouth, and Jonathan actually looks fucking charmed by it. “What did you do when they used to go on their romantic dates?”

“Go with them?”

Barb snaps her gaze back to him, Nancy and Jonathan’s mating display all-but forgotten in favor of the conundrum wrapped inside a jock package in front of her.

“You’re shitting me,” one of Eddie’s loser friends cuts in.

“Wait, no. Let’s let this play out,” Eddie says, sounding gleeful. Barb glances at him across Steve and there’s a manic gleam in his eyes. “So, let’s set the stage. It’s Valentine’s day, 1982. Tommy Hagan has set up a candlelit dinner with Miss Perkins to celebrate their eternal love. Where are you in this scenario?”

“Have you been like, stalking me?” Steve asks, and it takes Barb a minute to realize the implication of that question.

Steve Harrington had gone on their fucking 1982 Valentine’s date.

“So, you, Steve Harrington, showed up at your best friend’s Valentine’s date last year and that was just fine?” Barb asks, voice devoid of all emotion.

“I didn’t just show up, I was invited” he says, glaring at her as he finally picks up his burger and begins eating it. “Usually, I help Carol do her make-up before. She’s not good at doing her own eyeshadow without looking like a hooker.”

He’s not looking at them anymore—he’s staring across the cafeteria at Perkins and Hagan with the same, forlorn look Barb knows has been peeking out of her own face for weeks now. Barb turns away from the rest of them to stare across at Nancy and Jonathan again. They’re even closer now, like whatever they’re saying is too private to be said above a whisper, even with all the vacant space at their table.

They still haven’t noticed the entirety of Eddie’s usual table staring at them, much less Barb herself, and maybe that’s the difference: Nancy and Jonathan haven’t invited her anywhere, have barely left a space at their side for her to settle into.

“I don’t think I can go on Nancy and Jonathan’s dates,” Barb finally says, something sad and churning within her as she crumples up her sandwich bag and sweeps it into the almost-full trash can at the end of their table.

“Oh, they’re both freaks,” one of Eddie’s other friends cuts in, the entire table dissolving into giggles.

Jonathan leans forward, planting a shy kiss at the corner of Nancy’s mouth that makes her smile, small and shy. Barb turns away, facing Steve and Eddie still arguing good-naturedly at her side.

Nancy and Jonathan may not have left room for her, but Steve had dutifully scooted closer to Eddie so she’d had room, both of them including her in the conversation like she’d always been there.

Maybe Barb was right all those weeks ago: Steve deserved a chance, and as he delicately ate his shitty cafeteria burger, she was happy to give him one.

As always, shoutout to my beta @queenie-ofthe-void who both made this flow better, and also pointed out that when I said it was done, it, in fact, very much was not! I hope the few of you who read this will enjoy it <3

[rafeysbunny]

‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron

stepbro!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.

warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.

word count. 4k.

author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!

it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.

it's the perfect moment.

rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.

you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.

rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.

what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.

and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.

well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...

you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.

somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.

the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.

how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.

before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.

how are you supposed to know which one to pick?

you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.

"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.

well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.

you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.

"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."

"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.

the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.

"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.

you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.

"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."

"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.

if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.

honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.

"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.

it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.

"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.

there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.

"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"

he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.

"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.

"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"

your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."

"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."

to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?

"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.

"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."

only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.

god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.

"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.

he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.

he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.

your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.

he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."

"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.

the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.

the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.

"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."

"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.

your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.

you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.

as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.

you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.

rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.

he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.

"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.

rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.

"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."

his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.

your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.

rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."

you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.

"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"

rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.

your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.

taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.

you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.

he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"

you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.

"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.

withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.

rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.

after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.

"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.

rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.

"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.

heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.

and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.

"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.

you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.

"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"

"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.

"such a good girl," he praises.

at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.

he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.

suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?

he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.

"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."

you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?

it's just the tip.

"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

"rafe," you whimper.

rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.

he can't fucking take this anymore.

with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"jesus, fuck." he grunts.

your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.

"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."

your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.

you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.

this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.

you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.

after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.

[tonycries]

You'll Taste Me Too! - G.S.

Synopsis. How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, office AU, enemies to lovers, jealousy (Gojo’s side), FAKE DATING, PAST Naoya x reader, creampíes, breéding, oraI (fem receiving), spítting, hot springs, cúmplay, DOWN BAD Satoru, tensíon, he’s a bit mean, revenge on your ex, ambiguous office work, exhíbitionísm, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 11.9k (this was supposed to be HALF that)

A/N. This type of annoying Gojo is always so fun to write, hope y’all have a great week <3

In all your three years as head of the marketing department, it wasn’t any of the tight deadlines or the nervous interns that drove you crazy. Hell, it wasn’t even the fact that the coffee maker in the break room only made tea. 

No, the one thing you couldn’t stand - the one thing that had you contemplating whether your transfer was really worth it - came in the form of the 6’3, cloudy-haired manchild who headed the sales department. 

The one person who’d made it his personal mission to toy with your sanity as soon as you’d stepped foot into the cleancut office of Jujutsu Enterprises. 

The bane of your existence. 

“Gojo Satoru.”

“Huh?” you gape stupidly, and if this was any other time you’d have smacked yourself for the unprofessionalism. 

Yaga nods gravely - almost sympathetic - as if he honestly couldn’t fault you for your reaction. “Yes, since this upcoming contract relies heavily on collaboration between the marketing and sales departments, Satoru here-” He nods at the tangle of long limbs that’d been draped dramatically over the seat right next to you. “-will be accompanying you on your trip to Kyoto…unfortunately.”

“What do you mean ‘accompanying’-”

“The fuck do you mean ‘unfortunately’-”

Your supervisor heaves out a tired sigh over your flurry of protests, rubbing his temples, “Look, I wouldn’t have picked out your ah- duo either. But as heads of department, you two are the best and brightest we have. And the board believes we can snag the infamous Gakuganji and his protegé easily as clients with the combination of you both.” 

“But-” you sputter out. “Can’t I go with Nanami like I usually do? Surely he’s a better option than a pompous, no-good nepo-”

“And I’d rather go alone.” Gojo cuts through smoothly, flashing a cocky wink your way. “Sorry, sweetheart, but even my charm won’t be enough to stop you from scaring that client off.”

Fuck unprofessionalism. If looks could kill, the leveled glare you shoot the man at your side is enough to bury him six feet and have you dancing on his grave already. 

You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Now fully facing Gojo for the first time since you’d first entered Yaga’s stuffy office, “Oh yeah, and aren’t you the one that got reprimanded for sleeping through the last company meeting we had?”

“D-did not.” his cheeks tinge with a delicate strawberry pink.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” you scoff, brows furrowing when you realize you’ve inched just a bit closer than appropriate. Your knees knocking against his, yet you don’t pull away out of stubborness. “What? Too embarrassed to admit your oh-so-great ‘charm’ was in the pillows?”

Almost mockingly, he’s copying your posture, tight white shirt straining over those biceps he didn’t hesitate to infuriatingly flex any time you came around. Minty breath wafting over your cheeks when he leans in to murmur lowly - just loud enough that Yaga won’t question, “No, but you would be happy to know that it is in the sheets.”

You blink, though, you can’t really be too surprised - of course, Gojo turns the conversation into something so filthy. He always does.

But before you can spit out a few venomous expletives you really would regret saying in front of Yaga, the man himself interrupts your argument with a pointed cough. “Since the chemistry is as lively as ever,” he’s deadpanning dryly. “I take it you both will be on your best behavior for these three days, and come back with a signed contract.”

Chemistry your ass. 

And though he’s addressing you both, you feel a stab of smug satisfaction when Yaga’s gaze lock with an amused Gojo’s. 

“Mhm, of course we’ll come back successful - how could you not with the star employee on this trip.” he motions airily in your direction. You stiffen, not expecting the compliment when- “And of course our cute resident hardass will be there, too.”

“You little fu-”

“Great!” Yaga claps his hands, a signal you knew meant to get the hell out of his office before he assigns more overtime. “It’s settled then, your tickets have been booked for tomorrow and I assume you both have been emailed the appropriate information?”

Nodding, you make your way to leave - and find that Gojo is waiting, glass door to the office held open for you. With a sharp click of your tongue, you bite down on whatever words come to your throat, barely out of the office before you hear a tired warning behind you, “And please don’t try to kill each other, our insurance doesn’t cover it.” 

When you’re both out in the hallway, Gojo flashes you a cocky smirk and an even cockier “You heard the man.” Pointing at his unfairly pretty features - not that you’d admit that in a million years. “After all, my face is insured but who’d want to hurt this handsome-”

“I could.” You interrupt, rolling your eyes. “Easily. And I would, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that this job pays well.” Something you say every time he prances around in your department during breaks, bragging about how you’re “all bark but no bite.”

Satoru only chuckles, raising his hands up in surrender when you continue, “Let’s just get through these three days, ace the contract, and never speak of this again. Okay?”

To your surprise, he’s grabbing one of your hands with his much larger ones - soft, you gulp, noting involuntarily. “I like what goes on in that pretty lil’ brain of yours, silly girl. Then, let’s charm the asses off that dumbass client and the board of elders~”

Everyone in the office knew of the strange little dynamic between you two - found it to be the utmost entertainment they got in the workday. But you were damned if you let it mess up this contract. 

If you two survived the entire three days, that is. 

---

You two were not surviving the entire three days - or the contract deal, for that matter. Hell, you couldn’t even survive this first day. 

“Gojo I told you.” you squint at the glossy paper. “It says platform eight. I know you can’t see without those ugly sunglasses of yours but-”

A big arm comes up suddenly behind your shoulders, snatching the train ticket clean out of your hands. Gojo lets it rest there as he exclaims, “Let me see. Now, y’know if this was me, I’d have chosen Gran class. Ichiji in finances really skimped out buying these second class seats, gonna hafta have a word with him when we get back…”

You narrow your eyes, frantically trying to push back that strange part of you that almost wanted to lean in closer to the hit of his piney, expensive cologne. “Have fun bullying him, you leech.”

To which he only responds with a syrupy giggle, “Oh, don’t worry.” And you let out a tiny gasp when he flicks your forehead softly. “You’ll be right there in first class with me. Even with that bratty attitude of yours, the ladies love those Gojo perks.”

“Mhm explains why you’ve been single for all three years I've had the misfortune of knowing you.” you hiss, eyes desperately darting about for directions to platform eight. You were going to get on this train - with or without him. Preferably without him.

So absorbed in your mission that if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that Gojo’s words were a pitch higher than normal when he retorts with a strangled, “S-so what? Keepin’ an eye on me, sweetheart?”

And you knew the two of you definitely looked like a peculiar sight - Gojo’s dangling off of you like a ragdoll, surrounded by the few comically large suitcases that were mainly his. So much for a three-day work trip. Your face burns at the few weary salary workers that gave the two of you a very wide berth while going about their daily commutes. Fuck, you couldn’t even ask anyone for help at this point if you both looked at like some safety hazard. 

“Did you find it?” You huff when the silence lingers a bit too long - jumping when you raise your head up to find his burning stare already inches away from you. “God- I take it back, please keep those glasses on.”

“Hey!”

You’re digging your elbow into his side now, words stumbling over the other in a heated hurry, “And get- get off we’re gonna miss this-”

“It really is you, huh?”

All at once, you’re reminded that strangely it isn’t just the two of you causing ruckus in the middle of the Shinjuku station. Unfortunately. 

Any and all previous irritation at Gojo wipes away, flooding back as full, unbridled rage when you’re tearing your eyes away from the nuisance beside you to look up and-

Oh. 

Dammit, you knew you’d recognize that grating voice anywhere - and for the first time, it wasn’t Gojo’s.

“Naoya.”

“You.” 

Still didn’t even have the decency to address you properly, huh? You bite your lower lip, unaware what to say next. But luckily you didn’t have to - because Gojo is standing up straighter, features smoothing into a mask of cool appraisal when he sweeps his eyes down at the other man. 

Finally, Naoya seems to notice him. Flickering quickly between the arm still firmly around your shoulder and his darkened stare. “And who are you?”

“Could ask ya the same thing, two-tone.” he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. And you swear you could feel the soft pads of his fingers tightening, digging in through your silky work shirt. “What business do you have with us?”

Us - you didn’t miss the emphasis. 

Evidently, Naoya didn’t either, because his tone turns into a low, dangerous simper as he continues. “What? Can’t a man come up just to catch up with a fling?”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he watches you register the word. Fling. Sure, after about a year of dating, the two of you didn’t have the cleanest break up - with the constant fights and him wanting to uproot your life and dream career with his new job transfer. But still. 

“Of course, he can.” Gojo raises a snowy brow, buttons on his shirt straining when he puffs his chest out ever-so-slightly. You can’t help but notice that he has much more than a few inches on your ex. Gruffing out, “But not when she’s with her new boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?

You freeze the word running around over and over in your hazy mind - boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend-

“And trust me, she’s long forgotten your sorry ass.” You’re jolting back to reality only when you feel the slow, soothing glide of Gojo’s thumb at the exposed skin of your shoulder. He looks down at you with that familiar mirthful smile to say, “Isn’t that right, my girl?”

“Ah uh-” you’re mentally kicking yourself for not choosing to attend those acting lessons in college for extra credit. Coughing out what you hope to be a believable, “Yeah, this is G-Satoru, my- my boyfriend.”

But your coworker takes it all in concerning stride, pulling you flush against his toned chest, rumbling with the muse of “Mhm, and we’re very happy together.” You honestly feel like you’re about to fall weakly to your knees right then and there in the station when you feel the distinct pressure of two soft, plump lips grazing fleetingly at your forehead. Murmuring into your hairline, “Going on a couples’ trip to Kyoto this very moment, in fact.”

“I see.” Naoya levels out, and by the sharp glint in his eyes you already knew the gears on his head were turning. But before you could question him any further, the melodic voice of the railway announcer cuts through the tense air. “Ah- that’s me. And as pleasant as this reunion was, Kurama onsen doesn’t wait.” Before clapping a hand on the shoulder of the uncharacteristically silent Gojo stood by your side, “I wish you the best with your relationship, she’s only good the first few times after all.” His next words are cold and directed at you. “I’ll text ya, if you still don’t have me blocked, that is.” 

Saved by the train - and your fist gripping onto Gojo’s button-up, Naoya saunters to climb aboard the train currently entering the nearby platform. 

Leaving the both of you in that whirling, unfamiliar silence. Gojo’s arm is still burning around your shoulder, your muscles still aching from stopping him from powerfully lunging after the other man.

You break first. 

“Why…why did you do that.” you mutter over the bustling crowds - more to yourself than him, so you’re surprised when he responds just as hastily. 

“It’s just- Because he was a dick.” Gojo’s lips form a petulant pout. He decidedly avoids your probing eyes while he plows on, “And I should be the only one allowed to be a dick to you so don’t get it twisted, silly girl.”

You scoff, before your eyes widen at where Noaya was boarding through the doors of the sleek bullet train, “Wait- Gojo-”

“Satoru, think I deserve to be called ‘Satoru’ after that.” he grins irritatingly. “Consider it a payment since it’ll kill ya to say it every time.”

“Yes yes, S-Satoru-” you wave off, but you can’t deny how easily the name rolls off your tongue. And distinctly, you wondered why you called most of your coworkers by first name, but never him before. “He’s going to Kurama onsen.”

Gojo tilts his head, nose scrunching in confusion. “And?”

“We’re going to Kurama onsen.”

---

For all the disaster the first day had wrecked upon your sanity, you were thankful enough that neither of you were sat in the same area as Naoya. Barely even settling into your cushioned seat before putting on your headphones - and a sleeping mask for good measure so you couldn’t be riled up by your coworker again. 

Surprisingly he didn’t try either. Only bothering you to share his snacks occasionally, and hog the arm space on your chair, electricity running down your skin every time he brushed up against you. 

It was quiet, somehow neither of you minded. 

“Hah- are we- woah.” you gasp out after the short walk from the Kyoto station to your destination, an intricate wooden sign coming into view. Lugging your baggage with you - Gojo had insisted he carry it too as a show of strength, but you were sure it’s because he just wanted to give up halfway through and take a taxi instead. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah yeah I get that a lot.” Gojo comes up behind you without warning, a sultry trickle of sweat trailing down his forehead to the forbidden depths of where he’d unbuttoned his shirt a few times. “But usually it’s ‘gorgeous’ or ‘hot as hell’ or-”

“Oh, shut up.” you breathe, ripping your eyes away and towards the reception. “Get your ass moving now, we’ve gotta get checked in and form a game plan for the meeting.”

“That eager to get me in a bed? Always knew ya had it in you, sweetheart.” Oh, he lets out a shiver at your blazingly dirty look. “I mean- yes, ma’am.”

There aren’t too many visitors, and you choose to do the talking when you walk up to the sweet older lady at the reception, having decided that Gojo has done way too much of that for today. Humming, “Hi there, we’re here for two rooms reserved under the name ‘Yaga’?”

A few taps of her keyboard and she’s flashing you a megawatt smile, “Oh yes, you’re right on time!” Before getting up from her seat, “I’ll be the one escorting the young couple to their honeymoon suite. Just this way-”

And while Gojo breezes past you without a single complaint, you stand frozen in the middle of the cozy wooden room. Reaching out a hand to sputter, “W-wait, surely there must be some mistake? Honeymoon suite?”

Gojo is close enough that he whispers something in her ear, and you already know it doesn’t bode well for you at all. 

“Oh honey don’t worry.” she flutters a flustered hand at you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having your dear boyfriend here spend a bit extra on a comfy suite. Either way, it has been booked for a while now and unfortunately nothing can be changed…”

Forgetting yourself, you sneak a glance over at where she had left her desktop on. The tiny letters on screen confirming that yes, this reservation was under the name Yaga. And no, it wasn’t a mistake that the room you were given was a honeymoon suite. 

“Get your ass movin’ now.” Gojo’s voice snaps you out of your little reverie, sounding as if he was on the verge of bursting into laughter while he mocks your earlier words. He grins, “When life gives you lemons- or when Yaga gives you a honeymoon suite…”

---

“Dibs not on the couch.”

“Dibs not on the- wait, no.” Gojo huffs when you’re finally led to your sprawling room, and for all the scandal of it being a honeymoon suite, you have to admit that Yaga had great taste. “Shouldn’t you treat your boyfriend better?”

You’re splaying yourself out on the plush mattress of the bed - the only bed, because of course the universe doesn’t bestow you with a normal work trip. But god none of those cheap motels at the trips you’d gone on with Nanami or Shoko could ever compare to this. 

Mindfully, you push away the rose petals decorating the silken sheets. “Not my problem.” Jutting a thumb towards the small private hot spring allocated for your room outside, “Sleep in the onsen. Might wanna hurry though, it’s getting dark.”

“Please?” 

“I’m kicking you out of this room altogether.”

“Pretty please.”

You feel a rush of begrudging endearment at the way he’s batting his long lashes at you. Suddenly, you’re wondering whether this is why so many at the office can’t get enough of Gojo - why everyone flocks to him as soon as he waltzes into your department for no apparent reason. Struggling to stand firm. “Hasn’t Nanami told you before that adding ‘pretty’ doesn’t work?”

Grumbling, he sets down the bags, swiftly turning around to call out, “Fine, but m’takin’ a shower first, so you better keep any expensive shampoos away or m’stealing with no regrets.”

Mind dizzy with everything from today, it’s all you can do to shuffle through your bag for your laptop. Trembling fingers deciding that if you weren’t going to think too deeply about this, might as well get some work done. 

It’s what you do for a while - to partial success - until you’re pulled out of your spiels of presentations and trying to keep Gojo’s script on subject by the sound of the running water stopping, and the bathroom door clicking open. 

And lo and behold - there stood Gojo. Shirtless. 

The very same asshole that would throw paper clips at you during meetings, and always finished off the last muffin in the break room he knew you’d been eyeing all day. Here he stood - all sharp hip bones and smooth curves of muscle that were always poorly covered by his work clothes. 

Covering almost all of the bathroom doorway with his broad shoulders, speckled with glistening droplets of water that danced tauntingly down, down, down the sharp planes of his collarbones. Down his abs, and onto a trail of white, hidden by a fluffy white towel you have to force your eyes away from. 

“Put some- put some clothes on. You- you-” you’re scrambling urgently for something near you, which unfortunately happened to be a soft cotton you’d pulled out from your bag earlier. “-you lecher.”

Wordlessly, Gojo’s stunned surprise breaks into a brilliant grin when he unfolds the canon of cloth you’d thrown his way. Humming, “You call me a lecher, but you’re the one that wants to see me in your clothes, huh?”

And sure enough - it was. It was as if the universe was playing a practical joke on you because it was your favorite t-shirt, in fact, that ragged Bleach graphic held gently between Gojo’s long, pale fingers. 

You choke out, hastily getting off the bed. “Wait- I take it back.”

“I don’t know.” Gojo teases, holding the t-shirt well over your head. And all you can do is frantically reach and swerve for it, each attempt dodged with a shit-eating grin. “You get the bed, I get this ratty t-shirt, seems like a fair trade to me, no?”

“No.”

Gojo’s face is hovering so close above yours, though, he still keeps the t-shirt safely away from you. “Then I guess this is f’me, silly girl.”

You groan, appreciating the way his breath catches in his throat when you hook an arm around his neck. Reeling him in so close while you still swipe, “No, but what you are going to get is-”

What Gojo was going to get, he never finds out. Because in your frantic effort to steal back the t-shirt you so desperately didn’t want in the hands of the bastard from sales, you don’t pay attention to that slippery pool of water forming around you two from his half-assed attempts at drying off. 

And before you know it, you’re lurching to the floor - you wince, arms held out to break your fall and-

It never happens.

Blinking your eyes open, the first thing you’re met with is what seems like miles upon miles of milky, smooth skin. Breathing in such a heady scent, it’s probably what makes your mind so melty when the realization hits you - a little too late - that you’re being held against Gojo’s chest. 

His painfully bare chest. 

“Satoru?” you breathe. Pawing at where you could feel his racing heartbeat, thumping so painfully against one of his pecs. “Are- are you okay?”

That gets you a hot laugh into your neck, followed by a long, drawn-out shudder that sends shivers down your spine. Through laughs, he manages to grit out, “You’re asking me that?”

He sounds surprised - relieved almost. Such a tender note in his tone at the lack of usual taunting in your words. 

Gojo lets you go - barely, still keeping two strong arms locked around your waist like he was afraid even the slightest distance could have you in danger all over again. “You can take the t-shirt.” He breathes, picking up the damp fabric now fallen onto the floor and pressing it into your palms. “I’m more of a Naruto guy anyway. And you can take the bed, I was jok-”

“You can take it.” 

“What? No-”

“You can.” you cut him off, giving a sidelong glance at the cramped couch tucked into a corner of your suite. Again, you’re drinking in all of him, how tall he was. How warm. How he’d probably have half his body dangling off the side of the cushions, “We can- I mean we can share. We’re adults, right? Wouldn’t want you complaining about a sore back during the contract talks anyway.”

“Worrying about me, sweetheart?” 

“No.” you scowl, pushing him away. “Now excuse you, but I have to use the bathroom since someone was hogging it earlier.”

And if you’d waited just a moment longer - maybe peaked your head out instead of scurrying inside as fast as your legs carried you - you’d have noticed that Gojo was still standing there. A fist clenched at where his heart was, face as pink as those blooming sakura outside. 

---

You didn’t sleep that night. Not one bit. 

It might partially have to do with the fact that your bed was invaded by one very gangly asshole sprawling himself all over the pillow wall you’d constructed. Or maybe to do with the aching discomfort in your joints after moving to sleep on the hard couch after only a few minutes of him getting knocking out. 

“Good morning~” Gojo’s sing-song voice rings through your verging murderous thoughts on the second day. “The sun is shining, my skin is glowing and-” His bleary eyes lock on your hunched figure across the room, looking genuinely confused as to how you got here. “-you’re on the couch?” 

“Yeah. Considered taking ya out in your sleep but then I realized the contract would be in jeopardy.”

He whines, “I’ve- I’ve never had anyone complain before.”

“They probably ran away before that.” you nod solemnly over his sputtering complaints. Stretching, content with the pop of your bones. “Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t that bad.”

You look away when Gojo mimics your actions, sleep shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of white tufts at the hem of his boxers. He pouts, sulky eyes still locked on you, “But still, should’ve kicked me out. I would’ve expected you to instead of taking that shitty couch. Seems like something that guy would do.”

Your heart pangs - just a bit - and you let out a sharp laugh, “Fine, I’ll kick you out tonight. Maybe.” It’s genuine, it really is, and in the growing silence all Gojo can manage to do is fall back into your little familiar dance of teasing.

“Going soft on me? Y’know it’s usually the ladies crawling into my bed not out of it-” 

“Oh fuck you. I take it back, I will kick you out of the room itself. Have fun sleeping in the onsen, you smug bastard.”

He squawks in protest when you throw a cushion at him. Several, actually, just for good measure. “Mercy, woman! I’m delicate!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

When Gojo falls back into the comfort of the silky soft sheets, you heave out a sigh. Making your way to the sliding doors, still fully expecting a flustered employee telling you that this was all a mistake and of course, you two weren’t booked for the honeymoon suite. 

“Yes?” you answer, eyes widening when you spot that familiar man in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh god, it’s you.” Naoya spits, gaze heating up. “Of course, I should’ve known it’s you and that idiot boyfriend of yours makin’ so much noise next door.”

Great. Perfect. Wonderful. As if this trip couldn’t get any better. 

You pinch your nose, echoing hollowly, “What do you want?”

“Exactly that. Don’t make so much noise, neighbor. I don’t care what limp dick he’s giving you-” 

“Is that all?” you ask dryly, fully knowing there’s more he’s just aching to hurl at you. Before tucking yourself further behind the door, “If that’s all then I hafta go back to that ‘limp dick’.”

“What’s this about limp dick?” Goosebumps run along your arms when you feel something soft - hot - push up from behind you. From the corner of your eye, you spy a long milky hand flex as Gojo - shirtless - cages you in the doorway, “Because it sure can’t be mine then. Won’t you agree, my girl?”

Your face burns at the knowing wink Gojo throws your way, barely managing to hasten, “Uh- yeah.”

“She doesn’t sound very convinced.” Naoya narrows his eyes at your minute expressions, knowing you uncomfortably well after so long. “Guess she’s been missing a real man, huh?”

He scoffs, and you gulp heavily when soft lips kiss a gentle trail up the side of your neck, “Well who’s the one that’s been makin’ her scream all mornin’?” Gojo tilts his head innocently, blatantly showing off a ruddy splotch from where you’d attacked him with a cushion earlier, the zipper leaving a suspicious mark. “Like I said at the train station, she can make her own choices and she’s long forgotten your sorry ass so don’t even try it, you two-toned little bastard.”

Wrapping a possessive arm around your waist, you’re easily tugged back into the safety of your suite - and into Gojo’s sculpted front. You don’t push him away as your immediate thought was to, the feeling was right - too right.

“Satoru?” you hiss once the door is slammed shut.

“Hm?” he whispers hotly into the crook of your neck. 

Still pressed up so close that you can feel the surge and dip of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. “Why are you shirtless?”

“Uh- did I ever tell you I was a method actor, sweetheart?”

---

Unfortunately, despite being in one of the most picturesque hotspots that Kyoto had to offer, a work trip - especially one with such a high profile client and his protegé - meant that the two of you spent most of the day cooped up in your room, typing away on your laptops. 

“Ugh, this sucks.” Gojo groans for about the seventh time this hour. Running a hand tiredly through his hair, “Are you always such a hardass about contracts like this? Honestly, I can’t even feel my legs and it is not in the good way-”

“You pussy.” you grumble as you chug down another can of coffee, eyes flickering to the clock at the end of the room reading 11:00PM. “You don’t see me complaining.” 

He only scoffs, “Of course ya wouldn’t complain, this shit probably gets you off. But unfortunately for those of us that have lives-” 

You click your tongue, rubbing the oncoming headache that always seems to appear when you’re near Gojo. “Yeah, because talkin’ out of your ass and being a public nuisance is such a great life.”

“C’mon now, I see you picking at that blanket - my blanket, by the way - like it insulted your entire bloodline. You’re not slick, you wanna get outta here too.” At your pointed silence, he’s kicking his legs in the air, very much the toddler you knew him to be. “That’s- that’s it I can’t-”

Before you can react, Gojo is barrelling through the sliding doors of your suite. Long legs carrying up the short pathway that led to that private hot spring.

You’re following him before you realize it, “What- what are you- oh!”

You couldn’t cover your eyes fast enough. Being gifted with a brief, obscene eyeful of pale skin - leading all the way down his naked back, and even further when he cannonballs straight into the pool of water. 

Shit, maybe this was why the others at the office loved him so much. 

And it was hard not to understand it when Gojo’s drenched head poked out from under the hot water. White strands plastered to his forehead, a blush creeping down his skin at the head, looking at you with slightly-red, damp eyes that only seemed bluer through the steam.

“Yeah yeah I know I didn’t rinse before and I know I didn’t finish our project yet but-” he grins a grin that you don’t think you could ever forget. And you don’t know whether how hot you feel is from the onsen or him. Reaching out a soaked, strong arm towards you. “-won’t you help me get out?”

You startle, clearly not having expected this request. Narrowing your eyes suspiciously as you inch closer, “Get out?” He nods eagerly, fingers intertwining softly with yours. “Fine but-”

Whatever scream you might’ve let out is swallowed up by water- then air. 

Then more very deserved yelling, of course. “Satoru what the fuck-” Your nails dig into his deltoids, sure to leave some very questionable marks but you didn’t care at this moment. Wiping away the water in your face while he holds you up easily, “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, can’t kill me when you’re clinging to me like this, sweetheart.” Gojo rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to push you off. In fact, he only tightens the arm around your hips. “You looked like you needed that, the 8 hours of straight working like Yaga was havin’ you act like him.”

Somehow, you don’t feel strange about the fact that you’re being pushed up against a very painfully naked Gojo. Living out what is probably the wet dream for about half the office.

He notices, of course he does. 

“Trynna take a peek?” Gojo wiggles his brows. And when you’re trying to hide away behind your hands, he nuzzles them away, arms a bit too occupied holding you captive. Sighing dramatically, “No need to be shy, many people do. I don’t mind of course, ah the woes of being fucking hot.”

Gasping, “Fuck you.” Unbeknownst as to why, you’re laughing. Contemplating whether you should really give him a good kick down below when you choke out, “You’re an asshole, y’know?”

“I know.” he smiles. “N’ yet you still haven’t drowned me.”

“I really fuckin’ hate you.”

Why could you really fucking kiss him right now? 

“I know.”

The moment is broken only a few seconds later by some ungodly screeching you recognize to be none other than your beloved ex’s from next door. Yelling about “Shut the fuck up, if you’re gonna have onsen sex I’m calling the front lobby.”

“What? Can’t a man fuck his girl in peace?” Gojo shouts back. “Shut up just because your puny dick can’t get some, two-tone.”

That broke whatever magical spell was put on the two of you, obviously. And you were the first to run back to the suite - leaving Gojo and his nakedness alone. Very, very alone. 

He takes a bit longer to follow you, and you’re already freshened up and in bed by the time he makes his way to the bathroom - with clothes this time, fortunately for your sanity. 

Only a few minutes later, he’s nestling right next to you on the bed. You gasp in a sharp inhale at the heat of his proximity, mere millimeters away from you now. 

“Good work today, by the way.” Gojo gruffs out to your turned back, quiet words carrying over that ridiculous extra-vaulted wall of pillows, padded up with ones from the couch, too. Silver tongue stumbling over his words slightly, “For how much I complained I didn’t get to tell ya. You and I - mainly I - are gonna ace that contract tomorrow.”

There’s no taunting in his tone, not one bit. And you surprise the both of you when you murmur out shakily, “I’m worried.”

“Huh?” he chokes in disbelief. “Listen, I know I slept through that meeting one time, but I swear it was only one time. I’m a…somewhat changed man, I promise I won’t-”

“Not that.”

He pauses at your interruption. All is quiet - only the chirping of crickets outside, and the steamy buzz of nearby hot springs. 

And for the first time in the twenty-something years Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc upon this Earth, he is rendered speechless. Wordlessly picking apart your wall of pillows - one by one, as if to give you more than enough time to stop him - to loop two strong arms around you. 

“Shut up.” he breathes. “You’ll do brilliant, silly girl.”

---

Gojo remembers the exact date he met you - probably the exact time, too. Honestly, even three whole years after that initial meeting, he can’t remember anything but that, if you asked him to recall a single meeting held that week then Gojo honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you. 

It was a regular day spent driving poor Nanami over in the marketing department dangerously close to his fifth migraine of the day.

“You know I know I’m a valuable asset to this company Nanamin.” he chuckles, looking over where the other man was readying a sparkly Welcome! banner. “But this is all too much even for me~”

“It’s not for you.” Nanami spits, curtly. Barely sparing Gojo a glance before readying the welcome muffins, “It’s for the new head of department arriving soon today.”

And oh that piqued his interest like never before. That had all thoughts of the meeting he was currently missing flying out the window as he wondered what you would be like. Swiping away a few of those tempting muffins right out of Ichiji’s hands, he wonders. Would you be another Ichiji? Would you try and keep him under your thumb like Yaga? Hah, you could try but-

“Look I don’t know if the sales department doesn’t have food but, really?” 

What?

A shudder wracks through the oh-so-great Gojo’s body at the sound of your cool, firm tone turning to meet the source and-

Oh. Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul impaled and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Gojo thought his knees were weak at just a gorgeous glare from you - well, he was completely and utterly unprepared for when he leaned in closer to where you stood firmly. Shielding a pale, trembling Ichiji. And, honestly, with a death stare like that you couldn’t blame a guy for getting nervous! It’s all he could do to hum out a cocky, “What? Want some, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart? What I want is you out of my department.” you furrow your brows. “Now.”

It’s all that’s said before you’re dragging him by his hand out - and, shit Gojo is so riveted by how soft your hands are that he almost forgets to be offended by the way the entire marketing department just watches and giggles at the scene playing out before them. Traitors.

You push him out of the door, “I better not see you coming back to toy with my new employees-” Heavy gaze flickering down to his name tag. “-Gojo.”

Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

And it honestly still felt like a dream even now - especially now - when you’re stood in front of him on the third day in Kyoto. Fingers messing meticulously with your hair as you check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down your new red dress. “God, I hope it isn’t too much. How do I look?”

Perfect, he wants to say. 

But instead he nudges your shoulder in the booth of your seat, settling for an obnoxious, “Alright, not as good as me, though.” Gojo takes delight in the way you give his arm a punch, smile a lot easier than before now. 

“As if, you can’t even tie this properly. Here-” your fingers fiddle deftly with his slightly crooked tie. “Fixed it, you big baby.”

He grins, “If you wanted to get your hands on me then you should’ve- oh wait you already have, haven’t you? I remember that someone bypassed her own lil’ pillow wall last night.”

“Shut up.” you give him a tight warning. “They’re here.”

Honestly, there was only one thing worse than seeing old Gakuganji - that is, the sight of his sniveling protegé following him right after. Except- 

“Two-tone?” 

“Y-you!”

There’s a tense silence between the three of you in the exquisite onsen dining hall, one that almost makes you want to jump up and bolt back to your room because this can’t be real. Surely, this can’t be-

“I see the three of you are already acquainted?” Gakuganji’s strained, aged voice cuts through your whirlwind of thoughts. “Sit, sit, Naoya. That only makes things easier.”

As a fuming Naoya and an oblivious Gakuganji take their seats in front of the two of you, you feel the undeniable pressure of long, warm fingers squeezing your own. Reassuring. And it makes you flash the two men your best, most polished business smile, “So, about the contract.”

---

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Satoru.”

“No, I will throw up. And that will not be good for my reputation.”

“Satoru, if you throw up I’m beating your ass.”

He narrows his eyes at your heated whisper, matching you with a low, “Damn keep it for the bedroom sweetheart. We still hafta wait till Gakuganji comes back with his decision.” 

“Ahem!”

It’s that annoyed, grating faux cough that drags you and Gojo out of your little world - back to reality in which no, unfortunately while your primary client has gone off to take an important business call regarding your contract, you were left to babysit his protegé.

“Yes, Naoya.” you give him a dry grin. It was nearing well into late night at this point, and most of the other visitors had cleared out except for the reserved table you were sitting in. “Do you want to be beat up, too?”

He only points an accusing finger at the two of you, “Don’t play games with me you hear. I’ve already got you figured out, coming here on a business trip and dating your coworker all the same-” Both you and Gojo raise a brow at this, what an idiot. “-you two will be fired for this.”

You catch Gojo’s eye and try not to burst out laughing, “As if. And trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I knew that you were Gakuganji’s new protegé.”

“Not because the guy you have to be here with is the same one you told me you hated back then?” he spits. “Honestly, you’d have been better off with me than this ‘pompous, no-good nepo baby asshole’ as you loved to put it.”

And you knew that Gojo was aware of your little rivalry - hell, he was an active participant, more than happy to rile you up every time. But that still didn’t stop you from tensing up when you spared a glance at the man beside you. 

Surprised to see that unapologetic smirk on his face, “Of course she did.” Looking down at you with what you swore was such unimaginably deep fondness in his eyes. “I probably imagine she told you all the funny ways she wanted to get back at me, too? Banning me from the marketing department? Holding an anti-Gojo campaign? Strangling?” Gojo takes Naoya’s shocked silence as enough of an answer, “Guess what, she did hate me, probably still can’t stand me. Very understandably so, because she’s hot as fuck when she’s mad.”

Despite his furrowed brow and the angry slash of his mouth, Naoya can’t stop himself from blurting out, “W-well how did you-”

“We fuck it out, of course.”

And perhaps for the one time on this entire trip, the universe smiles down at you. You find yourself sighing in relief at the sight of Gakuganji nearing your table, evidently done with his phone call. Thank fuck, you weren’t ready for a fight to break out and this dress was too expensive to ruin. 

“Seems you three are getting along well.” the old man drones out, and by the tone of his voice you genuinely can’t tell whether he was joking or not. Turning towards you and Gojo, “Well, after that very thorough presentation and careful consideration with the board at our Kyoto branch, we have all come to a unanimous decision.” You wait with bated breath for his next few words, “Where do we sign?”

Naoya stands in his seat, “But- but, sir.” He cringes, as furious as the last time you’d seen him a year ago. “You can’t sign off on this deal- not with these scumming, absolute little shits.”

“Naoya.” Gakuganji’s voice carries a warning. “You are dismissed.”

Ah, Gojo chuckles inwardly, exactly where he wanted him. 

It seemed like a blur after that - a blur of signed contracts and Gojo making faces at an ashen-faced Naoya behind Gakuganji’s back, of being told that the two of you simply “must visit” their offices in Kyoto one day - much to your exes absolute torture. To which Gojo had replied with a smug, “Of course, my girlfriend and I will. Won’t we, sweetheart?” Just loud enough that Naoya - who’d been banned to a nearby table - could fume over. 

And it’s how you found yourself pulling a giggly Gojo by his lapels back to your suite, hasty and desperate. Tripping over one another as you stumble in. 

“Easy there on the merchandise, sweetheart.” he jests, but it sounds so strained even to him. “Can’t break our streak and kill each other on the last day now, can we?”

Your laughter dies down, “Hey, Satoru?”

“Oh no…”

“Why did you call me your girlfriend even at the end back then?”

His brows scrunch up, pleading almost. He chokes out, “Just- you- I just-” Flicking a calculated finger right in the middle of your forehead, “You think too much, did you know that? Hate to see this pretty face like this, did you see his reaction?”

“Oh my god yes did you see his face, Satoru?” you’re pressing him against the wall to steady yourselves. Feeling so drunk off the evening and him. “Naoya looked like he was going to explode right then and there. We did so good.”

“What did I tell, ya? I always know everything, silly girl.” Two big arms wrap around yours in a congratulatory hug - or, at least, what you think is a congratulatory hug. And if his palms dip just a bit lower than your waist - if this was just a bit inappropriate - neither of you say anything. “Mhm. Don’t even know what you dated that fool in the first place, he’s not even in your league.” 

You scoff, “Gee thanks.”

“No no, not in that way, don’t ever think in that way, stupid.” A long index comes up to tilt your chin up to meet his greedy gaze. “You’re too gorgeous for him. Besides, he spoke like a man who couldn’t even find the clit.”

“Well- he did find it.” you relish in that deepening furrow of Gojo’s brow, the way the muscles in his jaw tick just right. “But wanna hear a secret?” Those soft baby hair at the nape of his neck raise when you’re whispering in his ear, barely even waiting for his dazed nod. “He still never made me cum.”

“...Never?”

“Never.”

There’s a beat of silence, one. Two. 

Shit. 

You’d long expected Gojo’s smart mouth to make some kind of insulting joke by now. And you’re halfway through wondering whether you’d overshared too much, untangling your arms from his vice-like embrace before-

“I would.” he rasps, breaths ragged. You’re tilting your head in confusion when he repeats cockily, “I would’ve made you cum, y’know. How could I not?”

There’s a snarky little part of you that makes you quick a brow, a sultry smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an offer?”

Gojo’s arms loop around you tight - almost too tight, you could almost hear your poor bones popping in protest. “It’s a promise.”

Oh that’s all you wanted to hear right about now. And he can fucking see the goosebumps that make their way down your exposed shoulders, he can practically hear that syrupy sweet tone that was really not good for his sanity. 

“Prove it, Satoru.”

His lips are crashing against yours like they’re magnetized - and it’s nothing like what you’d imagine kissing Gojo Satoru would’ve been like. Nothing suave, shallow. It’s sloppy, a mess of teeth and lips and his tongue tasting every inch of your candied lips like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t even want to breathe for fear of losing out on your pretty mouth. 

“Fuck-” Gojo hisses, delicate strings of spit snapping as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to take in the delicious sight of you all glossy eyed with swollen lips. “Fuck you’re so beautiful. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Kissing you over and over like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t want to get enough, you’re moaning when Gojo slips his tongue past the seam of your lips. Addicted to the distinct taste of him and those cheap cherry lollipops you always caught him sucking on in the break room.

He’s drawing back in a way that has him drinking in your soft noises, big palms kneading your body over your dress. 

“Sa- Sato-” you’re gasping out when he flips you over to press you up against the wall. Assaulting your bruised lips with heated peck after peck. “What do you- mean-”

He groans, lips moving to kiss down the quivering column of your throat, “Shut up- Just shut up and kiss me. God, for how much I love that mouth of yours, you talk way too much, sweetheart.”

And that was really rich coming from him - but you don’t get to snark back at him. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that Gojo decides he’s had enough of playing nice - that is, if he was in the first place. 

Immediately fiddling towards that cold metal zipper in the back, gliding down the red fabric right along with your bra- shit, when did he even unclip it?

“You-” you sputter, the cool chill of the bedroom pebbles your sensitive nipples. The dawning feeling that this absolute thorn at your side might be much more than just talk has your thighs pressing together. Leveling him with a narrow look, “You are such a whore, aren’t you?”

He flashes you a sheepish grin, large palms groping your tits. “Would ya believe me if I told you it was from how many times I’d imagined this before?”

“Absolutely not.”

This earns you a sharp smack! gifted onto the fat of your ass, the five pads of Gojo’s fingers burning onto where your dress was hiking up. 

“Always need to talk back, don’t you?” he spits, shoving a knee between your two legs. Such an innocently handsome grin splashing across his face at the soft moan you let out, grinding purposefully against that damp mound of your needy cunt. “Why won’t you ever hah- believe me?” He has one hand shoving your dress down, down, down. The other dragging your sloppy hips down his muscled thigh, “You wanna hear a secret? Stick your tongue out f’me like a good girl now, sweetheart.” 

And oh you wanted to fight back. To outright refuse to comply so brattily, but it’s all you can do to nod blearily, feeling so fucking dirty with the way you’re letting your tongue loll out. Whining when Gojo smushes your cheeks together into an obscene pucker, into the perfect target for him to spit once. Twice. 

“Yeah, take it- that’s my girl. A secret for a secret, right?” Gojo smiles so darkly, swiping away that thick splatter of syrupy saliva dredged up on the corner of your mouth. Intentional, of course. His words are low but clear, unable to have you mistaking them for anything else when he says, “That time I slept through the whole meeting? Wasn’t sleepin’.”  He bites down on your earlobe, licking lightly. “S’just, I happened to see that cute new skirt you were wearing that day, it was so short- so fuckin’ tight. Couldn’t bear to show my face, not after I’d just spent the past few hours with my hand wrapped around my cock, wondering all the sweet things I could do to you in it.”

You’re gasping, “You’re so fucking filthy.”

“Yeah yeah.” he purrs, toying with the hem of your now dress, the red cloth now dangling somewhere at your thighs. “And don’t pretend you’re not just as dirty, hardass. Actin’ all prudish when ya dress like this underneath.”

As if to prove his point, the back of one of his fingers is gliding across where your lacy black panties were peeking out. Groaning at the sopping wet fabric, “Yeah, just as dirty as I thought.”

With his little hypothesis confirmed, it’s all that Gojo has to do to pick you up with one arm hooking under your already trembly thighs. You’re keening when he plants another solid smack on the fat of your ass, “Satoru!”

“Ohh, I love that. Say it again.” he murmurs, walking slowly to the edge of your shared bed. Savoring that feeling of your drooling cunt seeping through to paint a small dark patch on his suit. “I said, say it again.”

All it takes is another harsh slap against your ass, and a honeyed drag of Gojo’s name for him to splay you out like some slut on the soft silken sheets. You find yourself pulling him back by his broad shoulders when he takes the moment to admire just how gorgeous you looked. Even better than any daydream that mind of his could think of. 

“Sa-toru-” you mewl, and he only licks his lips as if in a daze. Not knowing where to look - at that needy, already-cockdrunk glaze over your eyes, at the way your flimsy dress wrapped around the plush of your thighs, at that glistening little patch on the plump mound of your cunt. So mouthwatering. “Satoru- Sa- Toru!”

That makes him snap out of his little hypnosis. “What did you call me?” he breathes. 

You bat your lashes deceivingly innocently up at him, “Sato-”

“No.” he’s cutting you off, Adam’s apple bobbing with the heavy gulp he takes. Thumbing at your puffy lips as if to drag the same words out of you - have them going straight to his achy cock once more. “That other one. Don’t play stupid with me, silly girl, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

Oh, you did. 

And you’re feeling the way your dripping pussy clenches with anticipation when you whine out that little nickname once more. “Toru, please.” Adding a little flair to have Gojo’s rosy lips fall into a soft oh! choking on a ragged low hiss when a hand of his subconsciously goes down to squeeze his bulging erection. 

“Oh yes, m’name sounds so fuckin’ cute on your lips.” he groans. The sheets below you two rustling with movement when he shuffles urgently downwards, “Sounds so fucking good it makes me wanna-” 

RIP!

“-know if she sounds it out just as pretty as you.”

You’re still reeling from the tatters of what remained of your favorite red dress being thrown unapologetically onto the tatami mats below. Huffing in irritation, “Satoru, if you’re ngh- dead if you don’t replace that-”

He’s shutting you up with another quiet smack onto your heated skin - this time at your shamefully spread inner thighs, the edges of his padded fingers just barely touching on your swollen folds. “Yeah yeah, I’ll buy ya the whole fuckin’ store if I have to.” Before hovering so close you could feel every hitch of his hot breath on your beading cunt, “And m’gonna make it so you don’t dare call me that again.”

You don’t have a response to that - and anything you might’ve taunted back is being knocked out of your mouth. The only thing leaving it being slurred little whimpers of Gojo’s name when he licks a long, languid stripe up your puffy slit. 

“Oh, look at that.” he chuckles. Pushing apart your thighs to get a nice greedy look at every drop of your sweet sweet juices glistening in the dim lighting. “Think she’s more mouthy than you, if tha’s even possible, heh.”

His long, eager tongue is slurping up every syrupy drop of your slick. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“Fuck- Toru.” your fingers find their way weaving into his soft strands when the very tip of his soft tongue finds its way just past your folds. Arching your spine off the plush bed needily like some slut, “Need you to- hngh- go deeper.”

The only response you’re getting is a sultry, smug grin being spread across your pussy lips. Feeling everything from the quirk of his cupid’s bow, to that dimple at the edge of Gojo’s smirk, “Knew you were needy, but this- this is fucking amazing.”

“Guess you’re all bark no bite, huh?” you pout, voice teetering into teasingly whiny. And oh how you love the way that wipes all the cockiness from Gojo’s face. “Even Naoya was able to actually eat me out the way I-”

It’s like it killed him to hear those goading words from you - and something snaps before he’s shoving that pretty face of his back nose-deep into your addictive pussy. 

Slotting his tongue up and down your hot slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“F-fuck, oh Toru-” you squeal when he wastes no time pushing past that snug little ring of resistance to reach deep into your gummy walls. Barely even giving you any warning - Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head at how sinfully tight you were squeezing him. “Shit how are you in so deep-”

And that petty, petty little part of him doesn’t answer, instead gliding up a determined thumb up to draw methodical circles on your throbbing clit. Fast. So so sloppy with the way he was letting your juices dribble past his knuckles, his wrist, forming a glossy sheen all the way down to the sheets. Matching the ruthless cadence of the way he was fucking your ravaged cunt the way he wished he could do with his rock-hard cock right now. 

“Ah!” you gasp, when one swipe of his tongue sends jolts of pure white-hot pleasure running up your spine. And that’s all Gojo has to hear before he’s attacking your hidden sweet spot over and over. “F-fuck s’too good. Fuckin’ hate how your big mouth is- ngh- so good at this-”

That causes a husky rasp of laughter to bubble its way out of Gojo’s throat, and he’s pinning your wildly bucking hips down with one arm. “Don’t you dare run away now. You’re so cute when you’re cockdrunk and truthful like this, silly girl.”

The vibrations have you moaning out a feverish Toru! Toru! Toru! louder than ever, wrenching out of you with every crash of his soft tongue against your sensitive spots. Every harsh swivel on your clit, just harder on the tip, softer at the curve. 

“Yeah- yeah yeah yeah, say my name like that.” he gasps, spitting out hissy profanities into your velvety walls. You were squeezing him so tight it was almost difficult to bully his tongue into your plushy walls. To keep up his mean staccato - but fuck, it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up, it didn’t matter if his tongue was getting tired. Because Gojo Satoru was one stubborn man. “Louder-”

“T-Toru!”

“No no,” you’re jolting at the feeling of something cool and glossy hitting your cunt in a harsh glob. Gojo barely wastes any time thumbing his spit in to mix with the mess made down below, letting your ears ring with such obscene squelches that have your cheeks burning. “Hear this, sweetheart?” As if there’s anything else you could hear, he’s pulling out those sultry sounds from you. “She’s louder than you, n’ that makes me so sad-” You fuck up further and further into Gojo’s tongue, eyes locked with his down in his favorite position between your legs. “-my girl can be ah- loud f’me, right? Say my name, say it so the whole fuckin’ onsen hears.”

“Toru—”

He’s taunting you in that same honeyed tone, “Louder.” Murmuring even deeper into your cunt, “C’mon, louder. Tell it to me.”

“Toru! Fuck- m-close-” It’s probably the last understandable sentence you’re managing to moan out before you finally cum. Wave after wave of such filthy pleasure hitting you, it’s all you can do to tighten your grip on his hair. Angling and using leverage to grind your hips down deeper, jolting with every flick of his tongue sending stars behind your eyelids. And Gojo, satisfied, shuts up to let you ride his face through your high. Using him, just dragging your sloppy pussy all over his tongue, his mouth. Over and over.

“Jus’ a bit more-” you hear him whisper out so sweetly over your ringing ears. Suddenly, your limp hands fall to the sides of that drenched pool you’ve made. And yet Gojo is still going, still meshing his bruised lips so messily against your own, making out with your cunt in a way that has him so depraved. “Just some more, pretty girl- you taste so addictive.”

Big fat tears of overstimulation prick at your eyes, and you’re sobbing out, “W-wait- fuck m’too sensitive for that.”

“You can handle it, you’re a big- fuck- a big girl, aren’t ya?” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every taste of your pussy. Surging forwards despite the hold you have on his hair, “Hold on- just want a bit more- you don’t know how long-”

The pout he’s giving you once you have to just drag him away like a man starved, fighting against the grip you have on him. 

But oh Gojo looks so pretty, cloudy bangs pulled back to reveal his delicately blushing face, lips painted in a glossy sheen of your slick. Slobbering down, down, down to glisten across the bottom half of his face. Looking so bruised with how greedy he was, almost the same color as those cherry lollipops he loved so much. And his eyes - fuck, his eyes - glassy and half-lidded, hazy with a sheen that told you he was already completely and utterly pussydrunk out of his sanity. 

“Toru…” you start, unable to tear your eyes away from the way he moans at the mere sound of your voice. “Your turn.”

It’s a long endeavor to get rid of Gojo’s pants - or, at least that’s what it feels like. 

Hooking a still-shaky leg over his toned waist, you’re slamming his muscular frame down onto the mattress. Buttons hitting the floor when you all but tear his overpriced button-up off - because, really, it’s not you two if one of you doesn’t get your revenge somehow.

“These- these damn belts.” you scoff, too-eager fingers fumbling with the metal latches of Gojo’s belt. “Why does it have to have so many-”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager this way, silly girl.” he’s cupping the side of your face. Free hand easily unbuckling his belt, and the heady metallic sounds are enough to have your cunt so needy. “Like this-”

You’re gasping when he finally takes his formal dress pants off - along with those uselessly precum-soaked boxers. Sticky and leaving a lewd trail of glossy down his milky, sculpted thighs. 

And oh if you thought Gojo was pretty before then he was a fucking masterpiece right now. All tall, lean muscle that rippled with every minute movement. Curves and dips of sculpted skin being accentuated so perfectly against the dim lightning in your suite. 

So infuriating at how that couldn’t give you a better look at his massive, swollen length. So long and girthy, hefty where his fat head was leaking silky precum all over his abs. Such a delicate pink matching his lips at the head, dancing down, down his thick, prominent veins to those tufts of soaked white at his sharp pelvis. Fuck, he was so big - could you actually take him?

Wrapping your soft palm around Gojo’s furiously throbbing fast, you’re letting him coat you hand in a sinful sheen. And you can’t help but wonder what he’d taste like, too-

“Hold on right there, my dirty girl.” your slowly dipping head is tilted firmly by Gojo. “As much as hngh- fuck you’re squeezing me so tight- as much as this has been fuck- all I’d dreamt of since that office ice cream party. I just know m’gonna cum as soon as you put that smart mouth on me, sweetheart.” He’s kissing gently at your lips, sucking on your lower lip. “And I just know you’re never gonna fuck– let me live that down.”

You smirk, “Not gonna live that ice cream party thing, either, Toru.”

“He flashes you such a devilish smile, steadying your hips to straddle him messily. Spreading your legs on either side of his weepy tip. “Oh, fuck off.”

You hiss when you’re feeling the hot kiss his head is planting on your sensitive pussy lips, “Fuck you.”

“No.” Gojo chuckles, powerful thighs curling up to plant his feet on the mattress. Waiting. Anticipating. “I’m fucking you-”

It’s barely even a warning - laughable, really - how that’s all he’s gifting you with before bullying the very tip of his fat cock into your snug cunt in a sloppy hit. 

He groans, eyes fighting to roll to the back of his head but caught so so greedily on the way you swollen pussy lips are being spread so obscenely to swallow every single inch after fucking inch. Disappearing down into your gooey walls, Gojo’s breath hitches at the first sign of resistance from your too-tight entrance. 

“C’mon now.” he moans gutturally. Hips fucking up in a jagged, slow grind, trying so desperately to plunge himself in deeper. “C’mon c’mon come- on-” 

“Toru!” you’re gasping when he slides his soaked length even deeper. Feeding in to the way your gummy walls want more more more more- “You’re so fuckin’ hngh- impatient.”

“Me?” he’s asking, voice a few octaves higher and dripping with the audacity to sound so genuinely in disbelief. “You’re- you’re saying that I’m impatient. Oh, sweetheart-” you blink back the lusty haze in your eyes to look down at Gojo fully, spying that upwards curl of his lips that you knew didn’t mean well for you right now. “-look down.”

Your eyes widening as you’re whirling downwards to spy the way he’s not even halfway in yet. But that’s not all, no, your poor pussy is just absolutely bulging around his girthy shaft, struggling, stretched to their limits - yet still quivering with the effort to try and milk something delicious out of him. 

And the moment that tiny, shaky gasp leaves your mouth, his sharp hip bones are just crashing into yours. Toned hips lifting off of the bed to drive his achy cock into your drooling cunt. One hand kneads and gropes the flesh of your ass to steady you down, down, down-

“Toru-” you’re moaning, like a mantra, once his angry tip is gliding across the spongy wall of your cervix. The stretch too much, Gojo’s cock so thick in his girth that you could feel each and every sweet spot of yours being dragged down his length. “F-fuck, Toru!”

He chuckles, gritting out through those long, determined grinds. Having himself now fully stuffed inside your cunt, heavy balls kissing at the curve of your ass, pubic hair scratching up against your needy clit.  “Can’t hah- keep quiet, can you? Fuckin’ love how needy she is- how needy you are.”

“Sh-shut up-” you mewl, narrowing your eyes. 

“Hah- I would.” Gojo grins out so smugly. Tilting you precariously on top of him like some ragdoll to easily give your g-spot a mean crash of his greedy head. “But you can’t.”

And of course, he’s proving his own point by bouncing you in a heady, fast tandem, abs burning with the ache to fuck you so rude. Gojo spits once on two of his long, slender fingers, letting this lewd coating smear down to his knuckles before dipping them down to spread your puffy folds even farther. 

“Fuuuck, jus’ look at you.” he rasps, the deep baritone of his voice having your gummy walls mold even harder onto the shape of his cock. Gojo throws his had back, twitching balls squeezing harder with every increasing smack against your ass. “Shit shit shit- how that bastard had you hngh- all to himself and didn’t make th-this pretty pussy come everyday I’ll never understand.” He’s pulling you down with a hand to the back of your neck, tightening, “So don’t we hah- rub it in his ugly face?”

Shit, the thought has you grinding and stuttering your hips down to meet Gojo’s unforgiving cadence, arching your body into him like you couldn’t get enough. 

“You just got- hngh- so impossibly harder at that.” you push his bucking shoulders down onto the mattress. Now fully riding him just as much as he was fucking you into the mattress so animalistically. “And you call me needy.”

He scoffs, “I’m not the only one.” The fingers still lingering on your cunt moving to toy with your pulsing sensitive nub, teasing and toying your clit between two fingers. “Can you just h-hear how loud this pussy of yours is? Bet he can hear too.”

And it was true, the wet smacks were only getting louder. Sloppier. Squelching with the push and pull of Gojo’s pounding cock in the same maddening staccato. 

But still - you weren’t going to be compliant that easily. Feeling the familiar tingles of your high edging closer, you wanted to break him just one more time. “Nah- I don’t think he can.”

“Oh you’re gonna regret that, silly girl.”

In all of two seconds - maybe even less than - Gojo’s using his immense strength to his advantage. Flipping the two of you over so your back is hitting the soaked sheets, droopy legs thrown over your shoulder to plow into you in such a mean mating press he has you folded into. 

The new change in angle makes it even easier for him to be kissing your g-spot. Bruising. Branding his name onto your sweet spots - your cervix - so you wouldn’t forget. So you can’t forget.

“F-fuck, Toru-” you’re letting out staggered gasps every time he rams his hefty cock into you. Fingers still relentless on your clit - playing around with it as much as he was playing with your sanity. “I’m so-”

“What was that?” he interrupts through sloppy, stuttering thrusts. Free hand cupping his ear so goadingly, ‘Can’t hear you, sweetheart.“

“Toru-” you’re squealing over his rapidly accelerating movements. Fighting to babble out coherently, “Toru m’close-”

“Louder.” he’s grinning meanly. Hips burning with slowly fatiguing effort because he’s so close, your slick walls are massaging him so tight. But where’s the fun if there’s no teasing? “Still can’t hear ya.”

Your voice is shot at this point, “Toru, m’gonna cum-”

“Louder or m’not gonna let you.”

“Toru! Fuck fuck fuck m’cumming.” It hits him before those loud moans are even leaving your mouth, because your velvety walls are clamping down so snug. Molding to the shape of him, your heels digging even deeper on his shoulder, nails raking red red patterns down the pale skin of his biceps. “M’cumming- ngh-”

And fuck each and every slam of his hips sends electricity up your spine, bullying you through your high. Dragging it out till you think you could go insane. 

“God- fuck you’re so-” It’s the only hoarse grunt leaving Gojo’s lips before he’s spilling thick rope after rope of seed into the awaiting channel of your pussy. “So perfect f’me.”

Two hands of his lace above your head, pushing you so impossibly deep down his thick hilt. He’s cumming and cumming so hard like he never has in his life, body out of control with the way he’s stuffing you with every drop of seed. 

He shivers at the overspill, gushing out of the corners of your ravaged cunt, painting a creamy ring around his tired base. Too much. And yet mindlessly thrusting even sloppier, catching your lips in a lazy, passionate kiss. “At least we didn’t fuckin’ kill each other, hm?”

You smile into it, slotting your hips languidly, “Didn’t do hgnh- the neighbors any favors, either.”

“It’s Naoya, who fucking cares? ‘Limp dick’ my ass.” And oh how Gojo loved that sweet sweet smile gracing your lips, the way your eyes light up all because of him. He can’t help but drawl out, “Y’know…since we were locked up in this room for all three days, and have most of the day tomorrow, how about you and I actually do some sightseeing here before we leave?” 

You nod eagerly, tightening your legs around his waist and shit, this might just be heaven. “We need a break after that contract, s’gonna be so fun.”

He’s connecting his sticky forehead with yours, “Of course it will be, I’ll be there.” Babbling deliriously, drunk off the way you’re leveling him with another one of your familiar glares, “And we can use Yaga’s care, too, he never checks-”

“Toru…” you warn when Gojo cuts himself off with a gasp. Quirking an irritated brow - as you usually did when you’re with him, “Don’t tell me you’ve been dipping into Yaga’s card, he’ll kill you if he finds out. That’s if I don’t kill you first.”

“...”

“...Toru…”

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I booked us this suite with it too?”

A/N. My red flag is making Naoya the shitty ex in every piece of writing I do (or is that a green flag hmmm?)

Plagiarism not authorized.

[poguehearted77]

Winter's Chance

Summary: It's Rafe's turn to have your son for the weekend, but it seems the weather wants you to spend the holidays together.

--Finally some Baby Daddy Rafe

With delicate rubs to your son's tummy, you desperately tried to get him to calm down with soft pleads and overeager soothing. He'd been fussing all day, so much that you'd called the doctor to make sure everything was okay.

They simply reassured you that it may just be a prolonged stage of fussiness. Most babies grow out of it around 4 months which is exactly where Max had just reached a few weeks ago.

Just when he was finally beginning to calm for a moment your ears are filled with the chime of your doorbell. Max picks up his crying as if he had never stopped. Your eyes roll, already knowing who is on the other side of the door.

You gently scooped him up to rest over your shoulder on top of the little binkie you tend to have thrown over your shoulder at all times for moments like this. He was cute, but the spit-up was never pretty and you were always prepared.

Opening the door from a distance you weren't expecting to see Rafe step in partially covered in snow. It distracted you momentarily before Max's cries cut through the shock.

"I know, I know." You whine, gently rocking him, backing away from the cold air that swept against your feet. "Hurry up, and close the door." His eyes roll, "Hello to you too." He closes the door and stomps off the snow from his boots before stepping out of them and hanging up his jacket.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? This is just a pick-up, then you can have fun trying to calm him down at your place." Rafe stands still, his thumb gesturing to the door behind him, "You haven't seen the news, have you? They're closing the roads, so we're snowed in. The only reason I made it here is because of the suspension on my truck."

Your face turns sour and Max continues to cry.

"So why did you come in the first place if you knew you wouldn't be able to make it back?" He ignores your question for the most part, "Relax, baby. As excited as you are to see me, I didn't come for you. I came for my son. There he is," Rafe's expression lights up as he reaches for Max and takes him out of your hold.

"Rafe you can't just take him and expect him to calm-"

For the first time in seven hours, silence consumes the room. No more screams and tearful cries. "You've got to be fucking with me," You don't say it loudly, but Rafe still hears.

"Guess he was just missin' his daddy, huh? Isn't that right, Max?" Rafe's tone is playful as he pokes at Max's tummy which elicits tiny giggles and the brightest smile you'd seen all day.

You walk away, headed towards the kitchen. Not sure why you were moving so fast, Rafe was hot on your heels. "It's not your fault, it's probably just been a long day-" He finally shuts the fuck up with his smug remarks when he hears a soft cry, "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue, tender and sweet. "Baby, what's wrong?" Effortlessly, he supports Max with one hand while he reaches to turn you so you're facing him.

Your eyes are filled with tears, lips quivering ever so slightly and he knows what's coming. He's seen you like this more times than he can count. He takes you under his arm, your cheek pressed to his chest and you break down, muttering into the fabric of his hoodie.

He comforts you with a big hand rubbing your back, soothing you the way he learned from those parenting books that he swear he never read. "It's so hard, Rafe." Is all you manage to say through broken cries for the first five minutes before you're pushing off him, expression more angry than upset? "He was crying all day, and the second you walk in, he's perfectly fine."

Rafe's lips frown, puzzled. "And that's a bad thing?--"

"Yes! Why do you get to be Superman?!" Earlier, the sound of a pin drop would disturb Max from calming, but now even your exclamations left him unfazed, as long as he was in Rafe's arms he was unbothered.

As a matter of fact, with a second glance, you notice he'd actually fallen asleep. Just Perfect. Another win for Superman.

He chuckles, leading you both to have a seat on the couch. Your son sleeping soundly in his father's hold. "Well, I think I've got the abs for it." His shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

"You try carrying a baby in your stomach for nine months, and you tell me if you still have abs after." Subtly, his tongue wets his lips at the memory, "All I remember is how good you looked pregnant. Shit, wanna do it again?" You'd never wanted to hurt someone so badly.

"You're lucky you're holding my son." He scoffs, leaning in slightly as if to speak away from the baby. "I seem to remember the two of us going half on the conception, and a few times after that." You air-swat him and stand, making your way for the stairs. "I'm going to take a nap."

The hours flew by as you finally had your first uninterrupted nap in what felt like years. By the time you woke up, the sun was long gone, and there was a thick layer of fresh snow sitting on your window pane. You headed downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the steps to appreciate the view.

Nothing melted you quite like the sight of Rafe taking care of Max. You hated to admit it, but he was a good dad. A really good one. Hot, too. Rafe held the bottle to Max's lips, murmuring some undistinguishable babbles with a soft smile. Surely speaking a language only the two of them can understand.

"I hope you warmed the bottle before you gave it to him." You say, and he finally notices you standing by the stairs, stalking your way over and sitting beside him.He ignores you, knowing that you're just trying to get under his skin. "You look well rested." He remarks and you sigh with a soft nod. "Yeah, I am actually." He grins to himself, "Must be a miracle to sleep well on that cheap-ass mattress you got up there."

"Sorry, we can't all have premium mattresses." Rafe pulls the bottle back once he realizes Max has had his fill. "Y'know my money is your money right? I give you ten thousand a month but everything I have is yours, too." Standing him up on his lap first, Rafe holds the baby over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

"Well, I don't need to live in a fifteen thousand sq ft house to be happy unlike you." He shakes his head slowly, his gaze falls on you, somber. "I seem happy to you? I don't give a shit how big my place is. It's always going to be empty without you two in it... " He trails off, alluding there's more to come.

"Rafe.. What are you saying?"

"Move in with me, again." Your head shakes before you sputter profuse denials, "No, Rafe, we can't we tried that before remember? We don't get along. Technically, we're not even together." The conversation is briefly interrupted by a small gurgled burp on Max's behalf.

Rafe leans down to place a drowsy Max in his rocker in front of the couch before sitting back up. "Things were different then, we were eighteen. I can't do the back-and-forth anymore. Don't you wanna wake up in the morning, see that Max is taken care of and I'm making you breakfast, then we go back to bed and I take care of you? Huh?" He hums, his voice igniting sparks along the length of your neck as he nosed along it.

"Rafe.." your voice is shaky, feeling the heat from the discussion.

"Whadd'ya say, hm?" You reflect, having Rafe stay with you today, in just a few short hours you'd been able to take a break, he held you when you cried like he always did. You'd hardly even fought. Though that was no surprise, the two of you fought considerably less ever since Max came into the picture.

"Okay, yes." You can feel the lines from his smile stretch against your jaw just before he begins to pepper kisses on your cheek. "Y'know, we made the world's cutest baby ever right?" You smile, both your gazes focused on the little one before you.

"He's got your eyes, for sure." Rafe states and you giggle, "You're just saying that because they're brown." He sits up straight, heartfully disagreeing. "I'm not. They're the same eyes that I fell in love with when I first laid my eyes on you, and the same ones that humbled me when they looked up at me for the first time in the NICU."

His words were touching. You're seeing a whole new side of him. Not the usually hot-headed and impulsive man you were used to. This one was sweeter, softer, and more sincere.

You reeled him in for the first kiss, his lips soft as they pressed against yours, his hands confidently holding you at your waist. "Ah, I see you're taking me up on my previous offer. Let's go for a girl this time, yeah?" He grins, and you pinch him.

[uglygirltrying]

wolf-hybrid!simon x bunny-hybrid!reader | PT3 | pt2 | pt1 |

apparently simon wasn't the only one who loved your scent.

other males had been trespassing on his territory, coming dangerously close to his den. to you.

simon tried to make his scent more pronounced. to keep them away. to keep his bunny safe.

fortunately, so far, no one had been brave enough, to deliberately come after you. and simon thought that nobody would be.

until that day.

simon had left for water that evening. he wouldn't have been gone for long. it was always risky to leave you alone, without his protection. but simon promised to be quick.

unfortunately, that was enough time for him.

you shouldn't have been so naïve. so stupid. you should've stayed vigilant. but you were just cleaning the den. you didn't feel threatened. you felt safe.

heavy thumps on top of the den. that's what you heard first. you looked up, a little bit of dirt fell down from the den ceiling, and dropped on your head. it must be simon. it has to be. right?

but then. there was slow struggling at the den's entrance. you couldn't see it, it was behind a curve. but you could hear it. simon didn't have to struggle to get inside. it was his den after all, it was just big enough, to let him inside.

maybe he was just struggling with the water. yeah. it's simon, you tried to reassure yourself.

"s-simon...?" your voice was meek, scared, unsure. you've stopped messing with the nest, now only focused on the noises coming from the den's entrance.

the obvious struggles at the entrance stopped.

why? simon would give you an answer, wouldn't he?

the weather was beautiful. there was only few clouds covering the blue sky. the sun glared down, hot and bright. it made the snowbanks sparkle beautifully.

the hot light made the snow melt away, uncovering calm, small rapid. the clear water ran over the rocks underneath it's surface. only more and more snow kept melting into the water, small droplets falling down from the melting ice, and snow.

simon knelt by the river. filling a carved, wooden bucket, with the cold, refreshing water.

he had to keep himself, and the bunny hydrated, after all.

the bucket filled pretty quickly, and simon was ready to head back to the den.

the snow crunched under his steps. simons hot breath came out as steam, as it hit the cold air. frost was starting to form on the tips of his hair.

the wolf's movements stilled, as smell hit his nose. a musk. another male.

simon dropped the water filled bucket, and began to run. you were alone. hopefully you were alone.

but he wasn't there to protect you. oh, god.

panic flared inside simon, his heart beating out of his chest.

the den was just a rocks throw away from the river. simon was quickly there. that didn't calm him down. somebody was kneeling at the den's entrance, trying to dig in. trying to get to his bunny.

simon panted heavily as he approached. the trespasser heard him coming. with a smirk on his face, the intruder turned around, to look at simon. simon's hands clenched into fists, his skin turning white.

he gritted his teeth. "mace." the wolfs voice resembled a growl.

here this bear was, trying to steal his bun. simon knew him, a territorial rival. and now he was attempting to take his fucking mate. his mate. his.

the black bear chuckled darkly, as he stood up.

"can smell her... you're hiding a sweet thing in there..."

"time for you to go, mace." simon grumbled.

mace grinned. "i'll leave you be, for now."

he walked down from the den's entrance, towards simon.

"might wanna keep her in there. never know when she's going to get snatched up."

mace's shoulder knocked against simon's, when he walked past him.

simon was fuming. his whole body moved, as he took heavy breaths.

the wolf listened, until the sound of footsteps faded away, before rushing to the mouth of the den.

"bun? come here." he called out, into the tunnel.

he had to wait a moment, before he saw your head sticking out of the hole.

simon sighed. "come here..." he signaled for you to come closer with his hand. slowly, and hesitantly, you crawled to the entrance of the den, where he was waiting for you.

"you okay, bun?" simon mumbled, his hand gently holding your cheek. after a meek nod of your head, simon leaned in and kissed your forehead.

simon leaned away, and gently guided you back down into the den, following suite after you. once you were down in the nest, simon made sure to hold you tight against his chest.

"you know that I would never let anything happen to you. you know that, don't you, bunny?" the wolf murmured into your ear, his free hand slowly making it's way down your stomach.

"what can i do to calm you down, huh? you're still shaking." his hot breath hitting your ear. simon was being sneaky. before you even knew it, his calloused fingers, pinched your nub.

he chuckled at the squeal you let out. his fingers began to gently massage your little clit.

"i'll never let that happen again. okay?" his voice got more serious, and his touch harder. your legs kicked out at the increasing pressure on your sensitive clit.

his touch didn't relent. it only got more determined.

determined to distract you from the scary situation, you had to go through.

determined to make you feel good.

the feeling was foreign. his touch was so tough, just like him. but his words were so sweet. the pressure in your belly grew. your breathing got heavier. simon noticed. with a wicked smirk on his face, his movements got faster.

"give it to me. c'mon bunny... i know you want to." he so meanly teased.

it just suddenly hit you. your legs tensed up, and your breath hitched. luckily, simon decided to show you mercy. he helped you get down from your bliss, before pulling his hand from in between your sweet thighs. your juices coated his fingers. simon grinned at the sight.

the bunny was now completely limp in his arms, panting and exhausted. simon wiped his dirty fingers against the fur on your stomach. simon's hand grabbed your chin, turning your head to look at him.

"go to sleep, bunny..." he murmured quietly, laying you against his side. his arms rested around you, in a protective hold. he couldn't even imagine how scary it must've been for you, being trapped down here, with no way out, while somebody was trying to crawl inside.

but just as he promised, simon would never let it happen again.

authors note: that poor bucket, alone in the cold forest :(

heart divider by @roseschoices

taglist (honestly i'm pretty lost who's on it and who isn't😭):

@famouscattale @nappingmoon @tame-the-lion-writes @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @distinguishedprincesstrash @yourfavreggie @rorowingaboat @limeleag @sushiumex @aldis-nuts (won't find it sorry) @the-palelady

COMMENT TO GET ON THIS TAGLIST 😠

[c0ffeejelly1]

Reacting to you wearing pheromone perfume

Multiple characters headcannon

Authors note: Dw they’re all horny for you, umm if it looks like I got lazy it’s bc I did. (POST-TIMESKIP!!)

Warnings: NSFW Content, Femdom(ish), vaginal sex, riding and uhhh find out the rest urself.

The plan was set.

You were just going to do your usual grocery run, but hold off putting the new found perfume on until you were at the door step.

That way, when you walked in, the scent would hit him like a wave, making it clear even for him to notice something different about you.

It was perfect! And soon the plan was to come into play as you sprayed yourself head to toe in its mist.

You tucked the bottle away deep in your grocery bag, then unlocked the door, the keys jingling softly as you did.

“Hey baby, I’m back.”

You say, shutting the door behind you and setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. “So what’ve you been up to?”

You shot him a quick glance from the couch, an innocent smile on your face.

The type to invade your personal space

What the... what the hell did you do? Something feels off here. He can sense it—no, he can practically smell it.

You’ve pulled a fast one, and he’s gonna find out what exactly it is..

“Me? Oh I’ve been up to absolutely nothing..like nothing at all.” he says, strolling over to you, a knowing smirk on his face.

“But the real question is though..what exactly have you been up to, huh?..”

You hadn’t realised just how close he had really gotten to you, until you took your eyes away from the ingredient in your hand to look at him, a palm rested onto the kitchen counter as he leaned in closer to you.

You didn’t waver though. You knew this was only an effect of the perfume working it’s magic, he was probably just trying to get a better whiff of you.

Everything was going according to plan..

“Well, I was just picking up some things for the house and dinner tonight. Thought I’d whip up your favorite, you know?”

You suddenly feel a grip on your shoulder as he turns you to face him. He takes this newfound opportunity as a chance to bury his nose into your neck.

“Jesus..” what hell did you actually do? Why’s he feeling so..bothered. And why do you look so attractive all of a sudden. Not that you’re not always beautiful, but right now... you’re just breathtaking, and it’s stirring up all sorts of feelings in him. “Why do you smell like this..”

Perfect. Everything was unfolding just as you wanted it! Sure, you didn’t expect him to take the bait so quickly, but who’s complaining? You knew what was coming; after all, this is your boyfriend.

“Hm? Smell like what, handsome? I always smell like this..” You wanted to tease him, to see how far he’d go with it. That turned out to be your biggest mistake.

NSFW

Now your legs were sore, your hips bruised, and your back aching, all while he continued thrusting up into you.

How was he still going? You had been lost in this rhythm for what felt like ages, your bodies entwined and slick with each other's essences.

“Ah-..Fuck..y-you feel so good..”

The air around you was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, a heady mix that only intensified the connection you both shared.

“And you s-smell..so so amazing..shit..it’s got me all types of f-fucked up..”

His face was flushed, lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily, each sound escaping him, a testament to the pleasure building between you.

His grip on your hip grew firmer, guiding your movements up and down his length with a deliberate urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his muscles tensed and flexed beneath your touch, each thrust igniting a fire deep within you.

“I-I don’t think m’gonna last long if you keep t-tightening-..fuck..like that baby..”

The quick, shallow breath he took and the tension in his abdomen were unmistakable signs that he was nearing his peak again, ready to fill you completely once more.

You could see the way his eyes filled with desire, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours as if trying to convey everything he felt in that moment.

It was a silent conversation, one that spoke of longing and need, of a connection that transcended words.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, whispering sweet nothings that only fueled the fire between you.

You begin to rock your own hips against him, matching his thrust causing a small whine to escape his lips, and in return sending waves of pleasure coursing to you.

You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, a delicious ache that begged for release. The way he moved under you, the way he held you, made you feel cherished and desired all at once.

“B-baby I-..m’gonna..fuck- I’m g-gonna cum-..I can’t-..m’gonna- c-cumming!..”

With the broken moan he let out, you could feel him surrenderer to the moment, releasing all he had left inside of him into you and allowing the sensations to wash over him, a small whimper leaving his lips feeling you pulse around him.

You couldn’t help but lose yourself in the pleasure that enveloped you both, and to think..

this was all because of some damn perfume.

Characters: reigen, dimple, kagami, AOMINE, tengen, connie, NISHINOYA, oikawa, GOJO, SOLOMON , CHILDE, KAEYA, wriothesley (Anyone you like)

The type to stare at you from afar

He knew from the moment you entered the room something was off.

Now, he couldn’t shake off his suspicion.

What had exactly changed about you..was it your clothes? Nah..it couldn’t be that.

Maybe you styled your hair differently?..no that’s just stupid; anyone would notice that.

He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t even realise just how long he had been staring at you, examining every little detail like you were some kind of puzzle.

It was a little unsettling to say the least but you continued on with sorting out the groceries.

“Hey babe, can you help me with this?”

“No.”

You look at him confused and quite frankly offended.

This mf really just said no to you.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I can’t get close to you.”

That’s exactly the OPPOSITE of what the perfume is supposed to do! It’s supposed to attract him towards you not make him act like a deer in headlights!

“What- why?” You say a little too disappointingly for your liking.

“If I did, I might do something bad.”

Something bad? What could he possibly mean by something ba- ohh…oh. Oh.

Would it be funny if you just said that you wanted him to do that ‘bad’ thing.

NSFW

Okay take back everything you said. This is not funny anymore.

In fact this is just back breaking especially with the way he’s pounding into you all while pressing his face deep inside the crook of your neck.

“H-hah..fuck..I-is this good for y-you too, baby?..”

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, as he struggled to stifle his moans, the soft, enticing sounds escaping him despite his best efforts.

You would be lying if you said this wasn’t exactly what you wanted; after all, you did choose to wear that perfume, the one you knew would draw him in.

I guess you just didn’t anticipate such a strong reaction from him, the way his body responded to your presence, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

The whole experience was incredibly distracting, especially with him so close to your ear, his breath hitching with every whispered compliment you offered.

“F-fuck..pull on my hair..p-please baby..m’so close for you..”

Each time your fingers tangled in his hair, you can feel the tension in his body falter, his hips instinctively responding to your words.

It was as if your gentle praise unlocked something deep within him, a vulnerability that made the air between you thick with unspoken desire.

He didn’t need no perfume to make love to you like this.

Characters: SERIZAWA, giyuu, armin, KAGEYAMA, OSAMU, geto, MAMMON, leviathan, albedo, CYNO, kazuha, XIAO (Anyone you like)

The type to get distracted while you speak

“Just the..the usual..”

“Mm..the usual huh? So mysterious.”

You throw him a quick look, a playful smirk creeping onto your face as you plop down next to him on the couch. With a dramatic sigh, you turn to him.

“Honestly, I was thinking about whipping up something new for us, but I’m not sure it’ll turn out great… Oh! You won’t believe who I bumped into at the store earlier—…”

‘Blah blah blah proper name, place name, backstory stuff..’ (PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT)

This man is not listening to a single thing your saying.

Everything is just going through one ear and out the other.

Yet, he’s nodding along, pretending to listen, his eyes locked on yours and occasionally flicking to your lips.

You’ve got him hook line and sinker.

“Babe. Babe, are you even listening to me?”

“..Huh? Y-yeah, you were talking about.. your friend?”

Right, because chopping tomatoes has everything to do with friends.

“Oh really? And what exactly was I saying about said friend?”

“I- you were..y’know..stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow at him

“Look baby I can’t concentrate right now. I don’t know what you did, but my mind is wandering to places it shouldn’t, and it’s messing with me, so please…”

“..please what?” You know what he wants.

“Help a guy out? I know you can see it..”

Oh, you definitely could see it. You could see the huge hard on he had right now, and here he was, asking for your help—there was no way you were going to turn him down.

NSFW

He let out a deep sigh, tilting his head back against the couch, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him as he struggled to maintain eye contact with you.

“You look a-absolutely stunning like this, my love…” His voice was a low murmur, thick with desire, as he took in the sight of you.

The way your mouth enveloped him, gently teasing his skin, sent shivers down his spine, igniting a fire within him that he could hardly contain.

Your lips moved with a tantalising rhythm, each caress sending waves of ecstasy through his body.

“Mhm..like that, k-keep sucking on it like that beautiful..”

He could feel the warmth of your breath, the softness of your touch, and it was all too much to bear.

His hands instinctively found their way to your hair, fingers behind your head, as he tried to guide you, to pull you even closer.

“Jus a l-little more for me baby m’already so close because of you..”

The way your hands explored him, tracing the contours of his body, ignited a primal urge deep within him.

Every gentle stroke, every teasing touch drew a soft gasp from his lips, a sound that echoed the intensity of the moment.

Before long, his breath caught in his throat, and without any warning, he released himself into your mouth.

Soft murmurs of "m’sorry" and "thank you" slipped from his lips, each word laced with a mixture of guilt and gratitude, as if he were acknowledging the weight of the moment while simultaneously surrendering to it.

He tilted his head back again, exposing the graceful curve of his neck, while a deep, guttural moan escaped him.

He clutched the couch for support, his fingers digging into the fabric as he began to calm himself down

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that perfume.

Characters: midorima, rengoku, eren, Tsukishima, akaashi, Ushijima, suna, NANAMI, LUCIFER, ayato, DILUC, neuvillette, zhongli (Anyone you like)

The type to suddenly want to be a man

“Doesn’t matter, let me help you with that.”

This probably may have been the fastest you had ever seen this lazy ass man get up from the couch and willing ask to help you with something without you telling him to.

This perfume was doing its damn job alright.

And you were liking it already.

“You sure babe? Do you even know where most of these things go?” you asked, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

“…No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try for once, right?”

“Yeah sure..” you conceded, your curiosity piqued by his sudden determination.

“Just relax and take it easy. Please. I’ve got this covered.” he assured you, his tone confident and light.

You let him gently guide you back to the couch, ensuring you stayed seated while he headed to the kitchen.

A few moments later, he returned to you.

“Finished already? That was fast—”

Your words were abruptly silenced as another set of lips met yours, warm and insistent.

The unexpected kiss sent a jolt of surprise through you, momentarily stealing your breath away.

You had been caught off guard, your playful teasing hanging in the air like a forgotten thought.

When the kiss finally broke, you both pulled back slightly, as he rested his gaze on you his chest rising gently.

“I want 10 of em.”

“..10 of what?”

“kids.” He replies with a stern look on his face.

“...”

“Is that a yes?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m being deadass.”

NSFW

Well let’s just say he was NOT joking, and was very much being true to his words.

He intended to have those 10 kids, but first, he needed to prepare you.

That's why you found yourself on the bed, your legs resting on his shoulders as he immersed himself in your warmth.

“Mm..so good..you taste so fucking good..”

He was devouring you like a man starved, his tongue skillfully teasing your clit and occasionally sucking on it, making your legs tighten around him even more.

How many times had you cum already with his restless mouth?

Just how long did he plan on keeping this up?

You were already worn out, and now your legs were killing you.

“One more for me pretty girl..come on I know you can do it. You’ve got one more left in ya don’t you..” his words were muffled in with the wet sounds of your juices but you could still hear each and everyone of his dirty talk.

The way he would urge you into coming undone onto his tongue, the way his nose would brush up against your clit as his tongue pummelled into your hole.

It was all too much.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer anymore especially with his hums of approval sending all the right vibrations down to your mound.

With one last flick of his tongue against your clit, you came, fingers gripping onto his hair tightly.

When catching your breath just as you thought you had finished up with everything, do you hear the rustling of the sheets only to see him preparing to put his length into you.

“Fuck..d-don’t look at me like that princess, you know damn well we aren’t done here, especially with how hard I am now..”

That perfumes going on lock down.

Characters: Sanemi, jean, REINER, UKAI, kuroo, hinata, BOKUTO, atsumu, iwaizumi, CHOSO, DIAVOLO, ITTO, thoma (Anyone you like)

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[rowarn]

SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

john "soap" mactavish / reader – 9.3k sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, developing relationship, virginity for sale trope, protective!soap, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader, mean!soap? or maybe just intense!soap, soap is NOT beginner-friendly

cw: loss of virginity, soap's filthy mouth, fingering, multiple orgasms, wet&messy, sloppy blowjob, cum facial, squirting, crying during sex?/dacryphilia, consent check bc johnny is a GOOD MAN, intense heated sex to sex with feelings, cunnilingus, corruption kink if u squint, multiple rounds, sloppy sex tbh

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It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom.

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

or.

After continuously getting in the way of your attempts to sell your virginity, you finally let yourself fall into bed with him instead.

You couldn’t believe you wound up here. You always thought it would happen in some sweet way. A long-time boyfriend or girlfriend, happy and in love. You’d snuggle up afterwards and be told how good you were.

But no, instead you became swamped in debt and ended up on the verge of eviction even though you were living in the cheapest apartment you could find that wasn’t in an area that would get you stabbed for stepping outside. You needed money fast and you had one thing that plenty of perverts would pay for; your virginity. It’s not your most crowning moment in life but as they say, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself so you don’t crumble under the shame of it all. 

When the chair across from you suddenly gets yanked out, feet scraping obnoxiously across the floor, making you nearly jump out of your skin. The man who sits down looks nothing like the picture he sent and you internally groan. He looks much older than you, no doubt in his mid 40’s, balding, and graying hair. You wouldn’t mind an older man if he were a little more…attractive. Sure, maybe that’s a bit shallow of you but fuck, it’s your virginity you’re giving away. You should be allowed to be picky with the man you choose! Under normal circumstances you would be so why not now?

Then again, this isn’t exactly normal circumstances was it?

You pick up the glass of the strongest drink you could handle that you ordered at the bar while waiting and downed it in one deep gulp. You gave the man a very fake smile and he grinned back, the sleazy sight making your stomach turn. 

You were going to need a lot more alcohol. 

The evening turned into night and you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol. Your ‘date’ doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as you drink, if anything he seems elated. That thought makes you curl your lip in disgust. 

“So,” he starts when you finally lean back in your chair, having had your fill of alcohol for the night, “Shall we move this along? My place or yours?”

“You got the money you promised?” you ask, raising a brow, unsure if you sounded as drunk to him as you did to yourself.

“In my car,” he responds, grin sitting irritatingly lopsided on his ugly face, “Got it all ready for you. After services are rendered, of course.”

Anxiety coils in your stomach at the mention of what you have to do to get the money. It’s a lot of money and that makes your palms sweaty – you need it. You feel like there’s eyes on you from behind, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. When you turn to look around, there’s no one paying any attention to you. Everyone in the bar was having a nice time. You wish you were one of them. 

“Let’s get out here,” the man grins, “I am just achin’ to get my hands on you.”

He stands up but you find yourself rooted to your seat. Your entire body feels tense, you can’t find it in yourself to stand up. You don’t want to go with the guy, you decide. Your fight or flight activates with terrifying speed, alerting you of the danger you’re in. Though you’re not exactly sure what danger that is just yet.

“I think…” you start and the guy heaves a big sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re backin’ out?” he grumbles, not bothering to mask his irritation, “After I came all this way? That’s awfully rude of you.”

“I just don’t think I want to–” he groans, embarrassingly loud.

You feel the eyes of nearby patrons on you and your cheeks burn under the scrutiny. Shame bubbles up inside you at the thought of them finding out what exactly was going on between the two of you. 

“Let’s go,” he snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he rounds the table and grabs hold of your arm.

You don’t bother fighting back as he yanks you to your feet, instead leveling him with a fierce glare. You don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people so you plan to let him drag out outside where you can really give him a piece of your mind before hopefully coming back inside and peacefully getting drunk alone.

But a sudden, growling voice has both of you freezing in place, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes fall upon a man, standing tall and confidently. He has a mohawk, brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. Upon first glance, you could immediately tell he was in the military based on his posture alone. He was intimidating, broad and well-built.

“Hey, dude, why don't you mind your own fuckin’ business,” your ‘date’ snarled, yanking you harshly towards him.

You felt your eye twitch in irritation but your drunken brain was too slow to react properly. You were still hung up on the appearance of this rather good looking man. 

“This is my business,” the stranger said, Scottish accent thick as he took two big strides over to the both of you, “Why don't you just leave quietly so things don't have to get ugly?” 

Your ‘date’ stares the strange man down for a few seconds, taking a glance at you before kissing his teeth and ripping his hand off of you. 

“You ain't worth this shit,” he huffed, stomping off into the crowd. You could hear the bell over the door ring, announcing his final departure from the scene.

“Well, he was just a dandy fellow,” your rescuer jokes, a crooked grin settling on his face. His shoulders relaxed and he held his hand out, “Name’s Soap. How about I walk you home?” 

“That'd be great,” you responded, feeling your stomach starting to roll as the alcohol settled. You knew you were going to be stuck with your head over the toilet bowl soon and you'd rather be in the comfort of your apartment for that. 

“Let’s get a move on then,” he waved forward for you to lead the way. 

The crisp outside air had you sighing happily. You hadn't realized how hot you were in there but now that the light breeze brushed against your skin, you noticed how you had begun to sweat. 

“So you’re military, huh?” you ask, leading him in the direction of your apartments “Soap.” 

He chuckles, “You caught me.” 

You smile, “It's kind of hard to miss, no offense.” 

“None taken,” he assures, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “What were you doin’ with a piece of shite like that? Was he your boyfriend?” 

You sputter, “No! Nothing like that. I just…had a deal with him, that's all. I called it off and he got pissed. I'm sorta pissed at myself. Just missed out on a fuck ton of money.” 

Soap’s brows raise, “What kind of deal?” 

Your drunken brain forgets all about the fact such a deal should be kept quiet. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself, “My virginity for his money. But I’m not like a prostitute or anything!” 

He holds his hands up as surrender when you get defensive at the shocked look on his face, “You need money that bad?”

“You have no idea,” you sign, pinching the bridge of your nose at the mere thought of your money troubles, “I never do this. You know? I-I mean obviously…with the virginity and all. But-!”

“I’m not judgin’ you,” he assures, “Hard times. But you should be careful. Lot’s of dangerous characters out there.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders as you come to a stop, “This is my place.”

“Right,” he mutters, “Let me give you my number.”

“For what?” you sputter, watching him pull out his wallet.

“Just in case,” he smiles, “I doubt anyone really knows what you’re dealin’ with right? I do. So if you’re ever in any trouble,” he hands you a business card, “Give me a call.”

You take the card and look it over. It’s got his name and military rank but not much else. You raise a brow, “Why do you have a business card on you?”

He chuckles, waving his hand flippantly, “Just ‘cause. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you smile, stowing the card away in your pocket, “Thanks for walking me home, Soap.”

He stands outside of your place, waiting until you’re safely inside and shutting the door. When you peek out the window, you see him walking off in the direction that you had come from. You smile and go about getting ready for bed, grateful that you’re not feeling that awful nauseous pit in your stomach you had earlier.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still dressed in your clothes and you have no recollection of having laid down the night before. You groan, your head throbbing in your skull as you sit up. 

You stumble your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You take the time to start the shower and strip yourself, determined to scrub the grime from last night off of your body. 

By the time you step out, you’re feeling like a brand new person. You stretch your arms over your head and work on drying yourself off. Wrapping your towel around your body, gather your clothes in your arms, and trudge back into your bedroom. 

You look through the pockets of your jeans from yesterday, pulling out various coins and candy wrappers that you remember snacking on in the car to ease your nerves. You finally pull out the last thing – the business card Soap had given you last night. 

It all floods back to you, and you find yourself pulling your phone out, opening it to make a new contact under the name Soap.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your towel, you shoot him a text.

“Hi Soap, remember me? You walked me home last night! I was just wondering if I could take this as a business inquiry?”

You aren’t sure where the burst of confidence came from. Last night, you would have never even thought to ask him such a thing. But the fact your plans fell through last night with that pig of a man, you kind of had no other choice at this point. 

And luckily for you, Soap texted back almost immediately.

“Sure, darlin’. We can consider it a business inquiry.”

Jackpot, you think. Not only is he very good looking and nice – if he has the money, then you can’t think of anyone better to sell your ‘goods’ to. 

He’s perfect.

Turns out, Soap is more than ready to meet up. Not at a bar, you’re thrilled, but at an actual restaurant. It almost feels like a real date!

You have the opportunity to dress yourself up and feel pretty. It feels so much better than meeting up with that guy at the dingy bar. Your nerves are almost non-existent. 

You still have that jittery feeling everyone gets when they’re going to be going out with someone new. 

But this isn’t actually a date, you have to tell yourself, as you get into your car to drive to the restaurant. It’s a meeting.

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the heavenly smell of food and what you can only deduce as something akin to mint. It’s a lovely restaurant, tablecloths and wine glasses everywhere. 

You look around the room before you spot him, sitting at a table in the far back nursing a glass of water. You make your way there, coming to a slow stop in front of the table. He looks up, blue eyes widening at the sight of you before he jumps to his feet. 

“You made it,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

He rounds the table and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you say as he pushes you in a bit before returning to his own seat. 

Soap situates his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands as he gazes across at you. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his intense gaze, not able to gain the courage to look directly at him.

A waiter comes by, depositing a basket of fresh, buttered bread on your table, letting you know he’ll be around in a moment to collect your orders. You offer him a polite smile as he vanishes, acutely aware that Soap is still staring right at you. 

“Why are you…” you clear your throat, finally looking at him. 

“You look lovely,” he says, a smile growing on his face when you become more bashful, “You’re truly breathtaking, has anyone ever told you that before?”

You can feel how hot your cheeks are and you resist the urge to reach up and pat them in an attempt to cool them down. You’re at a loss for words, no clue what to say in response to that. You hadn’t been told anything like that before, actually. Nor has anyone ever looked at you with such infatuated intensity like he is right now. 

Thankfully, the waiter arrives to relieve you of this immense pressure. Pulled from his devoted admiration, Soap orders first before you put your own order in. 

Left alone once again, you and Soap fall into an easy conversation. You’re surprised by how nice it is to talk to him, he’s open and funny. He tells you about his buddies in the military and about how he goes out to drink every weekend with some guy named Kyle and that he thinks his buddy Ghost’s jokes are just the worst abomination on Earth. 

You get so lost in talking to him, you don’t even realize how much time has passed. Your food arrives and the table finally falls quiet. 

You both get lost in eating your meals. Soap finishes his glass of wine and leans back in his seat with a content sigh. When you finish your own plate, you do the same. The chair creaks underneath the shift of weight and your eyes meet his. 

You wait to see if he’ll say something. But he just continues to stare at you, drifting from your eyes and down the rest of your body that’s not hidden by the table. 

“So, should we get out of here?” you finally find yourself asking, burying any embarrassment deep down, “Your place or mine?”

Soap seems to falter suddenly, crooked smile slipping off of his face, “Listen, darlin’...I-I don’t actually want to…you know…”

Your cheeks burn a little and you shrink in on yourself where you sit, “Oh! Well, that’s fine. I-It’s just that you said it was an inquiry so…I assumed.”

Soap shakes his head, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours, “I know. I told you that just so I could see you. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”

“You want to talk me out of it,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat again, “I appreciate your concern, Soap. But I’m really at the end of my rope here. This is my very last resort, you understand?”

“But you shouldn’t have to-!” you pull your hand out from underneath his and stand.

“I know,” you shrug, “I’m only doing what I can with my circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time to see me and let me know you’re worried. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You leave him behind at the table and make your way back to your car. As you sit, engine idling, the disappointment bubbles up within you. Soap is probably the absolute best you could have gotten in a situation like this. But, it’s clear now that you’re going to have to find a new guy. 

You just hope you don’t walk right into the clawed talons of some unknown serial killer or something. 

The thought sends shivers down your spine as you make your way back home.

So begins the process of finding a new person to get the money from. 

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom. 

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

Around every turn, he was there to intercept the meeting you had with a man. 

A terribly boring man named Charles; Soap showed up at the bar you met at. The surprisingly young guy you weren’t even sure had enough money for his own monthly rent, Brandon; Soap was there. Justin, the doctor that lowkey gave you the creeps; Soap was there too. 

Every single time, the Scot would sit himself at the table and run the guy off, leaving you no choice but to go home alone and moneyless. 

You’re getting angrier with every passing day and before you know it, you’re calling him up and asking him to meet you. 

The second you lay your eyes on him, you’re marching right up to him.

“What the hell is your problem, Soap?!” you cry, practically nose to nose with him as you glare.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t know what I did to get you so wound up but-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done!” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“That’s a mean thing to say to someone,” he responds lightheartedly. 

But then your glare wipes the smile off of his face and he sighs, running a hand through his mohawk. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking anxiously back and forth on his heels as he seems to think over his next words carefully.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, darlin’,” he assures, “This…isn't safe, what you’re doin’. You could get into somethin’ real serious. I just…want to make sure you’re safe.”

You deflate and sigh, “I already told you, Soap. I appreciate your concern but…”

Suddenly, he surges forward, big, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls your lips to his. You gasp, hands resting against his chest as you allow yourself to melt into the kiss. 

When he pulls back, he seems almost nervous, “I wanted to kiss you really badly the first night I saw you.”

“So you like me?” you ask softly, not taking your hands off of his chest.

He reaches up, wrapping one of his hands around yours, “I’m afraid so.”

“Soap…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Johnny,” he says, “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you correct yourself, feeling your cheeks burn at the positively giddy look on his face, “I don’t know if…this…” you gesture between the two of you, “Is a good idea…with what I’m dealing with.”

His brows furrowed and a frown lines his lips. You find yourself wishing you could wipe the solemn look right off his face – it doesn’t suit him, “Just give me a chance, yeah? That’s all I ask of you.”

You sigh, “Okay, Johnny.”

You’re not sure why you gave in so easily to him. But the bright look returns to his eyes again and you find yourself feeling lighter. 

He steps back, slipping his fingers in between yours. He tugs you in his direction to follow him and you do, heart skipping in your chest as you look at your hand wrapped up in his. 

You haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time so this giddy feeling wasn’t one that you got to feel very often. 

Sooner than you’d like, he’s slipping his hand from yours to open the door to an apartment complex for you. You step inside and make your way down the hallway, tailing close behind him up to a door on the first floor – apartment 108. 

“It’s not much,” he gives you that charming, crooked smile as he opens the door.

“It’s better than my place,” you joke as you toe your shoes off.

“Have you had anything to eat?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket before hanging it on the rack by the door. You shake your head and he nods, “I’ll order us somethin’. Go ahead and make yourself at home.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen as you look around his flat. It’s a modest apartment, a bit bare but there’s little bits of Johnny scattered around the place. There were picture frames on the walls and on different surfaces. The couch was navy blue and looked well loved. 

“Here’s some water,” he says, startling you as he comes back into the living room, “I ordered us some food, wasn’t sure what you liked so I guessed.”

You chuckle, taking a seat on the couch, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not really,” he chuckles, sounding nervous, “Good at this.”

“Well,” you sink into the cushions, “I can’t say I am either.”

He laughs, a sweet, melodic sound that makes your cheeks flush, “Well, in that case. We can just…go with the flow.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Go with the flow.”

By the time the food arrives, you and Soap are invested in watching a random season of The Bachelorette. Neither of you could decide so you looked online to find a wheel to spin to decide your fate for you. 

“Ugh,” Soap groans, “Can’t believe she’s goin’ on about how dreamy this bastard is. He’s a total tool!”

You giggle, holding one of his throw pillows against your chest as you sit. You’re about to add your own two cents when the doorbell rings. 

Soap jumps to his feet, “Fuckin’ hell, I could eat a cow.”

You admire the view of him from behind when he opens the door. His tight green t-shirt hugs the dip of his waist, riding up just a bit to show a sliver of tanned skin. His shoulders look impossibly wide as he stands in the doorway to take the food, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His jeans sit low on his hips, belt tied tightly around them. 

Fuck, he’s good looking.

He turns, grinning and holding up the bags as if to show you his spoils. He raises one dark brow curiously, as if he knows what you’d been thinking.

“So,” he coos, saddling up next to you, placing the food on the coffee table, “Did you enjoy the view?”

You squeak, “I don’t think it’s polite to call out someone for looking…”

He cocks his head to the side and chuckles, leaning down to grip your chin, “Mind if I kiss you?”

“Now you’re asking?” you respond, breathless as you look at his lips coming closer and closer to yours.

“Aye,” he breathes. 

You nod and his lips are against yours in an instant. He supports his weight by placing his hands on the back of the couch. You have to crane your neck back to be able to kiss him but having him over top of you like this is exhilarating. 

You know you should stop before you get too carried away but you can’t seem to bring yourself to break away from him. Your attraction to this man is palpable and all consuming. 

Against your better judgment, you let him push you down, back against the cushions so he can crawl onto the couch. One knee on one side of you, he keeps one foot on the floor to straddle you without crushing you under his weight. But you wish that he would, fuck. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers slipping through the short hairs of his mohawk. He sighs against your lips, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, just pinning you down so he can deepen the kiss. 

You find yourself tugging at his shirt, edging it up and up until he’s forced to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he asks, blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils when he meets your gaze. 

You nod, “Want you, Johnny.”

“I’ll give you all of me,” he promises, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. 

It feels like the air evaporates from your lungs at the sight of him. He’s built, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fat – a man who is built for pure strength. His tanned skin is littered with tattoos here and there and hair speckles over his chest and stomach, a thick happy trail disappearing under his jeans. Which are tented with how his hardened cock presses against the fabric, desperate to be released. 

Your hand slips down the planes of his chest and down his tummy, cupping his erection. It twitches and kicks beneath your touch and pulls a groan from him. 

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips where he places a kiss upon your palm. 

“Strip yourself, baby,” he orders, “Wanna see that pretty body.”

He sits back on his heels, watching your every movement as you slip your shirt off and shimmy your pants down your hips. 

When you stop, he realizes you're not going to take your panties off so he quickly does it for you. His thumbs hook into the band and yanks them down, making you squeal as the force jostles you. 

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hands eagerly cup your breasts. You sigh at the contact, arching your back to press more into his touch. 

His kisses all over your chest, leaving no spot untouched, until he can pop one of your nipples in his mouth. You whimper, fingers sliding appreciatively through his mohawk while his other hand slips between your thighs. 

You easily part them, nearly panting by the time his fingers slip between your folds. You're already wet and sticky, drooling all over yourself with slick he uses to circle your clit. 

Your hips twitch as the first feeling of his rough fingers on the little bud. You cry out, tugging on his hair as he switches his mouth to give your other nipple proper attention. 

You arch your hips, his fingers sneaking down to prod at your entrance. With a glance at your face to make sure you're okay with it, he slides one in. 

There's a loud squelch when it sinks in to the last knuckle and you whine in embarrassment. 

He can't resist commenting, “So wet.” 

You whimper, lightly slapping his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckles, leaning up to press his lips against yours as he carefully works you open on that one finger. He presses and prods against your walls, waiting for you to relax so he can slip another one inside you — really prepare you for his cock. 

He presses against your g-spot and it rips a heavenly sound from your lips that only encourages him to do it again. You get wetter and wetter, throbbing and clenching around his middle finger. 

When he decides you're ready, he introduces a second finger. His ring finger easily fits in right alongside his middle. 

“There you go,” he praises, unable to resist looking down to see where his fingers are buried inside you, “That's it, baby, look at you go.” 

You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head when he adjusts his hand. His palm cups over your clit, the angle letting him really grind the tips of those digits right against that gooey little spot inside you. 

He watches the way you cream his fingers, milky colored slick dripping down his knuckles. It makes his mouth water. 

The movements rub his palm over your clit, stimulating the tender little bud and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cry out, moaning and wailing the tighter that cord winds in your tummy. 

You clench and pulse against his fingers, a signal that you're going to cum for him. He works even harder, diligently worshiping your precious cunt until you toss your head back and sob. 

Your body trembles, thighs twitching in time to your walls squeezing around him. He moans with you, watching your pretty body in the throes of pleasure. 

When it becomes too much, you weakly reach down and bat his hand away. He slips his fingers out, watching you clamp your thighs shut. 

As you lay there panting and collecting yourself, he pops his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste, slipping his tongue between them to catch every single drop of sweet cum he can get. 

By the time he finishes off the delicacy, you're watching him with lidded eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“More?” he asks, a crooked grin on his face. You nod and he chuckles, “That looked like a good fuckin’ orgasm. Sure you can handle more?”

“If I can't,” you whisper, sitting up to tug at his belt, “You can make me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to help you open his pants, “Want me to make you take it, baby? Make you cum on my cock until you can't even think?”

“Please, Johnny,” you whimper, not tearing your eyes off the sight of him stripping himself bare. 

His cock was fat and heavy, a thick patch of hair scattering the base with thick, full balls to match. You felt your mouth fill with saliva at the sight of his hand wrapped around his big cock, stroking himself languidly until enough precum had dripped out to slick himself up. 

“Let me hear it again, doll,” his eyes are heavy lidded as he looks at you laid out beneath him, breathless and sweating from the orgasm he’d worked out of you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper, needily reaching your hands out towards him. 

“Shit,” he grunts, “Alright.” 

He scoots closer to you, spreading your legs open for him. Your sticky folds part, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit and clenching hole that’s still drooling your creamy release. 

He slips the tip of his cock through the gooey mess, tapping it meanly against your little bud. Your knees flinch at the stimulation and your jaw drops open when he starts to push inside. 

It burns and you arch your hips away instinctively from the pain. He slips out and curses.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hoisting your hips into his lap with an iron grip. 

“Can’t,” you pitifully whimper. 

Soap clicks his tongue, purses his lips and lewdly spits on your clit. You whine, hands covering your face when he uses his cockhead to smear it all over. 

When he starts to push in again, the burn starts but a rough thumb finds your clit. 

“Shh,” Soap soothes you, watching as the furrow in your brows vanishes. 

He works your clit in tiny circles as he carefully saws his cock in and out of your tight hole, inching a little bit more in every time. Your body grows pliant and soft, slumping against the couch until he finally buries himself to the hilt. 

“Thaaaaat’s it,” he praises, still rolling your hard clit under his thumb, “Good fuckin’ job. Take your reward, sweetheart.” 

He remains completely stuffed inside you, grinding his hips up just a little until he prods at that gooey little spot inside you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he watches your eyes grow wide, a grin stretching across his face.

“C-Cummin’-!” you manage to gasp before you throw your head back. 

He groans, jaw falling open as he works you through the orgasm, rubbing your clit to ease you through every pleasurable wave. It’s only when you reach down, grabbing his wrist to stop him that he ceases. 

“Fuck,” you pant, pupils blown wide as he looks at you coming down. 

“Feels good cumming on cock, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, once again wearing that crooked grin on his face. 

You nod your head, still too fucked out from your orgasm to properly formulate words. He chuckles, carefully pulling back until only the thick head of him remains nestled inside. With a swift, experienced roll of his hips, he stuffs every single inch right back in. 

You wail, grappling haphazardly against his shoulders for stability as he starts to really fuck you. He punches so deep, makes you feel him in your tummy. The friction burns and feels incredible at the same time. 

It feels so fucking good that you can’t stop any of the sounds that are forced from your lungs with every mind-numbingly pleasurable thrust of his cock. You’re soaking him, dripping all creamy down his cock in a way he knows you’ve never done before. No way your own fingers could make you cream like this and he doubts you’ve ever sat this pretty cunt on any stupid toys. 

He groans, grinding against your clit every time he reaches as deep as he can, “Not gonna have shit to sell now, huh?”

You whimper, shaking your head as you stare at him wide eyed, drool dripping over your lips because you can’t close your mouth for even a second. There’s no way for you to quiet yourself, you’re loud, you wear every pleasurable experience on your face with no ability to hide or perform. Every reaction is real and authentic and he loves it. 

“Don’t think I can ever let you go after this, sweetheart,” he coos, slowing his thrusts so you can focus on looking at him, “That alright with you?”

You swallow thickly and shakily nod your head, “O-Only want you, J-Johnny.”

He snorts, sharp canines glinting at the predatory grin he gives you, “You only sayin’ that because you’re got your cunt stuffed full of my cock?”

You whimper at the punishing thrust he gives you, the pain of him battering your cervix making you tremble, “N-No! L-Liked you when I first saw y-you. I-I swear, Johnny. Please!”

“Alright, quit fuckin’ beggin’,” he snaps, leaning out of your reach, making you whine. 

He takes a mean grip of your hips, using just his strength to yank you onto his cock like a fleshlight. You wail, head tossed back against the couch as he really fucks you. Every thrust is too deep but gives you nothing but pleasure. He grinds against your clit every time he sinks in, making sure to also aim for the gooey little spot that gets you creaming around him. His fat, heavy balls slap against your ass every time he stuffs that cock into you. 

It’s all just too much. He should know better, really, treating a little virgin pussy so meanly. You’re too new to this, don’t know how to take such cruel, deep strokes. You’re squeezing tight, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. He can’t stop the moan that tears from his throat at the sight of tears trickling down your cheeks – proof that this is all too much. 

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not when he feels how tight you’re squeezing around him, how much wetter you’re getting as you get closer and closer to what he knows is going to be the best damn orgasm of your life. 

“Cum,” he whispers, shocked at how fucked his voice is from pleasure, “Cum right fuckin’ now.”

“W-Wait, Johnny-!” you wail, feet kicking as you fight against his iron-tight hold on you, “I-It’s…It feels w-wrong!”

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he snarls, easily pinning you to the couch. He folds you up, knees to your chest as he presses his body weight down on you. He can feel the air being forced out of your lungs under the weight, “I said cum.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something. But you can’t get the words you, only whimpers and tears. He doesn’t care what you had to say, though. All he cares about is feeling your tight little cunt cum around him so he can have his own orgasm. 

You still try to fight him from how intense the build up is. You slap against his shoulders, squirm and try to kick him off but he easily holds you down. Even as you fight, you never once tell him to stop. 

After a few, long seconds, he feels it. 

Fuck, does he feel it. 

You gush. It splatters all over his cock and stomach. He curses, slamming into you over and over, every thrust forcing another squirt out of you. You’re sobbing, fat tears falling down your cheeks and you’re moaning the prettiest damn symphony that has ever blessed his ears. 

The orgasm is too much, it’s intense and all consuming. You can’t come down, every time he stuffs you full, your orgasm continues to wash through you. 

“J-Johnny-!” you sob, “N-No more!”

“Fuck!” he snarls, cutting his own orgasm off when he pulls out of you. 

He pushes himself off of you and you curl in on yourself, softly sniffling and shaking in a little ball. He licks his dry lips at the sight of you covered in your own squirt. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he coos, panting and breathy, hoisting you up and into his lap. 

He cradles you in his arms as you’re wracked with trembles and twitches, your nerves zapping through your body from the pleasure. He shushes you, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet from your tears, pupils blown out wide. He clicks his tongue and wipes his thumb underneath to swipe some away. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, “Just get some breaths. Got a little overwhelmed, huh?”

You nod, slumping against him with a sigh when you finally feel like you’re back in your body. Johnny is solid and sweaty beneath you, warm and comfortable as he cups the back of your head and strokes his hand over your body. 

“I-I’ve never um…” you clear your throat, cheeks burning hot.

“Knocked your damn socks off, huh?” he jokes, a crooked smile on his face. 

You giggle, endorphins still rushing through your body. You shift on his lap and catch the pinch in his brow before he can school his expression back into place. You look down, biting your lip at the sight of his cock still hard and twitching, smeared in a creamy mess of your cum.

“Ah, it’ll go down on its own, darlin’,” he assures, no irritation to be seen or heard from him. 

One look in his eyes shows you that he’s perfectly prepared to go without his well-earned orgasm – just for you. 

But you don’t want that, you realize. He had made you feel incredible, given you an orgasm that you’ve never been able to experience in your life. You doubt anyone else will ever be able to make you do it again. 

“I-I want to help, Johnny,” you whisper, trying to swallow down your nerves. 

His brows raise in interest, “What did you have in mind?”

You slide off of his lap and slowly sink to your knees. You place your shaky hands on his thighs to steady yourself, looking up at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. 

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, a breathless, “steamin’ blood Jesus,” following. 

“I-I’ve never done this,” you confess, though he’s not surprised, “Is that okay?”

“Is that-” he laughs softly, “darlin’ any man who isn’t appreciative of you willin’ to swallow his cock is a man you kick in the balls, got that?”

You giggle, nerves dissipating as he wraps a hand around the base of him. You scoot a bit closer when he holds it out for you, waiting for you to do what you please with it. Your tongue falls from your mouth and Soap feels like he’s suspended in air as he watches you get closer and closer to the sensitive, leaky tip. 

The first contact feels better than he could have imagined. He’d gotten so fucking close earlier, buried in your cunt as you came around him, squealing for him and all. He knows it won’t take much to send him over the edge this time. 

Perfect practice for you, he thinks. You won’t have to be on your knees for too long or do any real work to get him to cum for you. 

You’re clumsy and it’s clear you’re unsure about the taste of his cock. It’s not just his precum, it’s your own cum mixed with it. He can’t blame you for being unsure.

He reaches down, a soft, gentle hand resting atop your head to encourage you. When you look up, he smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You suddenly feel like you’re the center of his world. Those baby blues never once waver from you as you sloppily lick and slurp on the tip of him. 

“Take a little more,” he whispers, lashes fluttering and chest rising as he takes a deep breath when you eagerly follow his directions. 

Your pretty lips stretch around the girth of him, taking just the head inside your hot little mouth. The flared glans are greeted by your curious tongue, making him whimper when you lick. Your mixed taste lingers on your tongue but you quickly grow accustomed to it. 

Feeling braver from Johnny’s unfiltered reactions, you take a little more into your mouth. Then more. And a little more until you suddenly choke, gagging around him. You pull your head off, sputtering and coughing a bit. 

Johnny coos at you, thumbing away some drool on your chin, “Not too deep, darlin’. You’re not ready for that.”

You hum, not at all discouraged from taking him back into your mouth again. You don’t take him as deep, accepting that you have your limit – for now, judging by Johnny’s subtle promise of more to come. 

“Just suck, watch your teeth,” he whispers, not caring about the way his voice cracks, “Move your head like this. Go at your own pace, alright?”

You lazily blink up at him, hoping he understands your agreement. You do as you’re told, folding your lips over your teeth to keep them away from his sensitive skin. Bobbing your head feels awkward and it makes your jaw ache but the sounds Johnny begins to make makes you temporarily forget about your own discomfort. 

His eyes are rolling back in his head and he starts to stroke the rest of his cock that your mouth can’t handle yet. You can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of those thick, veiny fingers wrapped around himself, getting covered in a slick mess of your cum that he had so generously fucked out of you earlier. Drooling all over him like this only gives him more of a mess to work with. It’s gross, frothy and dripping down your chin and neck, slicking up your tits.

It makes your cunt tingle selfishly. You think you could make yourself cum, slip your hand between your legs and stroke your clit until you find release. But you don’t – you focus on Johnny and his pleasure. He’d already given you so much that you don’t want to come across as greedy by making his moment about your own pleasure. 

Johnny’s free hand grip around the back of your neck, squeezing and caressing your skin as encouragement since his mouth is too busy moaning. You take his sounds as signals, sucking and moving at whatever pace makes him cry out the loudest. 

You had no idea men like him were willing to be as loud as he was. Usually, the masculine type of guys like him would be online whining about how moaning was ‘gay’ or some stupid shit.

Johnny didn’t seem to give a fuck. If he felt good, he was going to let you know. It made you feel more at ease, like you were doing a good job even though you knew you were still clumsy and it probably didn’t feel as good as head he’s surely gotten in the past. 

But it encouraged you to work harder to please him, to earn more of those beautiful, unfiltered moans that he was so willing to give you. They were your reward for the intense ache in your jaw.

“F-Fuck,” he groans, suddenly, eyes opening from when he had closed them at some point, “I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

His words are slurred, like his brain’s oozed down to his cock, too stupid to think of anything except how heavy and full his balls felt. 

“Shit, shit, shit-!” he whimpers, an honest to god whimper, “Off, pull off!”

You do as you’re told, releasing his cock from your mouth. Strings of frothy drool connect your lips to his tip and you don’t dare break it, the sight making you clench around nothing. 

Johnny strokes his cock, another loud moan erupting from his lips as he cums. It spurts out, splattering against your cheek, making you flinch in surprise. You can see the way his balls throb in time to each rope of cum that his fat cock spits out. More splatters on your cheeks and lips and across your nose until it tapers off to slow, thick oozes that dribble over his knuckles. 

When he lets himself go, he sags against the couch, staring dazedly at the ceiling as his erection flags and grows soft. 

When he finally looks at you, you can see his eyes widen almost in alarm. He leans forward, cupping your cheek, messily swiping some of his cum off of your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, still sounding breathless, “Didn’t think you were gonna get splashed with it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling his cum still lingering on your lips.

You can’t resist sticking your tongue out to taste it. His eyes darken at the sight of you licking up his cum. You don’t make a face of disgust like he expected, instead he catches the way your thighs clench together.

“Is that right?” he mumbles, cock twitching in interest, “Isn’t that an interesting development? You like to taste cum, sweetheart?”

You whimper when he swipes more up onto his thumb, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which you eagerly do. You suck his finger clean until he pulls it back out, pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes look black.

“You ever had that pretty cunt eaten before?” he asks, a predatory grin splitting across his face when you shake your head.

His hand wraps around your throat, ripping a moan out of your throat. He easily manhandles you onto your knees, tits pressed against the cushions of the couch with a nasty “stay.”

You never thought you’d enjoy being manhandled and ordered around like a dog but fuck if you’re not learning more about yourself tonight. 

Soap smacks your thighs apart, and slips his head between them. You take a glance down and nearly choke at the sight of him laying on his back, staring hungrily as you cunt drips gooey, sticky strings right onto his waiting tongue that he holds out for it. 

The sight is so fucking filthy. 

But it’s nothing compared to the sounds he makes when he gets that tongue on your cunt. He slurps between your folds, groaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. He swallows your clit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. 

You’re already a moaning mess, crying out into the cushions which you claw desperately at. Your eyes roll up into your head when you feel him pop your clit out of his mouth, spit on it, and then slurp it right back up. 

He eats so fucking dirty, it’s disgusting and sloppy. But it makes you rut your hips against him. 

Soap chuckles, pulling back to watch you work your hips over nothing before you realize he stopped and whine.

“Fuck yourself on my tongue then,” he whispers, earning him a relenting whimper in response. 

You can feel the flat of his tongue, hot and thick, against your clit. The little bud’s so hard, swollen and pulsing against the muscle. 

With his order ringing in the back of your head, you clumsily hump his tongue. You drag your sensitive little clit back and forth along the surface of his tongue. It feels so fucking good that you actually sob. The sound tears from your chest and makes his cock twitch. 

You rut faster and faster, not caring about the way you’re messing up his face when you move too high or too low. You know there’s a mess on his chin, cheeks and nose but you don’t care. His tongue is there for you, for you to cum all over. He’s so good to you, holding it out just so you can use him as you please. 

As you grow closer and closer, your moans change in pitch and he suddenly reaches up, stilling you. You groan, an irritated sound that makes him laugh. You frown at that but it’s quickly wiped away when he grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can stuff his tongue into your creaming cunt. 

You shout, sitting straight up in surprise, your weight falling onto his face. He moans at that, rewarding you by pushing his tongue even deeper. It feels odd, different from his fingers and his cock. It’s soft and almost slimy, not long enough to quite reach any pleasurable place. 

But just the fact that he’s got his tongue buried in your pussy is enough to have you clenching on it. He watches you through heavy lids, waiting to see what your next move is. 

He’s enjoying your little show, he must admit. He likes seeing a sweet, clumsy virgin experience these things for the first time. He likes the fact he’s breaking you in, tearing your walls down and seeing you lost in mind-numbing pleasure. 

You surprise him by resuming the motion of your hips. You hump back and forth, riding his tongue like it’s a little toy just for you. And he supposes it is, he’d be a toy for you if you so wished. He’s addicted to this sweet, creamy little pussy and he’s not afraid to admit it. 

You reach down, swirling your fingers around your sticky clit. There’s lewd clicks that accompany the movements along with the sound of his tongue sliding in and out of your hole. 

You meet his gaze, he’s staring so intensely at you. It spurs you on, makes you fuck yourself on his face more confidently. 

You tap your fingers against your clit, slapping the little bud and pulling your fingers back to show Soap the sticky strings of slick that connect them to your cunt. He can’t stop himself from reaching down, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off to the sight of you smacking your clit and fucking his tongue. 

You’re pulsing around it, dripping down his face and mixing with the drool that's pooling out of his mouth. His face is a mess, it drips down his cheeks and under his neck. He’s sure there’s a pool beneath his head that will need to be cleaned up and fuck, he’ll lick it from the floor if you let him. Just as long as he gets to taste you again. 

You gasp, tossing your head back. His cock fucking aches, harder than it was before and more sensitive now that he’s already had an orgasm. He knows he’s leaking, drooling sticky precum all over himself like the horny mutt he is. 

You cum spectacularly, twitching and trembling, rubbing your clit and clenching around his tongue. It’s like a reward, swallowing down your cum straight from the source. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and wraps his lips around your clit again. 

You wail, shaking and throwing yourself face down against the couch again. You try to wrench your hips away from his punishing mouth but he wraps his arms around your thighs and continues to slurp and slobber all over that tender little bud. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm tears through you, far too soon after the other. It almost hurts from how sensitive you are through it, not even able to make a sound as it washes over you. 

Only when you’re left twitching and trembling does he finally relent. There’s tears falling out of your eyes and drool dribbling down your chin. The picture of fucked out.

He laughs, folding himself over your back. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

You whimper, “Fuck, you’re so good, Johnny.”

He chuckles, “Think you can take more?”

You eagerly nod your head and he doesn’t waste any time. He sinks his cock into you in one deep thrust. You choke on a moan, arching your back so you can feel him even deeper. 

He doesn’t start slow like he did before. He knows your little cunt is fucked nice and open for him now. You’re still dazed, drunk on endorphins, any attempts to meet his thrusts are sloppy and clumsy. It’s cute so he doesn’t bother stopping you. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders you but doesn’t wait for you to do it. 

Instead, he meanly knocks them apart, opening you up even more. His balls slap against your clit and you wail, the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“There you go,” he laughs, “You liked slapping that little clit earlier. How’s this?”

“So good!” you cry, kicking your feet against the floor as pleasure washes through you. 

You feel like a live wire, every movement forcing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. Soap isn’t far behind you, too sensitive and worked up to draw it out for long. 

He clasps the back of your neck, pinning your face to the cushions as he fucks. He takes and takes, using your sticky, gooey cunt. He’s pounding into you, hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping your clit. 

You can’t even say anything as the orgasm washes over you. He only feels it, the rhythmic clenching of your walls and the gush as you squirt. You’re silent, completely still against the couch as he saws his fat cock in and out, squirt after squirt of cum splattering all over his thighs until he inevitably reaches his own end. 

This time, he fills you up. Seats himself as deeply inside of you as he can before he moans. His cock pathetically spits only a few strings of cum but the orgasm lasts far longer, encouraged along by the clenching of your cunt as you’re coming down. Or maybe you’re still cumming, he’s not sure. 

There’s a faraway look in your eyes, a wet spot of drool underneath your cheek on the cushion of the couch. You’re panting and glistening with sweat. When he pulls out of you, you drop to sit on the floor, the measly load he had given you drooling out of your cunt as it continues to clench and throb around nothing. 

Fuck, he’s never felt so proud to fuck someone brainless before. He knows you’re gonna need a good bath and cozy arms to sleep in. 

And his are the best around, if he does say so himself. 

He kisses up your spine, curling himself around you as you finally start to come back to yourself, pliant and soft. The both of you sit there, holding one another and sharing soft kisses until he decides it’s time to move. 

He’s in no rush, though. He’s wrapped around your finger now and you’re never getting rid of him. 

do not modify, translate, repost, or use for c.ai. reblogs OK!

[mccromy]

The Shen Jiu & Shen Yuan dynamic I need to see more of is Shen Jiu coming to see Shen Yuan as a father figure, perhaps even a mother figure. And not in the way you think.

We are always talking about Shen Yuan's wife beam, but we don't talk about his mommy beam. I think Shen Jiu could resist the wife beam if subjected to it, but I don't believe he has any defense against the mommy beam. Now, I'm not talking about Shen Yuan transmigrating earlier than canon, meeting a child Shen Jiu and adopting him.

I'm talking about Shen Yuan transmigrating after Shen Jiu has already taken over Qing Jin peak. I'm talking about 21 year old Shen Yuan transmigrating into the body of a nameless rogue cultivator, meeting fully grown man already in his thirties Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, and hitting him with his mommy/daddy-issuesinator and causing him a life threatening Qi deviation.

Shen Qingqiu can't help but trust him, and eventually looks up to him, sees him as a wise elder he seeks out for advice. He fucking hates it but he can't help himself. This homeless man he met in the forest is the closest thing he's ever had to a father. Also. He sort of wants Shen Yuan to breastfeed him in a, and he means this, non sexual way and he can't cope with that. He would just feel so safe!!

Shen Yuan, 21 years old, rogue cultivator, first time transmigrator and the father who stepped up, thinks he befriended the scum villain, and maybe? He can be a good influence on him? Be a good friend and guide him towards a fully limbed future. He's practically raising him but nobody tell him that.

Shen Jiu lost his childhood to slavery and his teenage years to violent madmen. and now he's behaving in ways he doesn't understand. He once lost sight of Shen Yuan in the town's market, ran towards a man who looked exactly like Shen Yuan from behind, and almost had a panic attack when the man turned out to be a stranger. It's all good because Shen Yuan found him before he started swinging Xiu Ya ("Have you seen my friend? He's this tall, clearly traumatized, but we haven't had the talk")

People think they're lovers at some point because Shen Jiu is quite possessive of Shen Yuan's attention, but everybody realizes that there's something way more innocent, and also weirder, and worse, going on between them when Shen Yuan drags Shen Qingqiu by the hand to apologize to the sect leader for being so rude when poor A-Yue is trying his best, and stands there with arms crossed, eyebrows raised, until Shen Qingqiu mumbles an apology, glances at Shen Yuan, and runs away.

"I'm sorry about that, Sect Leader Yue, he's had a bad day. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Yue Qingyuan, someone who did actually sort of raise Shen Qingqiu, who's stood in Shen Yuan's shoes before, extracting reluctant apologies from a sullen Shen Jiu, to authority figures so he wouldn't get in trouble, is overcome by an intense, never before experienced wave of jealousy, so sudden it makes him spit vinegar flavored blood.

Then, a panicked Shen Yuan accidentally hits him with the mommy beam by accidentally adopting him (trying to befriend this guy who clearly needs a friend he can confide in!). And now he's placed himself in the young step-mom role who's desperately trying to bond with her new husband's teenage children but they're wired to not like her! (He used those exact words when explaining to Shang Qinghua where that new tension he has with the Sect Leader came from)

Liu Qingge is afraid of him. Maybe. He runs away when their eyes meet but he keeps leaving dead things at his feet so like, he's probably threatening him? He feels intimidated by him? Or something?

(Liu Qingge thinks Shen Qingqiu's older brother is so cool and really wants to hang out with him, but if Shen Yuan calls him Didi one more time Liu Qingge's barely held back "Yes, Gege?" Is going to jump out of his mouth and he WILL Qi deviate and EXPLODE)

When Binghe enters the equation shit gets a lot weirder.

First, he believes Shen Yuan to be Shen Qingqiu's neglected spouse (Shizun keeps leaving his poor wife alone when he goes out on night hunts and to visit brothels! Shen Yuan has needs!! He should be with someone who cherished him!! Someone who would treat him as he deserves to be treated, someone who'd wait hand and foot on him!!!) needless to say, Luo Binghe's teenage fantasies take on an even more illicit turn than in canon (it goes from "STERN TEACHER POUNDED BY STUDENT AT BAIZHAN TRAINING GROUNDS" to "NEGLECTED WIFE CHEATS WITH STUDENT ON HUSBAND'S BED!! IMPREGNATED WHILE HUSBAND IS AWAY")

Luo Binghe, of course, does his best to seduce him, but ends up being coddled and cuddled.

"it's like I'm his handmaiden, his shadow, the only witness to my lady's heartbreak at her husband's cold regard and indiscretions. Shizun won't spare him a moment if not to discuss cultivation or business! He won't allow Shen Yuan more than a head pat! and move away from any other touch! How ungrateful! They don't even share a bed! I brush his hair, I dress him every morning, I pour him tea and he lets me rest my weary head on his lap. The intimacy we share is not sexual, but Ning-Shijie, I wish it was! I saw the outline of his dick yesterday and I need it!"

"A-Luo please stop talking."

Then, he realizes he misunderstood. Shen Yuan is a cultivator so of course he looks so young! Shen Yuan is clearly Shen Qingqiu's father. He's constantly worried for his un-filial son and remains by his side!! That explains everything!!!(LONELY DILF RIDES YOUNG MAN ON QING JING'S LIBRARY!! HE WISHES YOUNG MAN WAS HIS SON!!!!)

He goes from trying to steal Shen Qingqiu's wife to steal his father. He could be Shen Yuan's friend, lover, and son. His student. His confidant. His silly rabbit.

Shen Qingqiu KNOWS this. But nobody will fucking believe him!! The jiejies at the pavilion giggle and tell him he must be exaggerating, and when he went to Yue Qingyuan so he could intervene and fix it, Yue Qi just looked at him dead eyed and said to "Let him." !!! Let him what?? Deflower our father Qi-Ge??? Shame on you!! That beast is trying to break this family apart!!

But wait!!! look!!! a crack opened in the fabric of space and reality, leading directly to hell. Wouldn't it be a shame if someone were to, accidentally, drop kick this homewrecker inside it?

Luo Binghe is gone when Shen Qingqiu realizes oh wait, that was a demon mark on his forehead wasn't it. Oh good, now he has an excuse. Baba will understand.

(Baba doesn't understand. Baba acts as if he's lost his soul and won't look him in the eye. He's also growing mushrooms bodies in the garden, and added a drop of Shen Qingqiu's blood in the seeds before planting? Which is odd. but at least if he's gardening then he's not staring at that swordmound for hours on end)

I don't even know where I'm going with this