#i could go on and on about it but i don’t have enough space here

[cruel-seduction]

Bloodstained Knuckles, Burning Lips

DESCRIPTION:

You and Mattheo Riddle have been at each other’s throats for as long as you can remember. But when your best friend casually drops the bomb that Mattheo threw punches for your dignity, everything shifts. Was it just a reckless fight—or is there something simmering beneath the surface?

CONTAINS:

Enemies-to-lovers tension, aggressive confrontations, messy emotions, kiss, and curse words if that counts bad. 

The chill of the Astronomy Tower was biting, a sharp contrast to the fiery ache in Mattheo’s knuckles. His hands were scraped and swollen, flecks of dried blood caked around his fingernails. His lip sported a fresh cut, a slow trickle of crimson staining the corner of his mouth. He leaned against the cold stone wall, head tilted back, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The faint sting of bruises on his ribs and the sharp throb in his temple weren’t enough to distract him from the lingering fury in his chest.

That bastard. He could still hear the vile words, the way they spilled so casually from the other boy’s mouth, as if you weren’t worth defending. As if Mattheo could ever let that slide. His fists tightened at the memory, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.

The door to the Astronomy Tower creaked open, snapping Mattheo from his thoughts. He expected to see a professor or maybe a curious student wandering too far past curfew. What he didn’t expect was you.

You stormed in, breathless and furious, your wand clenched tightly in one hand. Your eyes scanned the dimly lit space until they landed on him. He froze under your gaze, his usual bravado faltering at the raw concern laced with anger etched across your face.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mattheo?” you snapped, marching toward him.

He raised an eyebrow, attempting to mask the exhaustion weighing him down. “Nice to see you too, princess. Didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Don’t give me that,” you shot back, pointing a finger at him. “I just heard you beat the shit out of someone in the Great Hall. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Mattheo shrugged, the movement stiff. “He deserved it.”

“Deserved it? Mattheo, you look like you’ve been hit by a damn Bludger!”

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered, trying to push off the wall, but the sudden wave of dizziness forced him to lean back again.

You noticed the way he winced, how his breathing hitched, and your anger flared hotter. “What part of this isn’t bad? You’re bleeding, your face is a mess, and I heard someone say your hand crunch when you hit him!”

Mattheo smirked, though it lacked his usual charm. “Yeah, well, his face is worse.”

“That’s not the point!” you shouted, exasperated.

“I didn’t need to stand there and listen to him talk shit about you,” Mattheo said suddenly, his voice low but steady. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the anger in the room seemed to still.

Your heart stuttered at the confession, but you pushed past it. “I can take care of myself! I don’t need your charity, you fucker!”

Mattheo flinched at your words, his eyes narrowing defensively. “It’s not charity,” he said, his voice sharp. “I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.”

You threw your hands in the air. “And now you’re up here bleeding everywhere like a fucking idiot! You’re not invincible, Mattheo!”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he snapped, turning his head away.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerked away violently. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands,” he spat, his tone icy.

Your breath hitched at the venom in his voice, but you refused to back down. “Listen here, you little piece of shit,” you growled, your voice trembling with anger and something far deeper. “I don’t like you doing this either, but I’m not going to let you suffer when I know I can help you”

 Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists twitching at his sides as he stared at the ground, avoiding your gaze. You were too close now, your presence like a pressure in the air around him. He hated it—how your words pierced through him, how your anger wasn’t just frustration but genuine concern. It clawed at the walls he’d built around himself.

“Why do you care so much?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “You hate me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I do. So do you but you still fought for my dignity. You’re also arrogant, reckless, and insufferable. But I’m not about to let you bleed out on some freezing tower because you fought for me.”

“So you’re doing all of this because you think you owe me? Such a martyr,” he said dryly, but there was no bite to his words. He felt deeply hurt that you don’t feel anything for him but so did you, you didn’t wanna express that you felt like a princess when he fought for you. And that you would go against the whole world for him but that’s not the point.  

You dropped to your knees in front of him, ignoring the cold stone pressing against your legs. “Let me see your hand,” you demanded, your tone softening slightly.

Mattheo hesitated, his dark eyes flicking to yours. There was something unreadable in his expression, a vulnerability that he tried to hide behind his usual smirk. But when you reached out again, he finally relented, holding out his bloodied hand.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of it, bruised and swollen, the knuckles split open. “God, Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice wavering. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

He watched as you carefully traced your fingers over his hand, your touch surprisingly gentle despite your earlier fury. He winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“Because someone had to shut him up,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now.

Your movements stilled as you looked up at him, your eyes locking. “You’re an idiot,” you said, but there was no venom in your words anymore—just a soft, aching sort of frustration.

“And you’re a princess,” he shot back, but his lips curved into the faintest of smirks.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Hold still,” you said, pulling out your wand. “I’m going to fix this, and you’re going to let me. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered sarcastically, but he didn’t resist as you murmured a soft healing charm over his knuckles.

The warm light from your wand illuminated his face, and for the first time, you noticed just how exhausted he looked. The fight, the cold, the weight of whatever demons he carried—it all seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” you asked softly, your fingers lingering on his now-healed hand.

Mattheo’s smirk faded, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested against his. “Maybe I don’t know how to make things easy,” he admitted, his voice rough.

Your heart twisted at his words, the unspoken pain behind them. For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, the tension shifting into something neither of you could name.

“You can be so fucking stupid, you know that?” you muttered, a slight tremor in your voice as your hands clenched into fists. “I don’t get you, Mattheo. One second, you’re acting like you don’t care, and the next, you’re throwing punches for me. And it doesn’t make any sense.”

Mattheo finally met your gaze, his dark eyes sharp despite the weariness that hung around him. “You think I did it for you?” His voice was a low growl, but there was something different in it now—something that made your heartbeat a little faster.

You took a step closer to him, crossing your arms. “You just proved that you can’t stand people talking shit about me. But you’re too damn proud to admit you care. You think I don’t see that?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” You leaned in a little, voice softening but still filled with anger. “Because, as much as I hate you, I know that if anyone else had said that shit, you wouldn’t have lifted a finger.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “You really are an idiot.”

Your eyes narrowed at the sound, and before you knew it, you reached forward, grabbing him by the collar and jerking him toward you. “I never asked for your protection, Mattheo,” you spat. “But I know when someone’s too damn proud to admit anything.”

For a long moment, his gaze softened, the anger in his eyes flickering out as he stared at you. The air between you both crackled with the unspoken tension, the kind of tension that had always existed between you—sharp, unyielding, and filled with more heat than either of you had been willing to admit.

And then, in an instant, everything shifted.

Mattheo’s hand shot up, grabbing your wrist, and for a split second, you thought he was going to throw you off. But instead, he pulled you closer. His breath was warm against your face as he closed the space between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

The fight had died between you both, replaced with something much more volatile. Something that neither of you had the courage to face until now. And before either of you could stop it, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy, desperate, and filled with a need that had been building for so long neither of you could deny it any longer. His hands were on you in an instant, pulling you closer, as though he feared you might slip away if he let go for even a second. Your lips moved together with a force that was both fury and longing, a collision of emotions that neither of you were ready to face.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathing heavily, bodies pressed close as though the world might fall apart if you weren’t touching. Mattheo’s forehead rested against yours, and for a brief moment, everything was quiet. The storm of words, of anger, and of confusion had vanished, leaving only the lingering heat between you.

He was the first to speak, his voice raw. “You don’t make this easy, do you?” You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You started it, Riddle.”

“Looks like I made someone’s heart race for me,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips, sharp enough to carve its place in your memory.

“Fuck you, asshole,” you shot back, your voice laced with defiance, but the words felt more like an invitation than an insult. Without a second thought, you crashed your lips against his, the heat between you igniting in an instant. You slid onto his lap, hands gripping his shoulders, as if the tension between you could only be resolved in that wild, desperate kiss

[luveline]

𝐰𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥

part one | chapter list

new visitors in Jackson inspire strong feelings, in both you and Joel. 

cw: super protective joel, all cards on the table slow burn, complicated everything, eventual scary joel, more cw to be added later

જ⁀➴　

The Tipsy Bison is intimate in its capacity. It’s not unlikely to let yourself in and be able to greet each person inside with familiarity —there’s Jesse at the bar talking to Astrid; there’s Eugene at the back with a battered old book; there’s Joel Miller and his rambunctious, not-so-little charge sharing a sandwich. You’re used to it. You’ve come to expect to see your community and nobody else, even the vaguely less familiar. 

S’why tonight sucks. 

“Is this really… you know, is this a good idea?” 

Jesse is younger than you, but he’s nice enough. He can see you’re not comfortable in the crowd and he’s cordoned you off. “Apparently. Maria trusts him.” 

‘Him’ being Jonathan, a travelling tradesman from a small community of only twelve people. Five men, four women, three children. Maria knew the leader from a time before Jackson, and she trusts him enough to give him the secret of Jackson, which is a big deal. 

The idea of losing what you have here makes you feel nauseous. You have to trust Maria, is all, because she wouldn’t wanna lose it either. 

“Do we…” You squeeze your hands nervously without finishing Joel’s sentence. 

Jesse frowns at you. “Why don’t you go sit with Mr. Miller, if you’re so freaked?” 

Mr. Miller is his teasing. Somehow, someway, one of the kids (who don’t seem to be kids anymore) figured you out. It’s not a big deal, you’re not sure you’d even go so far as to call it a crush. It’s an appreciation. You like Joel. Like his nose, his brown eyes, his hands. You like how he stands against doorways and how sometimes, late at night, you’ll walk home and see him sitting on the porch with a candle at his feet. Ellie with him, alone, but always with a dinky acoustic guitar, strumming away quietly, picking at strings. He must learn by ear. You like the way he speaks to people. 

Don’t worry, he says, a smidge pissed. Or, genuine, Could you move, honey? 

That’s how you got caught. Joel called you ‘honey’ without meaning anything by it and you must’ve looked a shade too close to pleased. By the next day, Ellie herself was sidling up to you outside the stables to ask about your lil ole crush. “I can make myself scarce,” she’d said, rolling the words around in a way that hinted at their pre-rehearsal, even as she laughed. “Just tell me when.” 

You look down at your glass of gin. “What business do I have sitting with Joel Miller?” you ask lightly.

You’re not trying to convince Jesse —again, the kids know. You don’t care, so long as they keep it to themselves. Troubling Joel is the last thing you wanna do. He looks tired tonight. Long trip out with Tommy, maybe, or on pins like everybody else now that the bar is full of strangers. 

Said strangers give a raucous bubble of laughter. The electricity is a marvel, the booze a delight, and they sit entranced by the small roller TV, warmed by old malt whisky and the space heater under their table. A fire rips in the kitchen, crackling, and it’s enough to make you flinch. 

“I think I’m gonna head home,” you tell Jesse, not loving the sympathy lining his eyes and brows. 

“Don’t be a coward.” He’s joking, and he softens as he adds, “If that’ll make you feel better, sure. Go home.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

He shrugs. “Seriously. If you can’t handle it, don’t suffer.” 

It’s not your dream to spend the evening with the young ones, anyhow. You’d hoped Tommy would be sitting with Joel, ‘cos Tommy tries to set Joel up every now and then with the available ladies of the commune. And you, pretending it’s a joke you’re in on and not a real reason to sit, always laugh and sit and try your best to flirt, just a little. Joel was frosty to begin with, kinder now. Whenever he sees Tommy beckoning you over, you can’t help thinking that he’s relieved it’s you sitting down. His shoulders relax. 

You give him a last look, not longing but getting there. He’s nursing a dark glass sitting beside the sandy-haired man in charge of the laundromat. Keith, maybe. They’re not talking, frowning in sync as the table of tradesmen once again reaches a fever pitch. 

He turns to you, sensing your gaze. You offer an uneasy smile. Hadn’t meant to. The group of outsiders is making you feel sick. 

His frown stays in place, but his eyes change. They don’t soften, but they shift. His hand uncurls from his glass. 

“Hi.”

You feel your eyes move of their own accord as a man steps in front of your view. The lightbulb by the door flickers. You blink at this new stranger. 

He’s handsome, almost Clooney-like, Thin Red Line but gruff. He has a few strands of salt in his beard, but he’s not much older than you are, you’d wager. 

“Hey,” you say, a question mark suggested at the end. 

“I’m Jamie.” 

“Hi, Jamie.” 

He smiles lightly. “This is usually where you give your own name.” 

You think about turning then and there, a thread of you that knows you don’t have to go through anything that makes you uncomfortable, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. You give him your name against your wants, and he asks if he can buy you a drink. 

“It’s a commune,” you say, not sure if he’s kidding. “Drinks are free, so long as you don’t jerk Seth around.” 

“Right, of course they are. It’s a shame, I wouldn’t have minded.” 

You know this is where you’re supposed to say something obligingly forgiving: It’s okay, do you wanna sit down? But you’d rather not. 

It’s not like he really likes you. Clean intimacy is hard to come by. 

“Have you lived here long?” he asks. 

“Uh, couple years. Great years.” Should you try to sell it? You could spin a lie. Jackson is the worst and nobody should ever want to raid it. “Living in a commune is the hard part, there’s not much time to rest.” 

“Seems alright now.” 

He’s right. The evening’s are often your own to do as you like. “Not too bad,” you agree quietly. 

Jamie has cloudy blue eyes, light in the light and dark in the dark. He turns his head and seems fiercer than you’d expected him to be. Your mind is playing childish tricks. You’re too old for monsters, but he seems off, then. 

“I’m going home now. Nice to meet you,” you say. 

He frowns. It’s nothing like Joel’s. “Okay, yeah. Have a good night, sweetheart.” 

You rush out of the double doors of the Bison and skirt around the wall until you’re hidden. Jackson’s hardly ever dark, but there are shadows to retreat to when you’re not feeling right. You press yourself into an alcove, feel the chill of the stone behind you seeping into your back like water, frozen air kissing your cheeks. The cold isn’t in the wind, it’s everywhere, and after half a minute your nose feels like it’s hurting. A couple seconds later and the door is whipping open. 

Joel cuts right down the path toward your shared street. 

You rush after him, your shoes packing snow, alerting him to another presence. 

“Oh,” he says, whipping his head to yours. “What’re you doing standing out here?” 

“Nothing– wanted some air. You going home?” You wipe your cheek. “Can I walk with you?” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You sniffle. The change in temperature does it to you every time. Any transition from warm to cold makes your nose run like a faucet. “I’m tired.” 

Joel’s eyes dart inside. “What did that jackass want?” 

“Nothing. Asking me for a drink or something, I don’t know. I told him Seth and Cory make them.” You sniffle again, self-conscious as you rub your wet nose. 

“He upset you?” 

“No, no, it’s real cold, that’s all,” you rush out, trekking a bump of snow to stand beside him, the reality of his face closer and finer. You can feel the scratch of his scruff under your fingers without touching it. He has a scar on the left side of his cheek still red with newness. “How’d you get that?” You point to your own. 

“Pulled a nail out of a doorframe, I was standing too close.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“No, it’s hardly a scratch. What about you? He hurt you?” 

“Jamie?” 

“I don’t know his name. Did he?” 

You shake your head. Joel’s like this. He doesn’t smile for nothing, but he’s the first one to offer you a hand if you fall on your ass. ”Didn’t so much as touch me.” 

“So why’re you crying?” he asks. 

You’re lost. 

“If he touched you, said something to you, anything, I’ll take care of it,” he says firmly. “They aren’t here to do whatever they want, nobody gets to upset you, not here.” 

You wipe your eyes again. The cold, you think, is making you glossy-eyed and sad. Joel must’ve caught you looking earlier and figured you were asking for help. “You came out here looking for me?” you ask.

“You didn’t look happy.” 

“I’m not. I don’t like new people. Don’t like what might happen if they won’t keep Jackson a secret.” 

“Nobody’s gonna get you in here, honey.” He ducks his head, his hand judging your arm. “Alright?” Less sure of himself, he clasps your elbow. “Alright?” he asks again. 

“I’m okay. It’s just cold.”

“Warm ya’ up,” he mumbles, letting his hand slide behind your back. “Head home and stoke a fire, that’s what we’re gonna do.” 

“You don’t have to, Joel. I’m really fine, I am, it’s the sniffles–”

“‘M gonna take you home,” he says surely. “I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on you now, ‘til you’re feeling alright.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all as he leads you down the snow-packed road from the Tipsy Bison to the neighbourhood street. In five minutes you’re at his door, he’s pushing it open, shouting down into the garage to see if Ellie’s home. He’s taking off his coat and tossing it over the bannister, hands open, expecting you to do the same. 

You shrug out of it and pass it over. He puts it with a hell of a lot more care beside his own. 

“C’mon,” he says quietly, “this way.” 

He stokes the embers in the fireplace. Throws a couple of logs in when they start to glow. Adds some scrap paper, a conservative splash of fire starter. The heat starts to nip your fingers, like a painful pinging you can’t shake. 

“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at your shaking hands. 

“Just hurting.” 

“Your hands?” He takes your wrists into his hands and holds the bottoms of your hands to his chest. “You gotta be careful. Frostbite don’t take long to set in.” 

“I don’t have frostbite, it’s ’cos it’s warm now, it’s– it’s like getting in the bath too soon.” 

Joel’s hardened, sure. But there isn’t one person living in Jackson now who doesn’t have at least one good thing to say about him. Joel fixed my front door, found my bike a new tire, took my kid for an hour when I felt like I was gonna explode.Youve heard the bad with the good, whispers of what he did before he got to Jackson, and the rumour of what he did after. Thing is, you can see past it. You’ve done cruel shit too. 

He doesn’t feel cruel as he rubs your fingers back to life. “What do you mean? Getting in the bath too soon?” he asks quietly.

“When it’s cold, and it’s always cold here, and I get into the bathtub as soon as I get home from the stables, it makes my hands do what they’re doing now…” You shudder as he presses them flat to his chest and covers them. “You’re gonna make it worse,” you murmur, tepid teasing. 

“The quicker you warm up, the quicker it goes away,” he says. He’s smiling, and his voice is all full of something sweet, like it’s rolling around in his mouth before he uses it. 

“I really don’t like these new people.” 

“Yeah, me neither. They won’t be here long, couple more days.” 

“That Jamie guy… I don’t know, guess I wasn’t as nice to him as I should’ve been, he didn’t want anything. Well–”

“He wanted something.” 

“I know that, but– it’s not a crime, is it? Doesn’t everybody want that?” 

“He’d be blind if he didn’t want it with you, honey,” Joel says. 

There’s that word again, tacked at the end of an implication that makes you go white hot. 

For once, he notices your reaction. “Shit,” he says, “sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean it like that. You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “Shit,” he says under his breath. 

“…Thank you, Joel.” He’s holding you awfully tight, really, saying this stuff. You’re grown. You know what it means; can’t pretend it away, can’t will or while it into an insecure maybe. He can’t want me, I’m me. But Joel wouldn’t do this to you if he didn’t feel something for you, even if all that something is is just thinking you’re beautiful. “I think you’re handsome, too, you know.” 

He transfers both of your hands to one of his, the other coming up behind his neck in a show of bashfulness you aren’t sure is real or not. “Ellie mighta let something slip about that.” 

“What sort of something?” 

“Said you might like me. You know.” 

What were you thinking, back at the Bison? It’s not a crush, it’s worse, you’re totally fucked because he’s looking at you like he wants to lean in and kiss you, and he’s solid enough to do it, to take you by the shoulders and tip your head to the side with a nudge of his nicely shaped nose, he could kiss you sick. 

Joel Miller, you think, frowning at him softly, please don’t mess me up. 

“Took you long enough to find out,” you say. 

“You think I didn’t notice? I was waiting on you to come clean.” 

“And this has nothing to do with Jamie?” you ask, heart popping under your ribs in a panic that you might actually like feeling. 

“Of course it has to do with Jamie, j’s not all of it.” He ducks his gaze. “I don’t like seeing you like that, all antsy, and I really don’t like seeing you crying.” 

“I wasn’t crying,” you say with a soft laugh, sure you’re about to be kissed, “I was cold.” 

He lets go of your hand and begins rubbing twin lines up and down your arms. “Shit,” he says, potty mouth, “I was doing something about that. Let me get you a blanket. I got a huge one up in the bedroom, you stay here.” 

Leaving you blinking next to the crackling fire. Unkissed, and without an invitation. 

“You want a cup of coffee?” he calls from the stairs, looking down at you, wearing an expression you can’t decipher. “You go on and help yourself, honey.” 

You nod at him until he carries on upstairs. Coffee is the last thing on your mind, but you find your way into Joel’s shining kitchen and warm the coffee pot, pouring a brew in a ceramic mug, the scratch-owl drawn on its side bumpy to the touch.

You get to thinking. You’d wanted to be kissed, but what if Joel actually kisses you, big hands on your face, weight between your legs? He’s bringing down that big blanket to cover you up, both of you, ‘cos even with the fire it’s too cold to get undressed without one–

“You alright?” Joel asks when he returns, a throw blanket slung over his shoulder. “You look jittery.” 

You swallow roughly and wave a shy hand. Just the coffee, you explain. 

[pwblant]

are you cold? — song eunseok

,, wc : 878

,, pairing : bf!eunseok x gf!reader

,, a/n : hiii riizeblr !! i’ve been wanting to write a short fic like this and i thought that eunseok would be perfect for it, he’s been hitting so different lately 😵‍💫 feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy !!!! 🤍

this morning, you and song eunseok, your boyfriend, went on a long drive over to the beach. it was a peaceful, mellow drive there. you were in the passenger seat, backrest tilted backwards so you could sit comfy. eunseok’s hand rested on top of your thigh, and the windows were cracked open just enough to let the crisp air in and graze your face.

“hey, just a question. what clothes did you bring?” you asked, breaking the peaceful silence out of the blue.

“i brought a jacket and a few other stuff. i checked this morning, the forecast said it was going to be pretty chilly tonight.” he replied calmly, keeping his eyes steady on the road ahead.

“i’m doomed. i completely forgot to check the weather forecast.” you groaned as you crossed your arms, sinking into the chair in disappointment.

“don’t worry, maybe it won’t be so cold. weather forecasts aren’t always right.” he chuckled, trying to lift the mood. “plus, i’m always right here.” he added jokingly.

you chuckled lightly knowing he always knew how to get you with his words.

when you arrived at the beach, the weather wasn’t too bad. the sun’s rays were shining on your skin, giving you a warm feeling all over. you played in the water with some of your friends who came, and you had a great time. that was, until the night fell.

you and eunseok headed back to your shared room just beside the beach. you took turns showering after a long day of playing outside, getting sweaty and dirty on the sand. just your luck, the temperature around the area had only gone lower, reaching to about 12° at night. getting prepared to go to bed, you felt like you were sitting inside a freezer more than a hotel room with how cold it was. all you had brought for the night were a pair of shorts and a comfy shirt. wanting to take shelter on the bed, you quickly ran over to what you thought would be your safe space, only to be disappointed by the cold comforter and bed sheets. it would take so much time to warm it up and you genuinely felt like your fingers were about to fall off from the cold.

eunseok had fallen asleep right after he took a shower and said good night to you since he was exhausted after playing beach volleyball with other friends all day. seeing him fast asleep, you kissed his cheek and decided to crawl into the comforter yourself and face the wrath of the cold. you felt your whole body shivering. your eyes were closed but deep inside you were wide awake, it felt impossible to fall asleep in this condition.

3:24 AM, sunday

it’s almost been 3 hours since you last laid in bed, and you haven’t gotten the chance to fall asleep since. your body kept undergoing these overwhelming shivers and it was incredibly difficult to be comfortable, even with the comforter on. you pushed yourself up onto a sitting position to rub your eyes and contemplate about your night.

“are you feeling alright, y/n?” feeling the sudden movement of the bed, eunseok murmured, his voice low and barely above a mumble.

“yea—yea, i’m fine.” you said, not wanting to worry him, but the shiver in your voice kind of gave it away.

“are you cold?” he asked, sitting up to join you.

“a bit.” you confessed.

“i’m sorry i fell asleep early today. i should’ve waited for you,” he apologized, immediately reaching to take off his jacket.

your eyes softened at his thoughtfulness, “you don’t have to apologize for anything seok,” you said softly. “you did so much this morning. i want you to get enough rest for tomorrow.”

“and leave you in the cold like this? i don’t think so.” he smiled, handing over his jacket that was already warm from his body heat.

you were shocked to see his bare torso as he handed his clothing over to you. he looked so beautiful right in that moment, his gray sweatpants fitting just right in a way that felt effortlessly attractive. the way his hair was all ruffled almost made you forget what you were going to ask him, however, you pulled yourself together and prioritized other matters first.

“won’t you be cold? i thought you had a shirt underneath.” you asked, feeling worried that he’d have to suffer for the rest of the night.

“a little bit, but i’m sure i’ll be able to handle it.” he replied confidently.

“this won’t do,” you said as you pulled him into a cuddle and laid his thick jacket down on top of the both of you, hoping that the natural warmth of your bodies would make the situation feel more bearable.

“you’re so cute. i’d trade my jackets for your hugs any day,” he chuckled, adjusting the jacket so that it would cover you more than it did for him.

his words make you giggle as you rest in his arms, eventually drifting off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth and safety he always brings. you have the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, everything he does makes you fall in love with him all over again.

[brucebocchi]

Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 2: #40-31

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here. thanks!

Alright, on we go to the list proper. The first post was probably whiplash-inducing, going from a bunch of shorter stuff I loved to whole seasons I hated, but we can only go up from here. I watched a lot of anime this year, as the numbers indicate, so there's a little positivity to be found even in the lower rankings.

As always, OPs are linked in the series titles. Watch them, they're almost all great.

40. Metallic Rouge

One of the biggest disappointments of the year, one which I didn’t think could be outdone (and I’ll get to that one shortly). Metallic Rouge had so much going for it as a Studio Bones original for its anniversary, and managed to fumble all of its promise and goodwill in slow, agonizing fashion. 

It’s a shame, too. Metallic Rouge still looks awesome; the character and mech designs are excellent, the space-cyberpunk aesthetic is undeniable, and the animation can be terrific when it counts. The story, on the other hand, is so completely asinine that I was sick of this show before it ended. I’ve mostly forgotten what even happens, partly because it was that infuriating to keep up with, and partly because I feel like the writers forgot too; the bulk of any actual story felt backloaded into the last two or three episodes because they focused too hard on vibes for a while. I think they were trying to go for some “G-Witch by way of Detroit: Become Human” something or other, but all of it rang hollow. I’m still not sure whether it needed more runtime or better writers. Probably both.

Not worth your time. Just watch the OP and imagine a better show than what we got.

39. Mysterious Disappearances

I’ve thought so little about this show since it went off the air that I don’t really have anything new to say. Looks pretty lousy most of the time, not that interesting, oddly horny, and the plot structure gets kind of cloying after a while.

I know I harped on that last point when I reviewed it at the end of the spring season, but something funny happened after I did. Back in July, I mentioned that I took issue with the formula of “we encounter a paranormal anomaly, it’s identified as a yokai or urban legend, we learn its tragic backstory, our protagonists give it closure, and we move on” because it felt manipulative after I realized that it happened with every arc, and then I went ahead and read DanDaDan, which basically does exactly the same thing but a hell of a lot better. Comparing a middling work like this to DanDaDan of all things feels unfair, but they cover pretty similar ground. Maybe it’s sharper writing, or maybe it’s just a more engaging work. Who’s to say?

I’d also said in my review that Mysterious Disappearances unintentionally gives off the vibe of a poorly-archived mid-2000s series, but I hadn’t realized just how right I was: It turns out that studio Zero-G just went ahead and made up its own ending even though the source material is still ongoing. Better shows did the same this year, but the studio and I seem to have the same level of faith that this anime’s ever coming back.

38. My Deer Friend Nokotan

Honestly? Fuck this show.

I’ve already gone into what I did and didn’t like about Nokotan after it went off air a few months ago and I don’t care to revisit that while it’s still relatively fresh. Not nearly as funny as it pretended to be, yet still not even confident in its own sense of humor. The OP's still a bop (calling it "Shikairo Days" was a genuinely great joke), and a small handful of gags do land, but not enough to prevent this from being a massive disappointment.  At the same time, Nokotan was still somehow not the biggest letdown of the year.

37. Uzumaki

This was the biggest letdown of the year.

When an anime adaptation of the legendary Junji Ito horror manga was first announced in 2019, it was hard not to get excited. Even when I’d mostly fallen out of anime fandom, I knew damn well who Junji Ito was and I knew Uzumaki. Adult Swim was funding the project, a prestige studio in Production I.G. was handling the animation, and they even nabbed Hereditary composer Colin Stetson for the score. Ito’s manga is famously very difficult to adapt well, and it looked like we finally had a project being taken seriously. Delays and radio silence in the ensuing years were disappointing, but I was willing to be patient if it meant everything was being handled right. When the trailer dropped this summer, it looked like it would be worth the wait.

And for one glorious episode, it seemed like everyone’s patience paid off. Uzumaki’s debut episode was one of the most visually arresting pieces of animation I’ve ever seen: The entire look and feel was faithful to Ito’s inimitable style, from the meticulously detailed linework to the stark black-and-white color grading of his manga’s pages. On top of that, the animation itself was absurdly good; the process of rotoscoping 3D motion capture seemed arduous, but the end result was beautifully lifelike for a story where that quality could only serve to instill further terror. Several of the most iconic images from the early chapters looked incredible in hi-def motion. Sure, the pacing was a little fast, but this was a four-episode miniseries. We could deal. This was just too good.

And then came the second episode.

I’m not going to over-elaborate or relitigate every single thing that went wrong here, because it’s a lot. Uzumaki was in development for a long time, and that five year gap between announcement and release included several detriments to the production process, not the least of which being COVID, animation production changing hands between several studios, and new leadership for Adult Swim’s parent company that now favors profit over product, especially when it comes to animation that doesn’t involve DC characters. Plenty of us figured that all of these delays and a run of only four episodes meant that they had the time to hammer out all the issues and give us the best possible product. That, unfortunately, was not the case.

Responding to complaints about the decline in animation in the second episode, executive producer Jason DeMarco (who, to be blunt, has overseen several mediocre-to-awful anime products released under the Adult Swim brand, including my bottom-ranked anime of 2023) claimed in a quickly-deleted Bluesky thread that there is indeed a higher-up to blame and that they were left with an ultimatum to either drop Uzumaki after just one episode, let it go the way of so many other Warner Bros non-releases under David Zaslav’s disastrous leadership, or release the whole miniseries in its half-baked state. They went with the third.

So, what we got was an uneven, often sloppy work; another mediocrity to throw on the pile of failed Junji Ito adaptations. All goodwill established in the first episode is soon undone by wonky character models, uncanny walk cycles, and movement that looks like PNGs being dragged across a background at the most inopportune times. Plenty of viewers, myself included, were willing to overlook the accelerated pacing after the first episode, but that issue was thrown into stark relief by the second when entire chapters of the manga began playing out simultaneously, and one was even reduced to an afterthought for a cheap “scare” at the end of episode three. 

Not that I thought Uzumaki necessarily needed a full 12-episode season for a proper adaptation or anything; Ito’s output can often be light on story, and dragging it out too far risks losing interest. What makes Ito’s stories actually work, though, is a proper sense of setting and space to let tensions rise. That didn’t entirely happen here; while the atmosphere of Kurozu-cho does plenty resemble what we’ve seen from Ito’s pages, and Stetson’s atonal saxophone does a lot of work to raise the level of unease, things just kind of happen. Few things really get the chance to land as intended, in part due to the production quality cheaping out at climactic moments.

This was the last anime I finished this year even though I’d watched the first two episodes after they aired and it went off the air in October. I was looking forward to the last two episodes that little. There are still bits and pieces of great animation and faithful adaptation here and there, but not enough to regain any goodwill from the second episode’s wheels visibly falling off. Maybe it’s finally time to declare Junji Ito’s works unadaptable once and for all. 

Definitely watch that first episode, though. At this point I kind of wish that’s all we’d gotten.

36. Hokkaido Gals Are Super Adorable!

Straitlaced Nice Guy moves to a new town, laid-back gyaru from his class immediately takes a liking to him, a couple other girls enter the picture, shenanigans ensue, and a slow-burn romance begins in parallel. Nothing special on paper and nothing much more special than that in execution. The setting is lovely, though, and it really made me want to visit Hokkaido one day. Nicely done, tourism board.

If you watched this and were put off by it, I don’t blame you; I probably would’ve been too if I hadn’t decided to read ahead in the manga. I will say this, though: If you liked Hokkaido Gals even a little, read the manga. It’s a minor investment, but if you can get over the halfway mark, it gets surprisingly good and has a really lovely ending. 

The anime, on the other hand? Meh. Doesn’t look super great and didn’t have enough time in 12 episodes to overcome most of the issues the source material had to move past to get to what made it worthwhile. It would take another season or two to get there, and that probably isn’t gonna happen. Great OP, though (I'm starting to repeat myself, I know). Just read the manga.

35. No Longer Allowed in Another World

Boasting one of the most audacious premises for an isekai I’ve ever seen, No Longer Allowed in Another World doesn’t shy away from the implications of an Osamu Dazai isekai, has the dark humor to match, and provides some fascinating commentary on the type of person who tends to consume wish-fulfillment isekai. Unfortunately, the presentation was a little lacking and threatened to lose my attention several times. I think the idea is much better on paper, to the point where I might test that theory and go read the manga.

34. The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic

The next dozen or so anime in the rankings fall into a category of either “well-made anime that I found kind of frustrating” or “middling anime that I kind of enjoyed.” The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic is very much the latter. It’s a standard isekai on paper; demon king, special powers, what have you, but it has a likable cast and laid-back vibe for much of its runtime that made is pleasant enough to watch.

As I said after the winter season, I really liked that Wrong Way spends a lot of its early story ensuring that the protagonist expends the time and effort necessary for him to become the hero he’s meant to be instead of the narrative just handing it to him from the start, which instantly sets it apart from most other wish-fulfillment isekai. It’s far from the best-looking anime I watched this year, but it has a mid-00s throwback look and feel to it that works more to its benefit than in Mysterious Disappearances. Nothing groundbreaking and a little too backloaded, but an enjoyable enough experience and one I’m looking forward to seeing come back. 

The only really upsetting thing about this show is that Atsuko Tanaka (Major Kusanagi, Bayonetta, Kainé), who was tremendous as the intimidating Captain Rose, is no longer with us. She was an exceptional talent with an iconic voice who will be sorely missed, and future seasons of this show won’t be the same without her.

33. Go! Go! Loser Ranger

Though not a bad anime by most metrics, I still consider Loser Ranger a minor disappointment. It mostly looks great, and “what if The Boys was a sentai series” is a killer premise, but the story so far is extremely frontloaded. Almost too much happens in the first four episodes, and then the bulk of the last arc of the season takes place in a goddamn parking garage. I’m still annoyed by that. Still looking forward to season 2, but I wish the debut season had been 24 episodes to avoid the sour taste in my mouth.

Did you hear that echo? Yep, that's me telling you to watch yet another OP. Easily the best part of the show and one of the best of the year. Tatsuya Kitani can't keep getting away with it.

32. Astro Note

2024 turned out to be a banner year for Rumiko Takahashi’s older works making their way back to modern screens, and one of those entries wasn’t even hers.

Astro Note is an overt homage to Takahashi’s less-famous romcom Maison Ikkoku, which ran parallel to Urusei Yatsura for most of the latter’s run. Like Ikkoku, Astro Note follows a down-on-his-luck young man living in a boarding house full of bizarre miscreants who only stays because the manager is super pretty. Unlike Ikkoku, and unbeknownst to our protagonist, said manager is actually an alien who is practically turning the house over to find a secret alien MacGuffin.

This show looks lovely and has a delightful cast and some surprisingly moving subplots, but it’s nothing too special otherwise. There are some fun creative flourishes here and there, like the alien stuff shown in flashback being made to look like an older space opera anime, but aside from a very fun turn near the end of the season, Astro Note rarely rises above the level of simply “pleasant.” And that’s fine, but it doesn’t quite live up to the material it’s aping, and what we’ve ended up with is just a nice distraction. 

I’m so glad I finally decided to read Maison Ikkoku though.

31. Shangri-La Frontier, second cour

It’s been a running joke for me that the more I watch Shangri-La Frontier, the less I’m sure whether I like it or not, and now with 25 episodes in the tank, I’m less sure than ever. The back half of the debut season improved on a few of the things that annoyed me about its first cour by focusing more on the high-quality action and introducing minor stakes to the proceedings, and then everything else surrounding it made it feel no less like I’m just watching a guy playing a goddamn video game, and the stakes still mostly seem to amount to "he wants to be good at it."

You may notice that I didn’t include the second season in this review, and that’s because I flat-out didn’t care to pick it back up. I’d been busy during the fall season and continuing a show I didn’t enjoy that much just wasn’t a high priority. It’s continuing into January, so there’s time to catch it while it airs, but I’m still not in any hurry.

[hanalyrata]

Do It Yourself - Swiss & Dewdrop - NSFW / MDNI

Pairing: Swiss/Dewdrop

Summary: A little jealousy goes a long way, or: how Dewdrop learned he was a switch.

[AO3 Link]

The tension between them had been building for weeks.

Swiss had always loved Dewdrop’s sharp tongue, the biting sarcasm, and the fire in his eyes when he got riled up. It was part of who Dew was—prickly on the outside, a swirling molten heat underneath. But the edges had grown sharper as of late, cutting a little too deeply.

And Swiss had had enough.

It wasn’t just one thing said, a sharp insult, a quip here and there, but a hundred little things added up. The curt replies and sarcastic digs that didn’t quite feel playful anymore, the way Dew seemed to be deliberately pushing his buttons during rehearsals. And tonight, Dew pushed a little too hard.

“Maybe if you stopped showing off for five fucking minutes, you’d actually keep time,” Dew had snapped, his tone acid enough to make Rain cast a nervous glance between them.

Swiss had opened his mouth to retort, but Papa’s arrival silenced them both. The rest of the rehearsal passed in tense silence, Swiss’s jaw tight and Dew practically vibrating with unspoken frustration.

When it was finally over, Dew was the first to leave, storming off toward his room without a glance at anyone else.

Swiss didn’t follow immediately. He waited, lingering in the empty practice space, running his hands through his hair as he tried to rein in his simmering irritation. There was more to this, he could feel it.

--

By the time Swiss made it to Dew’s room, the irritation had boiled over into something molten, sharper, and far more dangerous. He didn’t bother knocking, just pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Dew sat cross-legged on his bed, his guitar in his lap, absently plucking at the strings. He didn’t look up as he spoke, “What do you want?” he asked, his tone flat, but there was a challenge in it.

Swiss shut the door behind him, the soft click echoing louder than it should have in the small space, “We need to talk,”

Dew raised an eyebrow, his fingers pausing on the strings, he still refused to look up, “About what? How your ego can’t handle a little criticism?”

Swiss’s eyes darkened and he took a step closer, “About how you’ve been acting like an asshole lately.”

Dew set the guitar aside, swinging his legs off the bed as he stood to face Swiss, “Oh, I’m the asshole? You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, Swiss. Like I don’t even exist to you anymore,”

He stepped closer, his irritation growing further as he noticed the taller ghoul take a step back, “Do I repulse you, is that it? I’m fine for a casual fuck here and there, but the moment a new ghoul is summoned, I’m cast aside?”

Swiss raised an eyebrow. Oh, so that’s what it was.

“That’s not fair, Dew,” Swiss shot back, his voice rising, “You’ve been going out of your way to piss me off, and I’m done pretending it’s fine.”

Dew’s lips curled into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “What, can’t handle a little heat? Poor Swiss, always so perfect, always so calm. Maybe you’re not as unshakable as you like to pretend.”

Swiss’s patience snapped. In a heartbeat, he closed the gap between them, his hand gripping Dew’s chin firmly but not harshly, tilting his head up to meet his gaze, “You want to see me shaken?” Swiss asked, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that usually sent shivers down Dew’s spine, “Careful what you wish for, firefly.”

Dew’s eyes widened slightly at the nickname, but he didn’t back down. If anything, he leaned into the challenge, his smirk sharpening, “What are you gonna do, Swiss? Prove me wrong? Send you back to your precious little bug?”

And their game had begun.

Swiss’s lips curled into a wicked grin, and before Dew could say another word, Swiss pushed him back onto the bed, pinning him down with ease. Dew let out a startled noise, his hands coming up to push at Swiss’s shoulders, but Swiss caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand.

“You want to keep mouthing off?” Swiss murmured, his face close to Dew’s, his voice a low growl, “Or are you finally ready to shut up and listen?”

Dew huffed, his eyes blazing as he glared up at Swiss, “Make me,” he said, his voice defiant but shaky.

Swiss’s grin widened, “Gladly.”

He leaned down, capturing Dew’s lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. Dew resisted at first, his teeth grazing before biting harshly into Swiss’s bottom lip in a token display of defiance, but it didn’t last long. Swiss’s free hand moved to Dew’s hip, gripping it hard enough to bruise as he deepened the kiss, swallowing the smaller ghoul’s soft, reluctant whimper.

When Swiss finally pulled back, Dew was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His glare had softened into something more uncertain, but the fire was still there, burning bright.

“You done fighting me yet?” Swiss asked, his voice softer now but no less intense.

Dew didn’t answer immediately, his lips slightly parted as he stared up at Swiss. Finally, he shook his head, his smirk returning, “Not a chance.”

Swiss barely gave Dew a moment to catch his breath before flipping him onto his stomach with a firm, fluid motion. The smaller ghoul let out a yelp, his cheek pressing into the mattress as Swiss straddled the back of his thighs, pinning him down.

“Swiss, what the fu—” Dew started, his voice muffled by the sheets.

“Nuh uh,” Swiss cut him off sharply, his hand pressing to the side of Dew’s head, keeping him flat against the bed. His tone was low and commanding, carrying no room for argument, “You’re going to shut the fuck up for once and listen.”

Dew stiffened beneath him, his fingers curling into the sheets as Swiss’s words sent a jolt of something electric through him. He squirmed, trying to push himself up, but Swiss’s grip only tightened, fingers tangling in his hair with a rough pull.

“You’re wrong, by the way,” Swiss growled, leaning down so his lips brushed against Dew’s ear, “Phantom? Nah, only you can take what I give you and still come crawling back for more,”

Dew’s heart was racing, blood pounding in his ears as his breath came faster when Swiss’s weight settled more firmly on top of him.

“Fuck you,” he spat, though the words lacked their usual venom.

Swiss chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against Dew’s back as he slid his hand down to grab the hem of Dew’s shirt, fingers sliding just under to scratch at pale skin, “Oh, I intend to.”

The fabric was yanked up and over Dew’s head in one swift motion, leaving his torso bare. Swiss’s hands roamed over his exposed skin, warm and rough down his spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Then came the bites—sharp and punishing, his teeth sinking into the curve of Dew’s shoulder, the back of his neck, the soft flesh just above his ribs in a way that left him gasping, body jerking under each press of Swiss’s fangs.

His fingers dug into the sheets, face half-buried in the mattress as he let out a shaky breath.

“Look at you,” Swiss murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned back to admire the fresh marks, a deep purple blooming on Dew’s pale skin, “All bark, no bite.”

Before Dew could respond, Swiss leaned forward again, his hands bracketing Dew’s sides as he kissed a slow, biting trail down his spine. He paused at the waistband of Dew’s jeans, his teeth catching on the fabric as he tugged it down just enough to reveal the top of his hips.

“Swiss, get the fuck off me,” Dew snarled, his voice muffled against the mattress as he struggled beneath the larger ghoul. His body twisted, legs kicking futilely, and his arms pressed against the bed to push himself up.

Swiss didn’t budge. Instead, his palm returned, pressing more firmly against the back of Dew’s head, pinning him down, “Stop fucking fighting me, Dew,” Swiss growled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down Dew’s spine and with a sharp tug, pulled his jeans off, tossing them unceremoniously to the side.

“I said—” Dew tried again, his tone defiant, but Swiss wasn’t having it.

“Enough,” Swiss snapped, cutting him off. His hand slipped around gripping Dew’s jaw and forcing his mouth open. Before Dew could hurl another protest, Swiss slid two fingers past his lips, pressing down against his tongue.

Dew’s muffled curses turned into garbled noises as he instinctively bit down, his teeth grazing Swiss’s fingers. Swiss only smirked, his head lowering so his lips were close to Dew’s ear, “You want to keep running that mouth?” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerously soft, “Let’s see how well you talk now.”

Dew’s eyes blazed with frustration, but his glare lost some of its edge as his tongue moved instinctively against Swiss’s fingers. Swiss pressed them deeper, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing against the corner of Dew’s mouth.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Swiss murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction as Dew’s growls faded into muffled breaths, “You always have so much to say, don’t you? Never know when to quit.”

Dew glared up at him from the corner of his eye, his muffled noises vibrating against Swiss’s fingers. He squirmed again, but the fight in his movements was weakening, the heat in his defiance mixing with something else entirely.

Swiss smirked, pulling his fingers out just enough to let Dew take a breath before pushing them back in, watching the way Dew’s lips parted reluctantly to accommodate him, “Look at you,” he murmured, his free hand trailing down Dew’s spine, “Finally quiet, should’ve done this sooner.”

Dew made another noise of protest, but it didn’t carry the same weight as before. His cheeks flushed, his breathing uneven as Swiss’s fingers lingered in his mouth, teasing and controlling all at once.

“Good boy,” Swiss said softly, his voice warm but commanding, “You can’t win this, firefly. So stop pretending this wasn’t why you provoked me.”

Dew let out a muffled groan, his body relaxing slightly against the mattress. Swiss grinned, pulling his fingers from Dew’s mouth and dragging his thumb across Dew’s wet lips, “That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone dripping with triumph.

But Dew, ever stubborn, managed a hoarse, “Go to hell,” before biting at Swiss’s thumb just enough to remind him he wasn’t entirely broken yet.

Swiss laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating against Dew’s back as he leaned in closer, “Oh, firefly,” he murmured, his teeth grazing Dew’s shoulder, “I’ll drag you there with me if I have to.”

Swiss leaned down, his breath hot against the back of Dew’s neck as his hand tightened its grip on the smaller ghoul’s hip. Dew’s body was tense, coiled like a spring beneath him, but Swiss had him pinned exactly where he wanted.

“One word, firecracker,” Swiss murmured, his tone a commanding challenge, “One word, and I leave you here. Unsatisfied. Unfinished.” His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he felt the smaller ghoul's body still beneath him.

Dew’s breath hitched, a mix of frustration and heat blooming in his chest. He wanted to tell Swiss to fuck off, to shove him away and reclaim the upper hand—but the threat in the multi's voice, the promise of being left wanting, struck something deep.

“You wouldn’t,” Dew spat, though his voice wavered slightly.

Swiss stilled, his grip on Dew loosening as he let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back on his heels, then sliding off the bed entirely.

“What—?” Dew began, propping himself up on his elbows, only for Swiss to cut him off.

“You know,” Swiss said, his tone calm but laced with irritation, “I’m done with having to do all the work,” he turned on his heel, running a hand through his hair before sinking into the nearby chair. His golden eyes stayed locked on Dewdrop, a mix of challenge and expectation flickering in them.

“You want me to fuck you?” Swiss continued, leaning back and spreading his legs in an exaggerated display of ease, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth. His piercing gaze didn’t waver, “Do it yourself.”

Dew blinked, momentarily stunned, “Excuse me?” he sat up fully now, his cheeks flushed with a mix of indignation and incredulity.

“You heard me,” Swiss’s tone was maddeningly casual, his lips curving into a smirk, “You’re always running your mouth, always fighting me like a fucking brat. Fine. You want it so bad? Do it yourself.”

The air between them was thick, palpating, electric. Dew’s mind reeled, every part of him torn between irritation and the undeniable pull of Swiss’s challenge. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he sat up on his knees, glaring at Swiss.

Swiss raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbow on the armrest of the chair and resting his chin in his hand, “I’m waiting, firefly.”

Dew’s heart pounded in his chest, but he wasn’t about to back down.

With deliberate movements, Dew slid off the bed, the cool air prickling his skin as he stood in front of Swiss. The taller ghoul didn’t move, his smirk widening as he watched Dew with an infuriating confidence that made Dew’s hands itch.

Then it dawned on him. A chance he didn’t get often.

“Do it myself, huh?” Dew said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he straddled Swiss’s lap, his knees sinking into the chair on either side of Swiss’s thighs, “Fine.”

Swiss’s hands moved instinctively to Dew’s hips, but Dew swatted them away, grabbing Swiss’s wrists and pinning them to the chair’s armrests, “No touching,” Dew said, his tone firm.

Swiss chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement, “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, “Finally stepping up.”

Dew ignored him, leaning in, his lips brushing against Swiss’s ear as he whispered, “You wanted this. Don’t you dare complain now,” his fingers moved quickly, unbuttoning the multi's shirt, giving him little chance to protest before digging his nails into the skin beneath.

Swiss shivered under him, his smirk faltering just enough to give Dew a surge of confidence. He moved deliberately, grinding down against Swiss’s lap, the friction sending sparks through both of them.

Swiss let out a low growl, his fingers twitching against the armrests, “Fuck, Dew,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Dew shifted on Swiss’s lap, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharp enough to cut,

“Aw, poor Swiss,” Dew cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy as he rolled his hips against Swiss’s lap, “So used to being in control, aren’t you? How’s it feel to be on the other side for once?”

Before Swiss could retort, Dew rocked his hips again, slow and deep, drawing a strained sound from Swiss’s throat. Dew’s grin widened, satisfaction blooming in his chest as he felt Swiss’s restraint slipping beneath him.

“You always think you have so much control,” Dew continued, his voice quiet but cutting, “Always barking orders, always calling the shots. Well, not tonight," He leaned back just enough to meet Swiss’s gaze, his eyes blazing with heat and defiance, “Tonight, you’re mine.”

With that, Dew reached down, dragging his nails lightly over Swiss’s chest, a contrast to his earlier digging, the sensation making Swiss tense beneath him. He let his hands wander, skimming over Swiss’s stomach and just barely brushing the waistband of his jeans.

Swiss’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he fought to keep control, “Dew,” he warned, his voice strained.

“What?” Dew asked, his lips ghosting over Swiss’s, “You don’t like being teased? Because you’re usually so good at dishing it out.”

He shifted again, grinding down harder this time, the friction making Swiss’s head fall back against the chair. Dew took the opportunity to lean in, his teeth grazing Swiss’s neck before biting down, hard enough to leave a mark.

Swiss let out a sharp breath, his body tensing as Dew pulled back, satisfaction written all over his face, “That’s more like it,” Dew said, his voice dripping with triumph, “You look so good when you’re barely holding it together.”

Dew wasn’t done yet. He pulled back, his fingers trailing down Swiss’s chest again, purposefully slow, teasing every inch of exposed skin. He watched as Swiss’s composure continued to fray, his restraint unravelling with every touch, every roll of Dew’s hips.

“Beg,” Dew said suddenly, his voice sharp and commanding.

Swiss’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face, “You’re kidding,” his voice wavered in a way that made Dew’s stomach flip, though he kept his composure, tilting his head with a growing smirk,

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He leaned back just enough to slide his hands down his own torso, his sharp eyes locked onto Swiss’s. The taller ghoul was still sprawled in the chair, muscles taut and trembling with effort to not break, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. Dew’s smirk was wolfish, the glint in his eyes sharp enough to make Swiss’s pulse race.

“You asked for this,” Dew said, his voice low and teasing as his fingers slipped to the waistband of Swiss’s jeans, “Wanted me to do the work, right?”

Dew took his time, unbuttoning Swiss’s jeans with maddening slowness, dragging the zipper down inch by agonizing inch, the sound almost deafening amongst the tension. He made sure to keep his gaze locked with Swiss’s, savouring the flicker of heat and frustration in those dark eyes.

When Swiss’s cock was finally free, Dew couldn’t help but let out a low, appreciative hum, his fingers curling around the base, “All this just for me,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over the piercing near the tip, catching the slick of pre that had bubbled up. Swiss twitched beneath him, a strained sound escaping his throat.

Without another word, Dew shifted, sitting back slightly as his free hand trailed down his own body. He leaned back further, giving Swiss an unobstructed view as he reached back up and slipped his fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva, his eyes never leaving Swiss’s.

Swiss’s breath hitched, his eyes glued to the way Dew’s lips parted around his own fingers, how his tongue flicked against them. He swore under his breath, feeling himself unravelling with every second that passed.

Dew pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, smirking at the way Swiss’s gaze darkened, “Like what you see?” he teased, reaching back to slip his slick fingers between his thighs.

“Fuck, Dew,” Swiss muttered, his voice strained as he watched Dew’s fingers disappear, pressing into himself with an ease that made Swiss’s head spin.

Dew let out a soft, breathy moan, his head tilting back as he worked himself open. His hips shifted slightly, his movements slow and teasing, knowing full well what it was doing to the multi, “You wanted me to do the work,” he reminded, his voice pitching slightly higher as his fingers pressed deeper, “So sit there and watch.”

Swiss groaned, his nails digging into the armrests as his body screamed for him to turn the tables, to just give in and pin the fire ghoul down and take what he wanted. But he held on,

“You’re a fucking menace,” he ground out, his voice rough.

And he wasn’t wrong. Swiss was utterly undone, his body trembling as he watched Dew move, every sound and every motion driving him closer to the edge. He swore under his breath, his chest heaving as he fought to keep control, but Dew wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“Go ahead,” Dew whispered, his voice soft but commanding, “Say it. Tell me how much you want it.”

Swiss growled low in his throat, his pride warring with his need. But as Dew rocked his hips and let out another soft moan, Swiss knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Dew,” he said, his voice rough and desperate, “if you don’t stop teasing me…” He was so hard it hurt, and watching Dew unravel himself in front of him was both the most exquisite torture and the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

Dew grinned, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against Swiss’s ear, “You’ll do what, exactly?” he whispered, his voice dripping with mischief.

Dew didn’t relent, his steel eyes burning with amusement and lust as he pushed himself further, deliberately working his fingers inside himself with a rhythm that had Swiss teetering on the edge of madness. Every moan, every subtle movement of Dew’s hips, was calculated to drive Swiss insane.

Swiss’s jaw clenched, his breathing ragged as he watched Dew, his dark eyes following every movement. His cock twitched painfully, the piercing glinting in the dim light, pre making it shine brightly as a string of curses spilled from his lips.

“Fuck, Dew, just let me touch you,” Swiss finally rasped, his restraint hanging by a thread.

Dew laughed breathlessly, the sound breaking into a moan as he shifted his hips again, pushing himself down further against his fingers, the wet squelch reverberating between them and Swiss felt his stomach flip at the sound. He leaned back to brace himself against Swiss’s knees as he slowed his movements just enough to make Swiss squirm.

Dew tilted his head, his expression softening for just a moment as he watched Swiss writhe beneath him, “I could stop,” he offered, his tone mock-innocent, “Leave you like this. Unsatisfied. Like you threatened me.”

Swiss’s eyes snapped open, glaring at Dew with a mix of frustration and desperation, “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, his voice low.

Dew laughed again, a genuine sound this time, as he leaned forward, his fingers still working inside himself, “Satanas, you’re so easy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Swiss’s jaw, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to leave a faint mark.

Swiss let out a sharp breath, his body trembling with the effort to stay still, “Dew, please,” he said finally, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Dew froze for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, “Did you just beg?” he asked, a triumphant lilt to his voice.

Swiss growled again, his cheeks flushing slightly as he turned his head away, “Don’t push it,” he muttered, but the edge in his voice was gone, replaced by raw need.

Dew didn’t push further—not with words, at least. Instead, he shifted, pulling his fingers free and reaching down again to grasp Swiss’s cock, aligning himself with calculated slowness.

Swiss sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping back to Dew as the smaller ghoul sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The feeling of Dew’s heat, his tightness, was overwhelming, and Swiss’s hands finally shot forward, gripping Dew’s hips with bruising force.

“Finally,” Dew muttered, his voice a mix of satisfaction and relief as he settled in Swiss’s lap, his body pressing flush against the larger ghoul’s.

Dew smirked down at Swiss, a flicker of devilish amusement dancing in his eyes. He rolled his hips achingly slow, drawing a guttural sound from the ghoul beneath him.

“No rushing, Swiss,” Dew murmured, his voice a low, teasing purr, “I’m going to take my time.”

The drag of Dew’s body was almost too much to bear, each roll of his hips sending white-hot pleasure through Swiss’s entire body. His cock throbbed inside Dew, the piercing catching in a way that made his head spin, his vision blur.

Swiss’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he groaned, the need to move, to do something, nearly overwhelming. Dew caught the action and raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned down, his breath warm against Swiss’s face.

Swiss’s hands tightened on Dew’s hips, his thumbs scratching into Dew’s skin as he fought to keep himself grounded, “Dew, for the love of everything, just—”

“Just what?” Dew interrupted, his tone sharp as he slowed to an almost unbearable crawl, “You’re the one who wanted me to take the lead. If you’re regretting that, tough luck.”

Swiss groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His teeth caught his bottom lip again, biting down hard enough to draw blood this time. The sharp metallic taste filled his mouth, but he didn’t care—anything to keep himself from breaking completely.

Dew noticed, of course. He leaned forward again, his fingers brushing over Swiss’s jaw as he tilted his head back to meet his gaze, “Hey,” he said softly, his teasing tone momentarily replaced by something gentler, “Don’t do that.”

Swiss’s eyes flickered to Dew’s, his frustration tempered slightly by the concern he saw there, “Then stop teasing me.”

Dew laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to Swiss’s swollen lip before pulling back, “Not a chance,” he said, his smirk returning as he resumed his maddeningly slow movements.

Swiss was barely holding on, his body taut and trembling as Dew continued to work him into a frenzy. Each slow, deliberate motion of Dew’s hips was maddening, pushing him right to the precipice before pulling back just enough to leave him aching for more.

Then, just as Swiss felt himself teeter on the edge of bliss, Dewdrop stopped moving entirely. He sat, perfectly still, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watched the realization and frustration flash across Swiss’s face.

“Dew,” Swiss growled, his voice rough and low, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dew smirked, pressing his hands against Swiss’s chest, holding him in place, “Taking my time,” he murmured, his voice soft but teasing, “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

Swiss’s gaze followed as Dew slowly trailed a hand down his own torso, his breath hitching as Dew’s fingers wrapped around his own length, stroking himself in slow, languid motions.

The sight was devastating. The way Dew’s eyes flickered with heat, the way his lips parted as he let out a soft, breathy moan—it was all too much. And yet, Swiss couldn’t look away.

“You look good like this,” Dew said, his voice low and smug as he kept his hand moving, his strokes deliberate and unhurried, “All wound up and desperate. Bet you didn’t think I could turn the tables on you, huh?”

Swiss’s growl deepened, his nails biting into Dew’s hips, leaving crescents, as he fought to keep control. The heat, the tightness, the wet warmth of Dew surrounding him was a constant, agonizing reminder of how close he was—and yet Dew refused to give him what he needed to tip over the edge.

“Dew,” Swiss rasped, his voice a raw plea, “Please.”

Dew tilted his head, pretending to consider it as his hand continued its torturous pace, “I don’t know,” he pondered, squeezing a bead of pre from his tip, relishing in the way he caught the almost feral look it pulled from the multi-ghoul, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job at this pace.”

The tension was palpable, a taut string ready to snap.

“Say it again,” Dew said suddenly, seemingly snapping Swiss back to reality.

Swiss frowned, his frustration momentarily eclipsed by confusion, “Say what?”

Dew’s grin turned wicked, his strokes slowing even further, “Beg,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction, “Beg me, Swiss. Let me hear it.”

Swiss’s pride warred with his need, but as Dew shifted again, his body squeezing around Swiss in a way that made his vision blur, he knew then that he was defeated.

“Dew, please,” Swiss said, his voice hoarse, desperate, “Don’t stop. Don’t tease. Just—please.”

Swiss was trembling now, his whole body taut with desperation as Dew sat firmly in his lap, rolling his hips again, but only once. The heat, the wetness, the way Dew gripped him so perfectly—it was overwhelming. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak without stumbling over his words. Every movement Dew made pushed him closer to the brink, only for the smaller ghoul to hold him there, refusing to give him the release he was so achingly close to.

Finally, Swiss couldn’t take it anymore. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Dew and pulling him in tight. His face pressed against Dew’s chest and he let out a broken, needy sound as he felt the cool metal of Dew’s nipple piercings against his lips.

Dew froze for a moment, surprised by the sudden intensity, before a grin spread across his face, “Getting a little desperate, huh?” he teased, his voice breathy but sharp.

Swiss didn’t answer with words. Instead, his mouth latched onto one of Dew’s pierced nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive metal and soft flesh. Dew hissed sharply, his fingers tangling in Swiss’s hair as the multi ghoul suckled at him, his lips closing around the piercing with just enough pressure to make Dew shudder.

“Fuck, Swiss,” Dew gasped, his confidence wavering as Swiss’s lips moved to the other nipple, his teeth grazing the piercing.

Swiss’s voice was muffled against Dew’s chest, his words broken and stuttering as he fought to form coherent sentences between moans, “Dew, please,” he begged, his voice rough and trembling, “Let me—ngh—let me come. Please. I can’t—fuck—I can’t take it anymore.”

Dew’s eyes flashed with something between amusement and desire, his hips rolling just right to make Swiss choke on his words, “You’re not there yet,” Dew tilted his head, “Not until I say so.”

Swiss whined against his skin, his teeth catching on the metal of Dew’s piercing before he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Dew’s chest. His breath was ragged, his body trembling as he tightened his grip around Dew, holding him like a lifeline.

“Please, Dew,” he said again, his voice breaking as he looked up at the smaller ghoul with desperate, pleading eyes, “Firefly, I’ll do anything. Just let me come. Let me come inside you. Please.”

“Anything?” Dew echoed, his grin returning as he rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, making Swiss moan brokenly against him, “That’s a dangerous promise.”

Swiss didn’t care. He couldn’t care. All he could do was hold onto Dew, his lips brushing over the smaller ghoul’s skin as he whispered a string of pleas, his voice hoarse and trembling, “Yes, anything. Please, Dew. I need you. I need to—fuck—I need to come. Please.”

Dew’s heart raced at the sheer desperation in Swiss’s voice, and he couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing the larger ghoul so completely undone beneath him. But even he couldn’t hold out much longer, the intensity of Swiss’s pleas and the heat of his lips against his chest threatening to push him over the edge as well.

“Alright,” Dew said finally, his voice soft as he leaned down to press a kiss to Swiss’s forehead, “You can come. But only because you begged so nicely.”

Swiss let out a choked sob of relief, his hands tightening on Dew’s hips as the smaller ghoul began to move in earnest, setting a rhythm that sent them both spiralling toward release. And when Swiss finally let go, his whole body tensing as he spilled inside Dew, the sound of his broken moan and the feel of his arms tightening around him sent Dew over the edge right after him.

--

Swiss pressed his face into Dew’s chest, his lips brushing over the smaller ghoul’s piercings in a soft, almost reverent gesture as they both came down from the high. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, arms still loosely wrapped around Dew, who was now slumped against him, forehead pushing against his collarbone, equally worn out.

For a few long moments, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing between them. Then, Swiss let out a low chuckle, his voice rough and incredulous as he tilted his head to look down at Dew.

“Where the hell have you been hiding that?” he asked, his lips quirking into a crooked grin despite his exhaustion.

Dew, still catching his breath, tilted his head back to meet Swiss’s gaze. His eyes were hooded, golden strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his expression, “What, you thought I didn’t have it in me?” he asked, his voice laced with smugness.

Swiss blinked, his grin widening, “Honestly? Yeah,” he admitted, “You’re such a snarky little shit all the time—I didn’t think you’d ever take the reins like that. Let alone do it so goddamn well.”

Swiss had barely caught his breath when Dew finally shifted, lifting himself off Swiss with an air of casual satisfaction. Swiss’s hands twitched, half-instinctively reaching for him again, but he stopped when his gaze caught the sight of Dew straightening, his legs wobbling just slightly as he turned away from Swiss, and—

Swiss groaned low in his throat, his eyes fixed on Dew’s thigh. The unmistakable mess of what they’d just done was trickling down, catching the light and the sight punched the air out of Swiss’s lungs.

“Fuck,” Swiss muttered, his head falling back against the chair for a moment before he forced himself to sit up straighter, his eyes trailing up Dew’s form.

Dew caught the look immediately. He turned his head to glance back at Swiss, eyes gleaming as he caught him staring, “What?” his tone was quizzical, dripping with faux innocence.

When he received no answer, Dew smirked, tilting his head, the movement drawing Swiss’s eyes back down to the long trail, a mix of Dew’s slick and Swiss’s spend,

“What, this?”

Dew feigned nonchalance as he ran a finger along his inner thigh, purposefully smearing it further.

Swiss swore under his breath, “You’re doing this on purpose,” he accused, his voice strained.

“Maybe,” Dew said, his smirk widening as he turned fully to face Swiss again, his hands settling on his hips, “But you can’t blame me, can you? You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

Swiss huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, “Can you blame me?” he shot back, gesturing at Dew as if that explained everything, “Look at you. You’re... fucking perfect.”

That made Dew falter, his smugness dimming as a faint blush rose to his cheeks, “Don’t start getting all sappy on me now,” he muttered, his voice softening.

Swiss’s grin widened, and he reached out to grab Dew’s wrist, tugging him forward until he was standing between Swiss’s knees, “You can be an asshole all you want,” Swiss said, his voice low and sincere as he looked up at Dew, “You’re still mine,” he punctuated his words with a soft kiss to the smaller ghoul's hip, "and I'll still be a sap."

Dew’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself and he leaned down to press a quick, almost shy kiss to Swiss’s forehead, “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice soft, “Yours.”

Swiss groaned again, his hands sliding up Dew’s thighs as he pulled him closer, “You’re gonna have to clean up before I drag you back to bed,” he said, his voice teasing but thick with affection, “Because if you keep looking at me like that, we’re not gonna leave this room for hours.”

Dew laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks and he leaned into Swiss’s touch, his fingers tangling into his hair, “Fine,” he relented, his voice soft but full of warmth, “But don’t think this means I’m done with you.”

Swiss smirked in return, his dark eyes gleaming as he tilted his head up to look at Dew,

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[nubuckleather]

Also for the kiss ask, eddiejosh and 8 please

on the flip side from my last fill, here’s something happier and fluffier for the evening (and longer! it ran away from me a little bit)

8. … in secret

Josh wasn’t sure what he was doing at the Grant-Nash Christmas party.

“You’re my date!” Maddie said.

“You have a husband,” Josh pointed out.

Maddie raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have a husband again after he sleeps off the peppermint schnapps. Until then, he belongs to Karen.”

“How modern of you,” Josh said with a grin. Maddie hummed in agreement. Her eyes were glittering with levity, or maybe just the reflections of the Christmas lights. Athena and Bobby had really gone all out. They were everywhere.

“Oh, Athena just put out more canapés!” Maddie said, already moving back towards the kitchen.

“What about being my date?” Josh called, but she was already gone.

“Can’t keep a good woman, huh?” somebody said from behind him.

Josh turned toward Eddie Diaz. “Did you think that one through? Pretty sure I could lob a devastating comeback at you of all people pretty easily.”

“But you didn’t,” Eddie replied mischievously, his eyes dancing with mirth. It was a good look on him. “Must be a Christmas miracle.”

“You look good,” Josh said. Eddie flushed. “I mean—you look happy. Unless it’s just that you’re finally able to smile without the weight of that mustache.”

“I am, uh, really happy,” Eddie said. “I don’t know if you heard but—Chris is back. For good. Got on last week. He’s here tonight, actually. He helped Bobby and Athena decorate. You can blame all the lights on him. He’s always loved stretching the limit of how many are safe to plug in.”

“That’s great!” Josh said. “I mean, not his apparent disregard for electrical fires. Him being home. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said. “You know, uh, Josh, you look good tonight, too.” The tips of his ears were bright pink.

Josh felt frozen and hot all over. “Eddie,” he chuckled, “you’re not flirting with me, are you?”

Eddie had a stubborn sort of set to his brow. “Maybe I’m tired of trying to keep a good woman,” he said.

Josh laughed delightedly. “You know, I’m not a very good man.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Eddie said, entirely too genuinely. Shit, Josh was going to have to kiss him about it, wasn’t he?

Above the general noise of party chatter, Chimney’s voice broke out. “Time for Christmas carols!” he cheered, and then he and Karen launched into God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman and Carol of the Bells simultaneously and not a particularly in tune.

“While everyone’s distracted by that,” Josh said, “you want to get out of here?”

“I can’t go far,” Eddie said. “My son’s here.” It came out of him all giddy. Josh definitely had to kiss him about that.

“Bathroom work?” he said.

Eddie tasted like canapés and gingerbread and joy. Josh couldn’t get enough, so he pushed Eddie up against Athena’s hand towels and groaned into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie cupped his ass. Faintly, he could hear Chim and Karen switching into Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!, but it couldn’t quite permeate their blissful little bubble.

Josh pressed a kiss into Eddie’s upper lip. Eddie nipped along Josh’s jawline. Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Dad, are you in there?” It was Chris. Eddie went stiff under Josh’s hands. “Denny and I are gonna take the kids around the block to look at the lights, okay? Maddie and Hen said it was okay.”

Eddie’s mouth moved for a bit without anything coming out. Josh backed up to give him some space. “Sounds good, Chris!” he finally managed. “You watch out for them, okay?”

“I will,” Chris said. “Hey, don’t spend to long in there. You’ll miss the party.”

Neither Eddie nor Josh said anything as they listened to him walk away from the door.

“He’s a good kid,” Josh said, finally.

“I know,” Eddie said.

“I don’t want you to miss the party,” Josh said, leaning in.

“I don’t want to miss this,” Eddie said, leaning in closer.

Their lips met in another heated kiss that went down warmer than Chimney’s peppermint schnapps. It was an excellent Christmas party. Josh was so glad to have been invited.

Send me a ship and a kiss!

Accepting buddie, eddietommy, and eddiejosh

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: nothing i can think of tags: steddie as dads, sometime in the future, happily married, bickering as a sign of love, steve harrington needs to argue with someone, family game night, fluff, sweet stuff, word count: 993

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "fairy tales"

-

“Remember that one promise I made you when we got married?” Eddie asked, walking into the kitchen Steve was cleaning.

“I remember them all. You mow the lawn a lot less than you said you would.”

“That’s because you’re so particular!”

“Don’t you dare. It’s because you don’t want to rake up the clippings, dude. You know that, I know that, but it’s so necessary.”

“It’s not,” Eddie glared at Steve’s back, steam coming out of his ears as he tried to get himself back on track. “That’s not the one I mean, either.”

“Can you…be more specific then? I feel like me guessing is just asking for a fight.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m going for.”

Steve turned around, bubbles up to his elbows and eyes bright enough to light the darkest caves. “Are you? Because I’ve been pissed off about that fucking grocery store bullshit all day and I could-I could just really, I mean. Oh my god, it would be so nice to yell and fight.”

“You already yelled at them,” Eddie threw his hands in the air, they were never going to make it to the point here but now he was feeling a bit guilty for getting Steve’s hopes up like that.

“I don’t feel any better,” Steve said plainly, shrugging his shoulders and looking at Eddie like he should understand.

Rather than respond, Eddie stayed quiet long enough that Steve knew he wasn’t getting the needed fight. He turned back to the dishes and took his frustration out on the spaghetti sauce-soaked plates.

Eddie knew he had to tread carefully. Steve was ready to go and it wasn’t going to take much now that Eddie had dangled the carrot.

“Okay, so I mean the part where I said I’d never ask you to fill in during dnd…again.”

“We learned that lesson in the worst way.”

“The closest I ever came to thinking we’d break up was after that,” Eddie nodded. They both paused for the flashback of that argument.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming though.”

“Well, not a ‘but’ so much as a technicality? We agreed you’d never fill in but nothing was said about just joining a campaign. From the beginning.”

“Do you think that’d go any better?”

“I do!” Eddie said, leaping across the kitchen to get into Steve’s space. “Because it wouldn’t be any campaign. I wouldn’t even invite the guys.”

“Just me and you? I don’t want to play pretend sitting around with you. That’s why you still have the Hellfire Club. Go play with them.”

Eddie sucked in a breath but held his words there for a second. “What about the kids?”

Again, it stopped Steve’s dishwashing and he looked at Eddie. It wasn’t a no but it was an invitation to say more. Eddie had to play this very carefully. This was closer than he expected to get.

Their kids were old enough, in Eddie’s opinion, to try their hands at Dungeons and Dragons. At nine and five, it wouldn’t be the full by-the-book campaign. An introduction to the core concepts though, an easy campaign with a focus around things they love, and the safety of their dads.

Eddie just had to get Steve on board.

“Okay, so I’ve spent the past month or so writing down what I could remember of those fairy tales you used to make up as bedtime stories. You’re actually really good at storytelling and you know how much they both loved them.”

Steve sighed, rinsing his hands off and giving Eddie his undivided attention. Reluctantly but Steve didn’t do much enthusiastically. Eddie knew how to read this and how to move forward.

“Well, they’re an amazing basis for a campaign. We could just putt around in our own little fairy tale world and learn the rules, fight a troll, and work together. It’d be chill, I promise. More about learning than anything else.”

“So why do you need me? Can't you just play with the kids?”

“I could. I will if you really don’t want to, though I might bring in Will and Gareth for numbers if that’s the case. But I want you there. They’re your stories and I think it’d be fun to finally play with you after all this time. We’ve got a short window where the kids are learning before they either get too good or don’t want to play.”

“You have…really thought about this,” Steve laughed.

“Actually, yeah, but it’s all sincere. It’s the perfect time to bring you into this with a perfect exit. It doesn’t need you so if you don’t want to, it’s fine, but I’d love to do this as a family. Something, something practicing safe dice rolls at home first,” Eddie tried to laugh, knowing the joke wouldn’t land and that it was barely formed.

Steve folded and unfolded the towel he’d dried his hands with, thinking this over. “For the kids,” he finally said.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open, the statement ping-ponging around his brain as he tried to process if it was, in fact, a statement and not a question. Then he said “No fucking way,” with several different inflections.

Before Eddie could vibrate out of the room, Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “I have a no-questions-asked exit though. If it gets anywhere close to what happened last time, I leave the game, you write me out, and we never, ever, ever try again, okay?”

“Yeah! Of course! I mean, I’d expect nothing less!! So, alright, you always told stories about this prince, did you see him as a fighter or what?”

Before the question finished, Eddie darted out of the kitchen to grab a notebook. He had pages of questions for Steve. This would take a lot of working out between them before bringing in the kids but Eddie was willing to do the work and Steve could keep doing chores. It was perfect. This was all going to be so perfect.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads (17)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.9k Warnings: angst, swears First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

It has only been two days since her… incident with Marcus, but Zeke seemed to pick up on the disconnect instantly. He came home after class that day, and it was like he could smell that something was wrong. He’s regarded her cautiously ever since, but he hasn’t said anything about it. His gaze has just lingered between her and Marcus, his brow knitting together as if he’s trying to silently solve a puzzle. To their credit, the humans seemed to realize that she needed some space, and they didn’t push the issue. Marcus has hardly even looked at her since that day, and he absolutely refuses to hold her.

Frustratingly, she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. She doesn’t know why part of her twists uncomfortably when Marcus pointedly avoids her. Getting a human to leave her alone should be a major victory. There’s just something so bittersweet about the whole thing, she can’t figure it out. It can’t be that she likes these humans. Tolerating them is one thing, but actually liking them? Looking forward to spending time with them? Craving the warmth of being held- No. That’s not it. The fact that she’s even considering it makes her insides cringe with the sense of her own betrayal. She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t plan on getting attached. As soon as she’s able to, she’s going right back home and all the entrances to this apartment are getting her signature big black ‘X’ across them.

That day can’t be too far off. Her leg has been slowly getting better now that the stitches are out, but she’s still stuck here for the time being.

She’s been taking stock of everything that she has and everything that she needs to get together in preparation for the journey back home. She wants to bring as much as she can carry back with her, so that when she gets home, she can finally have a respite from humans before having to turn around and go borrowing again. And since she’s in a position nowadays where she has humans just willing to bring her whatever she wants, it would be foolish not to get what she needs. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to gather supplies without them figuring out what she’s doing. If they suspect that she’s getting ready to leave… They’ve been nice so far; she’s just not convinced that they’ll let her go so easily. She can easily imagine what they might say:

Why don’t you just stay a little longer?

Do you really have to go? You’d be much safer here anyway.

 Of course, we think of you as a roommate, you just can’t leave.

Just let me take care of you.

Absolutely not. They’ve been nice enough, far nicer than she could have imagined, even despite the bumps along the way. But she’s not going to let herself become some little pet for them to keep. She just has to wait a little while longer, just until she’s ready.

The movement around her snags her attention, pulling her away from her planning. She’s out on the kitchen counter, Zeke had suggested they all watch a movie together. Marcus had tried to get out of it, but it’s growing apparent that both of them have a hard time saying no to one another. Hopefully, they can all just watch the movie, and things will smooth over on their own. Zeke is the sort of person who just seems to be able to fix things. It might be a lot of pressure to put on him, but to her, that’s what he does. He must have a plan, so she’s confident that things will be fine.

“Why don’t you two go pick out a movie?” Zeke suggests. He steps aside to let Marcus scoop her up and whisk her off into the living room. Judging from his previous track record, he should have leapt at the chance to hold her. Instead, he gives a noncommittal hum.

“You go ahead, I always pick. I’ll just make popcorn this time,” Marcus responds quickly. His words are so nonchalant, one might think that nothing was wrong, but it’s his quick movement across the room that betrays him. It’s as if he’s putting as much distance between them as the kitchen will allow. He’s not a very good liar, she observes. She shares a look with Zeke, both of them clocking the oddity of his actions before she just shrugs.

“Okay,” Zeke says finally, freezing Marcus in his tracks. “Would someone like to tell me what happened?” He leans against the counter in front of her, “Isabell?” he prompts.

“It’s really not a big deal, you don’t need to be upset or anything,” she responds simply.

“I’m not upset, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You two have been weird the past couple days.”  She looks away, unwilling to respond. He blinks down at her slowly before turning his gaze over to his roommate. “Alright. Marcus?”

For a moment, Marcus remains silent, leveling his own stubborn gaze to meet Zeke’s. She can’t see the look he’s giving but she can see his jaw flex. Even from her extreme angle she knows, he’s displeased. Eventually, Marcus succumbs to his measured stare.

“I hurt her,” he says fiercely, “that’s what happened.”

Slowly, Zeke’s eyes drift down to find her again. As they do, the atmosphere in the room freezes. She avoids his gaze while he inspects her. She can’t even begin to chisel through the wall concealing his thoughts. Perhaps he’s wondering why she didn’t tell him sooner. Perhaps he’s just checking to see how hurt she might be. Maybe he’s just irritated by the tension that’s been sparking between them for the past few days and that’s all.

She can’t help but feel as though he wants something from her. She just shakes her head, unable to find any words that might satisfy him. His eyes narrow in response.

“Like, visibly? Or…” He turns back to Marcus, prodding for more information.

“Yes, Zeke,” his voice is clipped with irritation. “She’s bruised all over, and then I freaked her out so bad that she tried to jump out of my hands. I yelled at her when I caught her, so I probably traumatized her too. It wasn’t cute.”

Zeke’s stare finds her again. There is a dangerous intensity in his eyes now, and all of it is focused on her. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, everything is okay. It doesn’t even hurt, and she knows he didn’t mean to do it. But the nerves sparking through her make it impossible for her to speak. Not while he’s looking at her like that. She’s seen Zeke look at Marcus like this before, and she swore that if she was ever the focus of his ire that she would simply disintegrate on the spot. Now that she’s finally found herself on the receiving end, she can confirm it is every bit as uncomfortable as she imagined it to be. Her mind is static, her tongue is ash, and her lungs feel as though they have filled with water.

“May I see?” He leans towards her, keeping his voice even with notable effort.

Isabell knows that Zeke won’t respond the same way Marcus had, grabbing her and taking a look for himself. Or at least, she thinks she knows. That small seed of doubt is enough to confirm for her that it’s not a risk she is willing to take right now.

She knows how he got when he saw her bruise from before, the one that had convinced her that she had a broken rib. That one wasn’t even caused by one of the lads, and yet the way he stilled around her… the way he held his breath as his eyes took in every sallow green and blossoming purple that had printed itself against her side…. his rugged voice whispering, ‘is that from me?’ That bruise has since faded, and she would be almost back to normal if it wasn’t for the small smattering of purples and blues that have replaced it. She’s certain she just bruises easily. Marcus hasn’t been that reckless with her. Besides, she spoke to him about it already. She can fight her own battles, even if they’re against humans. Sure, the conversation was a disaster, but admittedly it had results. You can’t bruise someone if you refuse to even look in their direction.

She shakes her head insistently, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white. It’s fine, she wants to insist, but her throat constricts, refusing to let her generate any sound. Zeke studies her for a moment, long enough for her to fear that he’ll override her choice, and he’ll make her show him the bruises after all. Instead, he eventually breathes a small sigh.

“Okay,” his massive fingers drum against the countertop in front of her. “Marcus,” He finally turns his attention back to his roommate, his tone is deeply disappointed.

“I don’t need a lecture from you, alright?” Marcus snaps back, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve told you to be careful, I keep telling you to—”

“I know, Zeke. I know!” Marcus interjects, growing louder. Zeke doesn’t yield, his own voice raising to match him. Isabell’s hands clamp over her ears quickly. Zeke is always so collected, part of her didn’t think it was even possible for him to raise his voice. She was wrong.

“You don’t listen! She is the size of one of your fingers. Seriously, can you imagine how terrifying that must be for her? She’s already putting so much trust in us, you can’t—”

“I know!” Marcus repeats himself, finally fully shouting. “Step off! You’re being overbearing.”

“Over—” Zeke echoes with a sputter, visibly taken aback by this.

“Yes! You’re overbearing and you’re controlling. I know I fucked up, but at least I treat her like she’s another person.”

“Excuse me?” Zeke hisses the words, and the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

“You hover over her like she’s going to break if you look at her the wrong way,” Marcus presses on, apparently not at all concerned that he’s winding Zeke tighter than a spring.

“First of all—”

“Like, she’s an adult, dude. She’s survived this long on her own, do you think she needs you?”

“No. No, you don’t get to do that. This isn’t about me! You hurt her. You can’t just—”

“I know! I feel awful. She told me I was hurting her; I’m trying to be better. She doesn’t need you cooing over her all the time like a mother hen.”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do.” Marcus plows on, hardly letting Zeke get a word in edgewise. “Yes, you do! What do you think you’re doing right fucking now?”

Their voices continue to overlap. Marcus punctuates his words by talking with his hands, slamming things around. Zeke remains anchored to the counter, his hand balled into a tight fist.

And then there’s Isabell. Stuck, as is becoming the pattern lately. She’s stuck right in the middle of this shouting match the humans are having about her. They’re fighting about her like she isn’t even here. She feels so bottled up, she finally just bursts.

“Stop it!” She shouts, maybe louder than she ever has before in her entire life. It has to be fruitless. How could a little borrower possibly cut in on a fight between humans? But to her surprise, they both stop. Right in the middle of their sentences, they just freeze. Zeke jolts, his hand that was resting nearby on the counter jerks away, as if she’s burned him. “You are fighting over me like I’m a toy! Just stop,” breathing heavily, her voice already feels raw. She was not made to be loud.

A muscle twitches in Zeke’s cheek as his jaw clenches. His sharp eyes bore into her now. He throws a glance back to Marcus, then with a breath, his expression smooths. His shoulders straighten, and it’s like a wall slides evenly in place over his feelings.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he grumbles coldly. She feels like she just watched him pack all of his stray emotions into a tidy little box. Before anyone can stop him, he’s gone, slamming the front door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Marcus breathes a heavy sigh in response. Then, the room settles into a thick silence.

“Marcus?” She calls out to him tentatively. Part of her expects him to storm off too, leaving her forgotten on the counter.

“What.” His response is sharp and dry.

“I just- I’m- I didn’t mean to—”

“Isabell, I swear if you fucking apologize to me right now—” he cuts himself off. Obviously on a jittery high from his fight with Zeke, he pushes his blonde curls back away from his face.

“Can you- Can you just let me get through what I have to say? Please?” There is a quiet desperation that leaches into her voice. If Marcus starts yelling at her too… Having humans yell over her is bad enough, she doesn’t want him yelling at her. Not again. He just nods, clamping his jaw shut and crossing his arms. She takes a deep breath, hoping she can actually manage to say everything she needs to. “I got scared, and I overreacted,” it’s a good start. Maybe most of her life could be described that way. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I’m sorry. I am.” Now that she’s begun sorting through the words that have been jumbling around in her brain the past few days, they just keep coming.

“I mean, it’s hard. I’m afraid of humans. Obviously. I always have been, and for good reasons. But I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of either of you, really. Not anymore at least. It’s just weird, because I keep feeling like something bad is going to happen. Like something really bad, worse than a fight or a couple of bruises, but it just never happens. You and Zeke, you literally saved my life. It’s not fair to you that I just keep expecting you to do something to hurt me. Logically, at this point, I know you’re safe. It’s just that I’m fighting every instinct I have to even just talk to you. Sometimes it just takes my brain to catch up with me, to go from, ‘Danger! This is a human!’ To, ‘Oh, this is one of my humans, it’s okay.’ I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Can we just be okay now? Please?” She didn’t mean to say that much, but it feels good to finally get some of that off her chest.

The enormity of what she said catches up to her like a freight train.

My humans.

She looks up at him, wondering if he noticed. Marcus is finally, finally, looking at her. His eyes are misty, and his lips are pulled into a wobbly smile. One thing she’s grown to appreciate about him is that you can always tell exactly what he’s thinking when you look at him. He blinks, and two tears roll down his cheeks, with more soon to follow. He definitely noticed.

Wordlessly, he offers her a trembling palm. She climbs into his hand without hesitation, hugging his fingers tightly. He pulls her right up to his face, holding her against his damp cheek.

“Bleh! Don’t cry on me!” She laughs, halfheartedly pushing against him. He turns his face, nuzzling his nose right into her middle.

“Sorry, sorry,” the world trembles around her as he laughs and as he cries. He moves her down to his chest, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” She rubs his thumb comfortingly. The irony of someone so small like her being able to offer any comfort to someone as big as him is not lost on her.

“Me?” He says with a laugh, though it’s followed by a small sniffle. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m pretty tough.”

“And Zeke?” She asks cautiously, “I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“He’ll cool off eventually,”

“You really know how to push his buttons, huh?”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” he takes her over to the living room as he speaks, reclining back on the couch. “Zeke and I pretty much grew up together.” As he shifts, she goes from sitting in his hand to laying against his chest with his hand just resting around her comfortably. She settles into him, it’s like the bubble of fear that had been clinging to her has just suddenly popped.

Thinking about Marcus and Zeke growing up together makes her think about her brother. Her heart squeezes in her chest, leaving behind a hollow ache. If he could see her now… He’d have some strong words for her, that’s for sure. She really hates how big this world is, how she’s too small to fit in properly, how it’s separated her from the people that she loves, and how unlikely it is that they’ll ever find each other again. But right now, with Marcus’ warmth surrounding her, it doesn’t seem so bad.

She realizes that she might be incredibly touch-starved. Before all this, when was the last time she spoke to anyone else? Never mind the last time she hugged anybody. She has grown so accustomed to being completely alone that she hadn’t realized that this was something she was lacking. Of course, now that she knows, her resolve to escape back to the walls slips from her grasp, just ever so slightly. Enough for new, dangerous questions to creep at the edge of her mind.

Can she really go back to living all alone?

What have these humans done to her.

[buoyantsaturn]

read my friends' fics from 2024 or else

The Father Dilemma by ember @gatesofember from the wild west au series

A year after deciding to stay permanently, Nico di Angelo has long since settled into Ladon Creek. He has two bothersome but loyal housemates, a caring community of friends, and a loving partner. His days have never been so peaceful and he never thought he’d feel so happy. But his calm, blissful life is thrown into disarray when he learns some truly sinister news: Will’s father is coming to visit. [T, 6,841, 2/7]

FAR GALAXIES by rosy @rosyredlipstick

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her PADD from her coat, slow enough that Nico only slightly twitched. Jason’s transmission was loaded up on the screen—at the bottom, their signature tag was spelled out. “Guardians of the Galaxy. That supposed to be a joke?” “More like an aspiration,” Jason said. - Space, the final frontier. Or whatever. [E, 365,994, 14/14]

three-in-one soap by emi @thelordofshrimp

Austin glared at his sister. “Will can’t lie, genius. He says that since he became head counselor, any shower that lasts more than three minutes gets interrupted by someone needing his help.” “That’s… crazy.” Nico considered the number of showers he’d taken even in his short time at camp and imagined if even half of them had been interrupted. “It is,” Jerry agreed. “Not like there’s much we can do about it, though.” “You can always do something about it.” Nico sat up. “There has to be something.” “Not unless you can somehow keep the whole camp safe at once.” [G, 5,798, 4/4]

I wanna make you mine, but that's hard to say by ethan @ethannku

Rather than dignifying Will’s likely insult with a response, Nico took another deep inhale, then tipped his head back to blow the smoke straight up into the air. When he tipped his head to the side, he found that Will was still watching him, his eyes cast low, maybe to Nico’s shoulders or neck or mouth-- [T, 8,615]

kiss with a fist is better than none by lori @sunflowersandscreams

Well, if he wanted to play it like that, then Will would meet him halfway. “I meant it. What I said earlier. I would have liked to make peace so we can get over this whole… whatever, but you just had to be an asshole, so never mind, I guess.” Nico looked at him, bored, a distinct lack of an expression on his face. “You think I’d really believe that? That you’d be so courteous, so kind, as to- what, ‘use your hand as an olive branch’? I’m not naïve, Solace.” “I wasn’t saying that you- it’s not like-” Will bit his tongue. “You don’t wanna be nice to each other? Fine. I don’t care. It’s not like it would change much, or that we could change much, at this point.” “Your guilt tripping isn’t going to affect me.” Nico tilted his chin up, angry now. “Maybe I’m fine with being like this? Or maybe it just doesn’t matter as much as you seem to think it does.” ~ Nico and Will have been rivals slash sworn enemies since the beginning of high school, when they both joined the orchestra. Things change, for better or worse. [T, 62,457, 6/8]

Does This Still Count as Solangelo Week if It's July by alfie @lordstormageddidnt

Will likes cuddling with Nico in his sleep. Nico likes cuddling with Will. But Nico does not like waking up in a pool of sweat because his boyfriend is half-sun-god, half-space-heater. [G, 1,232]

never a clean break (no one here to save me) by katherine @yrbeecharmer from the exes au series

It’s been a year and a half since Aphrodite’s shitshow, since they finally processed the things they never had and agreed to move on, and how many times has Will made it clear they’re fine now? Not that they really talk about it in so many words anymore, but that’s because they shouldn’t have to. They’re friends. Not close ones, but friends. And Nico has a boyfriend. So why on earth is he calling Will, right now, to do this? [M, 12,444]

a sweet tooth for you series by becca @thebhorror

Nico works in a bakery and is determined to make Will fall in love with him his baked goods [G, 23,447]

& if you stay too long it will kill you marble @marbleheavy

As he looked up and stared at the sky, his thoughts seemed to fall through the grates of the fire escape. He could pretend that the flickering light from the planes passing by were stars if he didn’t think too much about it. As if the light pollution hadn’t swallowed the whole of his visible universe. He took a drag from the cigarette and sighed, dropping his gaze back ahead. [T, 1,232]

bulls and blood by allison @rainnows

Cowboys were not Nico’s type. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the better part of two hours, propped up as he was against a fence bordering the arena, where he definitely wasn’t allowed to be, photographer’s pass around his neck or not. [T, 1,213]

[sunskaiis]

recently (2+ weeks ago) read the tf2 comics and i haven’t been normal about it since so i redrew some of my favorite panels for funsies <3

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa, circa 40-ish hours ago: Hey, what if our newest bunch of OCs adopted a baby from one of the other brothel girls who knew she couldn’t afford to raise one? That would make for some fun shenanigans :D

Me, with a notoriously non existent sleep schedule, instinct of self preservation or concern for my poor wrist: Alright, bet. Watch how fast I can make you fall in love with this hypothetical baby >:)

Daneli as a gentle and loving caretaker-turned-adoptive-mother is something that can be So Personal, actually, and originally I was going to leave it at this quick sketch, but then I got carried away thinking about what this child will grow up to be like raised by this little gang of misfits, so…

Here she is!! A little older and so, so beautiful, I need more of her in my life immediately, she’s way too precious

And, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also add a sapphic element to this absolute cinnamon roll, a small crack ship that I’m only half serious about for when she’s a little older still:

All in all, we may be getting impossibly far from canon, but I for one already cannot get enough of sweet darling Kumisai <3

(I fully drew three pieces from scratch in 9 hours I cannot feel my brain or my hands anymore send help)

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[tautozhone]

idk how to start this so this post is ab individual action, trying to motivate positive change in the world, etc etc

a lot of growing up in the US for me makes things feel more scary than they are. like it’s actually not that difficult to go out of your way to get a bottle of water or iced cup of water from some random drive through if you think you should do it. either fast food conglomerate or local actually, it’ll usually be cheaper than 5 dollars to get drinkable water. i try to have 5-10 dollars i can justify spending on water, and asking for change, because sometimes when i’m out driving i need to go grab water.

i do not do this for me as much as i try to do it specifically when i see someone who’s most likely homeless on a street corner. i’m sure one day i might do this and they might not be there when i come back, but what have i lost really? a bit of time and a bit of money that would’ve meant more to them, that i can hold onto until i see them next.

the pressure that a lot of people feel when they think “what can i do” comes from this grand narrative that the average citizen can singlehandedly fix the housing crisis. rich people? maybe. nonprofits? not in a day, not all one person still. what can i do is a question i ask a lot. what can i do, not just because it feels bad to move along like nothings wrong with the world, but what can i do that will do anything. what can i do that makes even the smallest change.

i feel like it took me too long to figure out a personal method to what i consider individual action. it’s taking time to get to my own financial stability to be able to do more. but for now it’s as simple as water and cash. not water and food, but water and cash.

individual action means a lot in small steps, go get a bottle of water bare minimum and the price of a meal if you can and then just give it to them. if it wasn’t such a miserably hot place where i live i would keep a pack of water in my car, which i still want to do for the sake of having immediate access to water to give someone who might need it- hot or cold sometimes won’t matter. but when it’s hot out, get cold water, if it’s cold out, a warm tea will hydrate more than coffee will as long as it’s not super caffeinated.

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[fushitoru]

finish her! a toji fushiguro oneshot

pairing ⸺ wrestler!toji x reader

summary ⸺ you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) creds to @/reynisxxsimart on twitter for art!

warnings ⸺ nasty, NASTY smut, VERY public sex, WWE but pornhub edition, you’re a wrestler fighting toji, so some violence but nothing graphic, fem!reader, HUMILIATION, degradation, you're literally fucked in an arena of people, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f! recieving), boobplay, very inaccurate depiction of wrestling/WWE, not edited we die like toji

a/n im going to sit in the corner and think about what i just wrote

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

the muffled sounds of the crowd’s deafening roar seem to swirl in the space around you, each cheer vibrating through your chest like distant thunder. you take a long, cool sip of water, a welcome contrast to the warm air backstage. lounging back, you let the chair support your weight, your muscles still humming with the residual tension of anticipation. utahime’s fingers work into your shoulders, and her voice filters through the buzzing atmosphere, calm and steady as she gives you a rundown of the night ahead, though her words seem to blur slightly at the edges—just background noise to the constant hum of adrenaline.

“in front of a crowd—do you understand? and the rules are no fucking, unless all clothes are off first.”

“right,” you affirm, albeit hesitantly. you’re feeling a bit jitterish in anticipation of what’s to happen, despite having trained months to hone your ability as a wrestler. look, wwe itself can get really suggestive at times, with people giving wedgies, removing certain articles of clothing, or even letting the crowd cop a feel of the defeated to serve as humiliation. not only does it improve publicity, but it also increases viewership of all the horny bastards on the internet to circle the televised clip around in their subreddits or discord servers.

but what you were going to do today—that was a bit…extreme. it was like bridging the gap between soft core and hard core, with the humiliation turned up to a hundred. because today, you were going to wrestle the man that all female–and male–wrestlers could even dream of having their hands on, even if for a slight moment.

toji fushiguro.

a man of impressive build—entering a ring with him only meant defeat. he’s had numerous career wins, far exceeding any other. hell, you shouldn’t even be matched to wrestle with him today; he outweighs and outranks you by far. the only thing you really have running for you is the sheer amount of fans you have, ready to tune in to your fights and edit your moves and time spent in the fighting ring to songs like “chun li” and “maneater.” so, sure, you don’t exactly anticipate a win today in that stadium that’s waiting for you, but you’re no less of a wrestler in your own right. you won’t go down without a fight.

however, today was no normal fight. the wwe had suddenly decided that their viewership was too low, that extreme measures needed to be taken to boost. so, ironically enough they had decided to change the rules just before your momentous match:

all wrestlers must consent to having all and any articles of clothing removed from their person, particularly for sexual intercourse as a reward for the winner.

so, WWE (Pornhub’s Version) (In The Vault). 

and your luck dictated that this paradigm shift for the organization occur just before your most anticipated match with toji. again, you knew that no amount of training could prevent you from getting utterly humiliated, but it was almost like the gods were laughing down on you, eager to rub in your impending defeat once more. because you were going to get your shit fucked up—-literally.

“it’s going to be fine,” utahime assures you, and you snap back to the present from your thoughts at the sound of her voice. “just think about the publicity this’ll get you! not that you don’t have any fans of yourself, but there are going to be a lot of people tuned in because of fushiguro.”

you take an inhale in and nod. “yea, that’s true. i just want to get it over with.”

as if answering your prayers, gojo satoru, the mc, burst into your dressing room. “it’s your time to shine, buttercup!” he grins, ushering you out the door. albeit a bit nervously, you stand up and make your way into the hallway that leads directly into the middle of the arena. “you’re going to do great!”

as soon as you walk closer and closer to the arena, the screams get louder and louder, the music booming and causing the floor under you to vibrate. the sounds of people surround all your senses, wrapping you up and causing your heartbeat to go faster and faster. 

reaching the end of the hallway, the arena is filled with light, and you have to blink to get a hold of your sight. surrounding the center boxing ring are stands upon stands of people, hustling and bustling. at the sight of you, cameramen stationed around in various spots through the arena furiously angle their cameras towards you. not only are journalists and the media snapping pictures, blinding you with the flash, but you see yourself displayed on the big screens visible to everyone in the arena. you smile and wave, causing your fans to scream as they register that you have walked in. 

then, a realization washes over you. these are the same screens that are going to be projected whatever's going to happen during the fight and when you lose.

oh god.

you walk forward, trying to keep up your smile and wave to all of your fans that outstretched their hands, trying to cop a feel and/or get a high five. most of your fans are male (to no one's surprise), and you can feel their eyes roving over you appreciatively, taking in your outfit. it was simple and tight; shorts that just barely covered your ass and was snug around your hips, and a low cut top that couldn't even be called a top. your cleavage was on full display, and the top stopped just below your waist. typically, this is your wrestling attire you wear to a normal match, but you couldn't help but wryly notice that today, your neckline was cut lower than usual. the wwe was really trying to milk this, huh?

you stood just below the boxing ring, eyes anxiously scanning the arena, unconsciously searching for the man you were set to fight. but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't spot his tall, muscular figure either in the ring or in the seat he was supposed to occupy with his manager.

a light tap on your shoulder startled you, and you turned to find utahime behind you, a concerned look on her face. "everything alright?"

"yeah," you said, waving her off with a forced smile. "but where is he?"

utahime pointed toward the boxing ring, and then you saw it—a glimpse of black hair.

"alright," you said, swallowing nervously. "i'm heading into the ring. wish me luck."

"wait!" utahime called out, but you were already too far to hear her. gripping the ropes at the edge of the ring, you hauled yourself up and strode toward the center, determined to get a better view. and there, just on the far side of the ring, hidden from your previous angle, was toji fushiguro.

he was lounging back, relaxed, his posture almost lazy as he faced his manager, shiu kong. you couldn’t see toji's face from this angle, but his body language indicated that he was the epitome of ease. shiu was saying something to him, and from your best attempt at lip reading, you could just make out the words, "don't break the rules today."

toji, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at him (giving 0 fucks, something so classically toji), focusing now towards the big screens everyone else saw in the arena. you turned your gaze towards them as well, only to be taken aback when it was you, a compilation of your best moments in the ring, narrated by gojo.

“and today, fellas, we’re going to see the bombshell y/n—the maneater, as coined by her fans—-competing! while her opponent is fushiguro, don’t be fooled—she can pack a mean punch. look at this fight with mei mei; she sweeped the floor with her face!” 

satisfied, you looked around, the arena bustling with people getting drinks, being enraptured with your fight on the screen, or pointing at you or toji. toji, on the other hand, was chuckling and shaking his head at your fight, observing as you gave the bitch mei mei a wedgie. which kind of made you flustered, because you had developed a crush on the guy observing him from afar or in passing, so you just focused on shaking out your legs and arms in nervousness.

gojo similarly announced toji’s fights and compilation, gassing him up for the crowd and it was then that toji finally turned around, uninterested in whatever was going on, and caught your eye. you stared back, breath held involuntarily. 

his eyes had a predatory glint to them, and he smiled, charmingly in a way that showed off his scar, and they scanned up and down your figure, taking in what you were wearing—or rather, letting his imagination run. nervously, your heart sped up as you clenched your thighs up in anticipation or anxiety, you couldn’t choose which, as your mind began running at the speed of light thinking about what was going to happen today.

today, you weren’t only going to wrestle toji fushiguro. you were going to fuck him.

but you’re jolted out of your thoughts as gojo’s obnoxious voice blares through the speakers. “give it up for thee wwe goat, toji fushiguro!”

screams reach an all time high as his smirk is broadcasted to the audience, biceps bulging and flexing as he heaves his way up on the ring, joining you. he waves lazily, roars at an all time high as he stalks his way to you, and you squeeze your nails into your palm out of nervousness.

when gojo announces your name, the male screams rise up in volume, causing you to giggle and fushiguro to roll his eyes from what you can see in the corner of your eye. you give a dainty wave, choosing to wink and blow a kiss to the camera in front of you, causing your fans to scream even louder.

“you sure got a lotta fanboys, darling.” you jump as toji has now bent down to whisper in your ear, literally sending shivers down your spine.

you force out a laugh. “and you're at no shortage of fangirls yourself, fushiguro.”

he gives you a nonchalant hum, assuming his original position. as gojo continued to yap about the stakes of the round today, the recent rule change, a referee walked over to you both, coming in closer so that you would be able to hear him over the chaos of the arena.

“so, you’re both aware of the rules, right?” he both looked at you, to which you nodded and toji’s smirk widens. “you gotta get the other’s clothes completely off, and the first one to do that wins.”

you gulp, eyeing what toji was wearing today. it was his signature garb, the one he wore to almost every match without fail: grey pants with various sponsorships sewed on, and a black compression shirt. it was definitely very minimal compared to what a lot of the other wrestlers wore, but it was iconic, giving him a lazy, laid back aura that no other wrestler could truly emanate.

it wasn’t anything hard to take off in particular.

both of you affirmed your consent to the referee, who then took a step back after wishing you both good luck.  you turned, facing toji face on, who had his hand on his hip. “try to last long, okay?” he smirks, patting your shoulder with his other hand. “i’ll try to drag this out as much as i can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

you glare, but there isn’t much intensity to it because you know he’s much stronger than you. there isn’t much to get angry about. “yea, yea,” you huff. “for all i know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

he barks out a laugh and looks at the referee, who has one hand raised, the other one poised on his whistle, ready to blow and start the round. it’s starting soon. then, he looks back to you and smiles. “let the games begin.”

the referee blows the whistle.

at once, you launch yourself towards toji, trying to jump on him to get him off his feet with your weight. instead, he dodges easily and leaves you hurtling towards the floor, making you poise yourself on your hands and feet upon impact. you roll over just as toji tries to tackle you and pin you against your original position on the floor and quickly get up.

however, as you’re steadying yourself on your feet, toji grabs your ankle, causing you to lose your balance and giving him the advantage to pin himself on top of you, his mouth breathing heavily next to your ear, whispering so it was just the two of you that could hear his words. “what do you think i should take off first?” he laughs deeply, the vibration causing you to shiver and try to squirm to get out of his hold, to no avail. “should it be these?” he snakes his hands down to grope your tits, giving them a firm squeeze, much to the arena’s pleasure. “or should i take these off of you?” he slaps your ass, making you blush furiously.

“fuck you,” you hiss as his hands catch on the edge of your shorts.

he gives you a sweet, small kiss on your temple. “don’t worry, baby,” he smiles. “you’ll be doing that anyways.” and with that, he pulls at your shorts until the waistband’s elastic rips, leaving your shorts in tatters until he throws the remains of it away, baring your panty-covered ass to the crowd, which immediately grows wild.

you crane your neck to look at the screen, which is currently focused on toji’s hands feeling up your ass, dipping inside your underwear to knead the flesh. your heart is pounding, the thought i need to get the upper hand flashing continuously across your mind. it’s almost as if you’re drowning, the noises of the crowd blurring together until it was only you and toji’s weight on you. you barely heard the announcer exclaim, “toji is currently in the lead!” as you focused on calculating your next move.

it was time to pull out all the stops. 

turning your head until you were making eye contact with him, you bit your lip, momentarily distracted him with the 180 turn of your actions, now nonchalant rather than the flailing you were doing earlier. then, you raised your hips, meeting your backside with his crotch in an effort to catch him off guard and to make him lose balance. then, you maneuvered yourself so your thighs surround toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. this momentarily distracted and weakened toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. you quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. the whole stadium, in fact, can see his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

smirking while peering down at him, you slowly grind your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, making a show of spinning around his shirt with your hand to mock him. toji’s eyes darken, but a mirthless smile flashes across his face anyways. “damn, take me out to dinner first.”

you flash him one of your own humorless smirks, happy that you got at least one thing against him. “i don’t fuck anyone before the first day, honey. this is just another cheap fuck.” with that, you yank his head back with his hair roughly, making a show of motorboating his pecs, as if to mock him.

instead of getting angry, he chuckles darkly. “you’re going to regret that. i was going to drag this out, princess, but i gotta fuck the brat out of you.” with that, he spins you around just as quickly—if not quicker—pinning you against the ground with your hands held above your head in one hand in a vice grip, the other groping its way down your body. he buries his face in your neck, salaciously licking the length of it. with his free hand—now stationed around your tits—he grabs at the hem of your top, pulling it up so everyone could see your lace bra. mockingly, he plants his face in the middle of your tits, moving his head side by side to motorboat you just as you had done to him, the soft plush of your tits encompassing his face.

the crowd cheers, even more so than they had when you had ripped his shirt off, as toji completely rips the top off as you squirm, making the removal even easier for him. you can feel all eyes on you as toji reaches for the clip of your bra, unhooking it and making your tits pop out. helplessly, you look at the screen, your writhing making them move in a jiggling motion, sweat shining and giving you the “oiled-up” look. he takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “what a sensitive girl,” he coos. “too bad she was too weak. now she’s going to have to take my cock.”

with that, he teasingly closes the distance between the waistband of your panties and his teeth, mouth snagging on the elastic. slowly, he drags them down, unveiling your glistening pussy for all eyes to see, and the crowd goes wild, chanting random requests at toji to do the most heinous things to you. as soon as you’re completely naked, he grabs you by the waist, propping you up against one of the corner posts. you’re now standing up, tearfully facing the arena as the wrestler kneels behind you, burying his face and nosing his way until your pussy, lapping up your wetness.

at the unexpected feeling of his tongue, you yelp, and toji slaps your ass. “stay still.” acquiescing, he licks up long stripes and shakes his head to grind his nose into your cunt, pleasuring you while humiliating you in front of everyone, forcing you to succumb to the pleasure he’s making you feel. while licking you, he groans. “fuck, this pussy is so sweet. i’ve run out of patience, fuck the performance part.”

with that, toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees on the floor and pulls down his pants. you don’t even look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs. 

he drags his cock teasingly through your folds, and then brings it out to slap it against your ass, humming appreciatively at the recoil. then, as if he’s lost patience, he’s slowly entering you, pushing against your pussy’s resistance as he penetrates you in front of the whole arena. “fuck!” he groans, getting a better grip on you as he pushes your head down on the mat and fully goes to pound town.  

the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “the fuck this pussy’s so tight for? thought you were a slut?”

you’re tearing up, the feeling of his dick hitting your g-spot straight on making you clench hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pummeling you and his hands on your body, feeling you up. clearly, he knew how to pleasure a woman, and it made you all the more annoyed. you were fucked out, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “you’re not turning me on, small dick.”

he did not like that very much.

toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? why is she dripping, you whore?” as if to demonstrate his point, he brings his fingers to rub at your clit furiously, collecting the wetness that had dripped down from your hole then shoving his fingers into your mouth. “suck.” when you did just that, suckling at his fingers while hollowing your hot, wet heat around the appendages. 

at that, he groaned. “what a little cockwhore. shoulda made you suck my dick instead.”

in retaliation, you bite his fingers, hard, and then spit them out. “i would’ve bit your micro off.”

toji hisses, grabbing the hair at your scalp and pulling on it until your face was up, his mouth at your ear. “just for that, i’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.” he speeds up, moving his hips faster and fast. the hand that wasn’t at your hair is now sneaking his way down your back, until you gasp.

because he’s inserted his thumb inside your ass.

“oh, ho ho,” he laughs mockingly. “you liked that, didn’t you?” you offer him no response, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of the sheer amount of pressure you were feeling down there, being doubly stuffed. by now, your orgasm has been steadily building because of the sheer power of toji’s stroke game, but as soon as he hits your spot one last time, your eyes roll back, causing you to arch your back and writhe due to the intensity of your orgasm.

you’re breathing heavily, toji fucking you roughly through it. once you’ve gotten a hold of your sense, you come back to reality as you realize that the crowd has adopted a rhythm to their chants, your fans and his screaming the same thing.

cum! cum! cum!

and toji only chortles as he continues your thirst, looking at you once again, and you can tell that he’s staving his orgasm back just after experiencing your clenches with the way he’s biting his lips, sweat running down from his temple to his abs. “what do you say, baby? wanna give the crowd what they’re asking for?” 

all it takes is a whimpered please, and toji just does what the crowd asks of him. ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear toji declared as winner. 

as you exhaustedly lift your head up, you see that cameras are out all around you, focused on the screen. you’re flustered when you realize the billboard is displaying toji’s cum seeping out of you.

A hand on your shoulder. “you good?” toji’s looking at you, eyes twinkling.

you let out a breath. “yea,” you laugh, out of breath. “good round.”

and he’s huffing, giving you a hand to get on your back. you can only lie on the ground as he barks for clothes to be put on you and for some water. then he turns to look at you once more, eyes twinkling. “wanna go for more in my hotel?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n i was going to have him carry u up near to the stands where your fans could grab at ur titties but this is alr depraved as it is. now im going to take a breather from tumblr for the rest of this week becasue WHEW ch5 gojo yesterday and finished this today i am ON A ROLL. see you guys for next week's kinktober fic (comment if you want to be tagged)! much love<3

reblog and comments are much appreciated!!!!!

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