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jazzy96scorpio · 12 hours ago

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Heavy Sets

Description: Gym crush? More like gym smash. When [You] and Pedro Pascal meet, it's less about the reps and more about the raw, undeniable heat between you. Prepare for some seriously sweaty moments.

So, grab a cold drink, get comfy, and get ready for a wild ride. You've been warned! 😉

Pairing: You / Pedro Pascal

Warnings ⚠️: Adult Content, Minors do not interact, dirty and flirty talk, oral sex (m. rec), unprotected sex, rough sex, cream pie, SMUT, age and look of reader is not described.

Word count: 1,680

P.S Pedro works hard, but I'm gonna work even harder for you my beloved readers 💜

The beginning of March. A time of burgeoning energy, mirroring the sudden, fierce heat within you. You enter the gym, a private sanctuary, a place where celebrities can blend in, where anonymity is a courtesy.

You begin your warm-up, a familiar routine, but your focus is fractured. You're doing some ab work, then transitioning to legs, the burn a welcome ache.

Jason, your trainer, approaches, a playful grin on his face. "Come on, [Y/N], you can push harder than that! Feel the burn!" He punctuates his encouragement with a light tap on your leg, a gesture that usually makes you laugh. Today, though, your gaze keeps drifting.

You catch your breath, leaning against the weight bench, the cool metal a welcome contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. It's then that you see him. Pedro.

He's a force of nature, a raw, concentrated power. The heavy weights he pushes seem almost weightless in his hands, his muscles flexing and rippling with each controlled movement. The sweat glistening on his skin only amplifies his magnetism.

You've seen him before, of course—a fleeting glimpse in the gym's mirrored walls, a brief conversation with Jason. But today, something is different.

The air crackles with an undeniable energy, a pull that's impossible to ignore.

His arms, those magnificent arms, strain and flex, and you feel a strange heat spreading through you, a longing that has nothing to do with the workout.

You feel like you’re being drawn into his orbit, a moth to a flame. You’ve seen him from afar, but you haven't chance to meet him.

Fuck, you think, the word a silent prayer. You can’t wait anymore.

Jason's voice snaps you back to the present. "Alright, enough resting! Let's get back to those squats. You need to go harder, [Y/N]. You know what they say, no pain, no gain!" He winks, and you force a smile, but your eyes are drawn back to Pedro.

He finishes his set, wiping his brow with a towel. For a heartbeat, his gaze meets yours. There's a flicker of recognition, a spark of something undeniable, in his brown eyes.

He pauses, just for a moment, and then he starts to walk towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest. He's coming closer, his presence filling the space around you. He stops in front of you, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You look like you're working hard," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Mind if I join you for a set?"

"Hey, Pedro" you manage, your voice a little breathless, a little shaky. "Sure, join me."

He smiles, a warm, genuine smile that makes your stomach flip. "What's your name?," he asks, extending a hand. His grip is firm, strong.

"I'm [Y/N]," you reply, your own hand trembling slightly as you take his.

Jason, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, steps in, a knowing grin on his face. "Alright, you two," he says, "since you're working out together, I've got a few partner exercises that'll really get those muscles burning."

He demonstrates a series of stretches and lifts, some of which require close contact. And close is an understatement. Pedro's body is a furnace, radiating heat. His hands, when they touch you, are firm and sure, sending shivers down your body.

Shit, shit, you think, your heart pounding. His body is so close, the scent of his sweat and cologne intoxicating. You're sweating too, dripping, your own heart beating faster every time his eyes meet yours, every time his hands brush against your skin.

A strange, pulsing heat starts to build between your legs, a wet ache that grows with each passing moment. His growls, low and guttural as he strains with the exercises, are a symphony of raw masculinity, driving you wild.

If this goes on any longer, I’m going to lose it right here.

Every time his hands touched you during the exercises, your heart had hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that threatened to betray your growing desire. And now, as he stands so close, the heat radiating from his body, you feel like you’re gonna melt.

Finally, Jason calls a halt. "Alright, that's enough for today," he says, his eyes twinkling. "You two worked up a good sweat."

He offers you both protein drinks, and as he walks away, Pedro turns to you, his eyes dark and intense.

"So, [Y/N]," he says, his voice a low rumble, "do you come here often?" The question is casual, but the way he looks at you, the way his gaze lingers on your lips, is anything but that.

He leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I haven't seen you around much," he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Or maybe I just haven't been paying close enough attention."

"Maybe you haven't," you reply, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"That's a mistake I intend to rectify," he murmurs, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts beneath your workout top. "You have a way of…distracting a man."

He takes a sip of his protein drink, his eyes still fixed on yours. "You know," he says, "I'm always looking for a good workout partner. Someone to push me, to keep me motivated."

He pauses, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Someone as beautiful and determined as you."

"Is that so?" you ask, your heart pounding.

"Absolutely," he says, his voice husky. "And I have a feeling we'd push each other…in more ways than one."

He winks, and a wave of heat washes over you. "Tell me, [Y/N], what do you do when you're not making men sweat?"

You lean in, your breath warm against his ear, and whisper, "I do lot of fun stuff. And I have a few ideas I could do with you." your voice laced with a playful promise.

"But they involve a lot more…sweat." You let your fingers trail lightly down his arm, lingering on the hard muscle beneath his skin. "Unless, of course, you're into that."

He shivers slightly, his smile widening. "I'm into whatever you're into," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Especially when you whisper things like that."

His eyes are dark, intense, and you know he wants you just as much as you want him.

You pull back slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. You want to play a little longer, savor the tension, the anticipation. "I'm a woman of many talents, Pedro," you say, your voice low and seductive. "You'll just have to find out what they are."

The passion and desire in his eyes are almost palpable. He's impatient, eager, and you can see the slight bulge straining against his workout shorts. Your teasing has worked its magic.

"Tell me," he says, his voice rough, "tell me one right now." He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your hand.

"I want to see if those arms can lift me," you murmur, your fingers tracing the hard line of his bicep. "I have a feeling they're strong enough to do a lot more than just lift weights."

You lean in, your breath ghosting across his ear. "I want to feel them wrapped around me, pulling me close, holding me down. I want to feel them on my skin, everywhere, exploring every inch of me."

You nip at his earlobe, then whisper, "I want to feel them guiding me, lifting me, so I can take you deep inside me, until we're both screaming."

He smiles, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'm going to show you," he says, his voice a low growl. "I'm going to show you exactly what these arms can do."

He took your hand, his grip firm and possessive, and led you through the gym, past the empty workout stations, to the secluded shower area. A quick glance confirmed you were alone. He locked the door, the click echoing in the sudden silence.

He turned to you, his eyes dark and hungry, and gently cupped your face in his hands. He leaned in, his lips finding yours in a searing, demanding kiss. He tasted of sweat and raw desire, and you met his passion with equal fervor.

He pulled you closer, his body molding against yours, the heat radiating from him like a furnace. His arms tightened around you, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his already hard body. You could feel his bulge pressing against your already wet pussy, a delicious friction that sent shivers down your spine.

"Ohh Cariño...you are gorgeous." he groaned against your lips. "I've been wanting to fuck you since the moment I saw you."

He nipped at your neck, then whispered, "I want to taste you, to feel you wrapped around me, to hear you scream my name as I fill you." His hand slid down your back, cupping your ass, pulling you even closer. "I want to bury myself so deep inside you, you won't be able to think of anything else."

He pinned you against the cold tile wall, his right hand holding your face captive as his left hand slipped beneath your workout shorts, finding the slick heat between your legs. He smirked, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as he felt how ready you were for him. He teased you with his fingers, circling your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you, then slipping a finger inside, stretching you, preparing you.

You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. You kissed him roughly, pulling him closer, your hands roaming over his hard body, desperate to touch him everywhere. You reached down, your fingers closing around his already throbbing cock, and whispered, "I want to suck your cock."

He smiled, a feral grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Impatient," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "I like that." He pulled down his shorts, revealing his magnificent erection, thick and veiny, pulsing with anticipation. You knelt before him, taking him into your hand.

God, it's huge. I hope I can take it all. Don't gag.

You licked the tip, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, and he cursed, his body tensing. His right hand on the wall, his left hand kneading your shoulder.

You took him deeper, sucking him hard, your saliva slicking his length. He tastes so good, salty and musky. You jerked him off with your right hand, increasing the tempo, driving him wild, your lips working him like a pro. "You like that, don't you?" you purred against his cock. "You like the way I take you deep."

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his voice ragged. "You're so good. So fucking good."

"Wait," he groaned, his voice ragged. "I'm going to...I want to be inside you." He pulled you to your feet, his eyes burning with desire.

As you stood up, slightly wobbly, after taking him deep into your mouth, he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, and pulled up your workout top. He slid it off your shoulders, his eyes widening as he took in your bare breasts. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice thick with awe. "You are so beautiful." His gaze lingered on your body, his eyes dark with desire.

You quickly pulled down your shorts and panties, and he lifted you up with his huge arms, pinning you against the cold tile. The sudden chill was a stark contrast to the burning heat between your legs. He positioned himself between your thighs, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, stretching you to your limit.

You cried out, your body arching against his.

He's so big, so full. It hurts, but it's a good hurt.

He kissed you roughly, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he began to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, then building in intensity. "You're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "So wet for me. So fucking good."

He gripped your hips, pulling you closer, driving deeper with each thrust.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't feel your legs," he growled. "Until you beg me to stop."

Your bodies were pressed together, so close you could feel every muscle, every curve, every pulse of heat. It was as if you were one being, two halves finally joined. He moved inside you, slow and deep, then faster, harder, his thrusts powerful and relentless.

His heavy breathing filled the small space, a raw, animal sound that mingled with your own gasps and moans. His dark eyes, intense and focused, never left yours, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face. His lips, so sweet and demanding, found yours again and again, each kiss a searing brand.

I don't want this to end, you thought, I wanna feel like this forever.

The feeling of him inside you, the heat, the power, the sheer intensity of the moment—it was intoxicating.

He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper, each one a brutal, delicious invasion.

He ground his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your walls, hitting that sweet spot sending waves of pure pleasure through you. "Say it, [Y/ N]. Say you're mine."

His thrusts were relentless, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "I'm going to make you come so hard," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking hard."

"Fuck yes..I'm gonna be yours..Pedro" you said letting out low moan.

"Tell me you like it," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to feel you clench around me, milking me dry."

"Fuck yes..I like it," you gasped, your nails digging into his back.

"Pedro...Fuck me harder." You arched your back, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more. "Fill me up," you moaned. "I want to feel you inside me, owning me."

He groaned, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

"I want to leave bruises on your beautiful ass."he growled, his voice thick with lust.

"Fuck yes..." you moaned, your breath heavy, "I want you to mark me..I want everyone to know I'm yours."

I'm going to come. I'm going to come for him.

He gripped your hips, slamming into you with relentless force. He's so hard, so deep. I'm so close.

"You're so fucking perfect. I could fuck you all night."," he says, his voice a low, guttural growl.

"I can feel you milking me, baby. So good." He ground his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your swollen clit, sending waves of pure pleasure through you. "Say my name," he commanded, his voice rough.

I'm going to come for him. I need him to push me over the edge.

"Come for me, [Y/N]. Come for me, mi pequeña diabla. Let me hear you scream."

"Pedro!" you cried out, your body convulsing as you reached your peak. "Fuck, yes! I'm coming!"

He thrust into you one last time, a powerful, shuddering stroke, and then he was coming too, his hot, thick cum flooding your core.

"Good girl," he groaned, his voice ragged. "That was fucking amazing." He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

He feels so good. I want him to never stop.

He stayed deep inside you, the heat of his body still filling you, the mingled juices of your passion dripping down your thighs.

He kissed you gently, cupping your face in his right hand, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your lips. "I want to taste these lips every day, Muñeca!" he murmured, his voice husky with satisfaction.

"I want to fuck you every day," you replied, your voice a little breathless, "several times a day. Until you pass out."

He smiled, a slow, predatory grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "I want that too," he said.

"There are things I want to do to you," you whispered, your voice laced with a playful promise. "This was just the intro, Papi.."

He kissed you again, a lingering, tender kiss that spoke of unspoken promises. "You've awakened something in me, [Y/N]," he murmured, his voice filled with a raw emotion that made your heart ache. "Something I thought was long gone."

"Let's shower," he said, his voice regaining its playful tone, "and get some coffee. My treat."

Your legs were shaking, a delightful tremor that spoke of the intense workout you'd just received. You were exhausted, not just from the gym, but from the way he'd just thoroughly fucked the your soul out of your body.

Deadly fever, please don't ever break

Be my reliever ’cause I don’t self medicate

And it burns like a gin and I like it

Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it

Hurts, but I know how to hide it, kinda like it

After a quick shower, where he tenderly washed your back and kissed the bruises he left on your hips "I'm loving every inch of you." He murmured on your ear.

You sneaked out of the gym.

You could barely walk. "I can't drive like this," you said, your voice a little shaky.

"I'll take you home," he said, his eyes filled with concern. He helped you with your bags, then gently assisted you into his car. He picked up coffee for both of you, then drove you to your apartment.

"Would you like to come in?" you asked, your voice laced with a hopeful anticipation.

He smiled, his eyes warm and kind. "I'd love to," he said. He was so kind, so sweet, a stark contrast to the raw, primal man he'd been in the shower.

Inside your apartment, the atmosphere shifted. You ordered a pizza, sharing slices and easy conversation. He listened intently as you talked about your life, your dreams, your passions.

As the evening drew to a close, he pulled out his phone. "Can I have your number?" he asked, his voice soft.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. "Of course."

He entered your number, then looked up at you, his eyes sparkling. "I'd love to take you to dinner tomorrow night," he said, his voice laced with a hopeful anticipation. "Like a real date. If you'd like."

"I'd love that," you replied, your smile widening. "I'd really like that."

He leaned in, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Good," he murmured, his voice husky. "Because I can't wait to see you again." He kissed you softly, a tender, lingering kiss that promised more to come. "I'll pick you up at seven," he said, his eyes filled with a warm light. "get some rest, preciosa." (beautiful)

He kissed your forehead, then turned and walked out the door, leaving you with a lingering warmth and the sweet anticipation of tomorrow night.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Please like,reblog and comment. ❣️

God why did you gave me dirty mind and a kink for an older man with brown eyes, and obsession for Pedro Pascal...Why..???

That gym photo was inspiration for this fic. My mind couldn't stop imagining this 😈🫣

I listened to the Billie Eilish song - My strange addiction while writing this. Fits perfectly 👌

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fic #SoundCloud #Spotify

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bonnie-the-butcher · 2 days ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter XII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.179 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I will never be able to top that Cain and Abel paragraph. Please mourn for my writing career. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You can feel the vice grip of JJ’s hand pressing against your veins, your pulse thundering against him, growing faster with every failed attempt to wring yourself away.

– JJ, – You gasp, trying to twist yourself out of his hold, pulling, wringing, fruitlessly. He yanks you forward before you can finish, dragging you toward the bike.

Your breath catches.

– JJ, let go of me, you’re hurting me—

– Get on the bike. – He doesn’t yell it. His voice is tight, barely restrained, the kind of anger that isn’t meant to be loud—it’s meant to be a warning.

You shake your head, twisting against his hold. – You can’t drive like— You can’t— I can’t just leave—

– Yes, you can. – His grip tightens. – You will.

He’s pulling, and you’re fighting it—your heels digging into the pavement, the weight of your body thrown back, hand grasping at the grass like it can hold you back. You try to wrench your wrist free, but he’s so much stronger than you like this, fueled by something dark, barely controlled.

– Stop it! Please, just fucking stop it, JJ! What are you doing?! – Your voice cracks, desperate. – You’re acting crazy, just—let me go!

He doesn’t. Not for a second. His hand tightens, impossibly, against your arm and he tugs you forward with all his force until you crash against him, barely on your feet, your knees shaking.

– JJ—

– I swear to fucking God, – He growls, his voice a rumble something familiar, painfully so, something that makes your stomach turn. – if I have to tell you again—

You shake your head, thoughtlessly, maniacally. You can’t control the movement.

You don’t know what he’ll do if you refuse.

And that’s the problem.

Because neither does he.

JJ isn’t thinking. He isn’t here.

He’s someone else entirely. His mind is a blur. Whoever this person is, standing before you, wants nothing but to hurt you.

Your heart hammers as the reality sets in.

You could fight. But he'd beat you. You could hope for help. But there’s no one around to stop him. You could scream, but what good would it do if no one’s there to hear you?

And if you don’t do what he says?

He won’t leave.

Not until you get on that bike.

Barry’s bike.

Barry.

Your heart stops.

Where is Barry? What did JJ do to him? Why didn’t he answer your calls? Did he take something else? Did he leave him, alone, somewhere, with nowhere else to go?

And if he doesn’t leave, if he keeps shouting like this, keeps grabbing you, demanding you go with him—

It’ll be worse.

So much worse.

Your job. Your safety. This sliver of security you're already clinging to by the skin fingernails.

You just barely escaped being fired. JJ isn’t above making a scene to teach you a lesson. He doesn’t care how much he hurts you when he’s like this.

The words get caught in your throat. You force yourself to swallow them down, along with everything else you want to say.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the seat.

JJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t let go of his anger. Just swings his leg over the bike and nods toward the seat behind him. – Get on.

You hesitate, taking a step back without even thinking, like your body won't let you do this, and he snaps—one hand darting out, grabbing your wrist again, tugging you forward so violently you stumble.

Your stomach lurches.

You don’t want to do this.

But what choice do you have?

You climb onto the bike, your legs barely steady, your arms wrapped around him because you have nothing else to hold on to.

JJ barely gives you time to breathe before he guns it. The engine revs, roaring like a vicious animal. The bike lurches forward before you’re even ready. Your grip slips. Your balance wavers. For a split second, you’re weightless.

You slam against JJ’s back, your arms snapping around his waist on instinct, clinging tight as the bike rockets forward, faster than it should, faster than it ever should.

– JJ—!

The wind rips the word from your mouth.

Streetlights flash by in violent streaks of gold and red. The world blurs at the edges, sharp and endless and cruel, like you’ve been thrown into a nightmare that won’t stop shifting.

JJ doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t breathe. His body is tense, coiled too tight, a wire pulled so thin it can feel the incoming snap. His grip on the handlebars is white-knuckled, his back rigid beneath your grip.

The bike swerves.

Your stomach drops.

The road bends, but JJ doesn’t. He takes the turn too sharp, too recklessly, the tires skidding for half a second. Your whole body tilts, your knee nearly scraping asphalt.

You whimper, pressing yourself closer, fingers desperate as they grasp his clothes, knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding on.

– JJ—slow down!

He doesn’t.

The engine growls louder, vibrating beneath you, rattling in your bones, shaking in your chest like a second heartbeat.

He flies past a red light, too fast, too close, too dangerous.

A car blares its horn—loud, long, furious.

You choke on a scream, your whole body bracing for impact, for the crash, for the pain—

But nothing comes. Only the phantom of an accident growing within you, coiling inside your chest, tightening, painfully, building up a fear that already has you frozen, praying, waiting for death.

Terror crawls up your throat, sharp and cold.

– JJ, please, – You gasp, voice cracking. – Please—just stop.

For a moment, you think he won’t.

For a moment, you think he’ll ride forever, until the world ends, until you both crash and burn.

Then, finally—finally—he eases off the throttle.

Not much.

Just enough to breathe again.

Just enough to make you realize you were barely breathing at all.

Your pulse roars in your ears.

The wind still slashes at your skin, the tires still groan against the pavement, but the speed—the nightmare speed—has lessened.

Your fingers ache from gripping too tight. Your lungs burn from holding back screams.

And just then, just when you feel the burn in your throat, your lungs, your eyes, retreat, when your arms loosen the slightest bit, when you nearly relax, he sinks his foot on the gas, and suddenly you’re going faster than you ever were.

You can’t contain the scream this time— It surges through you like a bullet, and it ends halfway through, your voice dying in your chest, having used up the little breath you had— you’re choking again. You can’t think.

Your mind rushes, your hands cling, tears falling from you before you can even register them.

But JJ doesn’t slow down.

Even as the streets turn to dirt. Even as the road twists into something precarious, dangerous, unforgiving.

The pavement is cracked, riddled with potholes, with gaping wounds in the asphalt that could send you both flying if he miscalculates even once.

But he doesn’t care.

He flies down the path like he’s untouchable, like the Cut itself will bend to his will, like there’s no chance he could crash.

But you could.

You watch the ground loom ever closer with every turn he makes, asphalt slashing against the metal of the bike like a blade.

Your bones rattle with every jolt, your stomach lurches as the tires stumble over loose gravel, and you can barely think past the fear.

The bike jerks to a halt before your house so suddenly that you don’t even realize it stopped at first.

And you’re falling.

You don’t know whether you jumped or were thrown off.

Your feet hit the ground, but your legs don’t hold.

Your knees collapse into the dirt.

Your hands reach out, clutching the earth beneath you like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

You gasp, dragging air into your lungs like you’ve been drowning for miles.

The ground is solid. Rough. Real.

But it slips through your fingers, and you can’t hold yourself steady.

You try to focus on the feeling of grit beneath your nails, the sting of pebbles digging into your skin.

Anything to remind yourself that you’re not moving anymore.

But you still feel it.

The phantom pull of the road. The momentum still dragging at your bones. The way your body still thinks you’re going too fast, too fast, too fast—

Somewhere in the haze, you hear voices.

Barry. John. Shouting. Arguing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, press your fingers harder into the dirt, try to remind yourself that you’re here. That you’re on the ground.

That you’re not crashing.

But God, it still feels like you are —Your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the dirt within your fingers. You breathe, gasping, trying to get air, but it’s stuck against your hiccups, against the sobs you don’t even have the strength to choke down— You’re crying. The air is still whizzing past you, sharp, so sharp you can feel it dragging you back, the ground looming closer, your bones nothing but glass.

– There you fucking are. Was it fun? You had your little fucking joyride?! – The voice echoes out from beyond, like you’re stuck, sinking into the air, towards the pavement, and they’re watching you from above.

It's Barry, you realize.

His voice cuts through the haze, loud and livid, sharp enough to hurt. And something inside you thrums. That stupid part of yourself, the part that always hopes someone will help you.

You want to run to him. You want him to see you, to hold you —solid, real, safe— you want something against you, something that isn’t this void that clings to you, this feeling that you’re a moment away from the worst pain you’ll ever feel.

But you can’t stand.

You can’t look at him.

You can’t do anything.

Your hands are still pressed into the dirt, your chest heaving, your body still bracing for impact that never came.

Because it still feels like you’re falling.

And you are.

You’re on the ground, but you’re not. You can’t stand. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Something is gonna crash against you. Something sharp. Something that’ll hurt you.

You’ve been beaten enough times to know this feeling, the gasping, aching anticipation of the whip coming down, that split second before someone hits you, before the ground jolts you, before something in you breaks.

Your whole body shakes—not just from fear, not just from the cold, from the void, but from the ache of knowing something worse is coming. You know it's coming. And you know you won’t come out of this unscathed.

Barry stops.

Mid-step, mid-swing, mid-word—he stops.

Because he sees you.

He sees you on the ground.

He sees you pale, trembling, sobbing.

And just like that, his anger vanishes.

He says something, his breath caught in his throat as his steps quicken, as he rushes towards you, having completely forgotten the rest.

His boots crunch against the gravel, loud and reckless and looming. You can’t even help but flinch. Your body jolts backwards, away from him, and you’re crawling again, recoiling until he’s dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out but not touching.

Like he’s done so many times.

And you’re there, this broken stray, cowering in the corner, shaking, shaking so bad you can’t even reach for him like you want.

– Sweetheart, – He murmurs, low, gentle in a way that makes you feel all the more pathetic. – Look at me.

You can’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head, curling tighter into yourself, fingers digging into the dirt as if you could disappear into it.

Barry swears under his breath. His hand resting so softly against your shoulder that he too is almost startled by how you flinch.

He stills.

His hand is barely touching you, barely even there, and yet your whole body flinches—hard, like he struck you instead— like a dog, waiting for a boot in the ribs.

His breath hitches.

– Shit, – He exhales, barely a whisper. Slowly, carefully, he puts his hand on yout back. You don’t move.

You stay there, curled tight, fingers buried in the dirt, shaking, shaking, shaking.

He steadies the rest of his hand against your skin. And you don’t move. Because this is familiar. He’s done this before.

This isn’t new.

Barry swears again, softer this time, and then —very slowly— he moves again. His knees drag through the dirt, his other hand rests on your side.

Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just... offering.

A slow, steady pressure against your back. A grounding weight. A reminder.

You shudder.

Your body is still caught in the past, still bracing for a hit that isn’t coming, still waiting for the moment of impact.

But it doesn’t come.

Just warmth.

Just Barry.

Again.

Nothing’s coming. You have to tell yourself. It’s over. You're okay.

But you don’t believe it. Not fully.

– Sweetheart, – He tries again, voice lower now, still gentle but almost frustrated. Your heart catches. And you feel that guilt blooming in you again. Because he’s had to do this before. Because he’s had to pick up the pieces of you from the ground plenty of times before. You want to kick yourself. You don’t deserve this. You almost flinch away. But his hold tightens, the slightest bit. Grounding. Like he’s afraid to scare you away. – You’re okay. You’re okay. Just relax. You're okay.

You’re okay.

You don’t move.

Not until he presses a little firmer. Not until his fingers brush your ribs, not holding, not forcing, just... there. Until he pulls at you, softly, not like JJ did.

Barry doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, firm and solid, pulling you in, gathering you up, shielding you from the air itself. The second you feel his grip tighten, you break. A sob wracks through you, sharp and choked, as your hands claw at his shirt, gripping, gripping, gripping.

You cling like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

Like you’re still moving too fast, and he’s just barely keeping you grounded.

Barry holds you tighter. – You’re okay. – He repeats.

Something's coming. Steps behind him. You see the outline of someone, legs walking towards the two of you, but when you move, he holds you tighter. Arms bracing your back like a straightjacket, keeping you from yourself. Keeping you sane.

– You’re okay. – Is the only thing he says. And he keeps saying it, again and again, until the words echo in your mind, bouncing against the walls of your skull, less and less frantic until you can say it.

You believe him.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to stop falling.

But your name resounds again from behind you. Once, a second time, then you feel that same hand that grabbed you sink into your arm again, trying to pull you back. – Get up! – JJ shouts, nails sinking into your shoulders as he grabs you.

Barry pushes him away.

Shoves him.

You hear the stutter in JJ’s steps as he stumbles back, sinking further into his arms like a child. – What the fuck did you do, huh? What the fuck did you do to her, JJ?!

– Get up and fucking look at me. – He keeps pulling at you, calling your name, his hand burrowing into your flesh. You want to stand, you want to push him away, but you cower. And Barry does it for you.

He shoves JJ again, hard enough that you feel the struggle between them. – She ain’t gotta listen to a word you say, psycho! What the fuck is your problem?!

JJ laughs—sharp, bitter, like it’s the funniest fucking thing in the world.

– Course you’d hide behind him, – He spits, his voice mocking, cruel. – That’s all you ever fucking do. Hide.

Barry tenses.

You feel it.

The way his muscles coil, the way his grip shifts, ready to push back, to swing, to end this.

But JJ doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even look at Barry.

He’s still looking at you.

You can feel his eyes burning holes into your back as you pull back from Barry. You can feel the rage emanating off of him.

– You got nothing to say now? – JJ presses, stepping closer. – Nothing at all? You usually talk such big game, baby. Now you can't even look me in the eye?!

Barry moves first.

– Back the fuck up.

It’s not a warning.

It’s a command.

– Why? Are you worried she’s too close to stab me in the back again? The way I see it, she’s in the perfect position to do that to you, man!

You pull back from Barry, hands still clinging to his shirt as you turn to look at JJ, but Barry doesn’t let go, not as JJ’s gaze finally flicks to him, smirking, scoffing. Not as he pulls you to your feet again, tearing you away from your friend like you're nothing but a thing he can take.

– You feel good? – JJ’s voice is low, furious, barely held together, as his hands sink into you. – Feel real fucking good going behind everyone’s back? Working for Rafe? That do it for you?

Your chest tightens.

– Stop it—

– You got your little job, right? – JJ barrels over your words, stepping closer, looming, his breath hot, sharp, filled with venom. – That what you’re calling it now? Fucking us all over for a paycheck? Maybe that isn’t it though, maybe you’re the one who’s getting fucked, huh?

John bristles from the porch, his voice low, tense. – JJ.

– Nah. She knows what she’s doing, right? Did you tell your brother how Rafe was all over you in that parking lot, calling you baby and shit?! That dignified, hard-working girl act you put up really paid off huh? You really had us all fooled! – John doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t call JJ out, he just stands there. – Feel fulfilled now? Now that you managed to tick off every fucking form of betrayal in the book? Because you got me fucked up!

Barry’s done.

– She ain’t got you fucked up, man. That’s exactly what you are. Are you serious right now? – Barry snaps, voice rough with disbelief. – You wanna talk about her fucking up? You—you who does nothing but fuck up?!

– Nobody is fucking talking to you, bro.

– Ain’t nobody around here your “bro”, JJ. Thank God, too. Weren’t your parents siblings or whatever? That’d explain why you only got half a fucking brain.

– Shut the fuck u—

– Oh, Alabama over here’s mad! – Barry scoffs, a quick, sharp sound drained of anything even close to humor. – That’s actually hilarious. That some bum like you would feel like you have the right to call anyone out on what they do or don’t do for work. You sit here, lounging for free in this house she pays for, doing jack shit with your fucking life like the trailer trash your ass is—but she’s the bad guy for working? Is that how long it’s been since you had a job, JJ? That you can’t fathom the possibility of someone making money without selling themselves?

JJ laughs.

Not real. Not amused.

Just dangerous.

Like he’s already decided how this ends.

– That’s cute, – He murmurs, nodding slowly, like it’s all some joke he’s humoring. – That’s real fucking cute. You’re gonna add anything to this conversation, or is your dog doing all the talking for you today?

Barry chuckles. Dry and low, so low you can barely hear it. – Dog? You run around sniffing John B’s ass all day and night like you’re in heat or something, but I’m the one who’s a dog? Shit, I ain’t see a bitch around here but you, JJ.

JJ lunges. His fist swings through the air, quick and violent, but before he can even touch Barry, he uppercuts him in the stomach.

JJ tumbles back, his hands still on you, tearing at you, grabbing, ripping, pulling— but his grip doesn’t stand the pain Barry caused him, and he falters.

Barry reacts instantly.

He grabs his arm, shoves him off of you, pivots —his knuckles slam into JJ’s temple.

The sound is sickening: A dull, thudding crack of bone on bone. JJ’s head snaps sideways. His body stumbles, tilting, collapsing.

But Barry doesn’t stop.

He’s on him before he hits the ground, tackling him hard, sending them both crashing into the dirt.

JJ barely has time to react before Barry’s fist connects again.

And again.

A hit to the jaw—JJ spits blood.

A hit to the cheekbone—his head slams back against the ground.

Barry is relentless.

You call his name, your heart racing, the blood searing your vision like a burning bush, but he doesn’t listen.

His teeth are bared, his muscles coiled and shaking, his body moving on pure fury, on the weight of everything JJ has said, everything he’s done. The years he’s spent hating him for you, the months he’s been hating JJ for the stupid shit he pulled and the problem’s he’s caused him.

He’s beating him to a fucking pulp.

JJ groans. A sharp, wet, broken sound, choked by the blood in his mouth.

His fist swings again—

And that’s when you move.

You throw yourself forward, grabbing Barry’s arm, yanking, clawing, trying to drag him off—

– Stop it! You’re gonna kill him! Stop it! – Your voice cracks, weak, your attempts useless even as your brother joins you, trying to pull them apart, but Barry keeps swinging.

His breathing hard, shaking, still staring down at JJ, moving despite your grip and John’s, like he wants to break something permanent. Like just bruising him isn’t enough.

Like he’s one more hit away from doing it.

You pull harder, hands gripping his clothes, his arm, anything you can reach.

Barry jerks against your hold, laughing, spitting at JJ—then finally, he lets you drag him back.

His breathing is ragged, wild, unhinged.

JJ groans, coughing. His face is already swelling, blood smeared across his cheek.

Your stomach twists.

You reach for him before you can think, hands hovering over his face, over the bruises already forming.

– JJ, – You breathe, shaking. – Jesus fucking Christ.

He's a mess. Blood, flesh, face. You can barely make one thing out from the other. Barely see the damage.

Your hands brush the bloodied hair out of his face, an instinctive motion, just so you can see where the cuts ends and the swelling begins. And for a moment, he almost seems like he’ll let you.

JJ's eyes part, moving though your face as you look at him, and he breathes in deep. He sighs.

A familiar sound.

Relief.

Relief that it's over.

You reach again, just barely ghosting your hands over his temple, where Barry hit him first. But his eyes widen, something in them shifting, cold, cruel.

And he shoves you away.

Hard.

Hard enough that you stumble back as well.

Hard enough that Barry notices.

You hear him tear himself away from John's grip, rushing past you, but you grab him just in time. – Please, please Barry. Stop it. Just stop it. Don't do this right now.

Barry is still trembling, breath wild, erratic, hands twitching like he’s one second away from lunging all over again.

You feel it, the anger rolling off him in waves, the way his body keeps trying to pull forward, like something feral inside him hasn’t had enough.

You grip his wrist tighter. – Please, – You whisper. – Please, Barry. Just stop it. Don’t do this right now.

Barry’s teeth grind together. His breath is sharp, ragged, dangerous.

But he listens.

JJ doesn’t.

John helps him sit up, a steadying hand on his back, but the second JJ is upright, breathing, aware again—he’s talking. Talking, insulting, tearing into you like it’s the only thing keeping him conscious.

– You’re gonna let him? – His voice is hoarse, broken, but still filled with venom. – This piece of shit does nothing but get you in trouble but— He spits blood onto the dirt, wipes his mouth, shaking his head. – You’re just gonna let him do whatever he wants?

Your stomach twists.

– JJ—

– I shouldn’t be surprised. – His head snaps up. Eyes blazing, furious, wild. – You let it happen, – He snarls. – You always let it happen, You don’t give a fuck about us. Don’t fucking act like you do. You stood there and fucking— He gestures to himself, to the mess Barry made of him, to his swollen face, to the blood dripping onto his collar. – And you fucking let him do it.

– What the fuck are you gonna do about it, then, tough guy? – Barry laughs, his hands trembling.

JJ’s muscles snap tight.

You push Barry back again, more frantic now, shaking, pleading, but he doesn’t listen.

Your hands tremble.

JJ pushes himself up fully now, John’s grip still firm on his shoulder, holding him steady. But it doesn’t matter.

Because JJ is not steady.

Not at all.

– You ain’t gonna say anything, huh? – He breathes, voice cold, sharp, shaking. – You play the tough girl act very well for someone who’s such a bitch.

Barry tenses again. His laugh is the crack of a whip as he pushes past you, you have to shove at him just so he won’t rush in and punch him again.

John’s holding JJ back, his face wrecked with something almost sad. Almost worried. – Let go of me. – Barry groans, the impatience growing in his voice. – Let go of me sweetheart, this motherfucker needs to be put in his place.

– Let it go, Bee.

– Let it go?! – He does a double take, looking at you as if you’d grown a second head. – Let it go? He just called you a—

– I heard it. Please, this is enough. You nearly killed him. You won. – You grip his arm tighter. His breath comes out heavy, perplexed. – Just let it go, please.

John’s voice is a murmur behind you, whatever it is that he says to his friend doesn’t reach you, but you know it isn’t working, because the outrage on JJ’s face doesn’t budge. – JJ—

– You’re a fucking traitor. – He spits your name out along with the blood, your brother still trying to pull him back with all he’s got. – You are. You’re a traitor and a whore!

It punches through you.

JJ stumbles forward, closer, swaying but still standing.

– You don’t belong here, – He seethes. – Get the fuck out.

Your heart stops.

You blink at him, your breath snagging in your throat.

This is your house. Your home. He can’t—he can’t just tell you to—

– Get out. – It’s louder this time, meaner, angrier, like it’s his right to say it, like he actually has the power to take something else from you. – Since you’re so happy to be Rafe’s free use slut, go ahead and do it on your own! We don’t fucking need you!

Your lips part. – This is my house, – But your voice is a sliver of what it once was. You’re not looking at JJ. You barely hear his words, but your brother is standing there, completely still. His arms suddenly lax around the other boy. – This is my house! – Louder, firmer, but just as useless.

– I don’t think it is. – JJ laughs. He’s looking back at your brother now, too. Because he knows John isn’t gonna say anything. He knows it just as well as you do. – Your name isn’t John Routledge. That’s the name on the deed, isn’t it? And it’s not yours.

– John. – You’re pleading again. The gray-green of your brother’s eyes gaping at you emptily, thoughtlessly, as if he’s gone into shock. – Say something, John. This is my house too!

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

– Say something!

You don’t know how many times you’ve done this.

How many times you’ve stood there, practically on your knees, begging him to act like a brother. To act like he cares about you. To act as if he’d loved you for a single moment of his life.

You don’t know how many times you’ve gotten this exact response.

The blank stare.

The guilty face.

That look in his eye that tells you just how much he doesn’t have it in him to pretend, even for a moment, that you’re less than the stupid girl who, for whatever reason, has done everything in your power to keep him afloat.

– John. – His name comes out hoarse, quiet. A whisper. A prayer. A plea.

His eyes never waver from yours, he keeps looking, keeps standing there, and though his face is cracked with guilt, there is no shame. Nothing that would make him act on it.

Maybe there’s just nothing there.

No fire. No anger. No defense. No loyalty.

Just the look you’ve seen a thousand fucking times before.

You don’t know why you still beg. You don’t know why you still believe.

You are pleading with a ghost.

John doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Like he’s already decided. Like this is already done.

And it is.

But it wasn’t done with the fight, or the cursing, or the blood, not even the way JJ turns, tossing the keys to the bike onto the ground, storming off like he’s the one who was wronged. Not when you see the way John hesitates for half a second, looking at you like he wants to say something, like he wants to take it back, like he wants to undo what’s already done—

Not even when he follows him, turning his back on you like it’s so simple, so natural, like it was always meant to be.

It ended years ago.

Maybe it never even began.

Maybe you're the only fool alive who ever believed you were his sister.

The night cracks open.

The silence presses in.

You're stuck inside your body, inside your head, inside all the memories that claw their way back into you like rusted nails.

You are twelve years old, standing behind John, watching through the schoolyard fence as JJ and the others shove you into the dirt.

"Ain’t she your sister?" someone asks.

John laughs with them.

"Nah, man. I don’t know her."

You are fifteen, standing in the living room, your hands trembling at your sides as your father slams you against the wall.

John is at the end of the hall.

Watching.

Silent.

Your father’s voice is thunder in your ears.

"You think you’re smart, huh? You think I don’t know it was you?"

But it wasn’t you. It was John.

And he lets it happen anyway.

You are seventeen, standing in this very yard, watching your brother walk away from you again.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always will.

Because John —the John you thought you knew, the John that sobbed in your arms for months every night your father didn't come home, the John who wouldn't eat unless you fed him, who wouldn't sleep unless you held him, wouldn't leave the house unless you were close enough that he could grab you, was never there. John, the boy, John, the brother. He's only ever existed as far as he needed you. And now he doesn’t— is not there.

He's John B.

The star student, the popular kid. That boy that was always too good to hang around some mongrel like you.

And this is what John B does.

This is what he’s always done.

He doesn’t protect you.

He doesn't defend you.

He doesn’t choose you.

Every time you’ve asked God whether you were your brother’s keeper, you felt the weight of every living soul around you say no —You closed your eyes, and you were Abel, lying, stupidly, on the ground you just tilled as he stood behind you with a stone, ready to crush you. You were Remus, laying bricks with your back turned as he came to slay you. You were Osiris, walking thoughtlessly into a coffin he’s made to bury you, fully believing that he wanted nothing but to see you well— Because for every life you’ve shared, he’s killed you, and still somehow convinced you to pray that you’re still siblings in the next.

You don’t remember when your hands started shaking.

Or when your knees lost their strength.

Or when your breath began coming too fast, too shallow, not enough, never enough.

All you know is that the world tilts.

And you sway.

And you break.

And you cry.

You reach out—for something, anything—but there’s nothing to hold onto.

Nothing but empty space where your brother used to be, where the two of you used to play, where you once believed you could be something like brother and sister.

The sky blurs. The trees waver. The ground rushes toward you.

But before you can collapse, before you can even feel yourself falling, Barry catches you.

He's solid. Real.

Not like John. —You shake your head, mentally scratching that concept from your conscience— Not like John B.

– Hey—hey—look at me. – Barry’s hands grip your arms, tight, steady. His eyes search your face, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a mile. – C'mon. Breathe.

You press your hands against his chest, against something solid, something unshaking, something that won’t disappear the moment you close your eyes.

And finally you do breathe. But the wound is still gaping. Still bleeding. And John B is already gone. The door slams closed, leaving you to rot in the silence, bathed by the flickering light of the porch; the one you asked him to change for a lightbulb you bought weeks ago, and is still sitting, forgotten on his nightstand.

Barry smooths the tears away from your face, like he used to do when you came to him after a fight with your father, like he’s done for every heartbreak since. – Let’s go home. – He whispers, his hands still cupping your face. The plastic of his keys—Rafe’s keys— pressed against your jaw. – C’mon, let me take you home.

– It's gone, Bee.

– It's not.

– He kicked me out, I can’t come back. It's gone.

– It’s not, it isn’t, don’t fucking say that—don’t ever say that again. – His grip on you tightens, the muscles of his hand flexing against your skin, quick, so quick, you barely brace yourself when he makes you stand in front of him. – That piece of shit isn’t your home. This place? This fucking dump you lived in? This isn’t your home. I’m your home, okay? And you’re mine, and you’re not staying here to keep breaking your own heart over and over again. Let's go.

– Barry—

– I don’t wanna hear it. – He's firm. He's angry. Your chest weighs heavy, still forever afraid of any sign of anger, even when it’s not directed to you. But he holds you, and he looks at you, really looks at you, and he repeats. – Let’s go, okay? I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t wanna hear you complaining.

– Okay.

– C’mon.

Barry’s hands are firm, unshaking, steady, and you barely feel them as he guides you toward the bike. Everything is distant, muted, like you’re watching yourself move from somewhere outside your own body. A conscience beyond your own.

You let him press the helmet onto your head, let him buckle it under your chin with a flick of his fingers. And you watch the way he moves.

His hands are still clenched as he tosses your purse, discarded over the ground, on your lap. He looks over his shoulders, at the closed door, with his jaw clenched, and every so often he shakes his head, frowning, outraged by a thought you can’t hear, can't know.

You don’t remember climbing onto the bike.

You barely register the way Barry grips your hands, pulling them around his waist, but he doesn’t say anything. Not the usual "Hold on, sweetheart," he always says like it’s second nature, not any of the stupid comments he makes whenever you ride with him. His movements are brisk, borderline impatient, but not careless, never careless. He kicks the bike to life, the engine shuddering through your bones as it hums beneath you, the heat of the exhaust jostling against the scrapes on your legs.

Then, you’re moving.

Not fast. Not yet.

But even at this speed, the wind presses against you, makes you feel untethered, unsteady, fragile in a way you haven’t let yourself acknowledge until now. You close your eyes and grip him tight, focusing on the smell of the helmet, breathing it in, the smoke of his cigarettes, the shoddy menthol of his nicotine gum, and something grounding, something real.

Your fingers find the fabric of his shirt —your shirt— the old marina shirt that belonged to your dad, the one you were wearing that day with him and Rafe, when everything went to shit. It’s crumpled, but it feels nice, still tender from the fabric softener you used for that last wash.

You feel the moment he registers it, the way you grip him, trying to distract yourself—the way his muscles tense slightly, the way his hands shift against the handles, grip tightening, the moment of hesitation before he sighs through his nose and settles.

He drives slower than usual.

Not slow, but slow enough that you can tell.

Slow enough that it’s not Barry’s usual recklessness, his usual need to prove something.

Slow enough that he’s paying attention.

You don’t know how long you ride like that.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe a whole fucking lifetime.

Everything is blurred, stretched thin, bleeding together like a half-forgotten dream, and you let it wash over you, let the hum of the engine drown out the roar in your head, let the road carry you somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here, that isn’t now.

You don’t notice when he turns onto the familiar back roads.

You don’t notice the flickering neon light, the cracked pavement, the darkened windows.

You don’t notice where you are at all.

Not until he kills the engine.

Not until the silence crashes over you, sharp and final. Not until you hear the low creak of his kickstand settling, the way he shifts slightly beneath your hands, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before glancing over his shoulder.

Not until you look up.

And the sign is right there, right above you.

The River Styx.

Your stomach drops.

But Barry doesn’t say anything, his fingers brush over your wrist, still taught around his waist, and he pats his other hand over your knee. – C'mon.

You just stare at the sign, the neon glow casting strange shadows across the pavement, the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You should have known.

Of course he’d bring you here.

Because where else would you go?

Where else is there to go?

Barry swings his leg off the bike, tossing the helmet onto the seat, shaking his head like he’s already exhausted by whatever is going on in his own head. He exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw, then gestures toward the door.

– Come on, sweetheart, it's about time this day fucking ends.

You swallow hard, unmoving.

His brows pull together slightly, like he’s trying to be patient, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say, but Barry isn’t built for patience, for softness, for comfort in the way people expect it.

So instead, he sighs, takes a step closer, and reaches for your wrist, fingers curling around it, not pulling, just holding. – You promised. – He says, but this time it actually is softer, kinder, nearly patient. – Now, we can go back if you want, but then the deal is over, and you'll have to sleep on the pull-out couch.

You scoff, still looking at the sign, but you feel your arm relax under his touch. – You suck.

– Not just yet, I’m still sober. – He winks, smiling half-heartedly as he pulls you to the door.

Finnean, the owner’s son, grins the moment he sees you, arms crossed over the bar, his too-many tattoos peeking out from what should have been the sleeves of this dirty wife-beater he’s wearing, the gold tooth in his smile catching the dim light. – Well, well. Look who finally crawled outta the grave.

– You thought we were dead? – Barry hums, unamused, knocking twice against the counter as he slides onto the stool, pulling you beside him.

Finnean laughs, more a scoff than anything as he places two cups before you. – D’you ever hear the expression ‘only the good die young’? Good ain’t the case for you two. I was actually leaning towards your ass finally getting detained.

– Why? Your brothers need a lil company? Maybe sweetheart can go to see them. – Barry pats your leg, smiling, tight and taught, none of the usual ease on him. – What’d you say, jailbait?

– You can go all you like, sweets. I’m just not sure you’d come back.

– You’re a peach, Finn. – He smiles at you, green eyes flashing with something you don’t want to understand as he turns his back and grabs something.

– And you’re a plump, little red cherry. – He shakes his head, setting the glass down in front of you with a wink before tossing something onto the bar. – I could just pop you in my mouth.

A bowl of bright red maraschino cherries sits before you. Your heart stumbles, a smile actually forming on your face.

Barry grins, nudging them closer. – Knew that’d cheer you up. – His shoulder brushes yours as he pulls your stool closer, watching you eat. – We weren’t in jail or nothing, but this one just got out of house arrest.

– That brother you’re always talking about? – He asks Barry, already throwing his head back, laughing, reaching for the bourbon before Barry even asks. – That explains it. – You stop for a moment, aching again.

Was it so obvious? – Does it? – You murmur, and Finnean gives you a look.

– You disappear for months, and when you finally show up, you look like someone dragged you through hell backwards. – He nods at Barry. – He looks ready to start swinging on the first motherfucker who blinks at him wrong.

– That’s just his face, – You say dryly, eating so you don’t have to look at them.

Barry just snorts, shoving your shoulder lightly. – Ain’t you a charmer? – He takes a cherry from your hand, still chewing it as he downs his cup. – Hit me again.

– You tryna meet God or something? – Barry chuckles at your words, this time more genuine. The smile lingers as Finn pours more bourbon into his glass, sliding another over to you.

– Holler when you get tired of this loser, okay sweetheart? – He winks, that same old joke he always says, grinning as he slides on over to another customer. – Finn will love you long time.

You breathe out slowly, your lungs still burning as you reach for the glass.

You’re tired of thinking about John.

Tired of mourning someone who was never there to begin with.

Maybe Barry had a point with the whole drinking your sorrows away thing. He’d been doing it for years, already. Started drinking just after his father was finally arrested for good.

And hey, if it worked for him…

You bring the glass to your lips, feeling your friend’s eyes on you as the liquid runs down your throat like straight gasoline. He chuckles, patting you in the back.

The first drink burns.

The second warms.

By the third, you’re floating.

The night bleeds away with every time you glimpse the bottom of your cup staring down at you.

Time slips through your fingers, lost in the clink of glasses, the sharp burn of bourbon, the sticky sweetness of cherries.

But though your thoughts slow, the ache never leaves you.

Barry loosens, even as you remain a little melancholy, all warmth beside you, his voice low in your ear, teasing, coaxing laughter from you with every sarcastic remark, every quiet joke. He tips the bottle, refilling your glass before you can even think to ask.

Your chest clenches.

The songs in the background rise, fall, twist into something familiar.

Somewhere between the fourth drink and the sixth, you’re singing along, voice tangled with Barry’s, both of you yelling out the lyrics, slurring through the old Irish verses, laughter shaking through you as the whole bar joins in.

You don’t remember when Finnean slid the bottle of homemade moonshine across the counter, just that Barry caught it with a smirk, tucking it under his arm before pulling you off the stool.

His hands are already on you, already guiding, already pressing against your waist.

You stumble, laughing, pushing him back. – You can’t fucking drive like this, dumbass.

Barry grumbles, rolling his eyes, but you grab his arm and pull.

So you walk.

Through the streets of the Cut, the night air cool against your flushed skin, your voices loud, singing through the empty roads from your empty chest. Barry spins you at one point, pulling you into his arms, making you laugh, and you linger a moment longer than you should, his arms still around you when you finally pull away, palms burning hot through the fabric of your shirt as he walks behind you.

By the time you reach his trailer, your legs ache, your chest hurts from laughing, and your head is woozy.

His trailer is dark, not a single light on as he pulls you towards it, hands searching your sides, his chest pressed against your back. His fingers rest at the small of your waist, loose, familiar, something closer to instinct than thought.

He’s closer than he should be, you know he is, but you don’t push him away.

Maybe it’s the drinking.

Maybe it’s the way the night has stripped you raw, leaving nothing but exposed nerve endings and memories that won’t stay buried.

Or maybe it’s just him.

The warmth of him.

The familiarity of him.

The fact that he’s still here despite the fact you’re down in the dumps.

But the way he's looking at you now isn't new. It's far too familiar.

His lips part slightly when he turns you, his head tilting, eyes flicking between your mouth and the mess of your hair, the flush of your skin, the shape of you standing so fucking close to him you could feel the shape of your body moulding to his.

He leans in, breath fanning against you like a dragon’s, warm, cutting, almost inviting you to be bitten. You turn just in time, his lips landing on your cheek, warm and soft, and way too eager. – You know we never stop once we start. – You mumble, your back brushing the railing as he pulls you up the stairs.

Barry’s lips twitch. His fingers flex against your waist, just barely dragging down, slipping lower, gripping just enough to pull you fully against him.

His voice is low, rough, already gone. – Who says I want to stop?

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s been a while since you drank and remained conscious, but the ache in your chest is doing nothing for your rational thinking skills, and when he cups your face, soft, so soft, like no one else in the world ever does, you let him.

You taste yourself first—sweet, sticky cherry, the sugar lingering on your tongue, and he hums, pulls away just a bit, licking his lips before he kisses you again. You taste him, then. Malt. Amber. Tobacco. Bourbon-smooth and burning at the edges.

You feel guilty already.

But you want the comfort. The ease. The warmth.

His hands tighten, pressing into the small of your back, like he needs you closer, like the inches between you are somehow unbearable, and he sighs against your lips as he kisses you again. The guilt writhes within you as your pride swells. He hums into your mouth, something low, something pleased, something that sounds dangerously like relief.

You barely register him guiding you back until your calves hit the edge of the couch on the porch, and suddenly you’re falling.

Not away from him.

With him.

Barry pulls you onto his lap, knees spreading beneath you, hands gripping tighter, hotter, rougher.

His mouth moves against yours with purpose now—hungry, claiming, a little desperate, a little too much. But he never pushes. He always begs you to take.

You feel his breath stutter when you shift against him, when your hands tangle in his hair, when your fingers scrape against his scalp just the way he likes and he groans, deep in his throat, pulling you tighter.

This is it.

This is the cycle.

This is the inevitable.

This is history repeating itself.

This is what you do when you have nowhere else to go.

This is a promise, a bad decision made in the heat of too much alcohol, sealed between his teeth and your lips, unspoken, unbreakable. You don’t really know what you’re promising. But like the fool you are —like the fool you’ve always been— you’re almost glad to hold it out on a silver platter, just to get that rare sliver of love you’re always desperately grasping at.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 7 hours ago

Note

Thank you so much for the part 2 of the shapeshifter AU! 🙏 The atmosphere is so singularly spooky and sultry. Keep up the great work!

on it boss!!

70 / 1.6k / part 3 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You wait until the early evening. It's the earliest you can run. Your so-called familiars won't come out while the sky is still bright. Even so, the moon’s faint sliver stands faintly visible against the sky. You pack your things and fetch your traveling cloak. Vital components. Your dagger. Scrying parchment. You've survived on less.

Something catches your eye as you open the door. The setting sun gleams off the little glass vial on your hearth. You grab it. It's the thing Soap left—what he was teasing you about; the "little treat" he brought back. You see now what it is: black henbane. Your heart beats faster. Out of anger or anticipation—you're not sure which wins out. You'll certainly make use of this. But it will be despite your demons. Not because of them.

As you set off to leave, though, you find yourself face-to-face with a different threat altogether: townsfolk with torches and pitchforks.

The mob's torches flicker, casting jagged shadows across their grim faces. Their leader, a broad-shouldered blacksmith with soot-stained hands, steps forward. The pitchfork trembles in his harsh grip. "Off to consort with devils, witch?"

Behind him, a farmer's wife spits at your feet. "My boy hasn't slept since your cursed raven perched on our roof! You sent those monsters to torment us!"

A ripple of agreement surges through the crowd. You catch the glint of silver amulets around their throats—crude charms of rowan berries and iron nails. Your designs.

"I don't want any trouble," you tell them. You already intend to leave this place forever; all you need to do is convince them to let you go in peace. "I swear it. I condemn the demons that plague the village just as you do."

The blacksmith's shout cracks like a whip. "Liar!" He thrusts his pitchfork toward your cottage and the crow feathers littering the threshold. "Found your nest o' nightmares. Bones under the floorboards. Charms written in your hand guidin' those beasts!"

A teenage boy hurls a rock. It grazes your temple with a thump that rings in your skull. "She fed my sister to the black dog! Saw its yellow eyes in her window the night she vanished!"

Then a torch arcs through the dusk. It crashes against your doorframe, tallow and embers cascading onto dry thatch. The farmer's wife screams, "Burn the hellspawn out!"

Other voices roar in agreement. The mob surges forward as one. Their amulets glow faintly as they near your wards, rowan countering rowan.

You slam the door shut, scattering glowing red hay, and bolt for the back door instead. You flee toward the forest. Warm blood slides down your face and trickles into your collar. You crash through the tree line. Brambles tear your cloak. Torchlight dances between birches behind you. They’re gaining.

"Kill her before she calls the beasts!" one voice shrieks.

Another voice, a child’s, cries, “There! By the elder tree!”

Your boot catches on its massive roots. You hit the forest floor hard. Pine needles stick to your bleeding palms as you scramble up—and freeze.

Yellow eyes blink open in the shadows ahead. A wolf.

The blacksmith’s heavy gait clatters to a halt. “Christ preserve us.”

The hound steps into the fading daylight, scars rippling across its muscular flank. Ghost. He bares teeth longer than your fingers.

You back away only for another shadow to fall from the trees above and land next to you soundlessly. The shape is feline—Gaz—but he's no longer the size of a housecat. He's as massive as a tiger. A growl thunders through him. He levels his gaze past you. At the villagers. They don't stand a chance.

You whirl back on the villagers with wild eyes. "Get out of here!" you cry at the mob.

The blacksmith shoves a trembling boy behind him. "Back! Back to the—"

Ghost lunges. Not at the villagers. At you.

His jaws snap inches from your thigh, herding you backward into Gaz's flank. Gaz pins you with one paw on your chest. He keeps his claws sheathed, but the pressure is enough to bruise. His rumbling purr vibrates through your ribs as he licks blood from your temple wound.

"Demons!" A villager hurls a torch. It bounces off Ghost's shoulder. Embers catch in his fur. He doesn't flinch.

Soap's cawing laughter rings from the treetops. He drops down as a raven, shifting mid-fall into human form. He lands in a crouch. "Och, look at these brave lads! Come to play with the big bad devils."

The blacksmith thrusts the pitchfork at him. "Back!"

Soap catches the shaft and yanks the smith forward. "Careful now. You'll poke someone's—" He drives the smith’s own weapon through his boot, impaling foot to soil. "—eyes out."

Screams erupt. The mob fractures. Some flee. Others stand frozen.

"No, don't hurt them!" you gasp out. You try to push out from under Gaz's paw, but it does you no good. "Leave them alone!"

Gaz's purr deepens into a predatory rumble as he drags his rough tongue up the side of your neck to taste your sweat. His hot breath stirs your hair when he growls, "Too late for mercy, love. Smell the fear on 'em? Ripe as summer fruit."

Soap wrenches the pitchfork free from the smith’s screaming form, flicking gore off the tines. "Aye, let's make it a proper feast! Been ages since we had fresh meat that fought back."

"Enough."

Price's voice cracks through the woods like thunder. He stands under the pines’ shadow as if waiting for the last motes of sunset to vanish before he ventures out.

"You lot should've heeded the warnings. Salt your thresholds. Avoid the woods after dark." His gazes pauses over a young child frozen in fear, no parents in sight. He tuts. "But you meddled. Stole from my witch. Harmed her."

The blacksmith finds his voice. "W-We didn't—"

Price steps forward. His boot crushes the smith’s bloodied foot into the ground. Bones pop. "See, that's the trouble with mortals." He crouches to stare into the terrified villager’s face. "You don’t admit you’re wrong."

"Price, please, just take me instead," you plead. "I'm what you came for, aren't I?"

Price's gaze snaps to you. He rises slowly. The flicker of your burning cottage on the horizon behind you reflects in his eyes and makes them glow. His expression tells you how little choice you have in that particular matter. Where you go, they go.

Then he looks past you. “Gaz."

Gaz’s hand slides up your inner thigh. "Already on it."

"No. Save the foreplay. We've got a village to raze." He grabs the bloodied collar of your cloak and hauls you to your feet. "You'll watch. Then we'll discuss your ungrateful actions." His gaze flicks away. "Ghost. Gaz. Clean up."

You can only watch Ghost and Gaz bound into the screaming mob. Your body feels lighter than the air. Then you remember the weight of the henbane in your cloak pocket. The next moment, it's in your hand. You crush the glass, ignoring the stab of pain. You send it sailing through the air, and it lands right on its mark—the roaring torch discarded in the leaf litter.

The henbane catches and wafts up into the air as smoke. It curls upward in thick, narcotic tendrils. The smell is heady, its effect potent and immediate. Soap snarls as the first plume hits his nostrils. He staggers back and clutches his head. Gaz convulses mid-pounce, collapsing into ferns as his tiger-like form shrinks to housecat size. Ghost whines low in his throat and shakes his massive skull like a dog with water in its ears.

Chaos erupts. Villagers seize the chance to bolt. The blacksmith drags his wailing son toward the tree line.

Price grips your arm hard enough to leave talon marks. His other hand clamps over his nose, veins bulging in his temple. You cough into your sleeve. Your vision swims. Henbane's poison works both ways, after all. It’s powerful for those who know how to use it for their own ends. Black henbane is what you used to summon your familiars and what bound them to you. But its hallucinatory effects are more pronounced on those who have surrendered the greater part of their souls to magic—or for those whose bodies are already flush with it. Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap don’t stand a chance. Even your soul is so considerably marked by witchcraft that you quickly fold to its effects. But you, at least, can twist it and warp it to weave a spell that might protect you.

Cloaked in smoke, you transform.

The shift hits you like a lightning strike—bones crackling, muscles twisting, vision narrowing into a something wide and preylike. The forest tilts, and suddenly Price's grip is gone. He holds your sleeve, but not you. You slip away, tumble through your limp clothes, and hit the forest floor on four paws. The world sharpens into smells of damp moss and wolf musk. Your rabbit heart hammers against ribs as thin as wishbones.

You dart left--straight into Gaz's waiting claws. The tomcat pins you with a paw, purring as his claws prick your scruff. Then he sneezes, henbane pollen glinting in his whiskers. You writhe free.

You race deeper into the forest with the wind at your back. The woods close in, but thorns no longer claw your clothes; roots no longer trip you. You are no longer an intruder. The forest itself turns toward you, opens to you. Thorns tug pleasurably against your fur as you bound past. Old magic stirs beneath your rabbit feet.

"Clever girl. Find her." Price's voice slithers through the trees far behind you, syllables slurred but venom intact. "And keep her whole enough to scream."

...

← part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

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runningincircl3s · 2 days ago

Text

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Two

chapter warnings: mentions of drinks (although never stated as alcoholic?)

happy friday!! i did NOT expect this story to get so much love so far, i can't believe it?? seriously thank you so much!! i'm hoping it lives up to it's expectations as it's been so so fun to write, i've definitely fallen back in love with writing and i think this story will certainly reflect that <3

also, like with nothing ever after, i thought i'd share my playlist for this story! i wanted to make it fit with the chapters but nope it is an unorganised mess, and i will still be adding to it as i write more! but anyways are we ready to face noah again...

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You adjusted the strap of your dress in front of Matt's hallway mirror, trying your best to ignore the anxiety crawling up your spine. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult, not for you. Matt and Alyson were getting married, and you were invited to celebrate with them. It's not like this was your big day. So it should be simple, right?

Except everything about this felt complicated. Besides Bryan (and now Matt and Folio), you hadn’t seen any of the guys in the band since last year, so you were worried about how they'd react, especially Noah. You couldn't even think about him without your chest tightening, so the thought of seeing him again had your heart beating faster than you were comfortable with.

However, you pushed all these thoughts to the back of your mind, attempting to focus on the task at hand.

“Are you ready?” You asked Matt, before helping him adjust his tie.

“As ready as I can be.”

You chuckled, smoothing down the fabric of his jacket, admiring the way he looked in his suit.

“You look great. Alyson’s going to lose it when she sees you.”

Matt smiled, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

“I just… I don’t want to mess this up, you know?”

You paused, giving him a reassuring look.

“You’re not going to mess anything up. You love her. She loves you. That’s all that matters.”

He met your gaze, his usual confidence had been replaced by anxiety, but he still put on his best smile.

“I’m lucky, huh?”

“Very.” You agreed softly, your smile turning a little bittersweet as your mind brought you back to somebody.

Noah.

How, if things were different, he would've been here with you. You could've been attending your best friends wedding together.

But instead, you almost felt like you shouldn't be going. He surely wouldn't want to see you again, how would he react to you turning up to his best friends wedding?

Matt seemed to notice you drift away into thought, so he cleared his throat.

“Alright, enough of this sentimental stuff. We've got a wedding to get to!”

As he turned toward the door, you called out.

“Wait, Matt. You’re forgetting something.”

He suddenly spun back around.

“I am?”

You dug into your bag and pulled out a small box, handing it to him.

“A little something I got you for good luck.” You said with a wink.

"Good luck?" He raised an eyebrow, "Isn't this just for the bride?"

"Well, not this time." You chuckled, watching him inspect it.

Matt opened the box, revealing a small silver keychain with a tiny plush raccoon hanging from it.

“You know me too well.” He grinned, tucking it into his pocket. “Thanks, y/n. Seriously. You were the first person I told when I thought about proposing, you’ve been a part of this since day one. Even if it's tough for you... I’m really glad you’re here.”

You smiled, feeling that familiar lump at the back of your throat.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

As Matt stepped out, you couldn’t help but think back to when you first met the guys, and how so much had changed, but so much had stayed the same.

You still remember when Matt first met Alyson, he had told you it was love at first sight, which made it even more difficult for him to ask her out on their first date, fearing she'd say no and he'd spend the rest of his life alone.

And now here they were, all these years later, on their wedding day.

Something in the air felt different this afternoon as you stepped out of the house into the warm sun. For the first time in months, you felt hopeful. You were starting to feel like maybe you were ready for you own next step, whatever that might be.

Maybe it was time to make a profile on some dating apps.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your anxiety was sky high when you wandered through the venue, knowing he would be there somewhere. The venue itself was beautiful, the colour theme was red and cream, with touches of black, so all the decorations were set out to match.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your dress as you scanned the room, your eyes landing on Jolly.

You felt a relief wash over you at the familiar face, so you began to walk over to greet him and Nicole.

“Hi!” You grinned, noticing their surprise as they turned around to see you.

“Oh my God, y/n!” Nicole wrapped her arms around you, embracing you in a warm hug as Jolly chuckled.

“Let her breathe, ‘Cole.”

“Sorry,” she laughed, “You look so beautiful… How have you been? Jolly kinda told me about the... Situation…”

“I’m okay,” you said, forcing a smile, “Just a little nervous about seeing him again. But that’s not what todays for, it’s Matt and Alyson’s big day and I won’t let him ruin it.”

“So how long have you been back?” Jolly asked, sliding an arm around his girlfriend's waist.

“I got here a couple days ago, I’m staying with Matt at the moment, but me and Folio are actually looking to find a place together around here!”

Their faces screwed up, a look of horror washing over them.

“You and Folio…?!”

“As friends, Jesus!” You laughed, “He wants to get out of Noah’s place, and I’ve got to be out of my place by the end of the month, so you might be seeing a whole lot more of me.”

“That’s great!” Nicole smiled.

“I’m sure Noah would agree.” Jolly smirked, before Nicole gave him a look, making him apologise.

“So… Is he here?” You asked.

“By the bar,” Jolly nodded, “I can’t believe he brought her.”

Your chest burned, turning back to look at Jolly.

“Her?”

“You don’t know about Amy?”

“No?”

“Shit,” he ran his hand through his hair, “She’s this girl he’s kind of... Dating. I thought one of the guys would've told you.”

“Why should they? What he does doesn’t concern me anymore,” you said, as if you were trying to convince yourself, “He can do whatever he wants.”

Then, as you looked away again, you spotted him by the bar.

Noah.

It was like the air shifted the moment you spotted him.

He stood leaning against the bar, a drink in hand as he spoke to Ruffilo. The sharp black suit he wore fit too well, his dark hair parted in the middle, falling over his eyes perfectly like it always did.

He was still Noah. Still the stupid, hot bastard.

And then, as if he felt you staring, he looked up.

The moment your eyes met, the world around you quietened.

His posture stiffened ever so slightly, fingers tightening around his glass. For a moment, neither of you could look away. You noticed the look of surprise in his eyes, he clearly didn’t expect to see you here.

You’d spent the weeks leading up to today trying to prepare for this, but nothing could have braced you for actually seeing him again. Especially when he looked this damn good.

Then, just as quickly as the moment arrived, it shattered.

A perfectly manicured hand curled around his arm, and a girl leaned her head on his shoulder.

So that must be Amy.

She was stunning, the type of beauty that would make you turn your head on the streets. Everything about her was flawless, her hair, her dress, her makeup- if you didn’t know better, you’d think she was the one getting married today.

And suddenly, you felt small.

“Everything okay?” Jolly asked softly, snapping you out of whatever was going on in your mind.

You swallowed hard, willing away the tightness in your chest as you nodded.

“Yep... Never been better.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

As you all began to get into your places for the actual ceremony, you caught Folio, dragging him by the arm to the corner of the room.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about Amy?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice down.

“I wasn’t sure how…” He explained, “They’re nothing serious, I didn’t even know she’d be here today. Fuck, I don’t even know how she is, she wasn’t invited!”

"Nothing serious? Nick, Jolly told me they're dating!"

"Okay, maybe they are..."

“How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long have they been together?” You said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your composure.

“...A few months.”

You nodded your head.

You had no reason to be upset, angry or even jealous. He wasn’t yours anymore, he was never really yours to begin with.

Your eyes drifted over to them, chatting by the front row. You watched the way her hand brushed his arm, the way he smiled down at her, looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

You don't care. You shouldn't care. Why did you care?

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head, “I shouldn’t care anymore, should I?”

Nick’s expression softened, and he frowned as he took your hand in his.

“You loved him… There’s no stronger feeling than that. If it was really real, you can’t expect to just make it stop.”

“I guess,” you sighed, your gaze catching a very stressed out Matt pacing the floor, “I guess we better get in our places.”

“Yeah,” Folio smiled, dropping your hand, “Good idea.”

The two of you walked down to your seats, and you were glad to see you were in between the two Nick’s.

“Oh, Nick!” You grinned as you greeted him, “I’ve missed you so much.”

His arms pull you in to a warm hug as he stands up.

“Hey! It’s so good to see you again… I missed you too, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, pulling away.

“I get why you’d stop talking to Noah, but us too?”

“I didn’t think you guys would ever want to talk to me again,” you frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“Of course we'd still want you in our lives, it'd be weird without you," he chuckled, "We all make mistakes, y/n."

“Yeah, some worse than others.” You sigh, sitting down in your seat.

Your eyes meet Noah's again as you look up, like he had already been watching you. Your breath caught and you felt your face heat up as you quickly diverted your vision, and he did the same.

"We didn't tell him you were coming," Nicholas explained, "He asked me about you last night, I had to lie and tell him I didn't know if you'd be here."

“I’m starting to think I shouldn’t be.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The reception was beautiful, warm string lights draped across the garden of the venue, casting everything in a soft, golden glow as the sun began to set. You tried your best to enjoy yourself, talking with your friends, having a few drinks, meeting some of Matt and Alyson's other friends. You wanted tonight to be fun, for you all to look back with happy memories of it. But one thing made that difficult.

One person.

You had done your best to avoid Noah all evening, but it was impossible to ignore his presence, the sound of his voice, his laughter over the music. Even when you weren't looking, you could still feel he was there. You tried to keep your eye on him to make sure you didn't come face to face unexpectedly.

You had made it through the first hour unscathed.

Then, you slipped up.

You approached the bar for another drink, forgetting that he had been standing just a few feet away.

You noticed Amy had left early, as Noah was alone for most of the night, and through Jolly, you had learned the details of their relationship. She was a model and a wannabe singer who had reached out to Noah for help writing a song. Instead of making music, they clearly made something else.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but somehow, you both ended up side by side at the bar. Close enough that you could smell his cologne, the smell that was once comforting now filled you with nerves.

Noah barely glanced at you as he leaned against the counter, fingers drumming against the wood while he waited for his drink.

“You look…” He started but then stopped, shaking his head.

You slowly turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“I look?”

“Never mind.” He scoffed, bringing his glass to his lips. “Forget I said anything.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing like he was annoyed with himself for almost slipping. The words had nearly left his lips, and for a moment he had forgotten how this was supposed to be, how he was supposed to act cold, distant, indifferent.

But you saw it in his eyes as he looked at you, and you heard the way his voice softened as he spoke to you. There was something there that told you he missed you, even if hed never admit it.

You hated how much it made your heart race.

A tense silence stretched between you, filled with all the things left unsaid. The kind that made it impossible to breathe.

Until finally, he broke it.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come today.” His voice was quieter this time.

“Yeah, well… They're my friends too.”

Before you could say anything else, the music slowed and Matt and Alyson’s first dance started.

Everyone turned to watch them sway together beneath the twinkling lights. The moment was intimate, beautiful, and it should’ve been nothing more than that. But standing here, next to Noah, watching two people so in love, it made your heart ache in your chest.

You thought about what you've lost, what you could've had with Noah. How this could've been the two of you one day, but instead you were stood side by side in silence, like you were nothing more than strangers.

You felt his gaze shift to you, and despite yourself, you turned to meet it.

There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place, softness, maybe, or hesitation. Like he wanted to say something, but knew better.

Your fingers rested against the bar, just inches from his. Your breath hitched when his hand shifted ever so slightly, the smallest movement, like he almost wanted to close the distance. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, like the past year had been nothing but a bad dream.

But then reality came crashing back.

He had Amy now. He had clearly moved on.

And so you pulled your hand back.

His eyes flickered downward, landing on the necklace you wore. The one he had given you for your birthday. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words

"You still wear it?" He asked, almost as if he was in disbelief.

You swallowed hard, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace his eyes were fixed on. The one he had given you on your birthday, the day before everything turned to shit.

"I never take it off," you admitted, "I guess... It reminds me of you."

Without thinking, he reached out, fingertips ghosting over the pendant and gently brushing over your skin, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver down your spine. But the second he made contact, something in him snapped.

His hand recoiled like he had been burned.

Without thinking, he reached out, fingertips ghosting over the pendant, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver down your spine. But the second he made contact, something in him snapped.

His hand recoiled like he had been burned.

He straightened, swallowing hard, his expression closing off as quickly as it had softened. Whatever moment you’d just shared, he crushed it, along with any hopes you had that maybe there was still something between you, that your relationship could be salvaged.

“Enjoy the wedding." He said, voice unreadable, before walking away.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, gripping the edge of the bar to steady yourself.

So that was how it was going to be.

Fine.

You finished your drink and headed back to the table where Nick was sitting with Jolly and Nicole.

“Everything okay?” He asked, a slight smirk tugging on his lips.

“Yeah. Why?” You questioned, sitting down beside him.

“We saw you talking to him… What did he say?”

You sighed, your eyes drifting away to him, watching how he laughed with his friends. At least he wasn’t hurting anymore, or so you thought.

Noah, on the other hand, didn’t know how he felt. He had spent so long telling himself he was over you, that he had moved on. But the moment he saw you tonight, he realised that nothing had really changed.

The feelings were still there.

And he hated himself for it.

“He said he wasn’t sure I’d come tonight.” You finally say, turning back to Folio.

“Was that it?” He scoffed, “The way he was looking at you I thought you’d come back and tell us he confessed his undying love-”

“Nick, leave it, please.” You groaned, watching as Matt and Alyson still danced on the floor, a more upbeat song playing now.

“No. I know there’s something he’s hiding, y/n. The two of you need to talk, you need to-”

“Nick.” You repeated, “Stop. I don’t want to do this tonight. He has a girlfriend now, I need to respect that.”

Nicole turned to look at you, an almost sympathetic look on her face before she got up, reaching a hand out to you.

“C’mon, dance with me.”

“Me?” You laughed, shooting a look at Jolly as if to say it should be you!

“Yes, you! We need to lighten the mood, and I love this song!” She grinned as she pulled you along to the dancefloor.

Do you believe in life after love…

“You’re lucky I love you!” You grinned, "I wouldn't dance with anybody else!"

"Oh yeah?" She smirked, eyes trailing over to Noah, who seemed to be watching from the corner of his eye.

The two of you danced along, and after Matt left, Alyson joined the two of you.

“Are you having fun?!” She shouted over the music.

“We are now!” Nicole smiled.

“I can’t believe you’re finally married!” You shouted, and Alyson nodded.

“I know! And to my best friend… If only I could go back in time and tell myself… Things will get better…” You could see her eyes filling with tears, and you quickly wrapped your arms around her.

“Hey!” You frowned, wiping away her tears, "None of that! This is a happy night!"

Alyson let out a teary laugh, nodding as she hugged you back.

"You're right. I'm just- I'm so happy, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before."

Nicole wrapped her arms around both of you, pulling you into a tight embrace as she called for a group hug.

The three of you danced along to the music together for a moment, and for the first time in forever, you let yourself be happy. You let yourself enjoy the moment, surrounded by your favourite people, your friends that you considered family.

But then, as you turned, your eyes met his again.

Noah was still there, still watching.

His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze that you couldn't quite place. A look of regret? Longing?

You weren’t sure.

And you weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

So, instead of lingering, instead of thinking too much, you turned back to your friends and let yourself laugh and have fun, you let yourself feel like everything was okay.

Just for tonight.

-------------------------------@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone

this is still a new taglist so if i forgot you (IM SORRY) or you want to be added please just let me know!! :)

#★blood sport #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfic

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bulgingforbucky · 1 day ago

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When You Don't Push, He Pulls

NSFW Warning: Car sex, Comfort sex, Crying, Unprotected sex Summary: You've been stressed for days and Bucky wants to help you. Uhh well, this was gonna be a more... rough fic but I was listening to the neighborhood (alleyways specifically) and it got me into my feelings 🧍🏾‍♀️I shouldn't have taken this much time to write this.

Opening the door to the car you put your things in the back seat before closing the door and opening the front door. You get in the car closing the door before your eyes meet with Bucky's soft ones before it turns into concern. A raspy soft "Hi," comes from you greeting him while his fingers drum on the steering wheel. "Hey," he responded hearing the tone along with your nibbling on your lip as soft music plays in the background. Bucky knows you've been having a rough couple of days, you're a strong woman you can take a lot of things but it is constant, anyone could break under the stress.

Thinking to himself, he could either stay quiet and act like everything is alright. Eventually, time will only know when your feelings will start to unfold on their own. The other option is he could talk to you now asking how your day was and if you are ok. Ninety percent of the time if he asks if you're ok knowing that you're not will cause you to cry right there. He doesn't want to see you cry, but he has told you countless of times to stop bottling everything up. That's rich coming from him. His hand meets your back as he slowly comforts you hearing a sigh emerge from you.

"I didn't have a good day," you admit as your eyes become glossy looking down. Bucky looks at you before he grabs your hand squeezing it, "It's ok to have a bad day." You nod, "I guess," your voice strains as you resist crying, but tears roll down your face regardless. "Hey c'mere," Bucky whispers pulling you over to him and sitting you onto his lap adjusting his seat back. His arms embrace you hearing your sniffles, he rocks you side to side slowly while staying silent.

"I'm tired and my heart hurts," you whisper to him sniffling softly feeling defeated. Your body and mind are tired; everything is making you tired. A tingle is felt underneath your hot skin from Bucky's hand rubbing your back tugging on your shirt feeling the heat come from you. "Everything is fine you're ok, don't think about anything, it's only you and me." He whispers to you turning on the air to cool you down as well as turning up the music just a little.

"Just listen to the music," he suggests as he holds you against him. Listening to his advice, you listen to the music breaking it down from the tempo to the vocals and beat. You tend to not focus on your breathing as it'll just make your heartbeat faster, so instead you listen to Bucky's. Your eyes blink slowly as a tear falls from your eye traveling over your nose to your other cheek. The ache in your heart grows slightly causing you to cling to Bucky while he constantly rubs and pats your back to help you.

It's just us. It always is.

Bucky's voice is low as he hums the lyrics to the song causing your mind to relax. This isn't the first time this has happened; he has done this plenty of times for you. The last time he did this was a week ago. Bucky has a calming voice, it's smooth and raspy but it can be soothing to anyone. Leaning forward towards you, his expression is soft as you look into his blue eyes. Reaching out to you he slowly wiped the tears off your cheek before placing soft kisses on your wet skin. A sigh escapes you at his caring actions leaning into his touch yearning for more of what he has to offer. And what does Bucky Barnes have to offer you?

Everything.

Pulling away from you he takes in your tear-stained face before you hesitate to lean in brushing your lips against his. He kisses you softly feeling you relax against him; his metal hand holds the back of your neck in a soft firm grip. A soft whimper comes from you getting overwhelmed by your boyfriend's touch and just him in general. You feel his tongue swipe the bottom of your lip making you slightly part your lips for him. The feeling of his warm wet tongue enters your mouth, and you can't help but moan at the feeling.

The heat in your bodies start to rise as the seconds go by. You pull away from him panting softly feeling him place a kiss on your chin. "Want more?" He asks slowly in a whispered tone just as he analyzes your expression before he presses a kiss to your nose. Fear immediately strikes you making you look around at your surroundings, "Buck someone is going to see us." The possibility of getting caught is something you do not feel like dealing with right now. "No one is going to see us," Bucky tells you confidently reassuring you to soothe your worries.

"And how do you know that?" you scoff at his comment.

"Look around," he says somewhat bluntly as you look at your surroundings.

The windows are tinted, and it's dark outside.

"Oh," you mumble hearing a chuckle coming from him. "So, do you want me to continue, or do you want me to drive us back home, and when we get to our room, I can give you a bubble bath. We can relax and I can give you a massage, whatever you want," He caresses your thigh as he throws out that suggestion. "Well, why can't we continue and then do what you said after?" You ask softly before turning your attention from outside to him. He smiles before giving you a nod wanting to boost your mood any way he knows how, "Whatever you want baby."

The dark-haired man presses kisses to your forehead, his big arms that's shown by his rolled-up sleeves wrap around your waist giving you a small squeeze. The kisses transfer to your cheek traveling towards your jaw before he sucks gently. You bite your lip feeling his stubble pressed up onto you in which you grip his shirt. His soft kisses look travels to your neck also making dark marks on your skin. "You smell good doll," his voice muffled as he kissed your neck.

The hem of your shirt gets tugged on causing you to pull away giving him space to take it off. "You sure?" He asks to make sure you're certain about your decision. A nod is given in response as you quickly wipe your tears. He starts to take off your shirt pulling it over your head and putting it in the passenger seat. Small kisses are placed along your chest while his hands find the clasp of your bra unhooking it. The hand of the veteran starts to slide the straps down your shoulder placing a kiss on it as your breasts are revealed to him.

Bucky's thumbs make contact with your nipples rubbing them slowly and making them harden under his touch. He gives your breasts a soft squeeze before leaning down as his mouth slowly latches on one of your nipples. The feeling of the suction from his mouth makes you moan gripping his hair. "Bucky, c'mon please," you arch into his touch desperately wanting more of him. Bucky gives your sensitive nipple a tug with his mouth before he pulls off you, "What do you want baby?"

"I need more, please?" You beg desperately squirming a little in your lap. He chuckles at your tone, "Don't worry, I got you," his fingers fiddle with the button of your pants following the action by unzipping them. You lift your hips while his hands pull down the waistband of your pants and underwear as he pulls them off your legs one by one. Your pants are thrown to the side before he grips your thighs spreading them slowly making your cheeks get warm. "Don't get all shy on me doll you wanted this," he tenderly exclaims giving you a soft kiss.

Your hand reaches for his flesh one guiding him in between your legs to your clit shyly. He starts to rub your clit making you moan softly feeling the instant tingles planting kisses on your forehead. Your cunt starts to pulse under his touch eager for more making your body temperature rise. His middle finger teases your slit feeling it clench against his finger making him smirk slightly, "I know what you need doll we'll get there I promise." The finger that's pressed against you starts to push against you as your body almost immediately invites him in. Your body starts to get invaded as the motions on your bundle of nerves is continued. A whimper escapes your throat as his finger proceeds to get deeper making your body squeeze around his finger.

Bucky starts to move his hand pumping his digit slowly in and out of your pussy. The feeling of his finger filling you makes your mouth drop open as moans start to escape from you. Your thighs quiver from the feeling, "That's my girl, look at how well you're doing. Such a good girl." Your eyes roll back as he curls his finger pressing it up against your g-spot. Soft mewls are coming from you as he continues his ministrations on your clit and pussy. "I-I can't-" Your breath gets caught in your throat as the feeling of his finger and your clit starts to get overwhelming.

You whine trying to wiggle your hips away from his touch making him stop. His metal hand holds down your hips keeping them in place, "Where are you going huh? If you're acting like this now, how do you expect to take my cock hm?" You rock your hips trying to chase the pleasure he was giving him before you receive a slap on your thigh. "Answer me doll," Bucky demands firmly. "I'll be able to take it, I can take it now. I want it now," you beg for him making him smirk in satisfaction.

He pulls his hand away giving you small kisses on your nose. You get pushed back a little so Bucky can tug down his sweatpants to his thighs revealing his dark grey briefs. A large tent is revealed causing you to lick your lips before you see him palming himself. Soft groans come from him as he touches his aching bulge, you reach down hooking your fingers around his waistband as you tug on them. He chuckles softly before he stops touching himself reaching down in his underwear and pulling his cock out. Your eyes widen slightly seeing his thick veiny cock with a bead of precum seen spurting a little out his tip.

No matter how many times you seen him like this you're amazed every time.

"See what you do to me, sweet girl? You got me all hard and aching for you," he breathes heavily. His cock is held in his hand stroking it slowly as you bite your lip watching the veins pop out. "Bucky, c'mon," you whine impatiently making him laugh at your behavior. You reach out grabbing his hand wanting him to touch you, "I need it." Bucky leans forward connecting his lips to yours kissing you softly, "I know." He grabs your hips lifting you up before positioning his cock in between your folds. He teases you rubbing his tip against you, the slickness of your arousal coats his shaft causing it to twitch.

He pushes his tip in, and your body slowly accepts him as his hands hold your hips still. He continues pushing into you, the stretch makes you gasp slightly feeling the sting as he keeps going. Once he's fully sheathed in you, his flesh hand rests on the back of your head gently, "It's okay, I'm here." Your nails dig into his shoulder blades feeling his lips on your neck, "I can feel you," you whisper to him feeling his length twitch inside of you. Bucky pulls out halfway before thrusting into you making your mouth drop open in a silent moan.

"Fuck," you whimper feeling the sensation of his cock hitting deep inside you. His lips trail kisses along your collarbone and jaw, "Feels good doesn't it." You nod in response, and the hand on the back of your head moves to the front of your neck squeezing lightly. Your cunt squeezes him as you're already getting emotional. "I got you, you know I do," he whispers to you placing a kiss on your chin and rubbing you're back. You start to grind down on his cock as your mind starts to daze, the pleasure of his cock fills your mind. His hand on your hip is gripping you hard, and the other remains wrapped around your neck.

You sniffle softly; tears start to pool in your eyes. His metal hand reaches up wiping them away, "I know," Bucky knows everything, he knows what you're feeling. His hands slither down to your ass gripping it softly moving you on your cock. "Bucky," a mewl comes from you as he moves you back and forth on his cock sending a shiver down your spine from the pleasure. He moves a little faster hitting deeper in you making you gasp as he presses his lips onto yours. "Bucky," his name falls from your lips in a whisper once more as he presses his forehead onto yours.

His fingers dig into your hips as you know it will be a bruise there later, "Sweet girl you're stressed I know." Bucky coos giving you kisses on your temple feeling you clench around him. You grip the seat as you whimper feeling his thick cock sliding in and out of you. Moans emerge from you as you grip his dark blue shirt with your other hand your tears staining it leaning more into his chest as if it's your safe place. "Breathe doll," his tone is deep and low as you nod. He pumps his hips slowly enjoying the feeling of being inside of you, "You're my good girl. Taking my cock like this, hm? Such a good girl, my sweet girl I love you so much."

Your moans become louder at his praise, the feeling of his cock filling you up and the words coming out of his mouth has your body melting. Tears fall down your face once again making him wipe them away before he starts to pick up his pace. Your eyes widen as you gasp softly at his faster pace. He grunts lowly, "You feel so good." You start to pant at the new speed he's going, and the sounds of skin slapping and wetness echo through the car as it rocks. The heat in the car rises as both of your bodies are getting hotter. Your hand that's gripping the seat moves to grip the door handle; the window is fogging up due to the heat of the situation. You moan as your body squeezes his cock making him groan.

Everything around you is hazy as your feeling sensitive and vulnerable right now. Bucky's hands touching, caressing, squeezing you all over. You cry out softly as his tip rubs against your sweet spot repeatedly, your breasts bounce with every thrust of his hips as he watches them hungrily. He dives forward sucking on one of your nipples making you let out a high-pitched whine, his teeth graze over it causing the coil in your stomach to tighten.

His metal arm tightens around you as he keeps pumping into you giving you what you need. "Bucky, I'm going to come," you cry out softly, the heat in your abdomen getting too hot for you to handle. "I know, I can feel you. Come for me," his deep voice says against your tit as he pumps his hips making his abs flex. The rush of pleasure goes through your body making you let out a sob as tears fall down your face. Bucky grunts feeling you clench and unclench around him as your release coats his cock; he lets go of your breast and presses his forehead against yours.

You feel his cock twitching inside of you as he continues pumping into you. A growl rumbles from his throat, his metal arm squeezes you as he pushes deep into you as his cock spurts ropes of cum inside of you. Your legs shake from the pleasure, and the sound of his soft groans in your ear has goosebumps appearing on your arms. You lean into him giving him a kiss as he kisses you back holding you to him. He pulls his hips back and slowly his softening cock slides out of you. The sound of a low grunt comes from him as he places his hand on your back giving you one last kiss on your forehead.

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judesmoonbeauty · 2 days ago

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Lover's Contract: Jude Jazza - Epilogue

MDNI.

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

The sea breeze caressing my bare skin wasn't as cold as I thought it would be.

— Perhaps it’s because it’s like a warm spring night for this time of year, or because my beloved’s heat burns against my skin.

Jude: Ya look damn good.

Kate: …Aaahhh.

Jude: Ya always clench down here ‘n don’t let go. My fingers are gonna wrinkle up.

His long fingers that sunk between my legs, make slow, repetitive movements.

That stimulation is definitely driving me mad.

Kate: Jude, I love…..I love you.

Spreading my legs wide, I put my hands around Jude's neck.

My moans spill into Jude’s ear, as I tell him I love him—.

Immediately, amethyst eyes tinged with dissatisfaction looked at me.

Jude: What, ya think tellin’ me “I love ya” after I make ya feel good’s gonna satisfy me?

Kate: Oh, I don’t think that.

Jude: Hmph, then if ya wana keep goin’ whaddya gonna do?

“Ya know what, dontcha”, amethyst eyes sneered.

The provocation made my heart beat faster, and overwhelmed with emotion, I grabbed hold of Jude's shirt.…..

Kate: I love you……Mmm.

I pressed my lips deeply against his, then slowly brought my hands down to unbutton his shirt.

(I’m embarrassed to do this myself…..)

(And yet, I can’t wait to do it. I want to touch you, Jude.)

Unable to resist the waves of emotion, I touch his exposed chest.

Jude: …..Yer so bad I ain’t feelin’ nothin’.

Kate: Mm, well I’m not done yet.

Opening his shirt from side to side, I passionately drop kisses on his chest, his navel and lower abdomen.

Even so, Jude barely reacted….Feeling frustrated I looked up at him.

Kate: Jude, I want to make you feel even better. So,……

I touch him over his trousers.

Jude: Fuckin' pervert. Think puttin’ me in yer mouth’s gonna be ‘nough?

Jude doesn't just say 変態 a 'hentai'. He uses 'dohentai' ド変態. "Do" which conveys the idea of "extreme, mega, super, very," or can be used as a expletive prefix for dirty words like hentai. I am opting to translate it this way.

Kate: You should consider any proposal of an affair positively, even if it’s abnormal. That’s one of the 'Three Rules a Lover' must keep.

That’s something Alfons taught me before the mission.

Jude: Are ya so desperate to touch me yer bringin’ up that walkin’ offense to public moral’s nonsense?

Kate: Don’t talk like it’s just because I’m frustrated, there’s more to it than that.

Kate: Jude, I’ve always wanted to make you feel good in return.

Kate: But, I couldn’t bring myself to say it without this opportunity.

Jude: So, ya can say it now ‘cause yer my lover?

Jude: If ya say so, then lemme see whatcha got.

(What.)

When I suddenly stare back, his amethyst eyes flicker invitingly….

I took a deep breath and slowly lower myself in front of Jude, who was still standing.

Jude: I’m tellin’ ya, I won’t forgive ya if ya suck at the way ya touch me.

Kate: Okay, I’ll do my best.

I loosen his belt, and then —

Kate: …..Mm…..Mmmnn….fuwaha….[slurp]….

Jude: …..So damn bad. How ya gonna pull off yer whole, ‘Jude, I wanna make ya feel good,’ like this.

After being insulted, I swallow Jude and start a series of aggressive attacks.

Maybe his insults are one of the things that now completely fuel my pleasure.

Jude: Now yer gettin’ in the mood.

Jude weaves his fingers through my hair and grabs it.

When I gazed up slightly, I saw his eyes narrow with pleasure as he looked down at me….

(He’s starting to feel it….)

I was so pleased that I wrap my tongue around his shaft, and traced it from the base up to the tip.

Jude: ……..Already at the limit.

Kate: Jude, if you’re at your limit, I’ll keep go-

Jude: Ain’t gonna cum from somethin’ like this, ya idiot. Yer the one who’s at their limit.

Just as I thought I was being held in his arms, I was placed on top of one of the oak barrels that were lined up —

And the next moment, he penetrated me to my deepest part.

Kate: Ah, Aahhhn!

Jude: Knew it, yer soakin’ wet.

Jude: Didja get excited suckin’ on me?

A faint aroma of wine wafts from the swaying oak barrels, and the sweet smell arouses dirty feelings.

Kate: Hah, Ahh….I love…. you, Jude.

Jude: Just like a fool only rememberin’ one thin’.

Jude: How much d’ya love me?

Jude sighs and kisses me deeply, devouring my sweet moans.

(Jude’s filling up every part of me.)

We kissed incessantly, embraced each other, and left red marks all over the other’s necks.

Jude: The only thin’ a person can’t fill alone’s an empty heart.

Jude murmured, “We’re together 'cause we're empty.”

— Maybe, it was his way of responding to what I had said to that woman.

But at the mercy of the intense, overlapping heat, I could only call Jude’s name.

Kate: Jude…..Jude….Ju-Aahh.

Jude: Ya might suck at givin’ head, but yer top o’ the class like this.

Jude: It feels so damn good.

When I heard the words “feels so damn good”, my mind went blank.

Under the moonlight, I was wholly filled with Jude.

-In all the places that a person can’t fill alone.

[Event Master List]

So, this seems to be a thing with Jude...like as soon as starts feeling good by Kate, he'll stop her before she can progress and take control. Not because he's about to come, but he's just impatient. He blocked her in his BD event, so CONGRATS Kate! Hopefully, he'll let you practice more....

Anyway, the way they talk about their emptiness here.....my heart. The way they find solace, happiness and love in each other....Ugh, I can't wait for the sequel!

Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway @nawlink

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

#ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil jude #jude jazza #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains translations #Dividers: @.natimiles #mdni

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charlieluver · 2 days ago

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🅿🅻🅰🆈 🅳🅰🆃🅴

(Ben Shelton × fem!reader) Word count: 720 Warnings: none

Ben loved tennis. His passion for tennis is beyond any possible level you could ever imagine. And he loved you. So when both of the things he loved coincided, Ben was the happiest man ever. This is the reason why at 8 am on a Sunday morning, Ben dragged you out of bed for a play date. "Ben seriously? You couldn't sleep in one Sunday that you get off?" "Babe please, I love seeing you play cmonn imma teach you some cool stuff alright? I even picked a cute fit for you, lets go."

The warmup that Ben makes you do before playing is killing you. "Ben babe please let me drink a sip of water." "Nuh uh, its not good for you," he says as he hands you the racquet. "But babe-" you pout, giving him puppy eyes. "tsk, fine have one sip. You really know how to persuade me." he rolls his eyes playfully.

You back touches his hard chest, his hand holding yours as he is guiding you on how to serve. "You eyes should always be on the ball, the hand eye coordination is very important..." His words drown as you feel his heartbeat, his breath tickling your neck. You could only concentrate on his cologne, how it makes you feel so calm and safe. His embrace makes your heart beat a little faster. "Y/n, why aren't you moving your arms? I'm holding you just to guide you, you gotta do all the work, ok hon?" Confused as he got no reply from you, he spins you around and you yelp. "Baby, you feelin ok ? Your face is red. If we want we can-" "H-huh what Ben?" Ben notices your face how your eyes are blown and you look dazed, your eyes lingering over his muscles a little bit longer, until you meet his eyes. "Yeah I was teaching you how to serve and well, you were thinkin about something else." he smirks at you. You blush deepens, "N-no I was paying attention, ok?" "Sure y/n" You dismiss his teasing and try to focus on the next set of tips he is trying to tell you. He laughs at your flustered reaction. "Cute" he mumbled to himself

The rally you both start playing goes smoothly, with every shot you return, Ben encouraging you, "Thats a good forehand!" "Woah, thats a clean down the line shot y/n." "Come on, no way you haven't played tennis before," he says, laughing as he walks to the net. "Oh please", you say, panting as you reach the net. "Just because I'm your girlfriend doesn't mean you have to butter me up." "But babe you played amazing, and look amazing," he flashes you with his gummy smile as he sits on the bench. "Sure." You take a sip of water, sitting beside him. His hands reach out and pat your head. "You did a great job today, seriously" he whispers, filled with sincerity. And this simple gesture makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"My legs are dead I can't walk ." You let out a tired sigh, after changing your sweaty clothes in the locker room. "Will you give me a piggy ride back home please?" Ben look at you, his gaze softening. His hands cupped your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "Sure, not even a question." After dropping off the racquets, he picks you up effortlessly. Your arms around his neck and his hands holding your legs, firmly , but not strong enough to hurt you. He starts walking, his curly hair bouncing with every step. You have a sudden urge to kiss his hair. You plant a kiss on his head. "I love your hair so much Ben." "Hmm, nothing else?" He asks you, voice full of playfulness. "Let me see.....I love your muscles" You laughed, squeezing his bicep with one of your hands. "Anything else?" "Well, I love your cheeks too, they're kinda cute," you tilt your head to give him a kiss on his cheek. He laughs, the sound resonating in your heart. "Girl, cmon.." he giggles. "Ok Ok I love you the most, for who you are Ben" "I love you so much y/n ". Your heart flutters. You hug him a little tighter, just to let him know you would never leave him, ever.

welp ben's been on my mind these days

#ben shelton #ben shelton fic #tennis fic #fanfic #fanfiction writing #shelton #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x you #ben shelton tennis #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton fluff #ben

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wildsaltair · 3 months ago

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am I his wife yet?? can I get a time estimate on that????

#most stunning man ever to exist and i'll physically fight anyone who says otherwise #i'm so helplessly in love with him #that smile makes me weak in the knees #those eyes sparkling <3 #the little crinkles beside his eyes I'M COVERING THEM WITH KISSES #just holding his sweet face in my hands and telling him how much i adore and cherish and treasure him #my heart permanently resides in his arms #i am feeling SO soft for him today #he's back at it making my heart beat faster #i swoon i melt i yearn i die #it's like he was made specifically to my taste i swear #he's so far up my alley it's insane #and i'll tell you what else he can get so far up—#*i am forcibly removed from the premises*#anyway i'm going to have these pictures mounted on my gravestone bye everyone #gladiator #maximus #maximus decimus meridius #gladiator 2000 #russell crowe

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murobrown · 1 year ago

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#i just got back to my place after holidays and I'm feeling so homesick #i want my family closer to me #i want to see them more often and for longer time #and I hate that whenever I come home i have to split my time between mom and dad #and now my dad os going through something and it's breaking my heart #because he's always the funny and silly one...always happy and now he reminds me of himself when he was divorcing my mom #i am so grateful that I spent new year's with him and that he wasn't alone #i even miss his cigarette smoke infused apartment #and my mom's weird cooking and her her candles and essential oils #and I wish my brother would appreciate all this more and not see us as a burden #i love him but I want him to grow up finally #and today before I left everyone hugged me a little tighter and a little longer #and now it's making me cry because I won't feel a human touch like that until next time I get home and that will be easter #those holidays went too fast and I want at least one more week like that #and it's all about those mundane things that make my heart beat faster #like when I went grocery shopping with my dad on new year's #or when I was just sitting and watching my mom cook #and I miss my cat so fucking bad #I'm so happy he spent another year with us #i don't even want to think about it but each year I get worried that it's his last Christmas with us because he's getting so old #and now I'm here alone and I love it that I can do my own thing and I don't share my apartment with anyone #but I just want them a little closer #i don't like how limited is my time with my own family #I'm super emotional tonight #I know it will pass in few days but today the feelings are super raw #because for more than a week I was never alone and always surrounded by love and my favourite people on Earth #and I went to being totally alone right now #i should go to sleep because I'm exhausted and I'm waking up at five tomorrow #guys...i hope you all had wonderful holidays and i wish each of you all the absolute best in 2024!

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versupital · 5 months ago

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geeked up.

you fucked around and snuck him an aphrodisiac, so now all you’ve got to do is survive until the effects wear off!

content: smut, established relationships, bondage, edging, overstim, degrading, oral sèx, public sèx, exhibitionism, drüg/alcohol use, afab!reader, gn!reader on nanami, spit kink, masochism

incl pairings: kento, toji, satoru, suguru

word count. 8.3k

soundtrack 🌧️💿: sativa ft. swae lee

COCK THAT TEA / NANAMI.

A cup of hot tea. That's all Nanami had requested.

The lemon stimulant you’d mixed into the drink had made him wrap up his work early, clamoring downstairs, his eyes glassy with desire.

"Darling," he breathes out, staring at the floor, holding the cup in his shaky hand. "Are you busy?”

He’s so polite about it. At first.

“What ever is the matter, Ken?” you question, running your cleaning rag in slow circles over the dining room table, standing on your toes as you stretch across the surface. “I’m trying to clean.”

He nearly growls, eyes shutting and reopening with frustration. His fingers flutter at his side like butterfly wings and he takes a step towards you.

“I need to be inside of you,” he blurts, looking momentarily embarrassed before his face darkens, then he looks up at you with viper eyes.

“Right now?” you fake your surprise, walking around the table to stand in front of him. “But the dining room is so filthy…” You watch as his nostrils flare; he’s clearly taking in your scent.

“You know I would never force you,” he grits out, voice choked. “But also - mmh - p-pretty please?”

His arms come up, either side of you, and he moves to pin your body between himself and the table. He releases the teacup on the table and his fingertips grip onto the surface so harshly that his nails make tiny imperfections in the wood.

“My God, are you feeling alright?” you stall, pressing the back of your hand to his flushed forehead. “You look unwell.”

“I feel unwell, baby,” he says, tone serious and apologetic. “I feel like I might die if I can’t put my cock in you. That is unreasonable.”

Even as he says the words, it’s clear in his eyes that he doesn’t care how irrational it is. He wants to act on his urges so badly.

You rest your hand over the painful lump in his pants. “Is that so?”

“No, please don’t,” he breathes. “D-Don’t wanna lose my control…”

“You won’t,” you purr, slipping his zipper down. “You’re gonna be good and let me take care of you for once, ‘kay?”

His shoulders visibly slump a bit as the pressure from his hard cock is released by his unzipped pants. You take it a step further and dip your fingernails underneath the waistband of his Calvin’s, softly scratching over the blond happy trail.

“No, no,” Nanami’s head falls onto your shoulder, full body shudders coming out of him.

“I’m just trying to help, Ken,” you quip, rolling your eyes, moving to pull your hand out; but in the same beat his large hand clamps around your wrist and shoves it down deeper.

He jerks forward against you, a whine for help coming out of his mouth and landing breathily in your ear canal. You try not to shudder yourself, wanting to maintain the facade that you’re in control.

“Please, just take it out,” he begs.

How could you deny him? Your usually composed, control-taking husband is begging you for something. It breaks your heart as much as it nearly makes you cream your undies.

"Alright," you say calmly, clamping your fist around his shaft, squeezing harshly as you remove it from its barrier.

Nanami whispers gratefully in your ear - over and over - until it fades into moans, because of you sliding the pad of your thumb over his oh-so sensitive cockhead, spreading his precum all over the throbbing skin.

You have his heartbeat in your palm. You feel it racing faster with each stroke of your finger. The organ jerks in response and so does Nanami.

His hips begin to mindly grind back and forth, his torso rubbing yours, hardening your nipples and exposing your arousal.

You let his length slide in and out of your fist, and his hands grip onto your breasts like they can save him from ruin. His hair has fallen down around his head, sweat ruining his gelled style. He looks so desperate.

You'd only wanted to see if the aphrodisiac would remove some of his patience. He's always so kind, slow, gentle. You were writhing to see him lose control, have his way with you, rough you up. You’d hardly expected it to turn him this submissive and needy.

Fwip! Fwip! The sound of your top disappearing makes you gasp. You’d gotten too lost in thought and allowed him to get your shirt off, leaving you in just underwear.

Your thighs turn in on themselves, but they’re no match for his strength. It’s as if you'd let a feral panther out of its cage, his nails clawing at the waistband, threatening to shred it as his hips pick up speed.

On a whim, you release his shaft and put your palm to his tip, running it over the shiny pink skin. Nanami’s neck nearly snaps back. You rotate your palm over the tip and rip! his iron grip accidentally tears your underwear off.

He doesn’t notice, as he maintains his grip on the fabric with his eyes closed. He freezes in place as you violate his sensitive tip and the underside.

“Agh - shit, shit, nonono…” Nanami spits out.

Until finally he’s had enough.

In exactly three movements, he has your spine curved painfully against his torso, hand clasping a handful of your hair and pulling it against his chest, your shredded undies fallen somewhere on the floor. His groans in your ear are wet and raunchy, coming from the depths of his throat.

His cock pushes through your soaking ring of muscle, sliding through the ridges until it rams into your cervix. He has no regard for your pain level, punishing you even as tears brim your eyes. His hand cracks harshly on your asscheek, before scratching the sensitive skin and making you scream.

"My love, you feel so fucking good.” The lewd words leave his lips in an uncharacteristic way.

You want to roll your hips in time with his but he releases your hair and brings his hand around to cup your neck - faltering you as he thrusts deeper, the painfully solid cock violating your walls. If not for your pussy flooding the veiny organ, your entrance would be raw from the harsh stroking and lack of regard for your pleasure.

With a release of your throat, Nanami's hand moves to the back of your head and forces it down against the table, cheek pressed to the wood. You look at the abandoned drink at the other end. Now you’re watching as the cold liquid ripples through the teacup with each rhythmic thrust of your husband splitting you from hole to hole.

“F-Fuck, Ken, take it easy,” you whine, knowing it’s a full fib.

You want him deeper than he already is, cock bottomed out, heavy balls sticking to your clit each time he goes all the way in. Your internal organs feel like they’re being bent out of shape, pressure in your belly a bit painful, but mostly exhilarating.

“I-I can’t, baby,” Nanami grunts from above. “Your pussy has me so out of control.”

You decide to admit, in a sultry moment of regret what you’d done. Your pussy can’t take all the credit for making him this feral, can it? Nanami doesn’t respond much, but his cock begins to take it out on you.

His veins pop from his wrists as he pushes your head further into the wood, cheek squishing in on itself, muffling your sobs.

He moans in response to his new rhythm, grunting your name over and over, mixed with naughty minx, take me, feel good?, mhmm.

He hikes his hips at an upward angle and the new spot he's hitting is foul, causing you to scream so loud the noise reverberates off of the walls.

You put a leg up, knee to the edge of the table for stability. Your arms stretch across the surface and you feel drool trickle out of your mouth - your mind so fucked out that you can't even bring yourself to moan.

"Where's my spouse?" Nanami questions rhetorically, shoving a deep thrust in you while cracking his palm on your stinging asscheek. "Why can't I hear them?"

You swallow, trying to stop some of the drool, attempting to answer him but all that comes out is a guttural cry for mercy.

Nanami pretends not to hear it, and runs his nails along your pretty arched back.

His fingers yank your head in the direction of his old cup, “Be sure to look at what got you into this ordeal, dear. Stimulants in my tea, really?”

Your moans return when you feel the pool of fire deep within your belly, and Nanami feels you fluttering your walls around him in an attempt to fight off the orgasm. But he recognizes your moans all too well, so he drills his hips harder to push it out of you.

"Ken! No!" you cry, trying to hold it off, but just before you release he's spilling his own hot spurts into you.

You feel each rope hit the opening to your cervix and your cunt sends you into the harshest orgasm you've had your entire marriage; your one leg that remained on the floor giving out, leaving you to dangle on the edge of the table.

But Nanami's strokes show no sign of slowing down. You feel the veins in his cock drumming against your slick ridges, and his length remains solid.

“Mm, so much wetter now,” he notes, his cum nearly sticking his balls to to your clit every time he shoves his groin against your ass.

The noise that comes from your cum mixing together as lubricant is so nasty; it makes your toes curl as you lay on your stomach and continue to take the pain.

You’ll spend the rest of the evening begging him for mercy and not receiving it. When you think he’s finally done, he carryies you upstairs, telling you that he’s going to give you a massage to calm your strained legs.

But when you end up on your side as Nanami stuffs you full of kids for the sixth or seventh time, you realize the massage had been part of his plan, and he gives no hint that he’s near finished with you.

KNOTTY BOY / TOJI.

Toji had arrived home from work right on schedule. You'd been in the middle of preparing breakfast for dinner, the kitchen smelling of bacon grease and syrup.

He'd come in and given you a quick kiss, then disappeared to the back of the apartment to shower.

While he was gone, you'd finished cooking, and loaded his plate up with sausage, bacon, and eggs. Then, you plopped a tower of pancakes in the leftover space. This is when you ripped open a packet of honey from the gas station. You'd seen it on the counter one day whilst getting snacks and, you were curious to see if the rumors were true.

You’d felt a twinge of guilt as you drizzled the honey all over his pancakes and then hid your naughty work by covering it with maple syrup. It almost felt like drugging him, but you knew it wasn’t, and the worst that’ll happen is consensual rounds of sex. You’d disposed of the empty wrapper in the trash just in time.

Toji comes back from his shower with damp hair and oily skin, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts that cling low on his v-line. Your chest heats in response, but you maintain an innocent smile as you pad over to him with his dinner.

He sits down at the kitchen table, ready to dive into your delicious meal with a thankful grunt.

"Not hungry?" he questions, noticing that you remain standing behind him, rubbing some of the tension from his shoulders.

"I had a heavy lunch," you lie. "How was work?"

Toji pokes his fork into a sausage link before bringing it to his mouth, "Hot. Annoying. Lil' bitch Shiu was moaning about his sunburn all day."

You giggle, observing the darker shade on Toji's skin from where he has the privilege of tanning instead of frying in the sun. He's glowing like a cinnamon roll coated in sweet icing, and you want to drag your tongue over his moisturized torso.

"Well, least you're home now," you kiss his cheek. "I missed you. I hate when you have to work such long shifts."

He sighs. "Gotta do what I gotta do, puss. Have ta'make sure you have everything you want."

"That so?" you coo. "There’s something I want right now."

Toji reaches for the cup of orange juice you'd poured for him, thick eyebrow raised, “Spit it out.”

"Have you ever considered letting me tie you up? You know, 'stead of the other way around?" The words are out before you can stop them, and you're immediately writhing in regret when there's silence for several moments.

Toji takes a sip of the juice, and then turns to face you. "Needy brat, you thinkin' about tying me up while I'm tryin'a eat?"

You tap your fingers on his traps, trying to build a shovel to dig yourself out of this hole. "Actually, I've been thinking about it all day," you admit. "I was just worried you might be too tired for… you know."

His fork pokes into the pancake stack. You’re overcome with a sense of urgency. The minute he ingests the honey, the timer begins.

Toji chuckles and tilts his head awkwardly, rolling his neck. "You know I would never let you go to bed without a couple of nuts, ma." He takes a big bite of the cakes. "Didn't expect that, though.”

"O-Only if you want, of course," you throw out quickly, suddenly more nervous.

Toji swallows and turns to wrap an arm around you, pulling you flush against his body as he sticks his fork back into his food. "If you're gonna be in control, ya can't backtrack. Gotta stand on business.”

You swallow, "Well, unlike you, I need your compliance because I can't just throw you around like you weigh nothing."

Toji's body shakes against you as he takes another bite of pancake. You know the effects take a bit to kick in, but you aren't sure how much time you have left now.

"Would like to see you try to throw me around, though,” he says before adding, “do ya even know how to tie a knot, lil’ girl?”

"Of course," you say, offended. "I've watched you plenty of times."

"Usually while you're already on your second orgasm and cockdrunk, but..." he shrugs, "we'll see.”

You part from him, allowing him to finish his dinner as you collect the ropes from the closet. You untangle them as you wait. You're buzzing with excitement, blood pumping through your ears and your cunt, as you can already imagine his large torso being pierced with puffy red marks from the ropes digging into his baby-soft skin.

You're just about ready to drag him away from the kitchen by his ears when Toji finally comes into the room, sucking leftover syrup off of his thumb, eyeballing you.

"Mm, did you do something different to the pancakes, puss?" he questions. "Might be a new favorite of mine."

You smile and shrug. "Nope, don't think so."

He buys it, or if he doesn't, he doesn't press the topic further. Instead his eyes travel over the wooden chair in the center of your bedroom.

“Welp, let the games begin,” he says, holding out his arms as he releases himself to be at your mercy.

Around ten minutes later, his sits with his arms pinned behind his back. His torso is attached to the back of the chair while his ankles are bound to the legs.

“Well done,” Toji grunts, attempting to tug on the ropes and being unsuccessful in loosening the knots. “My lil’ brat does pay attention.”

You lean over him, putting your hands on his shoulders. His cock has definitely hardened by now, sitting pretty in his lap as you’d requested he take his shorts off before being tied up.

You watch as his thighs flex and his cock jerks up, tip glistening under the warm lighting in your bedroom.

“Agh, fuck,” he spits. “Show me what you got, dollface.”

You continue to stand, fingers linked together in front of you, implying you have no intention of touching him. “What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

“Brat, don’t piss me off,” he grunts, a vein in his neck throbbing as he tilts his neck, fighting harder against his restraints now.

You giggle innocently and bring your knee up to the meeting of his thighs, ghosting it over his light brown tip. “You doing okay there?”

His eyes flutter closed, beads of sweat appearing on his brow line just under his hair. “Fuck. Stop doing that shit.”

“Or what?” you taunt, knowing he’s trapped.

“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” he threatens, but he can’t help but let out a delicious grunt when you glide your knee up his wanton shaft - back down again.

“What is it you always call me?” you tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “Needy whore.”

“Fuck you,” he grits, fists balled up behind him. You see his fingers attempting to reach the bottom of the knot but to no avail. He has no way out of this and he knows it. You’re watching the aphrodisiac kick into his system in real time.

His pupils expand when he looks up at you. His cheeks are slightly pink, and his bottom lip is underneath his teeth.

“Okay, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it slowly past your stomach, then over your chest. You shake your tits in his face, and he leans forward, snapping his teeth, like a shark threatening to take a chomp out of your flesh.

“Quit playing with me, Y/N,” he says sharply. “I’mma fuck you up. Bruise your little uterus so bad.”

“Would love to see you try,” you crack, pulling the fabric off your head and shaking your hair free. You know just how bad your hair turns him on, how much he enjoys nearly ripping it from your scalp as he delivers painful backshots.

He jerks against the chair, causing you to jump a little. You turn around and sit on his lap.

Toji’s entire body stiffens. “God, why is my shit so sensitive?” The sentence comes out breathy, almost whiny. Toji never allows himself to switch, but you feel you may have unlocked the ten percent of him that likes to be submissive.

“What did you do?” he goes on. “You did something to me - fuck.”

And the moment you'd come clean, you were already bouncing deliciously on his cock, watching as he squirmed against his restraints and cussed in your ear.

"You're fuckin' dead," he keeps saying, before giving up and breaking into a pathetic little, "fu-uck. Mmh, yeah, ride me baby. Gonna fill you up."

"No you're not," you say, noting how his cock begins to twitch and using your knees to lift yourself up and slide it out of you, leaving your cunt pulsing with ache.

"What the fuck - get back here," he growls. His arms pull against the ropes, and you fear at any moment they're going to pop.

"This is payback, Toji." You look at your nails and then sit yourself back down, facing him with your cunt touching his cock but not allowing him the pleasure of being inside of it. "All those times you overstimulate me, or edge me.”

You lean forward and kiss him on the nape of his neck. He howls, jerking his cock up against you for even the slightest bit of pleasure.

You're just about to drag your teeth across the prominent vein in his neck when a terrifying shred! sound enters the air.

You sit up straight and stare down at Toji in horror, but his face has twisted into a sinister, knowing smile.

"You fucked up, you know that?" he questions, and before you can scramble off of his lap, his arms are around your body, capturing you against his chest.

The next few seconds are a blur. Before you can blink or breathe, the tip of Toji’s cock feels like it’s inside your intestines, your back against your bedroom door as he fucks you against it.

“A honey packet like I’m some booty call?” Toji gripes, drilling his hips into you so mean, that all you can do is slap your hands on his back for mercy. “‘Bout to turn your pussy inside out, demon brat.”

“Toji! Please,” you cry, trying to spread your legs on either side of his hips to make it feel like he isn’t going so deep, but his cockhead is so slick and fat that it’s threatening to crack you open.

His body being covered in oil is not working to your advantage. Your hands are sliding off of him, until you finally give up and take your hands in his hair, and he increases his speed because of it.

“I oughta chain you to the bed with a vibrator on your clit,” he threatens. “Since you wanna play with me. Fuck. So fucking creamy, ma.” His head falls to stare at your cunt as his cock drills in and out of it, white substance layering on his groin and between your folds.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,” you whine into his ear, “o-ooh. Shit.”

“‘Sorry baby,’” Toji mocks. “Yeah. ‘M sorry too. Sorry that you ain’t gonna be able to walk for a few days. Hold on tight, brat.”

SHOOT MY STEAM / GETO.

"Baby, can you pass me my bottle?"

The sentence you've been waiting to hear for about thirty minutes now.

You're at the gym with your boyfriend. You've been resting on the bench, watching him do his sets, waiting for him to ask for his water.

Suguru knows you always mix in his electrolyte packets for him, only this time, you'd found a convenient aphrodisiac powder to put inside instead. You wanted to see just how hot and sweaty he could really get with it flowing through his veins while he trained.

Only one issue with that: you’d accidentally forgotten about putting it in there, so you’d taken a fat swig a while back and now you’re paying for it as you sit and watch him.

"C'mon, monk, back on your feet," he says, taking a deep breath after chugging some of his water. He places it next to you and then reaches his hands out to help you stand. "'M gonna lose motivation if you're not up with me."

You swallow thickly and force a smile, before taking his hands and rising back up to follow him to the weights. Your body is tingling, cunt ripe with desire.

You decide to do some lunges to distract yourself while Suguru works on the lat pulldown, and you stare with heat in your chest as his back muscles flex under the cut-off sleeves of his shirt.

You think about your nails sliding over the sweaty skin to incite dangerous growls from your boyfriend, making him fall apart as he pumps you full of dick. Your head spins.

You attempt to shake the thoughts away and continue lunging until he finishes his pulldowns. When he stands, an erection is painfully obvious in his shorts.

He walks over to you, voice low. "Well, I guess this means I'm doing good," he comments, pointing to his new friend, and then gesturing to you. "It's also probably because your legs are looking good, angel. Damn."

You giggle and walk to drop off the weights. "Are you gonna be able to keep working out with... that?" You’re mostly asking for yourself, because if you’re forced to sit here and watch him workout with a boner, you may combust.

Suguru glances at himself in the mirror, rolling his shoulder blades. "It'll go away in a second. It's just all the blood pumping through me."

You blink. Your self control is dwindling but you try to redirect your focus. "'Kay, well I'll be over here starting some squats."

Suguru nods and pulls you in for a sweaty kiss, "Alright, love you."

God, you wish he hadn’t done that. Now everywhere his body touched you feels like a thousand needles. You want to grab him the minute he attempts to pull away, but you’re frozen in place, the fuzzy memory of his sweaty lips on yours making your panties damper.

And the next twenty minutes are history. You watch as Suguru loses more and more of his focus, his painful erection never coming close to dying. He slows down in his workouts, his eyes lingering on you much longer than before. You even watch him blink harshly, attempts running futile at pushing away his feelings. Then at last, he comes to collect you.

Now, you know it's a little unsanitary to be laid out over the sauna bench, Suguru leaning over you as steam and sweat drip from his locks.

You also don't care. The lust in his eyes, the furrow in his brow from where he doesn't understand why he couldn't wait to get home to do this is making your pussy throb around him.

"Fuck me," Suguru’s eyes roll back as he brings one of your slippery legs over his chiseled hip, sides of his cock gliding against your internal ridges. “Feels too fucking good, monk.”

All you can do is whine in response, as the subtle curve in Suguru’s dick causes it to poke the squishy roof of your tunnel. Your arms are trying to hold onto him, but with the steam, the two of you are just sweaty, wet bodies gliding against each other.

His abs rub over your belly and sensitive nipples, and he takes in the way each grind makes you gasp a little harder than before.

"F-fuck, Suguru," you whimper.

"Hah - ngh," he growls in your ear. "Don't say my name like that."

"S-Suguru," you repeat, feeling his nails attempt to dig into your skin before his fingers slide over your wet hips. "Wanna feel your cum."

He shakes his head, slinging water all over your face until you’re envisioning it being his warm semen instead. "N-No, feels too good, don't wanna cum yet."

You continue pushing him. "Cum for me, please?"

"No," Suguru spits, the end coming out breathy as he tries to compose himself.

"Please fill me up," you keep going, knowing that he won't be able to even if he tries.

"Baby," Suguru whines pathetically, but his strokes have noticeably gotten sloppier, needier. "Y-You have to stop."

You shake your head defiantly, before you crash your sweaty lips onto his. You moan against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, piercing pressure onto it. His lips part as he continues slipping in and out of you.

Your bodies roll to the side on the sauna bench and continue going at it.

“Can’t get enough,” he mumbles against your mouth. “So wet for me, angel.”

It’s not long before you’re practically shoving him off of you, pussy sore and swollen. But he keeps holding you back onto his cock, making sure you nut on him as many times as he is able to drag it out of you.

Then, after concerns about your time spent in the sauna, you wrap it up - even though Suguru still hasn’t cum himself. But that doesn’t remain the case for long.

You find yourself pressed against the wet shower wall not even five minutes later, only a curtain hiding the two of you from the rest of the people in the bathroom. Suguru keeps his hand clamped over your mouth, whispering in your ear how good girls keep quiet, while making it impossible for you to obey.

And when he finally releases his thick cum all over your asscheek, watching as it instantly washes away under the hot water, he’s sticking it back in just a few seconds later.

Your brain is mushed with ecstasy from the powder, so you hardly notice that you’ve cum on his cock twice already, still ready for more.

GUMMY THROAT / GOJO.

“Want a hit?”

Shoko coughs and turns her wrist to hold her blunt out to you. You sit beside her on the couch and shake your head, holding up the bag in your hand.

“I’m good,” you grin. Inside the bag is edible gummies, which you’ve taken two of, and can already feel your toes stretching.

Shoko nods in understanding and passes it to someone else, leaning back against the couch with her eyelids laying low.

You check your pockets for your other bag, which has libido gummy bears, not edibles. This is the bag you’d handed to Gojo, watching as he’d devoured three obliviously.

“Satoru, you know you shouldn’t have eaten that many,” you’d scolded, trying to play along.

“Relax, my tolerance is higher than yours,” he’d quipped sassily.

But now that Shoko’s party has started to slow down, people disappearing in spurts, others sitting in corners or on the floor because they’re stuck, you and Gojo are having a staring contest - and you know what it means.

His eyes are wide and his fingers are restless. He’s sitting next to Suguru, who’s naively engaged in conversation with a pretty ginger. You’re pretending to ignore Gojo’s clear body language that says he wants to leave so that he can scramble your brains.

You giggle as your head falls on Shoko’s shoulder. Your body feels like it’s lifting off of the couch as the THC begins to flood through your bloodstream. All you can do is grip onto your skirt as if it’ll ground you.

Gojo stands from where he sits and struts over to you, his blue eyes appearing to glow with madness. “Y/N, get up,” he instructs, his voice commanding and unlike him.

“No,” you huff, nuzzling further into Shoko.

“Have it your way.” He reaches down and grabs your wrist, yanking you off of the cushions, and you can distantly hear Shoko laughing as Gojo puts his hand under your thighs and lifts you into his arms.

“Hey-!” you protest as you’re now being hauled princess style, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin with just how harshly he’s holding you.

“It’s way late,” he says. “And you’re high as hell. We need to go.”

“You’re being extra,” you scold, bopping your finger on his nose before letting yourself go limp against him. “Y’sure this is about it being late?”

“No, it isn’t,” he admits. “Watching you sit there and play with your skirt is making me lose my damn mind.”

“But I was hanging out with Shoko,” you pout, and realize he is not taking you towards any exits at all. He’s walking you to the back of the house, near the laundry room. “Gojo, what are you-?”

“I need your throat,” he blurts suddenly, glaring down at you with a compulsory twinkling in his eye. “Happy now? That’s what this is about. Need it so fucking bad.”

You giggle. The air feels crisp and your mind is so free. The room spins and you still feel like you’re floating.

“Okay, but be warned that I have cotton mouth,” you hold up a finger matter-of-factly. “May be a bit dry.”

He reaches the laundry room and pushes the curtain aside. If you were more sober, you’d realize how incredibly risky he’s being, but since you aren’t, you don’t care.

He puts you down in front of the washer, and wraps his fingers around your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing your mouth to open. In the same beat, he tuahs a mean glob of spit in your mouth.

“There,” he whispers. “That should help. Now I need you on your knees.”

He uses his grip on your face to push your head down until your knees collapse and you land on them. He releases you and you look up at him expectantly.

“All this for some head?” you taunt, placing your palms on his thighs. “Not that serious.”

“Yes it is,” he whines, “might die if I can’t shove my cock between those pretty lips.”

He leans down and swipes his thumb across your mouth, flicking your bottom lip and making your eyes flutter. You’re looking at him but not quite seeing him, as the gummies in your system have you spaced out. Your limbs feel like they’re stretching. You dig your nails into Gojo’s pants and he responds with an unearthly growl.

Your face is shadowed immediately, and upon focusing your eyes, you realize there's a fat, peachy cock looming over your face.

You gasp, watching as it comes down and taps you on the nose, fleshy and dripping in precum.

“Satoru-!” is all you can manage to say, as his tip grazes your cheek.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you part your lips slowly, expecting him to shove himself inside but instead he leans forward and sends another drop of saliva down your throat. “Just making sure it’s wet enough.”

“Y- mmh,” you're cut off, because Gojo has rammed the tip of his cock between your lips.

You part your teeth and wrap your tongue on the underside instinctually, eyes fluttering closed as you take in his salty taste.

"Speak up," he grunts, “you were being so bratty a minute ago.”

"Ngh - no," you gargle around his girth, saliva filling your mouth and making it hard to breath, pouring out of the sides of your cheeks and coating his shaft.

"Look at you, can't even take all of it," he taunts, pushing his hips deeper so that the tip begins to push down your throat, making you gag, your mouth becoming wetter.

Your eyes are hardly staying open. With your brain being so mellow, all that you can see or feel or taste is Gojo’s cock as it pumps in and out of your throat, bulging through your neck.

“So gummy,” Gojo purrs, putting his hands on the edge of the washing machine behind you. “Throat fits me so perfect, baby, y’know that?”

You can’t respond but the moaning attempt you make around his cock pulls a grunt from him. You know he’s being incredibly loud and obvious, but you can hardly scold him. The most you can do is crack your palms on his thighs, leaving tiny hand-shaped prints on the smooth skin.

“Hngh - what was that for?” he scolds before murmuring, “do it again.”

You smack his legs again and keep your eyes closed. You’re salivating all over his length and it drips down your chin, which is being abused by his heavy sac in repeated claps.

“Quiet,” you moan around his cock, as he’s letting out the most pathetic, desperate moans while you drive your mouth down to the base.

“N-No,” he grumbles, lifting his shirt up, before taking it between his teeth. You’re met face to face his with his perfect abdomen, glistening in droplets of sweat. “You suck me up so good, princess.”

Your eyes roll in pleasure at the name, eyes watering, mouth no longer dry. You don’t care if he wants to wake up the neighborhood; you just want to hear the delicious, sultry noises.

But right when you feel his dick twitch against the sides of your cheeks, you force your mouth off and swallow down the pool of saliva in the back of your throat. Your lips are wet and puffy as you part them and stare up at him.

“Gah - baby, why?” he quarrels, gripping tightly on your head.

You answer by leaning back forward and kissing his tip, sticking out your tongue and flicking it over the head before backing up again.

His knees nearly buckle, his grip on your head tightens.

“P-please don’t,” he whimpers. “S-suck it.”

“Mm-mm,” you mouth defiantly, wrapping your lips over the tip and gently pressing your teeth down; should he try to shove it deeper, it would only hurt him.

“Ngh - ‘m too horny for this, baby,” he growls. “Was so close.”

“Too bad,” you shrug, voice muffled because of the way you’re swirling your tongue over his slick pink tip.

His head falls forward, white locks dangling over his face as he tries to fight through his unbearably high libido. Your high has started to wear off but you can tell it’s going to be a long night for Satoru.

“Alright princess, I-I’ll remember this,” he coos from above, trying to push his hips towards your face but ultimately hissing and stopping when your teeth clamp down on the meat. “Goddamnit baby, what’s gotten into you? P-Please jus’ le’me cum.”

“Maybe,” you hum, taking him out of your mouth and using your spit to stroke his cock. “How bad you want it?”

“S-so bad,” he begs. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” you question, running your thumb over his tip. “Hmm. You’re in charge of cooking dinner for a week. Deal?”

“Ah - fuck it, just please,” he whines, writhing under your touch, barely able to get his words out.

“Cum,” you say silkily, sticking your tongue to catch the salty, white ropes that waste absolutely no time shooting from his shaft.

He twitches under your grip until his high has ridden out, but you use his cum as lubricant to keep stroking his poor length.

“Okay, okay,” he whines. “I-I’m good now, agh.”

“You’re not good till I say so,” you gruff, until his hand comes under your chin harshly, and brings you to a forced standing position.

“I said I’m good, but if you think I’m not getting you back for that - you’re a stupid little thing, aren’t you?” He swipes his thumb over your cum-covered lips, and then licks it clean, before cracking you on the cheek. “Now, on your toes baby. And be quiet.”

A/N:

I’ve been trying to finish this for forever bro wtf is wrong with me

I’m fighting demons (writer’s block)

And also… I think I wanna write some Gojo fluff after #jjk271 because my baby deserves love and light good fucking bye.

all the love always!

~pennjammin

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