#fucking dies and rots. for attention .

[cetoddle-archive]

what’s a girl gotta do to get some fucking attention btw. kill herself ???

[nyxiswrites1200]

🩵𝑺𝒂𝒎'𝒔 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍🩵

Sam Winchester x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Crushing, friends to lovers, pet names, Sexual tension, Mellow sexual thoughts, Size kink, p in v, nipple play, multiple rounds, oral sex, praise kink, aftercare

Mentions: She/her reader pronouns, Reader wears a skirt, Reader is implied to be shorter than Sam, Imagining early seasons Sam, Dean is present

"In a world of boys, he's a gentleman"

AN: uhh I know I died for like a month but supernatural brain rot is incoming. Sam girl for life <3 anyhow, happy holidays loves. This is so self-indulging, sorry babes.

----

Sam Winchester is an awkward man. He's so respectful he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes. But don't mistake his sweet attitude for a lack of attraction.

When you bend over to pick his book up off the floor for him, he notices your skirt sliding up your thighs. He quickly looks away as he runs a hand through the back of his messy brown hair.

Sam always opens the door of the Impala for you when you join him and Dean on road trips. He notices the way you let your hand brush over his arm as you help yourself into the car. Dean just lets out a small laugh as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Sam watches you saunter around the motel room in his shirt. Under the claim that 'it's just more comfortable'. He loves the way your figure is swallowed up by his larger clothes.

Sometimes it was almost degrading how respectful he was. In truth, you were trying to get his attention. To catch him peaking under your skirt, getting hard from seeing you in his shirt, or him finally being pushed over the edge by your 'discreet' affectionate touches. You swore you were gonna have to climb in his lap and say "fuck me" for him to actually do it.

In truth, Sam wasn't oblivious to what you wanted. Rather he was too kind to give it to you. He thought you were so precious that he needed to deny you. Sleeping with you would be too personal, too intimate and he wouldn't be able to let go of you after.

Dean let out a small laugh, Sam and him were alone in the hotel room while you went to go get dinner for the three. "What, Dean?" Sam asked in his partially sassy attitude as he read through his book. "Nothing nothing...it's just funny watching her pawn for you. Think you might be hurtin' her feelings." Dean smirked as he looked over at his little brother. Sam sighed in response, knowing he could only be talking about you. "I'm not that stupid, I know what she wants...I just..." he ran a hand through his hair "I don't think I should". "Sammy" Dean inquires "Look, she knows what we do. She hasn't gone running yet and she's perfectly human, there's nothing dangerous about that girl" he chuckles. "I know you're afraid because of what happened but...I think this might be something worth risking".

Sam let Dean's words simmer in his thoughts all night. For once he might actually agree with his older brother.

The next night you and Sam were alone. You finally spilled, being brutally honest. Sam watched with a bit of shock as you admitted how you'd be pawning for him. All your actions had a purpose and how bad you wanted to be his girlfriend. You almost wanted to cry with how emotionally overwhelmed this made you trying to explain yourself.

"Lovely, I'm sorry..." Sam stands as he cups your cheek and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. "I know you want me but I was being selfish because I know if I...indulge myself in you, I won't be able to let you go ever again." he explained, his voice was so gentle and his eyes reminded you of a puppy with the way he looked at you. "Maybe...I'm a little selfish too" you chime in "I just...I wanna be yours so bad that I don't really care what happens".

Those words alone tumbled the tension between both of you over the edge. Sam's kisses were soft then heated and needy. He had you pushed against the motel wall while both of you discarded your clothes. His larger figure covered you as he kissed you desperately. His hands engulfed your hips as he gripped them.

Once you two were on the bed, his hands fondled your breasts, teasing your nipples between his fingers. His chest pressed into your back as he kissed along your neck. You reached back to tangle a hand into his hair.

Sam was so sweet but he was a fucking god in bed. He knew exactly where to kiss, fondle, and tease. Nothing but deeply slurred words of "How does that feel?", "You okay?", "Taking me so well, lovely", and "Good girl...". You went three rounds with him...

He rubbed your clit and toyed with your nipples, leaving kisses and sucking up your neck. You came on his fingers, feeling him stretch you open. You wanted to watch his strong hands fuck into you so bad.

He nestled himself between your thighs. His tongue lapping up your first orgasm. You watched as you tugged on his hair, noticing the dominant look in his eyes. His hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread as you squirmed beneath him. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked on it until he fucked his tongue inside you while you came again.

Then finally he fills you with his cock, only after making sure you were okay. He had you stuffed to the brim, grunts and moans leaving him with each thrust. He pressed his forehead against yours as he kissed your cervix with the tip of his dick.

When you came for a third time, he let you ride your high until he pulled out and finished on your stomach. A gentleman as always, not stuffing you with his cum on the first night. Even if you wouldn't have minded.

Sam carefully cleaned you up in the bath. Warm water envelops you both. He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder and gently rubbed your side as he cleaned you up. His actions are no longer lustful, this was just affectionate. "Did you enjoy yourself? Wasn't too much?" he asked softly, his expression back to looking like a puppy. "I'm fine, Sammy. It was perfect..." You smiled and kissed him softly.

[zeedist]

MAD AT HIM .ᐟ — ALHAITHAM

when you're angry at him : summary: you're mad at him. he wants to die. that's it. sfw !! fem!reader x alhaitham, academic setting, several mentions of "i want to die" but playfully [i am not sure if that should be warned, but now you know] word count: 1.2k proofread: yup.

“Hey, Alhaitham,” the blond calls for him. Kaveh squints his carmine eyes, looking at his usually collected friend spilled on the table, head buried in his arms. He forms a question —though it lingers more in him being weirded out rather than worried, “Are you sick?”

He hums. He feels sick. 

“Yeah,” the gray-haired agrees. With a tilt of his head, Cyno calmly remarks, “You look like shit.” 

He grumbles. He feels like shit.

Elongated black ears perk up and twitch the slightest, interest peaking at his clearly disheveled state as Tighnari agrees, “Yeah, you look like you are about to die.” 

He doesn’t make a sound. He feels like he is about to die.

Eyeing him sideways while placing down a card, the dark-haired ventures to ask, “Did you mess with that weird rat you showed me last time?”

He lets out an offended pff. Like hell he was stupid enough to touch that fucked up rat —one that you, in the kindness of your heart, took in to heal and take care of; and one he couldn’t wait to chug back into the wild. Seriously, that thing was weird. 

“Of course not,” Tighnari reads through his muffled sound, guessing again, “You caught a cold?”

“That would be a first,” Cyno remarks as he makes his move, chuckling with satisfaction when the blond complains before taking four more cards from the deck. 

“Gah, I was so close to winning,” Kaveh grumbles as he organizes his cards, settling them down. Without resistance, he takes the deck from the miserable man’s hand and plays his turn for him. After double blocking the other two, he smiles smugly and returns to his own deck. Only then does he add to their conversation, joking lightly, “It isn’t like the world is ending, or like your girl is breaking up with you, so what makes you like this?” 

Alhaitham makes a sound between laughter and crying. The first thing is happening currently. And if the second ever became a reality, he would have been on raw knees begging for a second chance or he would be digging a hole to bury himself alive in. Maybe both, in that order. 

The other three continue their game —taking turns to play his part—, trying to nudge a response out of him with questions and little jokes. After several attempts and only receiving incoherent and downcast grumbles as a reply, they gave up on trying to make him speak it out. Minutes smoothly pass, the round ending with Kaveh holding half of the deck. Their conversation starts drifting from their days to their current projects, still trying to rope in Alhaitham with questions he only shook his head to. In the end, it’s Tighnari that carries the dialogue, sharing about a research that he is carrying out about a newly discovered sub-species of a fungi. 

And it isn’t that he’s arrogant or an attention-seeker, Alhaitham simply can’t place the turmoil inside of him with words. How is he even supposed to explain the pit in his stomach right now? 

His entire existence [you] crumbles into dust, disintegrating like fragile debris slipping through weakened fingers [ignoring him] as if the universe itself is conspiring to forsake him. All because of one unforgivable misstep —a moment of tragic weakness when exhaustion claimed him [he dozed off in the library when he was supposed to meet up with you] and made him fail you. Now, the very foundation of his world is unraveling, rotting from the core, decaying into nothingness beneath the weight of his regret. 

He decays. He rots. He hopes he dies. 

Only when Tighnari comments to him that he should bring you along to hear to his presentation, Alhaitham lifts his head, hands dragging across his face as he mumbles out with a hoarse voice, “She is upset at me. I think I should go die now.” 

“Oh, what did you do?” Kaveh asks, sincerely worried now. Though his hands keep mixing the deck of cards, preparing to deal them for another round. 

“I didn’t sleep at all last night and passed out when I was supposed to see her,” he replies, sounding so miserable even he cringes at his own roughened voice. But he continues, knot on his throat as he grimaces, “And now she won’t even reply to my messages.” 

“Oh shit,” Cyno comments, very helpfully. 

“Have you tried looking for her?” Tighnari offers, very helpfully. His brows are furrowed, but he doesn’t exactly look panicked, “I am sure she will understand if you apologize sincerely.”

“I left her waiting for so long,” Alhaitham sighs, heavy and annoyed with himself, flopping his head back down to the table and lamenting, “And I never showed up. I want to die.”

“If you do, can I perhaps keep your body for study purposes—”

“Cyno!”

“What? I can't stop him, look at him, Nari.” 

The ever composed student with a straight posture and grades, slumped and sulking as if he prayed the ground would split and swallow him straight to hell. Time doesn’t allow him too much of his self-hating session, though, as the break reaches its end and the shattering sound of bells ringing throughout the cafeteria announces it. 

Kaveh sighs as he gathers the cards he just dealt back into their deck —an elegant way to refer to the barely-holding together package it originally came with. It now held on masking tape and their suffering. He stuffs the item inside his briefcase, locking it with a click before he stands up. With a low sigh, he offers his miserable friend a pat in the shoulder, “It’ll be okay, you guys will talk it out. Gotta go now, my professor will skin me alive if I arrive late again. See ya!”

Alhaitham manages to murmur a goodbye right as the blond waves and runs away. Always rushing, always late. Tighnari found this amusing again, chuckling at that as he collects their trash from the table to throw away on his way out. With a pat on the shoulder and a gentle smile, he tries to reassure him with, “It’s not unfixable. Think it out and apologize.” 

He thanks him for his sincere words, though his chest stirs with an unhappy feeling. It isn’t fear, he isn’t afraid. Your relationship had been going strong since the first moment, steadily growing closer with everyday you spent together. He trusts you, trusts the bond you share. He can say he loves you now. Which is precisely why it breaks his heard so much to fail you like this. 

Cyno watches him returning to his sulking form, sighing heavily while brushing his hand through faded locks. He’s torn, not knowing exactly how to comfort or advise him, so he does what he can. With a nudge to his arm, he asks, “Want me to walk you to your next lesson?”

Alhaitham remains silent for a second, before grumbling, “The love of my life is mad at me. I’ll die now, thank you.” 

[lovebugism]

❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜“i cant live without you” “don’t die on me, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet” “i lied i never hated you”

eddie x reader enemies to lovers 🥹🥹

pls enjoy this absolute heartache of a fic :D — you and eddie hate each other until he almost dies (angst, enemies to lovers, cw for mentions of gore, 1.1k)

“Wanna make out?” Eddie had asked you, some hours ago now, when you first arrived at the Upside Down version of Skull Rock. You’d just narrowly survived a gang of demobats, and the stale air smelled distinctly of copper pennies. He managed a smug smile anyway. “I mean, we might as well. Looks like we’re gonna die out here, anyway.”

You scoffed and rolled your tired eyes. The annoyance you felt for him then momentarily distracted you from the fear swirling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d rather,” you’d quipped.

You feel a little like you’ve prophesized something now.

Eddie bleeds out in your arms with a hundred little bites on his stomach that were supposed to be yours. He’d distracted the circling demobats when you twisted your ankle, too hurt to run away. And now he’s dying. And it’s all your goddamn fault.

You sit with him while Dustin rushes into the Creel House, in search of help from the older crew. You watch him attentively over your shoulder until he disappears behind the rotted front door. When you turn back to Eddie, you find his eyes have fluttered shut.

“Eddie—” you call for him, clearing your throat when it comes out garbled. “Eddie! Hey!”

“Hm…” he hums tiredly in response, eyes still shut.

You sigh with the subtle relief that he’s not dead. The breath catches in your chest. You try to fight away the panic attack clawing behind your ribcage, even though it makes everything around you seem more and more distant. You try to stay as present as you can despite the horrors swimming all around you — for Eddie The Freak Munson.

“You have to stay awake,” you tell him, voice thick with emotion. “Open your eyes.”

“I’m just… I feel a little tired right now,” he mumbles, slurring slightly. 

Your chest wrenches. He’s getting paler and paler by the minute. The tourniquet you made from the bottom half of your shirt is now soaked with deep red blood. Panic burns a wildfire in your chest because you’ve done everything you could think to do. 

You can’t lose him. That’s all you’re telling yourself now. You can’t lose him, you can’t lose him, you can’t lose him.

“I don’t care. Keep your eyes open, alright?”  Your heart wrenches again, with something short of hope this time, when Eddie’s eyes flutter open. They’re glassy and dilated, but the deep chocolate of them hasn’t changed. You muster a small smile. “There you go, Eds. There you go— Now, just keep talking to me, okay? Keep talking.”

“I’m tired,” he mutters under his breath, too weak to do anything more.

Your face screws together as you choke back a sob. You swallow down every instinct to cry. You’ll cry when this is over, you tell yourself, when Eddie’s safe and back in Hawkins.

“I know, Eddie. I know,” you babble through stinging tears. “But you gotta— you gotta keep talking, alright? It’ll help you stay awake. And I need you to… I need you to stay awake for me, okay?”

He nods. At least, you think he’s nodding, because the movement is terribly faint. 

His eyes fall shut again. You feel the loss of his melted chocolate gaze like a stab in the chest. Your hand grips his jaw, a little less than gentle.

“Eddie,” you bite through gritted teeth.

“Mm…”

“If you die, I swear to god, I will fucking kill you.”

The familiarity of your aggression reminds him of home. He opens his eyes and cracks a small, barely-there smile. Blood glistens on his mouth. “I thought you hated me?” he slurs in an inaudible mumble.

“I do,” you tell him without thinking twice, laughing through the sob in your throat. “But I’ll love the shit outta you if we make it out of here together.”

Together, you say, because either both of you make it out or neither of you do. 

His grin widens softly, chapped and lopsided. “Metal,” he murmurs.

A whimper sounds in your throat when his eyes flutter shut again. “Eddie…”

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, breathing sharply through his nose. 

It’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. You can tell by the harsh rise and fall of his chest. There’s little oxygen getting to his brain, accompanied by the weeping bites on his stomach— where the fuck is Dustin Henderson?

“I don’t know if I…. If I’m gonna make it outta here, babe…”

Your chest tightens. He only ever called you babe to piss you off. You wonder if he’s still being the annoying asshole you knew back home or if the term of endearment is too engrained in his head.

“Don’t say that.”

“If I don’t—”

“Eddie.”

“If I don’t make it out,” he repeats, sterner this time. He drags a sharp breath in and opens his eyes, just barely. “I want you to know that I never… I never hated you… ‘M just a liar… And a total fucking coward…”

“You can make it up to me when we get back home, okay? You just gotta stay awake.”

His lip quirks into a faint, crooked smile. “I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you since ninth grade… Did you know that?”

“I know,” you nod with an emotional laugh.

“I did make it kinda obvious, didn’t I?”

“You can kiss me when you get better. I swear.”

Eddie nods. You feel him grow heavier and heavier in your arms. His smug smile starts to fade, and you panic. “Eddie? Eddie, don’t— don’t die on me, okay? Please. We haven’t— We haven’t gotten to the good part yet, asshole. You have to stay awake.”

You shift him in your arms, trying to sit him up more when he slumps. He does little to fight you. He doesn’t have the strength to anymore.

“‘M sorry, babe,” you hear him whisper.

“No— No, don’t— Don’t fucking say that,” you scold bitterly, less angry at him and more at the rest of the world. It should’ve been you lying here, after all, not him. You’d trade places in a heartbeat if you could. “You can’t die, you asshole! How am I supposed to— fucking— keep going without you annoying the living shit outta me?”

“Henderson’ll annoy you for the both of us,” he manages to joke as life spills from the weeping wounds on his stomach.

“Fuck that. It’s not the same— I need you, Eddie. I need you, okay? I can’t— I can’t fucking live without you,” you cry over his pale, bloodied body.

You hear yelling and a set of rushed footsteps. “Eddie!” Dustin calls as he dashes down the decrepit porch steps of the old home — with Steve, Nancy, and Robin following close behind.

The sight of them makes you sigh. Your chest starts to sparkle with a hope you’d thought you lost — damn near aching when Eddie’s glassy eyes flutter open once more. 

The fucker grins weakly up at you. “I knew you had a crush on me, babe.”

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes Chapter 6

masterpost

“Have you experienced events that could be described as fatal?” Danny read from his notebook. Before Jason could answer he continued, “Do you know the name and species of all your progenitors? Have you ever wondered if you are-” 

Jason held a hand up to ask for silence. He was in the zone on a training module that Barbie had sent to the whole team. He was not going to get any more shit from fucking Tim and Stephanie about being an out of touch old man like Bruce who ran code directly from the 90s.

Danny cut himself off to wait. Without looking up, Jason could see some kind of bouncing movement that had to be Danny fidgeting. “You’re early,” Jason eventually said. He shut the program that he’d been running and then blinked his full attention over to his date. “It’s not- is it 5 already?” He blinked away the gumminess in his eyes and checked the time. 

Danny flushed a little green. His freckles glowed a little whiter in contrast. “No, it’s 4:30,” he admitted sheepishly. “I, uh, left work a little early.” He floated up and then abruptly over into a flip. Like an antsy mermaid. Jason leaned back and watched, fascinated by how easy movement looked on Danny. It was the way he’d used to see Dick, but now he knew how hard Dick’s easy mobility was earned.

“You don’t feel gravity at all, do you?” He confirmed, envious and charmed. 

“Uhh.. Can’t say that I do,” Danny admitted. He shrugged. “Not like this, anyway. I do in my human body, obviously.”

“Is that literally-” Jason cut himself off with a mortified flush. Holy shit. You can’t just ask someone if they have a magical transformation into their own corpse. Insensitive much?

Danny gave him a knowing look but gracefully ignored the question. “Anyway. Do you remember what I asked earlier?” He cocked his head to the side and full body wiggled. “I had Frostbite help me write them out. Undead health isn’t really my area, but he knows everything that’s ever been known, which is pretty cool.”

“Uh…” Jason thought back. “I told you when we were eating that I died once,” he reminded Danny with a raised eyebrow. “So that’s an easy yes.”

Danny shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know how serious you were or if you were describing something extremely short term like needing afib or something longer term-”

“Dead, buried, in the ground for months,” Jason admitted. “Presumably rotted, but I came back to myself with living human physiology, if extremely damaged from what killed me.” It was really gross to think about. It was also impossible to totally avoid. There should have been no coming back from all the blood drying up and shit.

Danny stared at him with an open mouth for a few seconds. Long enough that Jason fidgeted, uncomfortable.

“That’s the most metal shit I’ve ever heard in my life,” Danny said reverentially. “That’s so nasty, man. You rotted? Does this make me more of a necrophiliac than you?”

Jason choked on his own spit.

Danny did another flip.

“My parents were definitely human,” Jason managed, voice strangled. Best to get this back on topic. “I know for sure. I’ve met them both.”

Danny blew a raspberry. “It’s not always obvious,” he pointed out 

“Anything that would show up on Batman’s DNA analysis can be ruled out,” Jason corrected himself. “And neither of them had any non-human capabilities. Died from things that a Tamaraean or Kryptonian would be able to get out of.” 

“...Oddly specific species mentions,” Danny said. A line formed between his brows. His toes touched down to earth and he crossed his arms. “You… I wasn’t thinking of that type of non-human.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that, you touched Wolf.”

“And a Kryptonisn wouldn’t be able to?” Jason asked a bit dryly. He didn’t understand the logic.

“Not unless they were really juicy with death,” Danny said in a weirdly mellow tone for such a disgusting sentence.

Jason gagged a little. He couldn’t help it. Oh, christ. Yeah, bodies got wet and shit after a while, but characterizing that as juicy? That was out of line.

“Not like- not like that!” Danny fluttered his hands at Jason, torn between horror and cackling. “I don’t mean like, dead and rotting. I mean dead and reanimated with ectoplasm. Souped with the sweet nectar of the afterlife. Wolf is a ghost, man.” He snickered.

“Wolf is a ghost,” Jason repeated.

Danny frowned. “Wolf,” he said. “Not Wolf.”

“What?” They sounded the same.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Danny said, saying the name the exact same way that Jason had been. “It’s Wolf, not Wolf.”

Jason stared at him warily. “...Spell it for me.”

“W-U-L-F,”  Danny rattled.

Ah. Ok. Jason took that onboard. “Wulf is a ghost,” he said again. “And therefore I ought not be able to touch him. I can touch you.”

“Like this? For sure.” Danny went through his flashbang light-show and shook out his newly black hair. “I’m a physical being. In my ghost form, I can consciously let you touch me. But Wulf was actively in the Ghost Zone when you hit him. You put your hand into the Ghost Zone and smacked him. The living have ghostly properties in the Ghost Zone. He’s tangible there but you should have been intangible.”

“...Maybe I’m a ghost?” Jason posited, cocking his head slightly as he said it. Danny was the expert. “I never found any answer for why I just woke up in my grave one day.”

“You just woke up?” Danny repeated, delighted. He put his hands on his face, breathed into them heavily, and then ran both hands through his hair. “That’s sick. That’s fucking sick, man. Did you have to dig yourself out like a zombie?”

…Did Danny think this was like, hot, and not disturbing? “Tore off my fingernails on the coffin splinters,” Jason confirmed, fascinated with what a little freak this guy was. Danny’s pupil dilated at the words. Jason could almost have been offended because that shit was traumatic, but hey. 

If he really thought about it. It was sick as fuck.

“I think yes, by the way,” Jason decided. He waited for Danny to give him a questioning look  before he elaborated. “You’re a monsterfucker, my guy. I’m attracted to you, but not because you’re dead. Whereas you’re clearly into the fact that I’m a dead guy.” 

Danny opened his mouth. He shut it. He put a hand over his mouth. “Huh,” he said. “Huh.” His brow furrowed. “If I said it was scientific curiosity and that passion for death runs in my family- no, I hear it.” He flapped a hand at Jason to cut off the laugh he couldn’t stop. “Hush. Okay. Fine.” He stood up a little straighter. “I’m a necrophiliac and I’m proud.”

A window banged shut in the kitchen and there was a clatter as someone’s shitty little brother fell into the sink.

“...Hi, Duke!” Danny called.

Jason put his hand over his face.

“Hi, Danny!” Duke called back, voice choked. “Good to hear from you, man.”

“You can’t fucking be here!” Jason said between his fingers. “I have plans, you shitty Zebra mussel.”

Danny looked at him.

“...What?” Duke asked. He came into the room to frown at Jason.

Jason rolled his eyes. “New Zealand mud snail.” They still didn’t get it. “Spotted lantern fly.” 

Blank stares.

“Fucksake,” said Jason. “I’m calling you an invasive species.”

Danny laughed. Duke made a loud pffft sound and unlocked his phone. He held it up and showed them the screen. “Would the New Zealand zebra lantern fly have this?” He triumphantly brandished his phone screen, which was a screenshot of his chat with Jason where he’d confirmed that he had permission to come over.

“New Zealand zebra lantern fly,” Jason repeated, vexed as fuck. “You know damn well-”

“It checks out, boss,” Danny reported, leaning back from Duke’s phone. “Looks like he’s allowed in. Let ‘im use your TV while we go out.”

“Yeah, let me use your TV while you go on a date,” Duke echoed, clearly enjoying this a lot.

“...I’ll get my coat,” Jason said sullenly. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“We’ll bring you back dinner,” Danny told Duke.

Jason stalked away into his bedroom, wondering when he’d lost the plot to his own life.

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 5

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: finally, you’re completely, and utterly, alone. but not for long.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, throwing objects, swearing, breakup, displacement, tooth-rotting fluff

author’s note: seatbelts on please

What woke you the next morning was not heavy, thick arms leaden with muscles, or kisses pressed to your temple with full lips that were curved up into a gentle, tired smile, but rather the alarming buzz of your phone right beside your head. Your eyes opened to stare at the little black box sitting on your pillow inches from your face, the screen bright with an alert that commanded your attention. Grumbling into the pillow and throwing your leg over the empty space beside you, not giving much attention to the fact that your boyfriend should have been there, you grabbed blindly at the phone and brought it to your face.

What you saw pulled you straight from whatever bleariness held you captive.

News stations, shaky cell phone footage, helicopter captures - they all showed the same thing all across every social platform available. An apartment building in Brooklyn had been… well. You didn’t quite know what to call it. Neither did anyone else. The structure of the building had been changed entirely, the very foundation rocked to its core. Floors had been tilted sideways in gravity-defying angles, graffiti no one could decipher had been sprayed and inked along its uneven walls. And to everyone’s horror, the walls and windows and roof seemed to all be glitching, like a television caught between channels. It shook and jumped when officials came too close, threatening to move by itself again and swallow them whole.

No one knew quite what to do. They were calling it a feat of a new villain, the work of a molecular mastermind.

You tapped a news coverage of the strange building, now wide awake and all the sleep cleared from your eyes. The video began to load, that gray little circle swirling around and around… before your phone died and the screen went black.

Releasing a long, growl-like groan of exasperation, you angrily clawed at your charger and plugged your phone in. You tossed off your covers and rubbed at your eye with the palm of your hand, attempting to run through your day. It was some minor holiday - you couldn’t remember which - so school was out, and you had today off from the club, so you were free to do as you wished.

Well, as you sort of wished. Grocery shopping, cleaning the apartment, doing laundry… since god knew Ferris didn’t do any of it.

Your attention was drawn to the front room of the apartment when you heard the door open and closed, followed by a pair of voices. One, you recognized. The other, you did not. Following the soft murmurs and laughter into the main room, you found Ferris and his new keyboard player leaning against the kitchen counter, passing your jug of milk back and forth between them. The girl spotted you standing in the doorway first, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you watching them like a predator who had cornered two rabbits who were too stupid to be paying attention. She set the jug down on the counter and plastered on a small smile.

“Hi,” she said and waved a hand in your direction.

Ferris glanced up, following her gaze, and almost seemed to stop himself from jumping when he caught your slitted eyes watching him. He reached up to wipe at his lip with his sleeve, clearing his throat. “Hey, babe,” he said, but there was no kind of affection in his tone. It was all guilt and regret for being caught in what he seemed to think was a furtive meet up with his new fucking keyboard player.

As you stared at the two, as you stared at your half-emptied jug of milk sitting on the counter, you felt your chest tightening more and more until there was hardly any room left for you to breathe. Your blood was frozen in your veins, flooding your body with a chilly kind of fire. Every single fiber of your being was alight, fueling the fire that had sparked to life in your chest.

A part of you wanted to play dumb. A part of you wanted to pretend you had no idea what this was, go along with whatever kind of game he was playing because, if you didn’t, you’d be alone.

But that other part of you, that bigger, hulking, furious part of you knew you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t play this part any longer, couldn’t memorize this script while you were also the one writing it and directing the whole show. This stupid fucking costume didn’t fit anymore. The stage wasn’t set any longer.

The show was fucking over.

Like she was sensing the oncoming storm brewing in your home, the girl shuffled on her feet toward the door. “I think I’ll just show myself out,” she said. She started to say goodbye to your boyfriend, beginning to raise a hand, before she caught the dangerous gleam in your eye and slipped out without another word.

As soon as she left, you crossed the room into the kitchen. Ferris regarded you with an unreadable expression. You thought that, maybe, a bit of that furrowed brow was guilt. Fear. You liked the idea of him being afraid of you. But you didn’t allow yourself to indulge in such a thought. For now, all that you could think of was this rage building and building in your throat. That - and the fucking dishes in the sink.

A couple of plates, a few spoons, and a fork. Stuck for days in this porcelain bowl while the dishes in the washer got themselves dirty again.

All this time. All this… effort. And for what? Nothing but a couple dishes left in the sink and this fire growing in your belly.

From behind you, Ferris shuffled himself awkwardly and swallowed thick. “I, uh… I thought you’d already left for work.”

You pursed your lips, feeling tears prod at the corners of your eyes as you stared at the faucet. Silently, you took the deepest breath you could, brought up every ounce of courage that you found within yourself.

You didn’t care if you were going to be alone anymore. You just wanted this to be over.

“I am so fucking done with you.”

For a long, long while, there was only the sound of silence in your apartment. Downstairs a few flights, a dog barked madly. Outside, car horns blared. Thunder rolled in the distance, bringing with it the promise of pouring rain and lightning that would light the sky alight with a fire unmatched.

Ferris said, “What?”

“I said - “ You reached into the skin and grabbed one of the plates, your fingers dipping into the water gathered at the bottom, then spun around on your heel and launched it directly at his head. “I’M DONE WITH YOU!”

He just barely dodged the projectile, his gaze swinging around with it as it sailed through the air and shattered into thousands of pieces against the wall. They scattered like bullet casings, twisting about your bare feet.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouted, lifting a foot to stare at the pieces. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You picked your way across the tile floor, tiptoeing around the glinting shards, then jumped into the hallway and stormed back toward the bedroom. As you threw the door open all the way, surely leaving a dent in your wall, you heard him following you.

You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t give a fuck.

As rain droplets began to tick against your windows, you heaved the closet door open, grabbed a pile of his clothes from his side, and tossed them out onto the floor. A number of his shoes followed, dropping limply to the hardwood as you continued to scrounge for more of his belongings.

Ferris grabbed onto the door frame as he came to a stop before you, watching with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as you emptied your closet of his things. “Hey, hey, hey! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Once you were satisfied you’d gotten everything from the closest, you stalked over to his side of the bed and began to rip everything out of its place. His phone charger, his nightstand trinkets, everything that looked and smelled and seemed like him.

His hand came from behind to grab your shoulder, and before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself around and smacked him hard across the face. Before he had a chance to react, to even raise a hand to his cheek, you felt tears spill down your cheeks as you yelled, “Get out! I want you out!”

“Oh, come on, nothing was going to happen -”

“Oh!” you shouted, then stormed past him, out from the bedroom, and into the hallway. He followed close behind, watching as you grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung over the back of the couch and tossed it to the floor. “You’re so fucking stupid, Ferris, you don’t - You don’t get it!”

He stopped you as you made to head for the bathroom next, holding you by your shoulders so tight your skin ached and his knuckles paled. “What?” he demanded, sporting a fleshy red mark on his face where you’d struck him. “Don’t fucking get what?”

“Everything!” you howled, feeling as tears cascaded down your cheeks to your chin. From there, they traveled down your neck and to your collar. “Fucking everything, Ferris! The way you bring people into our home, the way you never help with the bills, the - Jesus, the FUCKING DISHES IN THE SINK! Would it kill you to put away the fucking dishes?!” Ripping yourself from his hold, you reached up to weakly wipe at your tears. “I gave you so many chances, so many. So many signs…! And you never saw them. You never fucking saw them. So I’m giving you one now that you won’t be able to miss. Get. Out.”

For a long moment, Ferris only stared at you. You weren’t able to identify the expression playing his features, but it certainly was not the one that always stared you down on the regular. And you basked in it. Then suddenly he was moving, grasping your shoulders, coming close enough to show that his bottom lip was quivering. Normally you would have wrapped him up in a hug, held him close.

But now you wanted him as far away from you as possible.

“Hey, hey,” he said lowly, sounding strangely sweet. “Just take a breath, alright? Deep breath. We don’t have to do this right now. We’ll get this all cleaned up, sit down, take a break. And we’ll talk it out just like we always do, right?”

“There’s no talking about this, Ferris,” you sniffled, trying to push him away. “There were so many times to sit down and have a goddamn conversation, and you never wanted to. So what makes you think I would sit down and talk this out with you?”

Ferris held on tight despite you trying to get away from him, holding you so that your chests were pressed together. A chill crawled up your spine as you remembered last night; the neon glow of the lights, the feeling of Spiderman’s muscles beneath his shirt, the sensations that crawled across your body when he sighed and held you close.

How fucking pathetic was it that you felt safer in a stranger’s arms than in your own boyfriend’s?

“Because we always work things out, baby,” he said, pulling your attention back to his face. His eyes had faded pink like he was the one that was about to cry - like he was the one who was allowed to cry - and he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “Right? We always come around. We - we can start over, okay? Forget about the band, and - and that Miguel guy always texting you, and our jobs, and everything. We’ll move, okay? Fresh starts.”

You regarded him with wide eyes, your lips parted and curled upwards in a sneer that you didn’t think you were capable of. A new, fresh kind of feeling entered your veins, one like ice water had replaced your blood. You released a low, disgusted sound from the back of your throat and clasped a hand over your throat. “You - have you been going through my phone?”

Ferris pursed his lips - a tell he had that his anger was starting to flare up. “Only to keep you safe,” he urged. When you finally shoved him away and turned, he burst. “And good thing I have been, too, huh?! That creep is practically stalking you! Texting every other night, asking you to meet up -”

“Because of his fucking kid!” you howled, then grabbed the television remote and threw it at his head. He must have seen your windup, because he ducked, letting the projectile sail over his head and smack against the couch behind him. “He’s a father, you fucking dickhead - his kid is my goddamn student! I’ve been tutoring her! Not going out on dates with the guy! How selfish can you be?!”

“You and I both know those aren’t texts of some shitty-ass ‘well to do’ pops,” he threw back when he’d returned to his full height. “Asking how you’re doing in the middle of the night? While you’re at work? Real classy, that guy is. Trying to fuck his kid’s teacher.”

“Will you get out already!” Tears rivered down your cheeks as you hugged yourself, bare feet freezing against the hardwood floor and heart thundering in your ears loud enough to triumph the rain that had begun its pounding on the windows. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

Ferris stared at you for a long, long while, his chest heaving and his eyes ablaze with some kind of emotion you could not place. For a moment or two, you thought briefly that he was going to strike you. But then he stooped to grab his hoodie and stormed past you. Broken pieces of plate crunched under his shoes as he threw open the front door. “Call me when you’re ready to talk like an adult,” he said over his shoulder, then left you alone.

So incredibly, utterly, terrifyingly alone.

Slowly, as the blood rushing in your ears faded away, the noises of the outside world returned. The dog downstairs was still barking. The cars were still honking. The rain was pounding, and the thunder was rolling, and you were sobbing.

Contorting your mouth into a cry as a broken wail escaped your lips, you let yourself sink down to the cold floor and hung your head in your lap. Your systems were all fried, your brain on break. The only thing you could do was sit there in a heap and cry, shaking amidst the absolute mess you’d made of your home.

What seemed like hours later, and when you found yourself all out of tears, you sat up and stared at an empty place across the room. You’d finally, actually, truly done it. You’d kicked him out, opened your chest and shown him just how many bullet wounds you’d been carrying from every time he pulled that trigger of a tongue. He was gone. And you intended to keep it that way.

White noise invaded your ears as you set to work, allowing the rest of the world to fade away. You swept up the shattered pieces of porcelain on the kitchen floor; when you picked up a larger piece that had tried to get away from you, you realized it reminded you of your monarch mask from the club. You let it drop to the ground, and then you cleaned up those pieces, as well.

Next you emptied your box of trash bags and dragged them behind you as you traveled your apartment room to room, corner to corner, clearing out everything that belonged to Ferris. His clothes, his utilities and trinkets and prized possessions - they all went into the bags. And those bags were hauled downstairs and placed in the corner beside the trash. The guitar was leaned up against them. When you went back down half an hour later to throw out his food you hated the leftovers he’d been letting rot, it was gone.

Maybe those strings could make someone better than him happier than he was.

When the entire place was cleared of him, you dug through your wallet and the secret stash you kept in the sole of one of your ratty shoes and went to knock on your landlord’s door. The locks on yours were changed in less than an hour.

And when you finally felt safe enough to breathe in your own air again, you cleaned your entire home. Floor to ceiling, you mopped and wiped down and sprayed until every single trace of him was gone. The sheets were changed. The couch cushions washed. Every single piece of grime and dirt he’d brought into your life was gone.

And you couldn’t have been more glad.

Ferris had been a stain on your life, one you hadn’t necessarily wanted to clean and get rid of. If you did, it meant that you’d be left with a blank slate, with the echo of what you used to have. But echoes were meant to fade away. And blank slates were meant to be filled with new things. Bigger, better, brighter things.

It must have been late evening, after the rain had finally calmed and the thunder moved south, when you were pulled from the little dinner you were making yourself by a knock on the door. Your head whipped around, systems on high alert, thinking it was Ferris. You stayed perfectly still and silent.

There came another, slightly more frantic knock, followed by a call of your name. But it wasn’t Ferris on the other side. “Hello?” said Miguel O’Hara. “Are you home?”

For the first time today, since the moment you’d opened your eyes this morning, a certain kind of warmth blossomed throughout your chest. Setting the stove to low, you crossed the little kitchen, unchained your new locks, and swung the door open. The sight that greeted you was not the one you realized you were expecting.

Both Miguel and Gabriella were soaked to the bone, creating a puddle at your doorstep, and each hauling a small load of baggage over their shoulders. Their matching eyes were tired, exhausted. The little girl was shivering through her wet clothes, and her father tugged her closer to his side in an attempt to keep her warm.

“Hey,” murmured Miguel when your alarmed gaze flickered to meet his.

“Oh, my god,” you said, then stepped aside so that they could enter. “Get inside, please. Come on.” You watched as they trudged into your kitchen, lugging their things with them. “What the hell happened?” you asked, forgetting your mouth in front of your third grader.

Miguel dropped his bag down beside the door as you shut and locked it, releasing a long, weighted sigh from the back of his throat. He dipped his head down and palmed at the back of his neck as he turned to face you. “The apartment,” he said shortly, and suddenly you understood. The apartment building this morning in Brooklyn that had been disfigured by… whatever. It had been theirs.

How long had they been out in this?

“Jesus,” you said, kneeling down to grab a clean dish rag and towel Gabriella’s soaking hair. She sniffed tightly as you did so, her large, brown eyes shut to the sensation of your hands moving across her head. Poor fucking kid - displaced by whatever new freak incident New York had to offer this week.

“I tried to call you,” said Miguel from where he stood over you.

Your heart sunk slightly in your chest. “I’m so sorry,” you said as you stood, clutching the towel to your chest. God, even with all that excess water weighing him down, he still towered over you like a mountain. You were able to see his midsection through his wet shirt; but you didn’t let yourself go there. Not now. “I’ve been busy all day. Something - something happened, and…”

He met your eyes, limp hair hanging in his face to frame his temples, his cheekbones, his finely-cut jaw. A drop of water fell from the squared point of his chin, landing on the top of your bare foot. It sent a shiver racing in a mad dash up your spine. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to you, and you were able to feel his warm breath fan across your face. Christ, when had you gotten this close? “We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t do that.” Against your better judgment, because today had been a day of going against every wall and boundary you knew, you reached up to ghost your fingers along his jaw. You swore you heard his breath hitch in his throat as he blinked down at you. “You can stay as long as you need to. Both of you.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw against the screaming, searing sensation that wanted you to lean forward and connect your lips to his. “I don’t care if it’s days or weeks or months. You and she will always have a home here.”

This was insane. You could get fired from your job if the board found out you were doing this. But you didn’t care. As of now, your mind had long since run away, and you weren’t in much of a rush to catch it. Because if it felt this good to be out of your head, then by god, did you want to stay like this forever.

Miguel’s head tipped down ever so slightly and his throat moved as he swallowed thick. He had just opened his lips to whisper something in reply when your attention was pulled to the side, reminding you that you were not the only ones here.

“Daddy,” said Gabriella, looking just miserable standing there in a puddle of the water dripping off of her. “I’m really cold.”

Pulling away with a quick glance, Miguel stooped to pull his daughter into his arms. “I know, princesa,” he murmured as he held her, smoothing back hair that had stuck to her face. “We’ll get you warmed up.”

“The bathroom’s just down there,” you said, pointing down the hall. “You can run her a bath, if she wants. I’ll grab her something to wear.”

Nodding his thanks, he carried her and one of her bags down the hall and into the bathroom. A few minutes after the door softly clicked shut, you heard the water begin to run. You leaned against the countertop, staring at the bags gathering water by your front door.

This was happening. This was happening. Miguel O’Hara was going to be staying in your home. After dreaming and fantasizing all this time, he was finally within arm’s reach.

But your quiet comprehension was muted by the cold slap of reality. He wasn’t here for pleasure; he was here out of necessity. Out of survival. He and his daughter wouldn’t have a home for god knew how long; this wasn’t some dream come true. It was a tragedy.

On quiet feet, because you thought you heard Gabriella sniffling from the bathroom as she and her father talked in hushed tones, you crept into your room and retrieved an oversized sweatshirt and some shorts that she would be able to drawstring tight. After leaving them by the restroom door, you took her and Miguel’s things into the bedroom and laid out what little lay inside to dry; some of his spare clothes, a laptop, legal documents… anything and everything they could have been able to grab before they were evacuated. Staring at a framed picture of Gabriella when she couldn’t have been older than three or four, you wondered just what had caused the strange phenomenon that destroyed their home. Had it been an accident? Or had something targeted taken place?

You wondered if Spiderman was trying to take care of it.

After laying out their belongings to dry on your bed, you hurried back to the kitchen and scrambled to make your dinner enough for three people to share. You hoped they liked store-brand mac and cheese.

Some time later, after you’d heard your hair dryer running for a while, Miguel and Gabriella emerged from your restroom. She looked tiny in your old pajamas, but she seemed content with the way the long sleeves flopped about her arms and the hoodie framed her face like a curtain. He’d also changed into a spare set of clothes he must have had in the bag - a loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretched in the most perfect way across his well-defined pecs. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment longer than necessary when they wandered back into the kitchen, following their noses to the plates waiting for them.

“Hope you two are hungry,” you said as you gave them each their dinner. “Gabriella, honey, the remote is on the arm of the couch, if you want to watch TV while you eat.”

After waiting for a nod from her father, she took her plate and scurried over to your couch. A moment later, your apartment was filled with the quiet sounds of cartoons.

Miguel released a long, deep sigh from the pit of his stomach as he leaned back against the kitchen counter with you, crossing his bare feet at the ankles. How funny it was, how beautifully ironic, how quickly this had become an idyllic scene of domestication. “I really can’t tell you how much this helps us,” he said, pushing mac and cheese around with his fork. His thick, full brows pinched together as he lost himself in thought. You noticed that when he did, a little line appeared at the corner of his mouth. “It all happened so quickly. Just…”

“Hey.” Again going against what your brain tried to pull you away from, you placed the hand that wasn’t holding your bowl over his wrist. Despite having been soaked just a short time ago, his tan skin was warm beneath your own. When your fingers slid down, you felt the soft twitch of his pulse. “It’s alright, Miguel. You’re here now. She’s safe.” You gave him a small, crooked smile. “It’ll be okay.”

He held your gaze for a long while, so long that you felt your heart skip a beat, and when it did, he released a small chuckle - like he could hear it. Finally, you both looked down to push around at your dinners. He did not ask you about the absence of your boyfriend that you had told him pushed you out of your own home that day at the library. You were sure a keen man like him could pick up on a few things; how there were no belongings of another man here, how there were dents in the walls where you’d thrown items and slammed doors.

He didn’t ask, and you were glad. It seemed, in a way, he knew.

You loved that he did.

Behind you, the sound of a speaker being fiddled with pulled your heads around. Gabriella had discovered the little record player on your shelf - a gift to yourself a year or two ago. You hadn’t played it much, what with Ferris’ constant complaining about it. But as you watched the little girl gingerly place a vinyl down on the player, you realized you’d been missing out.

“Ay,” scolded Miguel and set down his bowl. “Manos a ti mismo.”

“It’s okay,” you said, then moved into the living room to help her with the settings. “I haven’t used this thing in forever.”

Seemingly still a little shell shocked from the events of the day, Gabriella watched you shyly as you dropped the needle and suddenly, music was spilling from the speakers. It wasn’t the kind of music your old boyfriend played on that guitar of his; this was real, with heart and feeling and a kind of rhythm that pulled your heart slightly from the abyss it was stuck in.

‘Hey, what’s the matter with your head, yeah?’

And then, because fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else to do, and because your feet were suddenly moving on their own, you started dancing. You swayed back and forth to the beat of the song, to the bass and the melody, wiggling your head a bit.

“Come on, pretty girl,” you said, taking Gabriella’s small hands in yours. “Will you show me that beautiful smile and dance with me?”

Slowly, gingerly, like a bit of her fiery, lively soul was returning to her, Gabriella’s lips thinned into a smile. She let you pull her around the living room, beginning to copy your movements as she grinned and giggled. Her limbs were sluggish and awkward, a wonderful testament to the mere nine years she’d been on the earth, but her laughter and her tongue poking through the place where she’d recently lost a tooth made up for it. Lyrics like directions to your awful little dance spewed from the shelf where the record player sat, witness to the show in your home.

‘Baby, find it, come on and find it.’

You spun on your heel to face Miguel, who was standing at the entrance of your kitchen, watching the scene before him with parted lips and hooded eyes that made your stomach turn violently and passionately. Shuffling closer to him and bringing forth every ounce and inch of courage you hand, you took your hands and wiggled up close. You breathed out the next lyrics in a sing-songy whisper only he could hear.

“Bear with it, baby, ‘cause you’re fine, and you’re mine, and you look so divine.”

Miguel’s head tilted to the side in that way he did, gaze wider now and the beginnings of a low, enthralled smile twisting his lips. Then his feet were moving, allowing you to pull him into the living room with Gabriella to join your little dance.

While she twisted and spun and pretended to know the words, you felt his fingers interlace with yours. You grinned, because holy fuck - what else in the world was there to do? - and let him sway you back and forth with the thrum of the song, fronts just inches apart and legs already tangled together. He began to hum the song from the back of his throat, from the bottom of his belly, and you swore you’d never heard a better sound in your life.

When Gabriella had turned away, too caught up in her own world of the song, Miguel leaned in close so that his cheek brushed yours, so that your chests were pressed together, so that his full lips grazed the shell of your ear. He murmured so softly you strained to hear him over the swell of the music, but you did.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

Then he pulled back away to bore his gaze down into your own, his forehead just barely grazing yours.

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say nothing, because you might have just shrunk into yourself and disappeared into the very tingling, overwhelming ache and pang of want and need and everything else in your heart. Didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth, because you might have just leaned up and kissed him.

So you just pressed your forehead up into his, smiled so bright and so wide your cheeks hurt, and danced.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood @jenniferdixon05207 @moonchild-cupcake @venomous-ko @marvelouslovely-barnes @syarblu @fruitcupsworld @soooooyesbutactually-no @hopefulcandywitch @elwyn7 @oh-theseus @thepanwiccan @takayomi @dreamingofbucky @yuuuumii @p1nkliquor @scammer-get-scammed @mlishe

[truetogaia]

im feeding yall so good rn PUTTIN IN THE WORK

pairing: dilf!jake sully x fem!na'vi!reader

genre: smut, 18+

warnings: virginity loss bc im nasty, p in v, a lot of dirty talk, hand job, oral (m recieving), EXPLICIT AND MATURE THEMES, daddy kink hihiihih, a lot of depictions, tsaheylu.

notes: couldn't get over my dilf!Jake brain rot so here we are. Daddy Jake walking his innocent, virgin mate through sex

Word count: ab 800!!

Jake carefully guided you to sit in front of him, between his brawny thighs. It was your first time, and he was gonna make sure to teach you everything he knew. “There you go” your gaze followed his big hands as he lazily undid his, seemingly tight, loincloth. You looked up at him with your pretty doe eyes, looking like a deer in headlights.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll take it nice and slow, yeah?” You nodded, hesitantly placing your soft hands on his thighs. His cock was rock hard, and huge. Being as inexperienced as you were, your mind raced to try and understand how it would fit. 

Jake couldn’t handle the innocent, confused look on your face, only fueling his lust for you. He palmed his growing erection, quickly catching your scattered attention. Your hands nervously reached out to him, gently grabbing his hard length. A dry chuckle erupted from deep in his chest as your soft palms started working up and down his shaft, and with some guidance from the older male, you soon got the hang of it.

“Wanna try using your mouth, hm?” His raspy voice sent a shiver up your spine, heat pooling between your soft thighs. You nodded slowly, letting him guide his fat tip to rest against your plush lips. Jake groaned loudly as your wet, hot mouth enveloped his aching cock, resting his large hands on your head.  

“That’s right… such a good girl..hmn- takin' daddy’s cock like this.” You felt around for something to grab, something to hold on to as Jake’s bulbous tip abused the back of your tight throat. His gentle hums and moans of approval reached your ears as you gagged on his girth, not yet managing to fit the whole thing in your mouth. “Atta girl..” His lidded eyes scanned your face, relishing in the fact that you struggled to take all of him. You were drooling, eyes fighting the hot tears threatening to spill over.

Jake pulled out with a grunt, not wanting his release to go to waste. The rough of his palm caressed your jaw, gently grabbing it to shift your gaze to him. “Y’ready?” You answered with a simple yes. 

His golden eyes searched for any kind of uncertainty in yours, and when he came out empty handed, he laid you down on your back. “Daddy’s gonna teach you everything he knows, would you like that, sweetheart?” you nodded meekly, feeling his digits run over your soaked folds. A quiet moan escaped you as Jake lightly rubbed your clit. Though he had taken his sweet time preparing you earlier, edging you and making you cum so many times that you lost count, your cunt was still begging for another release. 

“Still so wet. You filthy girl.” he cooed, teasingly running his tip through your folds. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he finally sunk into you, reveling in the way your velvet walls sucked him in. Your cunt was drenched in arousal, making it easy for him to enter you in one swift motion.

He let you adjust to the new sensation, and his ridiculous size. It felt odd, to say the least, but amazing. His cock stretched you out so good, stuffing your needy cunt deliciously. He was quick to set an easy pace when you gave the green light. His movements languid and sensual as he fucked into you slowly. 

It took a while to fully adjust to his size. The pain soon subsided and transformed into immense pleasure as the head of his cock prodded repeatedly at your g-spot. Your walls molded themselves after the shape of his cock, after every vein and curve that adorned it.

Your soft mewls and moans only spurred Jake on, tempting him to thrust harder, but he knew better. Instead, he brought his hand to rest between your plush thighs, digits rubbing over your puffy clit in sync with his affectionate thrusts.

“That’s my girl. Damn you’re tight, sweetheart.” Your cunt was squeezing him tightly as he rolled his hips into yours, and he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough of the sensation of your younger, soft skin under his rough hands, couldn’t get enough of the fact that you wanted him to be your first. His thoughts were interrupted when your hands came up to carefully grab hold of his thick braid, pulling it over his brawny shoulder. His heartbeat increased by a thousand when you connected the tendrils of your kuru with his, pupils dilating as the unfamiliar, soothing feeling coursed through the both of you. 

The connection was enough to tip you both over the edge. Jake’s hot release painted your velvet insides white while your pussy spasmed, milking him raw. You came hard, body jolting as Jake halted his sloppy thrusts. He chuckled, plopping down to lay by your side. You finally came to your senses when Jake pulled you into his chest, face growing a shade darker as you realized what you had done.

“It was that good, eh?”

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Hauntingly Yours - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: ghost! Han x fem! reader

summary: You signed the lease to a brand new apartment and now you're on your own again. You sure didn't miss single life but some creepy noises at 3am suggest you're not alone in your new place.

warnings: angst, nipple play, temperature play, paranormal intercourse(?)

“All houses wherein men have lived and died; Are haunted houses. Through the open doors; The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors.”

You lifted the last box off the moving truck and made your way inside. The landlord failed to mention the creaking stairs and the rotting wood bannister that wobbled when you held onto it. He had told you the wooden floors were all original, as were the windows. The house was built in the late 1800s and you had rented out the top floor. You asked him who would be renting out the floor below you and his face went cold. You remembered that look from your childhood. Kids would give you that cold, uneasy stare when you told them about the figures you saw in the night. You don't talk about that stuff anymore.

“No one will be living downstairs, miss. Not anymore.” The landlord said firmly. And that was that. No more questions, no more answers.

You grunted and groaned as you lifted the last box up the stairs to your new bedroom. You set the box down on the floor and collapsed into the bed. Your eyes stared at the ceiling. Peeling white paint and water stains scattered above you. You couldn't explain why you were so drawn to this place, this house. Your mom had practically begged you not to sign the lease. She said she got a bad feeling about this place. But you didn't get a bad feeling. You felt strangely comforted, oddly at peace.

That night, you made yourself comfortable on your new mattress. You made yourself some tea and quickly faded off into sleep. But soon your eyes shot open and a cold rush ran through your body. You sat up in bed and looked around the room. You had that familiar, eerie feeling that you weren't alone.

“Hello…?” You whispered meekly. You held your breath in anticipation of a response but none came.

You sighed deeply and dragged your hands along your face. Get it together! You told yourself. You glanced at the clock on your bedside table to see the flashing numbers Three Oh Three A.M glaring right back at you.

In the morning you padded softly to the kitchen only to find all of the cupboards and drawers flung open.

“What the fuck?!” You hastily shut every cupboard and every drawer. You hadn't bought very many groceries yet so there wasn't much of a mess to clean. For a moment you thought the landlord may have come in and done it. But he had been out of town since he gave you the keys, almost as if he was fleeing the place entirely. Then you had another thought. Your eyes darted around the room, your senses heightened and on edge.

“Listen! If there is anyone here. I live here too now, okay? So we're going to have to learn to…coexist.” You waited. You paused and waited for some kind of sign. A whisper or a knock or something, anything. But just like when you were a child, when you wanted proof of the figures that you saw at nothing, they never showed themselves.

Another night of falling asleep rather quickly. You were never able to fall asleep this easily at your other apartment, but here you drifted off to sleep rather effortlessly. While you slept, a ghostly specter hovered in the corner.

Han had been gone for years. Centuries of watching people move in and out of this house. His family home was now a revolving door of randomly selected people that lived their lives for a year or two then vanished, never to be seen again. Han would watch children grow and couples fight and make up. The whole spectrum of human emotions were displayed for him like a torturous loop in this limbo he found himself in.

But now, Han’s attention was soon completely captured by your beauty as he watched you sleep. He found himself drawn to the warmth and vitality emanating from you, something he hadn't felt in centuries. His ghostly form hovered closer, his ethereal fingers reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. You stir in your sleep. The cold sensation of Han’s touch startling you.

Emboldened by your lack of reaction, Han continued to touch your face, your hair, your arms. The more he touched you, the more he craved physical contact. He leaned in closer, his face hovering just above yours, and pressed his icy lips to yours in a ghostly kiss. He couldn't believe what he was doing. For years he couldn't even hold someone's hand let alone press his lips to theirs. You part your lips and open your mouth to his. Your eyes flutter slightly. Han was stunned and overjoyed as you responded to his kiss, your warm lips moving against his cold ones. He deepened the kiss, pouring centuries of loneliness and longing into it. His arms encircled you, pulling your sleeping form closer as he lost himself in the sensation of your embrace.

Han breaks the kiss as he notices your fluttering eyelashes, fearing that he has awakened you. He searched your face, finding your eyes still closed. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"You can see me, can't you?” He whispered softly.

Your eyes flutter open slowly as they take in the floating figure above you. Han fixes his eyes on you, fully expecting you to scream or run away. But instead, you sit up and fix your eyes on him as well. You both stare at each other for a moment before you finally break the silence.

“Who are you?”

Han smiles sadly, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "My name is Han Jisung, I am the gentleman who used to live in this house.” His voice is sure and strong. “I didn't mean to wake you, ma'am. I couldn't resist..." His gaze drops to your parted lips, and he hesitates, torn between desire and guilt.

Han Jisung, you repeat his name like reciting a soft prayer. Han hasn't heard another person speak his name in so long, his heart lingered on every syllable. You ask him how long he's been here and how he died, but his face twists with confusion and frustration.

“I don't remember.” He hisses.

You lightly brush the tips of your fingers along his cheek. Han's eyes search yours, hope flickering in their depths. He shivers at your touch, a ghostly moan escaping his lips. He takes your hand and presses it against his chest, over where his heart used to be.

"I feel so much, being near you. It's like I'm alive again." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your palm.

You shiver again as Han’s icy kiss penetrates your warm skin. You bring your face slowly to his and part your lips once more, silently inviting another kiss. Han’s mouth descends onto yours, his lips insistent as they claim your own. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry. His hands roam your body, learning the curves and dips of your form. He is ravenous, desperate to make up for centuries of denied touch and affection. You melt into the touch almost instantly, falling back onto the bed and pulling him on top of you. You feel his hands traveling up and down the sides of your waist, keeping a respectable distance from anything too intimate. You take his hands on yours and bring them to your breasts. Han tears his mouth away from yours, panting heavily. His hands squeeze your breasts, his thumbs rubbing against your nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

"God, I need to touch you. All of you."

Han gently pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He sighs in wonder, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts, the rosy peaks of your nipples. He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, suckling gently as his other hand massages your other breast.

His tongue swirls around your nipple, the cool sensation making you arch into his touch. He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between suckling and laving with his tongue. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you harder against him. Your mind is lost to the sensations of his hands roaming desperately over your body. You pull at his clothes, your need overpowering any common sense that may be left. He rises above you, his eyes glinting in the dim light. His hands make quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. He unbuttons his own waistcoat and breeches, shedding the century-old clothing.

Han allows you a moment to admire his spectral form, his pale skin seeming to glow in the darkness. He settles between your thighs, his cool flesh a stark contrast to your warmth. He kisses you deeply as he positions himself at your entrance

His eyes flash with desire and tenderness. He enters you slowly, his cool hardness filling you inch by inch. He groans at the sensation, his head falling to your shoulder. "Oh, Miss… you feel divine. You feel like Heaven." He begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured.

Han's pace quickens as you meet his thrusts, your movements driving him to the edge. He buries his face in your neck, his icy breath against your heated skin. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pumps into you. You can feel your orgasm nearing as he continues to piston and stretch inside of you. Your own morality fraying at the seams as you reach your peak and let the sensation of unknown ecstasy consume you. Han lets out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he finds his own release inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he shudders with aftershocks.

You lie there together bathed in the moonlight dripping through your bedroom window. You listen close to the sounds of breathing. Han is here with you. And not with you. You hold him flush against you for as long as you can. You're not sure what will happen to your ghostly companion once the sun rises in the morning.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star

[2-dsimp]

I'm feeling quite sadistic today hehe so I'm craving ANGSTT

What if Xavier learned that darling fears he will be left alone after they died? Like they don't want them to be lonely and so they stayed and gave Xavier the attention and all the time of the world they had at their behest

Thank you for heeding my request, Your Grace 😈

Cw: angsty hours

———-/——-/————

Yandere Poltergeist! Who Would just cackle and call you a dumb baby. As if you’d ever got a chance at deserting him even after your death in the first place. He’s been mooching off your company and he intends to keep it that way. No matter if you’re being put down 6ft under, bones n all, you’d still be his.

You think he’d let those pesky Angels guide your soul to heaven? No, they’d have to try to do so over his pure spite. At anything standing in between you and him. He’d keep your soul hostage inside this house so you both can rot in lingo together.

Though Xavier can’t deny the faint stinging from his eyes. No, those aren’t tears! He’s clearly destabilizing his corporal form is all. It’s not as if your death would break him down even more than he is already. But why does his soul waver at the thought of not being able to feel your fleshy body? At not hearing your beating heart, and the prospect of seeing the light of life within those vibrant eyes slowly fade away…

“Fuck, instead of thinking useless shit with that pretty head of yours. How about you focus more on living till you’re old and gray? You’re my flesh bag and I intend to use ya to the fullest...”

“So don’t ever think about leaving me. I won’t let you. And that’s a promise.”

[heartkaji]

　 ★…𝐀𝐓𝐋4𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 ?! ❞

୨ৎ synopsis. blue lock characters but they’re hood. based on the atlanta lock ! tiktok trend.

୨ৎ includes. bachira meguru, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, otoya eita

୨ৎ notes. this has been in my drafts since july cuz ive been procrastinating, hope it’s not too late to post this 🙏

★ BACHIRA MEGURU— LIL SMOKEY

“shit, we making it out the hood with this one y’all ! run the track again—fire flame flow productions ain’t neva miss.”

you roll your eyes as bachira daps up isagi.

you’ve been here for an hour & you can feel your eardrums beginning to rot like dead peaches. bachira raps over a beat you swear you’ve heard from lucki, but he’s quick to shush you when you bring it up. you cross tired arms over your chest as the music winds up and bachira starts his verse again.

“pretty bitch, yeah she got me seein’ stars, like it when i thrust, fuck her all the way to mars,”

isagi whistles. you contemplate suicide.

“she think that i’m loyal but i switch my bitch like cars, new whip every day and no i’m not just penning bars !”

“type shit !” isagi calls. you still in your seat. what ?

your chest swells with something akin to rage. you were already exhausted, ears wilting at the boom of the bass. bachira’s been redoing the same verse for hours, but you’d never paid attention to your boyfriend’s lyrics till now. you march over to the sound panel and shut it down with closed fist.

“bachira meguru—!”

“fucking hell, woman ! the fuck did you do that for—?“

you march into the booth and slap him silly.

bachira looks back at you with mouth agape and red tinged cheeks. his face is blood drenched and you almost feel guilty but you tighten your chest & straighten your back.

“what the hell did you just say, meg ?”

“what are you on about—“

“don’t play with me right now, meg. word to my mother i’ll slap y’ left cheek too. fuck you mean you riding a new bitch every day, huh ?”

bachira groans, rubbing at his cheek. “god, those are just lyrics ! you tripping for real—“

you slap his left cheek.

“you think you’re future or something ? fucking try me meg. you’re lucky i know you don’t actually have the balls to cheat. change those lyrics. now.”

bachira mumbles something under his breath before marching to the sound station. a boyish giggle breaks the quiet, and you shoot a glare at yoichi, causing silence to envelope the room once again before bachira revs up the track.

“she know that i’m loyal cuz i treat her like a star, call me yuki chiba man, ‘watashi wa star !’ ”

★ ISAGI YOICHI — YXNG EGOIST

“yoichi, you were raised in a gated community. you do not have opps.”

isagi clicks his tongue. the sound is muffled under the wool of his thick balaclava, but you manage to make it out regardless. “you don’t understand, princess. just keep watch for me, alright ?”

“yoichi.”

you heave your third sigh of the evening. you and isagi were at a high end restaurant for a date, but suddenly you wished you were home. you’d been looking forward to having dinner with the busy striker all week, but now that you’re here together with you in a fancy dress while he sports a thick balaclava, you can’t help but feel embarassed.

“yoichi i’m literally begging you to take that off.”

isagi lifts the chin of his mask to sneak a bite of chicken with his fork. he quickly takes a sip of water before dragging the mask back over his lips, eyes darting from side to side to scope his surroundings. he breathes a relieved sigh. “i think i’m safe for now..”

“alright, i’m going home.”

“huh ? what — no, babe, i’ll take it off, come back !”

★ NAGI SEISHIRO — SUGARHILL SEI

“riddle me this, sei. how the fuck your bank account low but your ass getting high ?”

you and reo stand arms crossed over a faded nagi, his eyes blood tinged & cheeks hot & swollen. his breathing is labored as he fits the blunt to his lips to take yet another drag.

“cuh i ain’ even got time fuh dis forreal. y’all mothafuckas just be bouncin’ on my dick fo’ no reason man.”

“what the hell is he saying ?”

“i think he’s speaking ganglish ?”

“oh hell no.” reo snaps his fingers over his head, “i rebuke every spirit of hoodlum in you, bro. what the fuck nagi, is this what you’ve come to ?”

nagi rubs his forehead & for a second he bears an uncanny resemblance to travis scott. “cuh i ain’ even—“ FWAM !

reo dashes a hot slap to nagi’s cheek. the red handprint glistens against his pale skin & your palms fly to cover your gaping mouth. “reo ! that’s—that’s too far !”

“stay out of this y/n,” nagi lays limp on the room floor, his eyes rapidly blinking with his mouth agape. “this is just the beginning. if we don’t correct him now, he’ll start dressing like a carti fan before you know it !”

reo hops unto one foot, aggressively tugging a chancla off the other. he turns to nagi.

“sorry bro, i don’t wanna do this,”

“cuh—“

FWAM !

★ SHIDOU RYUSEI — MR. FREAK

“gyattttt”

“i’m breaking up with you.”

“no mami i’m sorryyy,” shidou drawls playfully, arms circling your hips. he tugs you closer to him so you’re pressed flush against his skin.

“respectfully asking you to wear these ‘forbidden tights’ more often, ma. this recoil is insane.” he makes a slurping noise and you question your existence.

“ryusei—“

“boing !” shidou chuckles to himself as he slaps your ass. the flesh is soft in his palms and he’s about to indulge his intrusive thoughts once again before you slap him with your purse.

“shidou ryusei ! in the public eye ?!”

“government name is crazyyy.”

“i’m going home.” you begin heading towards the exit with a noisy shidou calling after you, “bae come back ! it was just jokes !”

★ OTOYA EITA — LIL’ FLOCKA

“nah cuz what you know about ken carson for real though.”

you groan for the third time today. “eita it’s enough.”

“no babe i’m just sayin,” he rubs lazy circles along your hip bone, lips pressed lazily against the back of your shoulder, “since you wanna be lip syncing to unreleased ken, you must know more about him than i do, right ?”

“oh my fucking god. literally who said that ?”

“no but you implied it. look at you posting yoself singing with your big ole’ tatas.”

“eita i’m literally gonna leave you for karasu right now.”

“nah nah chill it’s just,” he swipes through your story, clicking his tongue when he notices you’ve posted yourself to yet another underground artist, this time thouxanbanfouani. he bites his inner cheek to stop himself from asking you to take your story down.

“you don’t get him like i do, you feel me ?”

“congratulations otoya. the fuck you telling me that for ?”

“take your story down.”

“we’re over.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[within-ur-intro-verse]

Favorite IvanTill Fics

Complete

Canon Verse

time flies, leaves us behind by OMGTHEFEEL; Rated: T, 1,419 words; Till dies instead of Ivan and how Ivan has to live in a world where his star burnt out.

the rhythm of your faint heartbeat by sybssite; Rated: G, 1,840 words: Ivan Lives AU

Consume Me by FallLover; Rated: E, 7,362 words; Ivan Lives AU

find me; by justbekind; Rated: T, 4,128 words; Ivan Lives AU - Ivan survives Round 6 but he's not "Ivan" anymore. Till must find the cause and fix this.

Fallacious by Wisterial_exe; Rated: G, 5,151 words; Ivan Lives AU - Luka tries to use Mizi against Till in Round 7. It's not very effective.

The Silent Calm Rage by JueShi_QingHua; Rated: T, 1,700 words; Arsonist Till take revenge on the aliens in Round 7 for Ivan's death.

In Your Gaze Where I'm Seen by Cesear; Unrated, 50,517 words; Ivan Lives AU

holding hands isnt enough, i need to buy handcuffs by Dawn_007; Rated: M, 5,826 words; Yandere Ivan - Ivan is willing to use any means to protect Till.

Relapse by kuroko99; Rated: E, 11,097 words; Ivan Lives AU

you can break me apart by I_chew_icecreams; Rated: T, 6,297 words; Ivan has had Till's attention from the beginning.

 It tears through my head, does it haunt you too by Fandomqueen1124; Series (2 Complete Stories) Rated: T, 14,641 words; Ivan Lives AU

The People By The Corner by JueShi_QingHua; Rated: T, 1,419 words; Till can see dead people.

your gaze (a singular act) by fableowilba_booksandanime; Rated: M, 5,145 words; 4 moments of Ivan loving Till like his god’s most devoted believer, and 1 moment of Till loving him back.

It's Not Love by kuroko99; Rated: G, 1,754 words; Till writes the song for Round 6 and Ivan's reaction to it.

Eyes Like The Night Sky; Glowing In Hues Of The Meteors by 889075534; Rated: T, 4,876 words; Mutal Pining from the Beginning IvanTill

Alternate Universe

First live by akitsukun; Rated: G, 6,736 words; Modern AU - Social Media fic; Idol Ivan is a huge fan of Streamer Till.

No, this isn't a "Y/N" moment. by sybssite; Rated: G, 38,940 words; Modern/Reincarnation AU - Social Media fic, Idol Ivan and Fan Till who remembers their previous life together

I grew a garden within the rot by Dawn_007; Rated: M, 5,029 words; Modern AU/Hanahaki Disease AU - Till tries to force himself to have romantic feelings for Ivan to save him for Hanahaki disease. He is unsuccessful.

a treatise on wingmanning a suicidal yearner by yamscooper; Rated: T, 6,763 words; Modern/College AU with Magical Creatures, MiziSua & IvanTill - Siren Sua & Selkie Ivan

Coffee Flavored Kisses by Silrain; Rated: T, 1,018 words; Modern AU - Cafe fic

Dumb, Dumb, Dumb, Dumb, Dumb, Dumb by erisky; Unrated, words; Actor AU - Ivan tries to drop hints to let Till know he like him. It doesn't work.

kiss me; by justbekind; Rated: T, 8,746 words; Actor AU

brevity is the soul of wit? fuck you then by carlyle (c_a_e_l_a); Modern/College AU - Ivan and Till are both fanfic writers.

break a heart, stitch it right back by yamscooper; Rated: T, 2,749 words; Modern/College AU - Ivan is laughing with someone else and Till is jealous.

read my soul (yes, my soul) by sambal_ij0; Rated: T, 6,585 words; Actor AU

Across the Universe by mochi_star; Rated: T, 5,244 words; Modern/Reincarnation AU; IvanTill reincarnates, meet again, and eventually remember their previous life together

no homo, but in sickness and health by yamscooper; Rated: T, 6,340 words; Modern/College AU; Ivan is sick and Till (begrudgingly) takes care of him.

Lost in Translation by eekinn; Rated: T, 114,719 words; Modern/Celebrity AU - Road Trip Fic. Actor Till and Translator/Writer Ivan

Caution: Hot Liquid Inside by erisky; Rated: T, 4,394 words; Modern AU - Cafe fic. A visiting manager asks Till if he's being harassed by his co-worker Ivan. He has no idea what she's talking about.

Ongoing

Canon Verse

you are more than just a dream. by eriii_lian; Rated: G; Ivan Lives AU

cure (in your gaze, i am seen) by autisticthan, ivanstills (autisticthan); Rated: Unrated; Ivan Lives AU

Learning How The Heart Aches by starsnsoul; Rated: G; Time Loop - Till is struck repeating Round 6 trying to save Ivan. It's harder than it sounds.

Lord, Give Me One More Chance by veevinowrites, whizzinpast (veevinowrites); Rated: M; Till dealing with the aftermath of Round 6, Ivan Lives AU

As The Sky Fall (Let It Crumble) by JueShi_QingHua; Rated: G; Alien Till AU

The other side of the coin by Thehiddensanctuary; Rated: T; IvanTill escapes before Round 6 begins

a prayer, from one shattered universe to the next. by Suisen (Sui_cchi); Rated: M; IvanTill escape together as children

i wouldn't mind by xynzel; Rated: G; Ivan Lives AU

I'll Hold on to You by ScarletRigmor; Rated: T; Till is the first contestant rescued by the Rebels.

To the Me That Haunts You by FallinginBoysLove; Unrated; Till travels back in time and tries to save everyone he cares about.

Falling Stars by Pr0cyOn_lotor; Rated: T; Ivan stays behind after helping Till, Mizi, and Sua escape Anakt Garden.

Alternate Universe

the issue with falling in love with your bandmate by diastrophic; Rated: T, Modern AU - Social Media fic; all the cast are part of the ALNST music group and IvanTill are PR disasters

1VAN by lilluo; Rated: M; College AU with Aliens & Androids - Human college student Till and Android Ivan

cherry boy pride by yamscooper; Rated: T; Modern/College AU - Childhood Friends, Till may have never kissed anyone before but he's determined to prove he's not bad at it

love bites by fromtokyo; Rated: T; Modern/College AU with Mythical Creatures; Ivan is both a vampire and in love with his roommate Till. Till knows neither of these facts.

you taste the silver by Kyirah; Rated: T; Modern AU - Actor Ivan & Streamer Till.

Please Just Confess by sisilim; Rated: M; Modern AU - Time Travel fic. Till's husband dies in a plane crash. He wakes up and realizes he's been sent back in time to the beginning of their arranged marriage. He's going to do things differently this time.

So I Crave, Crave to do it again by Berries20; Rated: T; Modern/High School AU - High School Till has dreams of his previous life.

[appleblueberry-pie]

Hi, the fandom is on fire and well I am a bit low on morale. May I please request for Yandere Nanami comforting his darling after they have a mental breakdown from realizing there is no escape. This leading to both Nanami and his darling sharing a bed and cuddling

This is so undoubtedly late, but absolutely. I will try to make this as comforting as possible.

You tried so hard to shove it down. You hated gaining Kento's attention by obviously needing help. But you couldn't hide it. Not this. Every time you tried to mentally solve the issue, you kept coming to the conclusion that this can't ever be fixed.

You're never leaving this house. You'd be in here, rotting with your captor until the day that he dies. And who knows how long it'll be until then, or if you will even live until that day comes. You continued to draw that conclusion over and over again, the dread pooling in your stomach every single time, and it was harder to bare the feeling the next time it came.

You couldn't eat. You couldn't sleep. You couldn't do shit, and being unable to find peace just made the cycle restart again. You just wanted peace of mind. You just wanted to be left alone without your thoughts, you wanted to leave this fucking house.

But your captor is almost always in the next room, waiting for you to call out his name.

You couldn't hold in the terrible sob that escaped your lips. Your stomach hurts and your head was beginning to pound. Breathing didn't soothe your hot face or your nerves and no matter how many times you wiped your face, more tears would roll down.

You didn't care when you heard quick foot steps approaching your room and you didn't care when Kento barged in, attaching himself to your side and begging you to tell him what's wrong.

Kento's heart was beating so hard in his chest. You didn't want to speak and just continued to sob until you couldn't breathe. Even when he held you so tight to keep the bad thoughts from infiltrating your mind, you still cried. You felt hot to the touch and he didn't want to leave you alone for a single second to get a cool rag to cool you down. So he just rocks you in his arms on the floor, caressing your head and keeping you as close to him as possible, hoping this will all be over sooner than later.

Why was his baby feeling like this? Is this why you weren't eating? Why you were restless all night? He tried all he could. Made you hot chocolate the way you liked, brought you your favorite blanket that he reserved for winter and even let you watch TV in the living room. But none helped you sleep and none got you to eat. All day, you looked like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, and here you were scattered in his arms. He should've known something was up with you.

When you quieted down, Kento loosened his hold and looked down at your face. Damp from tears and you just looked so tired. Every bone in his body wished to make every single one of your bad feelings go away, but he didn't even know the first thing he had to accomplish to get that to happen.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shake your head.

"Want something to eat?" You groan out a soft no. He frowns.

"Want me to bring you to bed?" Your eyes flutter shut and you nod.

He immediately gathers you in his arms and effortlessly brings you to the warm sheets that you've neglected all day and you relax once he tucks you in. He slips in with you, very slowly to see if you'd tell him to leave. You don't. So, he takes his spot in front of your curled form and wraps his arms around what he could. You don't disagree.

It was his turn to relax, and he sighs in relief. You always come first. And he will find out why you got so worked up soon enough. But you come first.

[crystlizabeth]

You belong to me..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Shadow!femreader

Summery: she may have been a shadow and worked for graves but when your commanders friendliness becomes a bit to touchy it’s a problem, you don’t touch pretty things that belong to Simon Riley.

Warnings: possessiveness, unprotected sex, jealousy, praising, mentions of blood, not proofread

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon hated watching those shadows touch you, even if it was ‘friendly’. You smiled at every praise that left Graves lips of how you did such a good job, the pat to your back to low for Simon’s liking and the way he let his hand drag as he walked away. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how Graves was towards you when nobody was around, even if he was your commander your superior he wasn’t allowed to touch you like that. Simon clenched his fist as you stood there soon turning towards him, your gaze different a look a smile that was only meant for him displayed on your pretty face.

A sweet face that he’d have buried in a pillow tears go pleasure running down you face. You saw the way his eyes watched you his dark eyes hooded dangerously staring you down. Price catching Simon’s attention was the only thing that made him look away from you, one last glance towards you before following Price.

Even with that gold ring on your finger signafying that you where his, the last name on your Files no longer yours but his. It wouldn’t be enough he wanted you to himself he had begged price multiple times to call a transfer of you to 141 but Graves always declined because you worked for the United States, the Shadows you belonged to Graves.

But jealousy gets the best of everyone right?

Simons hands grabbing the side of Phillips vest slamming him against the wall, “what crawled up your ass and died Lieutenant.” Graves groaned.

“Why is it you always find your hands on my wife.” Simon spoke his face close to Phillips, his voice dark.

An ugly smirk appeared on Phillips face the cocky twat only shrugged his shoulders a short reply “She’s nice, a good asset to me. She is a good asset.”

That right there if he could without geting put away for life would have taken his knife and silt Phillips throat, carving the commander inside out and feed it to his Shadows and Shepherd himself. Instead Ghost fist connected to his face, more than once, enough to leave blood on his hands and the shirt he wore. He let go of Graves letting him slide down the wall, “if you’re smart, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and mouth shut.” Simon spike lowly leaning down to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what she sees in you…” Phillip coughed wiping the blood from his nose.

Simon stayed silent, he didn’t need to answer that because you saw him for him he didn’t have to explain what you saw in him to someone who’s been wanting you to themselves. “I’ll give her the world a safe home and face to look at… your really think she’ll stick around you forever, please. I see her more day out of the year you do why do you think I decline those transfers from your captain. Just to spite you and help her forget you.” Phillip said blood dripping from his toothy smile.

Simon was fuming, his knuckles splitting even more from clenching them. Who did graves think he was? You stuck around someone like that, even bleeding and in pain graves still chose to test his limits.

One punch after another Simon was on top of him graves of course fighting back but a man’s rage was different few more punches and he stopped. Phillip was still alive he was gonna leave him there to rot nobody would believe him he was a traitor staying in UK soil this was bound to happen. And even then Simon had proof that it was just self defense.

Grabbing Philips hair making him look up at Him “Ya listen here, stay the fuck off my wife she can work for your or you’ll be smart and start a transfer. But may god help you if you lay a finger on her again.” Simon spoke harshly finishing by pushing Graves against the wall.

The click of your door opening startled you awake, but the figure that stood in the hall light that poured into your room made you less tense. “Simon..you can be in here..” your voice groggy, your eyes scanning over him at yuh turn your light on. He was covered in blood his mask held in his left hand as he looked at you.

You quickly got you closing your door pushing him to the bed sitting him down “who did this to you.. Simon.” You spoke lifting the bloody shirt off his head his blond hair sticking up.

“It’s not mine.”

It’s not his? Who’s was it then, who pushed him over the edge just enough. Was he gonna get in trouble for this, arrested. “Love stop the worrying..” he spoke breaking you out of your thoughts his large hands pulling you towards him.

He pulled you in close sitting you in his lap your thighs falling around his waist, the feeling of his hands grabbing your face made you wince a bit the feeling of dried blood on his hands made you cringe.

“You belong to me..” he spoke his dark eyes penetrating yours. “You belong to me.” His words stern and harsh.

“Say it.”

“I belong to you Simon.” You spoke his hands falling down your face his hands finding the bottom of your shirt lifting it over your head. You could feel the tension radiating of his skin, he was gonna take his stress and the rest of his anger out on you.

“Good girl, say it again, tell me I’m allowed to have you as I please.” He spoke his lips kissing your neck.

You obeyed “ I belong you you Simon, take me. Have me I’m yours.”

His lips met your kissing you so hungrily he was here to remind you who you belonged to. His hand grabbed the band if your panties pulling his hand back harshly snapping them at the pulling them if you your bare cunt exposed to his trousers. He lifted you up dropping your body on the the mattress as he undid his pants, quickly finding himself on top of you.

“Are you sure.”

“Take me Simon, I’m yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear, his fat head spreading your wet folds apart as he pushing into you. It’s been a minute since he’s been in you but your walls always seemed to mold around him so nicely, those gorgeous sounds you made slipping from your lips as he started moving.

The sound of skin slapping as he fucked into your poor cunt, you drooled for him. He knew how to make a mess out of you, your nails digging into his back as he bullied your pretty pussy. Even with every hard thrust he loved you so well, kissing you so tenderly as your cried out to him. You soft whimpers pleading for him drive him crazy this is how he knew you where his, his to destroy, his to love.

Your finger tangled his his blonde curls tugging on them as he made love to you cradling your head your knees pressed to your chest, he felt every inch of you. “Please don’t stop Si, god please don’t stop.” You cried out.

He didn’t the tightness of your walls staring to clamp around him was enough to bring him to his edge the moans that escaped your lips was enough to make him cum knowing that he made you this way. Your body folded into a mating press as you came on his fat cock. Your pleds for him to cum in you, that you wanted him to fill you marking you as his once again make you need him for days after. His thick seed filling up your puffy cunt, his white nut spilling out the sides as he fucked it into you.

“Common take it, yeah atta girl fucking take it.” He growled pumping in and out of you your nails digging into his biceps the feeling of his thick nut filling you making your eyes roll back.

His cock still in you as he sat up letting your legs fall down your chest falling up and down heavily, your body glistening from sweat. You were gonna be walking funny the next morning that’s for sure, “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asks his calluses hands gliding up and down your torso.

You shook your head no, “good..” he said leaning down kissing your lips tenderly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up yeah..”

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon smut!! I have a Johnny one coming sooner or later!!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

[toji-sweetheart]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞. 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: You always wondered why Eren gave everyone else the time of day, but you. There's no way he knows what you want from him, is there?

wc: 2.1k

tags: 18+ ONLY content + dead dove do not eat + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + not beta read + repost + college au + yandere! reader + slight reader x Zeke + stalking + toxic tendencies + manipulation + baby trapping + non-consensual picture taking + blowjob + virgin! reader + blood [virginity taking] forced creampie + choking [dubcon]

an: this contains content that is not suitable for everyone, the warnings are there for a reason heed them. I have never written anything like this before it’s not my best work and I do not condone any of this, it’s all for fictitious purposes, even though it's a repost it didn't stay up long because it flopped when I first posted it but I like it so zldjknve and it's always the character doing the baby trapping

It was innocent when it first started years ago in middle school.

A small crush of sorts, not that it couldn’t be helped anyway, especially on Eren Yeager. Everyone on campus knows that name, whether it belongs to him or his older brother.

The Yeager Brothers always threw wild parties at their father’s home when he left for the weekend, perks of being children of a doctor.

Unfortunately for you however your name never ended up on the invite list further driving you mad.

It’s been years since you both were in seventh now at the beautiful tender age of twenty-two and he still has yet to notice you.

It was a no-brainer on what he liked, short skirts making it easier to hike up for a quick fuck in the bathroom between classes or hookups in the library, seems no one uses the rooms for their intended for around here only for the secret getaways that it provides.

You weren’t new to the game necessarily however you were saving it for Eren, but it stung each time he never invited you so the best plan was to worm your way in first with his brother which was very easy to do, just a little batting of the eyes and showing him what you had to offer under your shirt.

“You want to come to my party?” He asked you, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, the cherry end glowing in the dark back room where he works, what a way to meet a guy, right?

You smiled sweetly reaching a hand out and grabbing his bicep softly giving it a subtle squeeze feeling the muscle tense in a small flex, a way of showing off. You choked down the laugh that threatened to blow your plans all to hell.

“Of course I do Zeke, you’re a lot of fun to hang out with, especially in the library.” You leaned in, slipping the cigarette from his lips, ashing it quickly on the ground then throwing it in the garbage can.

He watched you with curious eyes knowing exactly what you were talking about earlier today when the same lips you just plucked the white stick from were the lips that sucked in your clit bringing you an intense orgasm.

“I instinctively remember you begging me not to stop,” he leaned in grazing his lips against your cheek to gain your attention and make your pussy throb but it was quite the opposite so you pretended it was his little brother who kissed you roughly, both hands palming your tits.

Harsh. It reminded you of Eren judging from the small clips you saw when people shared them during class, some girl face down ass up while he’s jerking himself off on her back calling her all sorts of names, the only thing he ever recorded was the sloppy blowjobs he’s gotten and him blowing his load on girls face.

It was disgusting because it wasn’t you on the receiving end of his cock being rammed down your throat.

A call of your name brought you back to Zeke kissing and sucking on your neck, his bulge rubbing against you with each rut of his hips, “I’m sorry but I have to go, I have homework. I’ll call you later, I have to practice for my oral exam and I need your help.”

Another tooth-rotting smile soothed the disappointment in Zeke’s face as he pulled back, “Ok, you have a good night then, I need to get to work anyway.” He told you while bidding him a sweet goodbye sealed with a kiss.

Turning the corner you ran into a broad chest, “Sorry, are you okay?” Hands grabbed your elbows sending waves of shocks down your arms and into your heart pumping rapidly in your chest when you met emerald eyes, you’ve never seen such a pretty color.

“I’m alright, sorry I didn’t want to make Zeke late back to work.”

Your reply was smooth and gained his attention to your disheveled shirt and skirt barely covering what it needs, his eyes took in your bare skin leaving him the mental image later to masturbate to.

Judging from his breathing that changed and straining his jeans gave you the right indication that step one was complete.

Over the next several days you tried to look for Eren and when you found him he didn’t pay you any attention except the small nod he gave you because in the back of his head, you look familiar, did he cum on your tits?

Anger was quick to set in seeing his arm casually slung around another girl’s shoulder, and so did jealousy that made home deep down into the crevices of your heart like ivy vines working you into a pit of despair.

“Okay, so maybe I need to talk to him.” You mumbled to yourself walking down the hall when again you bumped into Eren who this time put his hand on the small of your back keeping you from stumbling on your ass.

“We keep running into each other, you’re my brother’s girlfriend, right?”

Your smile faltered before batting your eyes, “Girl, friend, as in we hang out time from time then yes,” you replied sure to make it clear that there’s a space between girl and friend although Zeke begged for more.

Eren raised an eyebrow, “Oh, the way he was talking about you was so…” he broke off unsure what to say.

You knew Zeke called you his girlfriend and he’d sometimes mention the nights he’d visited you to his sibling telling him all the nasty details of the way you buck your hips meeting his mouth, but instead, when you looked down at the blonde man but all you can think about is his long-haired little brother with eyes you could stare at forever and a cock you were sure that you could ride for hours.

“I know he talks about me like that, it’s hard not to overhear him when he’s yelling about it to Reiner and Porco, although I have to admit I’m not sure why he thinks that’s okay.”

Eren chuckled nervously, something about you put him on edge that he wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not when you stared at him with puppy dog eyes reaching out to twirl a piece of chocolate hair around your finger, “I’m not sure either, that’s my brother though.”

You hummed pulling on the lock slightly hearing him gasp under his breath.

So, he’s a little submissive and likes his hair being pulled?

“Don’t you do the same thing with the videos being shared around campus?” You asked closing the distance between you and him pushing his back against the wall.

Blood rushed to the apples of his cheeks when you trailed your finger down his shirt feeling the hard muscles underneath washboard abs, abs you’d taken pictures of after sneaking into the locker room and snapping a few of Eren shirtless. Sometimes you even caught him hunched over on the wooden bench with his hand wrapped around his thick cock jerking himself off.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He replied unsure what to say, the creepy feeling he couldn’t quite pinpoint buzzed around you like flies.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll see you at your party later. I’m sorry for running into you.”

He watched you walk down the hallway leaving him with a simple gift of kissing his cheek.

Later that night you found yourself in the corner of the Yeager’s living room like some fucking lamp as you held the solo cup switching it to the other growing anxious and looking around through the packed bodies gyrating against one another fully clothed as if that would somehow help the burning need deep inside. 

Rolling your eyes you ditched the cup in hopes of finding Eren who was nowhere to be found until you walked up the stairs running into him and his little posse of Armin and Mikasa.

Green eyes found you in a heartbeat when he heard you calling his name, “Eren! Hey! How are you?” Stopping on the first step you looked at him.

“I’m good, how about you? Enjoying yourself?” He asked before leaning in to whisper something to Armin who left with Mikasa.

“I am yes, although I’m getting a headache, do you have somewhere quiet I could just rest?”

When he slipped his hand in yours it took everything you had not to squeal at the contact, he felt warm and big which you knew he was so you let him lead you to his bedroom falling for your plan as he opened his door shutting it cutting off the loud noises from downstairs.

“Any better?” He asked watching you sit on his bed crossing your legs and giving him a glimpse of your panties before laying down with a big dramatic sigh.

“Yes, thank you. You’re my knight in shining armor,” You giggled sitting back up and biting your lip, “can I pay you back for helping me?”

Your question didn’t leave much room for him to say no the way your thighs parted in front of him.

So close, all he has to do is bite the hook and with a sharp yet hard set, you’ll have him wrapped around your finger.

“How do you plan on helping me?” Eren asked curiously joining you on the bed and placing his hand on your bare thigh, you smiled to yourself at how easily he was falling into your trap. His mind was only you rubbing his bulge leaning in to kiss his neck inhaling his scent.

You had one chance to make it right so you pushed him on his back sitting between his legs palming his dick before pulling the band of his shorts down and revealing this cock, it felt warm and heavy in your hand. You marveled at the smooth flesh letting your hand pump up and down listening to his raspy breathing, “Have you ever done this before?” He asked.

“Would you laugh if I said no?”

Eren shook his head grabbing your wrist helping you, “I could tell,” He replied letting you gingerly lick and suck his swollen head scrunching your nose at the salty taste.

He was a fool for falling so fast in your hands letting you pull his boxers and shorts down further his legs throwing the heap of clothes on the floor before ridding your skirt and panties.

“No videotape for this, I just want us to remember it.” You whispered pulling back to straddle his hips.

Nodding his head Eren watched as you slid his cock between your lips shivering in the way he felt like this, “Wait-are you on birth control?” He asked placing both hands on your thighs stopping your movements.

“Of course,” You lied through your teeth lifting your hips and feeling him push against the tight muscle, parting your lips in a pitiful moan you fought through the pain impaling yourself slowly until he was buried to the hilt grunting feeling you tighten around him when you rolled your hips getting used to the sensation, you could feel the warm blood stain your thighs along with Eren’s and his sheets.

“You feel so good, holy shit you’re so wet.” He moaned laying his head back on the pillow, his soft brown hair looked like a halo for the man you worshipped for years and now you have him under you crying out your name when you used the knowledge of how to make the guy feel good after you scoured the internet on tips and tricks and positions to make him beg for you not to stop.

Alternating between bouncing and grinding Eren cupped your breasts already feeling his orgasm tingle in his stomach, you took a mental note of his whining and begging just like the websites said, the wet squelching your stretched-out cunt bounced off the four walls joining in your loud groans.

The last thing Eren expected however was for you to lean down keeping one hand on his stomach feeling the muscles ripple as you rode him still wrapping your fingers around his throat and pressing his carotid artery watching him gasp, “Breath if you want to cum inside me, that’s what you want, right?”

Nodding his head he felt your pussy convulse pulling him into an orgasm that left his body trembling emptying his sack in your cunt unknowingly breeding you.

“Congratulations, I’ll let you know in a few weeks.” You whispered in his ear letting go of his throat. He gulped a lungful of air, head spinning at your comment.

“You lied to me?” He asked bewildered pushing you off him and tucking his dick back in not caring that it was covered in bodily fluids.

“I have to keep you by my side one way or another. You weren’t paying me attention now I get it all for myself.” You replied scooping up your panties before slipping out of his room and downstairs to head home feeling his cum leak out. 

feedback such as comments and reblogs are highly appreciated, those kind words mean a lot and encourage me to do more writing ♡

[tacitoru]

pleaser - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: A wedding for an old friend reunites you with a figure from your past. Except now he's famous, successful, and rich - richer, at least. You're not having any of it, but Gojo is determined to show you how much he's grown since you've last seen him.

rating: explicit

tw: basketball!au, enemies to lovers, slight non-con

wc: 5.1k

ch: 1/5

read on ao3

At long last, my attempt at unhinged Satoru and the basketball au that's been rotting in my brain since that damn twitter post. Enjoy!

Now

The wedding is a quiet, modest affair, but that doesn’t stop the paparazzi from finding you.

Or not you, but rather the several high-profile guests rumored to be attending your friend’s big day. You peak out at the gaggle of people and cameras gathered at the front of the venue from the makeshift bride’s dressing room. Anxiety blossoms in your chest.  If this is the turnout for just the rehearsal dinner, you can only imagine what chaos will ensue for the main event. Any other day, you might have been among them - standing among a crowd of sweaty, haranguing men, juggling a Canon with a lens the length of your forearm in the hope that the next picture you snap lands you your next paycheck. Your next meal.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime sidles up behind you just as your stomach growls. She places a gentle hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile, guiding your attention away from the window. “Our vows are short. Dinner is right around the corner.”

Having made the mistake of arriving at the rehearsal dinner on an empty stomach, you’ve kept your hands and stomach occupied with the free-flowing wine and sake offered by the venue up to this point. Placing your glass on the windowsill you pat your stomach with one hand and take her manicured hand in the other, shooting her a grin and shifting the unease from your expression with practiced grace. “As long as you still promise I can take home leftovers.”

You take a step back to take in your former colleague, adorned in a beautiful pink kimono. Even in the fading afternoon light, Utahime is radiant, practically glowing from the inside out at the prospect of marrying her best friend. You give her hand a gentle squeeze and tell her as much.

The clamor outside the venue gets a little louder. The crowd grows restless. Glancing out the window again, you slip out of your friend’s grasp to pocket your hands and ball them into fists in the fabric. You think you spot a few white basketball jerseys among the crowd. “Well, that’s just fucking rude.”

“No, no. Don’t look over there, look at me.” Utahime admonishes, pinching your chin between two fingers to twist your head back in her direction with a grave expression, redirecting you once again with a little less gentleness. 

“But that’s bad luck, don’t they know - the fucking audacity -,”

The bride-to-be shakes your head with her grasp on your chin before releasing you with a scowl.

“Sports fans will be sports fans. Plus, they’re technically not even attending the wedding, so it doesn’t even count, right?”

 Maybe it’s the wine getting to you, but the fact that one person can cause such a hassle before they’ve even arrived grates on your nerves more easily than usual. You make a rebuttal but it dies on your lips at the sight of Utahime’s pleading expression. It’s the night before her wedding day - you should be doing everything in your power not to transfer the bubbling pit of unease manifesting in your chest in light of what awaits you beyond the dressing room doors. 

“I know it’ll be difficult having him here, but he’s important to Shoko, so he’s important to me,” she tells you not unkindly, and not for the first time.

“I’ll be civil.” You promise and mean it. You had practiced your carefully crafted looks of disinterest in the mirror in the nights leading up to tonight. Any word spoken in his direction over the course of this weekend would be laden with well-rehearsed apathy.

Utahime sighs, adjusting the neckline of your dress before moving to return to where the gaggle of her aunts and cousins sit and gossip among themselves. Waiting for the rehearsal to start. “I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you.”

-

This day isn’t yours, but the days building up to it have been an excruciating crawl. The full picture hadn’t yet registered with you when you first received the wedding invitation. Initially, you had been overjoyed and honored to see the epic conclusion of what had been a long time coming - the marriage of Ms. Shoko Ieiri and Utahime Iori.

You remember scrambling for your phone and screaming, crying. Blubbering your well wishes to an exasperated Utahime and sleep-disheveled Shoko over a video call. The ceremony would take place in less than six months and there was so much to do. What dress would you wear? How would you afford to book a flight to Kyoto so soon? How much tourism could you squeeze in between your arrival and the ceremony? 

The guest list hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind.

Utahime and Shoko had proven themselves to be far from the flashy wedding type. The venue of choice was a tiny art gallery in Kyoto, with just enough space for a selective audience to be present to witness the nuptials. You had anticipated meeting your former colleague’s childhood friends and relatives. You had assumed that, aside from Utahime’s family in the States and an old classmate or two from college, you would be the furthest traveling guests. Reuniting with your ex-college situationship is the last thing you would have expected given your circumstances and his.

And yet when the bride-to-be texts you a photo of Shoko and the man in question looking buddy-buddy at a dive bar captioned with a simple heads up a week before your departure, it’s already too late to refund your flight. Of course, world-famous top-ranking NBA player Satoru Gojo would be best friends - childhood pals, even - with renowned sports medicine physician Shoko Ireri.

Of course.

“So is he, like, a bum in real life or something?” A family friend of Utahime’s whispers to you from where you’re seated at the back of the ceremony space, watching as the wedding coordinator flits about the venue, rearranging furniture and decorations about the altar. She seems young - also a foreigner, maybe early twenties, and looks about as out of place as you feel. You distantly wonder which relative she knows.

“Hm?”

“You know…”

“Who?”

“That basketball player. You’re that journalist, right? I like your dress.”

You furl your lips and do your best to not appear peeved. So much for being a fly on the wall. It appears that feigning ignorance won’t get you out of this one, but you should have known better - this is Japan’s all-star athlete she’s talking about, after all. 

“Thanks. Yeah, yup. That’s me.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole?”

“What-, no. No, that’s not what I said.” You blunder for the right words, torn between overexplaining yourself and telling her to get the fuck away from you. Taking a sip from your new glass, you glance around the rim and look for one of the brides or a signal that the rehearsal is starting to save you to no avail. At this point, even after all of these years, you’re not used to the questions. The speculations. The envious glances and disdainful side-eyes that follow. “He’s fine, great,” you offer her instead with a noncommittal shrug. “I wouldn’t really know.”

The guest looks surprised to hear this, but then you think back to how she referred to you as that journalist , and figure she assumes that’s still your field of work. Or that maybe you’re still in touch.  It’s not a completely unfair assumption - Gojo was the much-needed catalyst to your career. Or at least, writing about him was. Whether he was just as charitable towards you in other, more illicit ways was always up for debate in the fan circles online whenever your article was brought into question.

Silence falls between you both as you watch the wedding coordinator struggle to carry two chairs across the room by herself. Neither of you stands to offer help. The guest doesn’t let the pause in conversation last for very long. You can practically hear the words buzzing behind her lips before she can even say them. Or maybe your ears are just ringing. “I read your article, I think.”

“Mm. Yeah?”

“Sure. It’s a shame, what happened to those two boys.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And they were so young too.”

“Yes, we all were.”

Your response comes off a little sharper than you intend it to be. The woman jolts a little in her seat, as though it’s just occurred to her that you had to have been a witness to the falling out she’s referring to for you to have published the detailed account that you did. To write the piece that cemented the legacy of your careers together forever, or at least until the athlete’s inevitable downfall. The invisible string that tied you to Gojo Satoru no matter how far you ran or how often you tried to cut it.

The ringing in your ears gets a little bit louder. Your lips bruise under the pressure of your teeth before you take another sip.

Despite it being five years after its publishing, there is no escape from the meteoric impact of your last submission to your alma mater's student newspaper and the events that transpired before it made print. Even if you could somehow stop the memories from resurfacing, the public will do its due diligence to remember for you. To remind you wholeheartedly. Sometimes you wished back then you had learned a lot sooner to say no to some tasks when offered. But back then you had been so eager to please. 

The guest clears her throat and shifts in her seat, effectively chastened. You wonder what the chances are that Shoko is hiding a pack of smokes somewhere in her dressing room, and if anyone would notice if you snuck off for a moment. The wine is slowly creeping up on you like a warm cloak. A drunk cigarette to take the edge off is beginning to sound nice.

“Have you seen him play since he joined the league?” The woman asks in a poor attempt to change the subject. You eye her wearily, facing her directly this time to discern if she’s a fan. She prattles on without waiting for you to answer, nervous in the face of your sudden full attention. “He’s a freak of nature, I swear, and that smile when he-,”

“No, m’fraid not.” You cut her off, finally making to stand. The idea of seeking out Shoko’s cigarettes before the rehearsal starts becomes more and more appealing the longer you sit here. Something in the way the woman scrunches her face at your dismissal tells you you’ll be hearing about this interaction from Utahime later. 

“Really? He’s literally everywhere these days.” She remarks, but you hear the underlying snark loud and clear: I find that hard to believe.

The double doors to the ceremony space are flung open behind the harried wedding coordinator as she suddenly rushes from the room, whispering fervently into the phone pressed to her cheek. Beyond them, the cacophony of paparazzi and fast clicks of camera shutters spill into the space. That’s my cue to leave.

You offer the family friend one last tight-lipped smile before turning to escape in the direction opposite of all the noise.

“Honestly, I’m just not a big sports fan.”

–

You’re purposefully sitting on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop Gojo Satoru from sweeping the place head to toe in the middle of the rehearsal. 

You try to maintain your tipsy focus on literally anything else. The ceremony altar, the guest next to you breathing a little too hard, the price tag of the dress digging into your back that you’re determined to keep on until you can return it next week.  Anything other than the flagrant way the grown man in a designer button-up and shades twists and turns in his seat to scan the room. 

The pseudo-ceremony plays out before you, as you watch from the Iori family’s side of the room as ceremony officials walk the soon-to-be newlyweds through the process. The couple surprised you with their decision to go the more traditional route, but as you watch the rehearsal, you can appreciate how much more intimate this is compared to the alternative. The lack of a bridal party or audience participation is also a plus.

Wondering how much more different this affair would have been if your former colleague had needed a bridal party and you had been a bridesmaid, you allow your mind to wander. Would Gojo have been a groomsman? Or would he also be considered… a bridesmaid…?

Your wine-addled mind conjures up the image of Gojo and his Herculean figure squeezed into a modest gown, and you can’t help but huff through your nose. Somehow, regrettably, you know he would manage to pull it off. Curiosity getting the better of you, you finally manage to glance in his direction, hoping his attention has returned to your mutual friends as they nervously fumble through the ceremony steps.

Immediately, your eyes lock and you whip around to face forward again, incensed. With little care for discretion or the several other scrutinous pairs of eyes that follow his every move,  Gojo’s head had been fully turned in your direction. Even the dark tint of his Ray-Bans - indoors, of course - couldn’t hide the full weight of his gaze. His megawatt smile turned up to its full effect once he’s got your attention. The athlete wiggles his fingers in a girlish wave.

You fume in your seat for a minute. So much for appearing uncaring. Whatever, you think, it’s not like you wouldn’t have had to face him eventually. In a setting this intimate, it was inevitable that you would run into him at some point. You will just have to do your due diligence and keep your distance.

Despite this, you still manage to cast one final look his way, having mustered up enough confidence to pull together a sneer. If you can’t give off an air of disinterest, then your next best play is disdain. The contempt is not hard to reach for, but your concern grows for the other guests playing audience to two performances, unwillingly. You wonder if that family friend of the Irori’s from earlier, seated a few rows behind you, has her phone out. 

Gojo, whose unwavering stare in your direction at this point could be classified as downright rude for the setting, appears unbothered. More likely amused. His smile is unshakeable. Before you can redirect your attention, he mouths three words that make you go rigid in your seat.

There you are.

The ringing in your ears grows a little louder.

– 

When you finally do find a moment of reprieve to make use of the cigarettes you “borrowed” from Shoko, the damage is already done.

As you pace around the enclosed garden beside the art gallery, away from the warmth of the festivities, panic begins to set in. The cool spring night air is sobering and nips at your cheeks.

All it took was one look to rattle the carefully conducted wall around your emotions and suddenly you’re second-guessing your ability to do this. Your strength to be here.

It feels like you have spent so much of the past few years of your life fighting for your independence from Satoru Gojo. There was a time, even before the article was published when the man had had a hand in every aspect of your life. And you had welcomed it. Directionless, spineless, and eager to make something of yourself. You had become a wayward sailor in the sea of post-graduate opportunities and Satoru Gojo had positioned himself as your North star. 

And there was no doubt about the way your life had flourished when you let him. Not just the parties and the lavish gifts and the recognition. 

The power that came with being associated with Satoru Gojo, even as a young college student and recent graduate, was unimaginable. But what you had been hooked on the most was his recognition, his steadfast attention to you, once earned. His belief in your craft. That kind of rare affection, the feeling of being seen - of belonging - had been his greatest gift to you. And that affection had buried itself so deep into your heart that once it had blossomed, it was nearly impossible to manage, and even more difficult to weed out.

You think of dark hair and amber eyes, and the warning that was afforded to you too little too late. 

The cigarette, slightly bent from your pocket, trembles in your fingers while you dig through the other pocket for a lighter. Silently thanking whoever it was that made the rare decision to stitch pockets onto a dress.  

You seclude yourself to a bench furthest from the garden entrance, take a deep, shaky breath, and flick the lighter to life. More than five years later, he can still get a rise out of you and it hurts .

“You know you can’t return the dress if it smells like smoke.”

Speak of the devil. Gojo's voice, dripping with amusement as he approaches, cuts through the relative peace. He startles you, the unlit cigarette fumbling to the ground from your feeble hold. You don't turn around, the anger simmering in your belly threatening to boil over.

"Still haven't learned to handle your nerves, I see."

"This isn't about nerves," you finally manage, voice tight.

"Oh, come now," he chuckles, leaning against the railing a few feet away. "Don't tell me seeing me doesn't stir a pot or two."

You clench your fists, the cigarette forgotten between them. "It shouldn't."

"No?" He steps closer, resting a hand on the furthest corner of the bench, yet very nearly leaning over you. Stopping a safe enough distance away, but still close enough to impose himself upon you. You don’t have to look to know that he sports that same teasing, knowing smile you’ve seen plastered on magazines and across news headlines for years. Your inability to see his eyes always makes it appear more menacing than not. 

 "I’m glad it’s not a problem then. I wouldn’t want things to become awkward between us.”

Clearing your throat and pocketing the lighter, you fight the urge to kick your aggravator in the shins. Utahime’s words come back to you. I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you. She should be more worried about me, you think as you finally turn to face him, wearily sizing him up from your seated position. It’s unfair that he’s still gorgeous after all this time. Rumors of enhancement drugs and body modifications chase him constantly, but you know better. Muscles built from years of hard work and relentless discipline flex and strain under the fabric of his dress shirt, smooth skin peeking from the collar of the top two buttons undone. You avert your eyes.

“You clearly still are unable to recognize when somebody wants to be alone,” you chide. “But other than that, no hard feelings, Gojo-san.”

“Gojo- san ?” The young man gasps dramatically, clutching his chest above his heart as though he’s been shot. “Such formalities! I thought we were friends.”

He says your name and it takes everything in you not to shoot off of the bench and break for the door. Torn between your fight or flight instincts as he makes himself comfortable on the bench beside you, folding one long leg over the other.

 “Must’ve been excited to see me again, since you’re learning the language ‘n all. Who’s your teacher?”

You scoff. “Duolingo.”

“Ah. The wretched bird app. The final boss.”

“Need a tutor?” He tests his limits, broad enough to lean over and bump your shoulder with his own without moving too much when you don’t dignify him with a response. You don’t budge either, careful to keep your expression blank, your posture ramrod straight. 

You can do this. You can be civil. 

 “Keeping me at arm’s length I see.”

 You wonder how difficult it would be to knock him out and hide him somewhere in the garden underbrush, this man twice your size in stature, if only to gain some semblance of peace for the rest of the dinner. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You still haven’t eaten.

Taking that as your cue to stand, you brush your clammy palms across the front of your dress and fix Gojo with a steely look. “I would appreciate it if you could keep things professional between us tonight. And tomorrow. As colleagues.”

“Colleagues?” He can hardly hide the laughter in his voice. The condescension in his tone is clear nonetheless.  “Sure, sweetie. Is that what you told them?”

Them as in your mutual friends. As the one who greenlit the finished copy of your infamous undergraduate article, Utahime knows only slightly more than the average weekly paper reader about the months that led up to its printing. Caught glimpses of how your closing chapter in college shaped and broke you, then launched your career into an unimaginable trajectory all within the short period of a spring semester. You had only been able to come partially clean about the nature of your relationship with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto in the years that followed, long after you had cut ties with the industry.

The tabloid media and its avid followers had enough to say about you. You didn’t need to hear it from your actual colleagues either.

“I’ve told them enough,” you bristle, spotting your discarded cigarette in your periphery and getting agitated all over again. “And you will tell them nothing-,”

“Relax, relax.” He cajoles. Gojo's laughter hangs heavy in the air, stinging like a mosquito bite. You hold his gaze steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

"Fine," he finally says, a playful glint still lingering in his amber eyes. "Truce it is. For now."

Gojo studies you for a moment, raking you in from head to toe as though trying to commit you to memory. You, arms crossed, hip cocked to one side, avoiding his gaze and flushed with irritation as you try to make a quick and dry escape. He wishes he could somehow reach inside your chest and pull on the loose thread he knows will unravel you.

Instead, he rises with a flourish, the movement sending a tremor through the ground beneath your bench. Having stolen your intention to leave first for the sake of having the last word, you watch him saunter back towards the building, as quietly as he came for someone so lanky, hands shoved casually into his pockets. Before he crosses the threshold, he says your name again, and you hate the way it still sounds perfect coming from his lips.

“It’s good to see you again.”

 As he disappears through the doorway, a sliver of relief washes over you, leaving a cold dread in its wake. You make sure he’s gone for good before you pick up the cigarette again and snatch the price tag off of your dress.

The name cards look back mockingly at you from the dining table, your name typed in a dainty serif script and printed on cardstock too expensive to burst into flames from your glare alone. On the table is a matching one, delicately placed across from the one person you’ve tried your best to avoid all night. Seated at the head of the table with the love of her life, Utahime pointedly avoids your pleading looks, while you do the same to the giant man squeezed between two of Shoko’s aunts in front of you, pouting just as poorly. 

The guests who aren’t a part of his usual entourage (his assistant and PR manager stand stiffly off to the side of the room, as though trying to blend into the wallpaper) are torn between overtly fawning over the new couple and not-so-covertly fawning over the basketball player. Gojo appears all too comfortable appeasing Utahime’s young cousins between heartfelt toasts given by closer friends and family. They gush at the slightest flex of this man’s biceps and find a little too much amusement in his jokes, much to the bride’s chagrin. You resist the urge to gag while you eat. 

Yet as he works the crowd with his little sideshow, he still finds ways to coax your attention back to him whenever it wanders off too long for his liking. Laughing a little too loud. Accidentally kicking your shin under the table. Accidentally scooting forward too abruptly, shoving the surface so that it presses into your ribs, causing you to sputter into your drink. All done with that teasing, unapologetic smile playing on his lips.

Drinking on an empty stomach hasn’t served you well tonight, yet under the weight of Gojo’s constant attention, you grasp your fork in one hand and another wine glass in the other like a lifeline.

Dinner goes by smoothly, for the most part. 

You down the rest of your wine with a grimace, the sweetness doing little to quell the rising tide of nausea threatening to erupt. The world feels pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, but the sharp awareness of Gojo's presence across the table cuts through the haze like a spotlight.

His amusement has morphed into something closer to concern, a flicker in his cerulean eyes that you can't quite decipher from behind the dimness of his shades. You clench the wine glass a little tighter, the condensation slick against your palm.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over you, accompanied by a horrifying pressure in your bladder. The three glasses of wine you've downed on an empty stomach are starting to make their unwelcome presence known.

Panic claws at your throat. There's no way you can make it through the endless stream of toasts and speeches with this bladder situation. You shoot a desperate glance around the table, hoping for a discreet escape route.

Utahime, bless her oblivious soul, is busy clinking champagne flutes with the Shoko’s parents. Shoko, on the other hand, seems to have noticed your distress. She raises an eyebrow in your direction, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. You mouth a silent plea for help, hoping it doesn't translate to "hold my hair" territory.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, simply nods and subtly gestures towards the back of the room. Relief floods your system, momentarily pushing the pressure in your bladder to the background. You manage a weak smile of thanks in Shoko's direction before excusing yourself from the table.

"Just need some fresh air," you mumble to Gojo, his presence looming large across the expanse of the table. He raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn't press the issue. An uncle swoops in before he can address you, eager to grill him on the plays made in his most recent game, on the odds of his team winning the next.

Clutching your stomach, you weave through the maze of tables, the polite murmurs of the guests a distant hum in your ears. The borrowed dress whispers its disapproval with every movement you make. You finally reach the back of the room, a secluded hallway leading to what you hope are the restrooms.

As you stumble towards your salvation, the world tilts precariously on its axis. You grab onto the nearest wall for support, willing the dizziness to subside.

Suddenly, a strong hand shoots out and steadies your arm. You look up to find Gojo standing there. Worry looks foreign etched onto his usually carefree face.

"Are you alright?" His voice is surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual teasing lilt.

You open your mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a weak groan. The pressure is unbearable now, threatening to become a full-blown disaster.

"Bathroom?" Gojo asks, already guiding you down the hallway with surprising ease.

You nod mutely, following him with the grace of a newborn giraffe.

"Second door on the left," he mutters, his voice a low murmur close to your ear. He pushes open the door and ushers you inside before you can even react.

You stumble into the cool, brightly lit restroom, practically falling onto the nearest stall. But when you turn to close and lock the door, Gojo’s hand is already there, stopping you mid-way.

“Gojo-san,” you startle as he pushes his way into the cramped stall. You back away in a clumsy attempt to make room for yourself, only to nearly fall into the toilet basin when the back of your knees hit the lid. “Gojo, wait -,”

"You know," he says, amusement creeping back into his tone, as he looms over you. You hear rather than see the lock click in place behind him. "There were simpler ways to get me alone."

At this point, your legs are squeezed together with little hope of alleviating the rising pressure in your lower stomach. You want to strangle him. But given your current state, a withering glare is the best you can muster.

"Get out," you croak, collapsing onto the closed toilet seat. He tuts like a disappointed parent as you groan and fend off his growing proximity with weak swats of your arms. 

He chuckles softly. "Take your time. We can wait here when you come out."

"We?" you echo, surprised. Mortified. The ringing in your ears returns, in full force.

"Yeah," comes his breezy reply. "Remember, professional colleagues and all that? Besides, wouldn't want you to collapse on your way back to the table, now would we?"

“Gojo-,”

He sucks his teeth. “C’mon, babe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saying I lost pissing privileges?”

“Gojo, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” a slick look of satisfaction crosses his face when he notices you finally drop the formal title, one more barrier of familiarity extinguished. “Now piss.”

All at once, the frustration and anxiety that had been brewing all night wells up inside you at the height of your duress. You launch at him with what little movement you can afford, but Gojo is faster. He’s quick to pin you against the stall, one arm braced across your shoulders, the other splayed against your lower abdomen. Threatening to press right on the growing balloon of pressure that is your bladder. You immediately wrench back in fear. From his vantage point, Gojo admires the way the wine flush that once populated your cheeks now spreads down past your neckline.

“Do I have your attention now?”

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