#i wanna hold him and make him know how much i care about it

[slimybeth69]

"i'll be here."

rating: explicit- for drinking and joel's dirty thoughts. This is pure fluff NO SMUT and it's probably kinda corny but I DON'T CARE.

summary: Joel wants to make sure your New Years Eve isn't lonely.

tags: jackson!joel, Joel's POV, no use of y/n, no physical description (just an outfit) fluff, so much fluff, pining, age gap, him being handsome and perfect, mentions of food, drinking, being intoxicated so maybe dub-con (but not really)

w/c: ~3.6k

a/n: the holiday was hard as hell this year and it really didn't feel like christmas at all, so i wrote this for myself because i was sad. i hope any of you all that needed Joel to come and sing you songs and play gui-tar find some comfort in this.

thanks for @creepycorbeaux for reading this over. thanks to @thelastofgala for those beautiful gifs and thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Joel wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing walking to your house with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his guitar in the other, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had said last night on patrol. 

“Whaddya end up doin’ f’Christmas?” 

The face you make when you look over at him almost makes Joel smirk for a split second. The way your nose scrunches and the corners of your mouth turn down slightly. Like you’re confused and upset with him ,and all he did was ask you a simple question.

Then you respond, “Whachya mean?” 

Joel doesn’t know how to answer that because… what do you mean? Your eyes are still squinted— like there is some sort of distrust in your soul. Like Joel is playing a joke on you right now.

“Uh, well… Ellie and I went to Tommy and Maria’s...” Joel is uncomfortable suddenly; he forgets that not everyone is as lucky as he is to have family here in Jackson. He doesn’t know you nearly well enough, so now he feels like an ass. He shouldn’t be asking you anything like that.

Or anything at all not pertaining to patrol. 

You don’t say anything for a while, you just hold onto the strap of your rifle over your shoulder, and then adjust your grasp on the reins with your other hand. “I just stayed home,” you answer him quietly, almost like you don’t really want him to hear you. “Made myself a nice dinner, read a book and went to bed.” 

That ‘put your foot in your mouth’ feeling creeps into Joel’s stomach and he wants to ask if you’d like to give him a nice rocket to his left jaw. He doesn’t stay quiet for too long, he doesn’t want you sitting in this awkward smog he’s created. “That doesn’t sound t’bad, honestly. Whaddya make?” 

Joel watches you out of the corner of his eye as you once again adjust the reins in your hand, waiting for you to either respond to his question or tell him to shut the fuck up. 

He wishes you would tell him to screw off because he never tries to make small talk, and this is why! He always regrets it!

“Just a venison roast with veggies from the greenhouse.” You finally tell him with a little more life in your voice this time, like you were actually proud of what you cooked yourself. “What did you and Ellie do at Tommy and Maria’s?” 

“Had a few drinks, ate some food. Nothin’ crazy.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that Tommy and him spent most of the day drinking and reminiscing, laughing about being young, stupid kids. Or that Ellie and Maria baked all day, listening to Christmas music someone had found a while ago. He didn’t wanna subject you to all that, knowing now you were home alone.

Since that night on patrol, Joel can’t get the image of you sitting at home on a holiday all by yourself. 

Probably being sad. 

There isn’t any particular reason why he feels so compelled to come knock on your door, there are plenty of other lonely souls that spend every holiday with no one else around. 

There was just a pull. Something inside of him that said go go go. 

Go to her.

He doesn’t really even know what he’s going to say to you if you decide to open the door for him. Hell, he’s not sure you’re even going to let him in! You’ve only ever gone on two patrols together. Y’all never really talk outside of that, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t see you around.

Not like he’s looking for you, or anything. 

When he knocks, it’s like his heart might hammer right out of his chest. Why is he so nervous? He’s just here to offer you a couple drinks so you don’t have to ring in the new year all alone. 

Ellie was with Dina and the rest of her friends, Tommy and Maria wanted to call it an early night because of the baby, and so Joel had two options: the bar, or sitting at home alone. 

It’s not that Joel didn’t like being alone. He had been alone since Tess, and that was still something he didn’t like to think about too much.

Too much loss for not enough of — whatever they had been. Losing her had almost been the final nail in the coffin, and if it hadn’t been for Ellie -

Don’t think about it.

Now Joel finds himself on your front porch, holding the screen door open with his large frame, and knocking lightly with the ass end of the bottle of whiskey.

From inside he can hear you moving around. His breath hitches in his throat when you finally open up for him. Joel watches your eyes scan him very quickly, taking in the picture in front of you. Your eyes go wide for a second like you don’t understand why he’s here.

Joel Miller on your front porch with a bottle of whiskey and his guitar. 

“Whaddya doin’ here?” 

Joel holds the bottle up for you to inspect closer as you wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to hide from him. 

Joel’s never seen you without your winter jacket, hat and gloves. Right now in your house, you have on a blue sweater, a pair of tight elastic tights that Joel wishes he could see you in more often, and the warmest looking socks he has ever seen.

His eyes scan the length of your body again involuntarily. His gaze lingers on your pants once again– so tight and they hug your curves (that Joel didn’t even know you had) in all the right ways.  

“Well, I reckon I came over here hopin’ you had cooked another roast, since it sounded so damn good when you told me ‘bout it on patrol–”

Joel continues his bullshit rambles about why he came over here as you start to smirk, and take a step back so the door can swing open a little wider and he can make his way in.

“The guitar?” You ask as Joel toes off his boots so he doesn’t track snow through your house. He hands you the bottle of whiskey, shifting the guitar between his hands as he takes off his jacket. 

“Figur’d if you wanted to share any of the food you made– I could share the whiskey… maybe play a lil gui-tar for ya.”

The last time he played the guitar for anyone besides Ellie– Sarah was still alive. 

Who is this man?

There was just something about the way you said ‘I just stayed home’. Joel was thinkin’ maybe you didn’t read a book and go to bed. 

Maybe you cried a little, missing whatever you remember from home. 

Joel knows all about that, all about the sleepless nights when you just can’t turn your brain off. You can’t stop thinking about the people that are no more, about how different things are now and how you’d give anything for them to go back to the way they used to be. 

Joel has Ellie and Tommy. Who do you have?

“You’re in luck because I did cook tonight,” you’re smiling at him and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile, too. 

So many firsts for Joel, he feels like a teenager as you lead him further into your house - which is clean and smells phenomenally good - and into the kitchen. 

Joel hadn’t expected you to actually offer him food, he didn’t know if you cooked dinners like that for yourself all the time, or only on special occasions. 

You take the guitar from him and pull out a chair at your kitchen table. For a moment he feels like his brain malfunctions and he’s not sure how to react. 

“You can sit,” You’re already in your living room. “I’m just gonna…” Then you trail off. 

When Joel peers around the corner to check on you, you’re very carefully leaning the guitar against the wall, holding your hands out to catch it in case it leans too far one way or the other.

Joel feels heat creeping up his chest and neck as he watches you, slightly bent at the waist. The tightness of your pants— 

Nope.

Once you’re satisfied that the guitar won’t fall, you turn around and smile at him, even though he’s just standing there watching you like an idiot– blushing!

Blushing?

Part of him thinks this was the worst idea he ever had. How could you be doing this to him and you’ve done absolutely nothing? 

He should go home. 

“Sit!” You urge him to take a seat at the table while you basically prance into the kitchen to start serving him a plate. Everything is still sitting on the stove in the pots you cooked in.

You explain that you already ate because you weren’t expecting company. 

Joel almost tells you not to worry about the food, but then what would he do? Play guitar for three hours? Getting drunk and talking all night seems like a terrible idea. 

What the fuck was he thinking? This was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, it really was. 

He shuts his mouth though when you set down a plate of steaming food in front of him. 

“Dig in! I have more than enough if you want a second plate.” 

The way you talk so casually, like you’ve known Joel your whole life while you walk back into the kitchen makes him jealous. 

How are you so nice? Sweet? 

You haven’t even been here for four months and this is the first time either of you have said more than ten words to each other that didn’t have to do with patrol. 

It’s the way your body moves when you walk without all your winter gear on. You sway… almost like you’re floating.

Knock it off, old man. She’s half your age. 

Joel has to squeeze his eyes shut for two seconds until he hears your feet padding back to the table. When he opens them, you’re pushing one of the glasses in his direction.

“You brought the booze, so you have to pour it.” 

The smile on your face makes Joel feel a mix of pride and guilt. 

What are you expecting of him? He can’t give you more than just tonight. He knows that, he hopes you know that too.

Joel opens the bottle and pours each of you a decent, sippable glass.He should have poured himself less. 

Probably should have poured you less.

The food tastes better than Joel’s had in years. He even finds himself asking for seconds, something he rarely does.

You’re making small talk as he eats, asking about his travels and how long he’s been in Jackson. If he likes it here, how old is his daughter.

Joel decides not to tell you that Ellie isn’t really his daughter, because biologically she isn’t, but it hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

As he eats, and you chat, Joel starts to relax a little. Your presence is calming, and he finds himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would. He pours both of you another drink, his regrets of pouring less last time completely forgotten.

The food is gone and you’ve cleared his plate. But the two of you are still sitting at the kitchen table. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that this is another first— seeing you up close like this. In the light of your kitchen Joel can really take in your features; your cheeks when you smile, and the way your eyes light up when you laugh at some dumb joke he tells.

You ask him about his life before the outbreak, and Joel hesitates before giving a very brief summary of his past. He doesn’t like talking about it all, and he avoids bringing Sarah up completely.

Not tonight. Probably not ever.

You listen attentively and ask Joel questions that show you’re actually interested in what he’s saying.

Joel continues to pour the two of your drinks each time your glasses are empty and you never tell him to stop. You suggest moving to the living room where it’s more comfortable, and Joel agrees without hesitation.

Go home. This is going to end badly.

There is a fire going in your fireplace, and Joel can’t sit down until he puts another log or two on, and he has to move some things around to get it going again.

“I can do it myself,” you say from directly behind him, sounding a little offended.

Joel doesn't even look at you when he responds, "I know you can. Just helpin'."

When he finally turns around, you quickly look away. Joel can’t help but smirk and feel that familiar in his lower belly.

Had you been staring at him?

Joel watches as you sink down into the brown leather couch, curling up with your feet underneath you. He settles beside you with just enough distance to be polite.

“What songs do ya’ know?” Your voice is soft and your words are slightly slurred. The alcohol has definitely started to affect you, but Joel doesn’t think you’re that drunk yet.

Joel looks at the clock on your wall and it reads 10:45 PM. He can do this. An hour and fifteen minutes left, then Joel can escape.

Not that he wants to. He has to or something bad is going to happen. Something he regrets. 

Something you might regret. 

But when you ask him about songs, he can’t help but smile. The alcohol is going down too easily, way too easy for both of you.

Joel clears his throat. "Whaddya wanna hear?"

You shrug, your cute blue sweater sliding off one shoulder. Joel has to fight himself to keep his eyes on your face as you mindlessly tug the sweater up. It’s like you didn’t even realize it happened. You kept your eyes on him the entire time.

"Somethin' that makes you happy."

The fact that you’re moving your feet to tuck your toes underneath Joel’s right thigh is sending electric shocks to his brain. He leans and grabs the guitar off the wall– careful to not move too much so he can keep the contact between the two of you. 

Shit. What is he getting himself into?

Joel holds the guitar, fingers tracing the old wooden curves. It's been a while since he's played at all. The strings feel ice cold under his calloused hands.

Joel strum a couple cords, “Know a few songs,” he says, clearing his throat. “Might be a lil rusty though,” he smirks at you and gives you a sideways glance. 

You smile from behind your whiskey glass and Joel feels something shift inside him. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Something dangerous.

Your eyes are glittering in the firelight— different than they had looked in the artificial light of your kitchen. It casts a warm glow across your face, softening the edges that Joel has only ever seen sharp and alert on patrol.

He clears his throat once again and continues to move his fingers along the frets. The first few notes come out slightly off-key, but Joel quickly finds his rhythm. He starts with a Garth Brooks song.

Joel knows he’s not the best at the guitar and he doesn’t play it nearly as often now that Ellie is so busy with her own life. 

You don’t seem to mind, and sometimes Joel misses a chord or messes up completely because he can’t stop glancing over to watch you watching him.

He starts to sing, his voice low and gravelly. It's not a perfect voice - never was - but there's something raw and honest in the way the words tumble out.

… Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair The last one to know, the last one to show I was the last one you thought you'd see there

You shift slightly, your toes still tucked under his thigh, and Joel catches you watching his hands. Even as he continues to sing. You never take your eyes off of him. Not once.

… 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away And I'll be OK Yeah, I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places

Joel's voice falters for a moment when he notices the concentration of your gaze. His fingers momentarily stagger on the guitar strings, creating a clashing note that lingers in the air for a moment before he continues.

You don't seem to notice, or care. Your eyes are locked on his hands, watching how they move across the guitar with a kind of reverence that makes Joel's breath catch. 

Joel finishes the song, letting the last chord ring out softly in the quiet room. For a moment, neither of you moves. You're still watching him, your eyes heavy-lidded from the whiskey, but there's something else there too.

Joel’s eyes fall on the clock on your wall and it’s only 11.

He’s completely fucked.

Joel becomes acutely aware of how close you are.

Your toes are still tucked under his leg, and the warmth of your body seeps through the denim of his jeans. Joel swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.

"Another song?" you ask, your voice soft and slightly husky from the whiskey.

Joel clears his throat. "Sure," he manages, repositioning the guitar.

Joel starts strumming again, this time a slower, more mournful tune. His fingers find the familiar chords of an old country ballad, something he used to play for Sarah when she was real little. Before the weight of being a single dad started to apply pressure.

The memories threaten to overtake him, but he forces them down, focusing instead on the way the light flickers across your face. He can feel the heat of your body against his leg, the whiskey making everything feel soft and blurry around the edges. His voice is lower now, almost a whisper, like he's singing just for you.

Joel sings a couple more songs, a few at your request.

"That was really good," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. There's something in your gaze that makes Joel shiver - it’s a weakness, a longing that mirrors something deep inside himself.

When he looks at the clock again it’s 12:30.

“We completely missed new years,” Joel points to the clock and chuckles. He had completely forgotten that’s why he came over here originally. Once the music started, everything else kind of faded away. 

It was just the two of you while the rest of Jackson, and possibly the rest of the world stopped existing in that short time. 

“I was havin’ a good time,” you’re still smiling at him and now he can see how glassy they are from the whiskey. 

“Y’look like y’were havin’ a good time, darlin’.” Joel smiles and starts to stand up from the couch. It’s not until he’s standing directly in front of you realize what’s happening, Joel watches your eyes shift and change. 

Are you panicking?

“Are… were–” you cut yourself off and shake your head, waving a hand at Joel dismissively. “Nevermind. Thank you for coming over.” When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed with a glossy sheen. The whites of your eyes had turned a hazy shade of red.

“S’wrong?” 

You shrug your shoulders, your sweater falling off your shoulder again. You don’t notice and twirl your whiskey glass in your hand slowly. “Nothin’. I had a good time… just sad you gotta go.” 

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but he gently replaces your sweater, his fingers lingering on the warm skin of your collarbone for a moment before he pulls away. “I’m all outta songs, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Joel swallows hard and then cuts you off, “For what?” Joel whispers it and you snap your head up to look at him, almost as astonished as he is. Joel knows that the liquor and the way you had been looking at him all night is a recipe for disaster. 

Make me leave, please. Kick me out. Don’t ask me to stay again because I won’t be able to say no.

You finish the last of your whiskey before setting your glass down on the coffee table in front of your couch. 

“You know what.” 

“I do… but we’ve been drinkin’... ‘n I don’t want ya’ regretti–”

“What is there to regret?” you whisper. Your hand snakes into his and Joel doesn’t pull his away or nothing. “You gotta know more songs.”

Joel sits down beside you again, sighing loudly like this is a giant inconvenience to him, but a part of him knows that this isn’t going to end–

Not at all. 

Once he takes you upstairs, it’s over for the both of you. It’s like he can taste it in the air. 

“One more,” Joel nods his head at you. “Then I’m leavin’.” 

He and you both know that’s not true. 

His fingers find their holds on the neck of the guitar and he looks over at you before he strums the first note. 

You shy away from him, tucking your toes back under his thigh. Joel lifts his leg slightly so you can slip them deeper under his leg. 

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows Down a lonesome railroad line No prettier sight than looking back On a town you left behind There is nothin' that's as real As your face that's on my mind

Joel changes the lyrics just a little, and he doesn’t know if you notice, or even if you know this song. He's not ready to sing about love, not at all.

He confidently sings you the next part though.

Close your eyes I'll be here in the morning Close your eyes I'll be here for a while

hopefully y'all had a better time than I did.

love you all so so much

[tfwbluu]

what do u think riki’s kinks are

KINKS

pair: ni-ki & f!reader. warnings: dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that wc: 0.8K

a/n: i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !

Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.

“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”

Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.

“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”

Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.

“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.

“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”

Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.

Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.

“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.

Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.

“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”

Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.

“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.

If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”

[coichii]

WHITE CHRISTMAS

—(🎧)—> y/n seeing snow for the first time

pairing - bf!seungmin ���︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff

word count - 1.2k

warnings - written by a girl who’s had like 3 good snows in her lifetime, this is bad I’m in writers block

series note : hello !! welcome to part seven of my winter series, “winter records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for each member :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “winter” feeling ! this story is based off of “White Christmas ” by Bing Crosby. enjoy <3

“It’s seriously freezing.” You shiver, burrying your self into Seungmin and the warm, plaid blanket layed upon both of you.

It’s winter, of course, frost nipping at your nose. On top of that, it was Christmas Eve. Carolers roamed the streets of your neighborhood, knocking on doors and singing their cheery carols.

You loved it. The atmosphere of Christmas always made you feel like a little kid receiving a toy you had on a wishlist for years. Even like a kid sitting on Santa’s lap in one of those crappy mall photoshoot places.

It was magical, but there was one tiny issue that messed with your Christmas ideals.

You had never seen snow before.

It’s hard to believe, but you’ve only ever seen those intricate flurries of soft ice on screen before. It’s been on of your dreams to see it, to play in it, to feel it. All you can hope is that it snows.

It sounds childish, but you don’t care. A snowy Christmas would make the holiday even more cherish-able, which will be hard to top ever since you started dating Seungmin.

Christmas with him was...un describable. He knew how much the season meant to you, and would always do whatever he could to make it enjoyable for you. You loved him for it.

“I can go turn the heat up, baby.” He replies, preparing to stand up. You groan and pull him back down to you, holding on to his shoulders with all your strength.

“Noooo,” you mumble into his chest, pouting as you hear him chuckle. “Don’t leave me. You’re warm. Plus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He smiles, rubbing his hand over your hair. He swears you’re always so cute like this, but he’ll never let you hear that.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right back.” He retaliates, pushing you off of him despite your dismissal, giggling cutely at a soft groan that tumbled out of your lips.

You watch him as he walks to the thermostat and turns it on heat, the bitter cold eventually evening out to a toasty warm as you sigh in content.

He settles back down next to you, snuggling comfortably into your side.

It’s blissful like this; you don’t get much alone time, so this Christmas break with him feels perfect. He’s not working, you’re not studying. It’s amazing.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He asks, voice suddenly soaked with sleep.

“Is that even a question, Minnie?” You giggle, mind wandering off to that warm, home like place you feel whenever the weather gets cold and jingle bells begin to ring.

“I know, I’m just messing with you.” He laughs back, eyes slipping closed and lips parting in a sleep like matter.

“You tired, bubs? Wanna go sleep?” You ask, and Seungmin flushed pink. He always gets so nervous whenever you call him buns, but he doesn’t know why. You’ve been dating for 2 years, he should be used to it by now, but he’s not.

There’s just something about you that always erupts butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it’s the way you sound and feel or look, but it’s something about you that makes him so bashful and shy.

“A-are you sure? I know you wanted to stay up.” His voice is lower now, his words mixed with a yawn. What type of girlfriend would be if you sat here and let him stay up like this.

“Of course I’m sure, min. C’mon let’s go.” You chuckle, climbing out of his warm embrace and standing up, proceeding to help him stand up himself and leading him to the bedroom.

He’s not sure where he got so lucky.

◂—♥︎—▸

“Wake up, baby! It’s Christmas!”

The sun had began to peak its way into your room beyond the shades, the birds chirping and traffic roaring.

Seungmin began to groan, twisting and turning and grabbing onto your waist tightly. He rest his head on your chest, sighing in content before peeling his boba brown eyes open.

“Mhm.” He mumbles. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

He laughs slightly at your excited smile when you leap out of bed to quickly shower. He gets out soon too, body finally acclimated to the new day.

He swiftly opens the blinds, hoping to get some light into the room.

And there, he sees it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, mouthing dropped in shock. You hum back at him, heading peaking out the bathroom. “Baby, it snowed.”

Your heart stops for a while. He’s playing with you, right? He has to be.

“Y-you can’t be serious.” You stumble, walking towards him clad in nothing but a light robe. “H-holy shit.”

You eyes are blinded by the sight, white crystals still fall as the green turf is absolutely filled with snow, children outside already playing and making snowmen.

“Baby! Oh my god we need to go outside! Where’s my coat?” You squeal, practically jumping up and down with excitement and glee.

You’re so overjoyed with happiness you could almost cry. Snow. It’s really, really snow.

“Hold on. I know you’re excited, but shouldn’t you open your gift first?” He ask, tipping his head to side.

“Ughhhh, but it’s snow!” You groan, rolling your eyes and shaking his shoulders with your hands. You look so adorable to him, but he really just wants you to open your damn gift.

“I promise, you can go out immediately after. But please, open your gift first.”

“Ugh.” You sigh, finally giving in. “Fine. I’ll do the gift first but immediately after, it’s snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“B-baby. I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

You open the gift to find a beautiful, heart shaped diamond necklace with Seungmin’s name engraved inside. It was gorgeous, the light blue tint shining, and shimmering with the highlights from the overhead light.

“L-look. I got a matching one too.“ He shyly, mumbles, covering his face with one of his hands and pulling out a matching but smaller necklace from his pocket.

“Seungmin, it’s beautiful. I fucking love you so much.” You say, crashing into him with a tight embrace and snuggling your head into his chest.

“I love you too, baby.” He giggles, becoming flustered at your excited reaction. “ C’mon, Let’s play in this snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin! It’s so fluffy!” You shriek, laying on the snow and pressing it to your face.

“Hold on baby, you’ll catch a cold.” He laughs, moving to sit next to you. He watches as your eyes sparkle with admiration and happiness, heart being warmed by the sight.

“I don’t care. It’s so fluffy And cold and lovely I just love it so much.” You go on, drawing even more laughs from the man beside you.

“Oh baby baby! Let’s make a snowman!” You jump up and down, grabbing a ball of snow and meshing it with others.

“Whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes with the flow, helping you put together pieces of the tiny snowman you created on your front lawn.

He lets you do most of the work, watching with a spark in his eye as yours mirror his.

He loves the side of you, he Loves how childish you can be, How excited and happy you get over the smallest things.

It just makes that birthday present of a ring he has even more special.

[sissylittlefeather]

If I Can Dream: The End

A/N: Well, friends, here it is! The end of this beautiful saga has come. I have loved this series so much. I hope you all have too! Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one.

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), getting caught, p in v sex, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~4.4k

She's never been one to worry about the future, but the thought of losing him makes her stomach turn over. Still, right now he has his arms around her and she's perfectly content to stay there forever, looking out over the untouched snow with the moonlight sparkling like diamonds.

******

Elvis wakes up unusually early on Christmas morning and kisses Jo awake. She groans and tries to roll away from him to get more sleep– they were up until after 2am getting things ready for Lisa Marie and it's only 9 now.

“Tink… wake up honey… it's Christmas…”

“Mmm babe it'll still be Christmas in an hour…” She grumbles.

“Yeah, but I wanna give you this before Lisa comes.” She rolls over and he's sitting there with a little box wrapped in red paper with a gold bow. Her heart stops and panic sets in when she realizes she doesn't have a gift for him.

“Oh, Elvis, I didn't know we were doing gifts… I haven't… I didn't…”

“Hush. Just open this.” He sets the small box on her stomach, so she sits up, yawning. She undoes the bow and starts to unwrap it.

“You already gave me a necklace. I don't know what else–” she holds them up. “A set of keys?”

“Yes!” He's about to burst with excitement and she suppresses a giggle at how childlike he is when he's overcome with joy.

“Keys to what?”

“Well, this one–” He takes the key ring and pulls out one. “This one's for Graceland. Your own key, since this is your home now too. And this one… well, c’mere.”

He gets out of the bed and walks to the window and she begrudgingly follows him, shivering. She's always freezing, so he wraps his arms around her from behind as she looks out the window. There, in the driveway, is a shiny new Mercedes-Benz in candy apple red.

“I just took a guess on the color. If you don't like it, we can trade it for something–” She turns and kisses him with her arms tight around his neck.

“It's perfect. Why did you pick red?” He shrugs.

“You wear a lot of red and your toenails are red. It just made me think of you. But seriously, if you don't like it, we can get something else.”

“Red is my favorite color.” She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “You noticed my toenails?”

“Yes. Don't make it weird.” She giggles and kisses him softly again, mumbling against his lips.

“It really is perfect.” She starts to walk him backwards towards the bed until he sits on the edge and she crawls into his lap, straddling him. His hands roam over her sides and back and then up the front of her pajama shirt to cup her breasts.

“Honey, we only have–” He whispers between kisses– “about an hour before Lisa Marie gets here.”

“You're the one with your hands all over me.” She whimpers as he leans forward and presses his lips to her neck. Then he murmurs against her skin.

“Can't help it. You crawled in my lap.”

“Then I guess we better hurry.” She squeals as he picks her up and flips her over so that she's laying on the bed and he's standing next to it.

“Guess so.” But he's not quite hard yet, so he drops to his knees and pulls her pajama bottoms and panties off.

“Elvis, what are you–? Oh… oh!” She moans. He's got her legs open and his tongue pretty far in her pussy when there's a knock on the door. Neither of them notices.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Jerry starts to open the door. “It's time for– oh God.”

“Ahhh!” Jo screams a little and Elvis looks up confused. He quickly stands up and throws the blanket over her whole body, face and all.

“Jerry. You knock, wait for a response, and then open the door. How old are you?” Jerry is still just standing there with his mouth open in shock. It's been a while since he's walked in on Elvis with a girl. His eyes drift down a bit to little Elvis standing at full attention and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat. Elvis realizes what happened and turns away. “Goddamnit. Now you're hard?!”

Jo is in a fit of laughter where she's laying underneath the blanket.

“Cool it, Giggles.” Elvis hollers at her playfully.

“I'll just… go…” Jerry turns and walks out, shutting the door behind himself. Elvis uncovers Jo and she cackles out loud.

“Oh my God!” She can barely breathe, she's laughing so hard. Elvis just stands there with his hands on his hips for a second before he gets tickled too and his laugh fills the room. She finally slows down enough to talk. “Think we scarred him for life?”

“Nah, Jerry's seen way worse. At least this time it wasn't my naked ass.” That sets Jo off again and she sits up with tears sliding down her cheeks as she giggles. Elvis sits down next to her on the bed and throws his arm around her, kissing her forehead. “Guess that kinda ruined the mood a little, huh?”

She tries to even her breathing and slips her hand between his legs where his cock is now soft.

“Yeah, I guess it did. I could try to get him back?”

“Nah, honey, we gotta get ready anyway. We will finish this tonight when it's just us again.”

“You promise?” He holds his hand up and nods.

“On my honor as a gentleman. I will make you cum tonight. Probably twice.” She laughs and pushes his shoulder.

“You're no gentleman, Mr. Presley.”

“And you're no lady. Now let's get that sweet little ass of yours in the shower before anything else happens.” She giggles and kisses the end of his nose.

“I love you, Elvis.”

“Nah, Tink. I love you more.” She pushes his hair back off of his forehead and there's a brief moment where they look into each other’s eyes and wonder how they got so lucky. Then, they peel themselves off the bed and get into the shower together.

Somehow, they manage to get ready with about three minutes to spare, so they're headed downstairs when the doorbell rings. At the bottom of the staircase, Jo sighs nervously. Elvis turns and takes her face in his hands.

“It'll be fine, Tink. She's gonna love you.”

“I hope you're right.” He kisses both of her cheeks and whispers.

“I'm Elvis Presley. I'm always right.” He winks and then turns to open the door. Jo smiles. It's nice to see his natural confidence back.

As soon as the door is open, Lisa Marie bounds in the room and launches herself into her daddy’s arms. He catches her easily and the two of them share a moment that is totally and completely theirs. Priscilla notices Jo standing there awkwardly and reaches her hand out.

“I'm Priscilla.” Jo nods and tries to smile affably.

“I'm Jo. Jo Bellamy. It's nice to meet you.”

“Mhmm. How long have you all been… whatever you are…?” Jo blinks, not sure how to answer. Priscilla's tone is friendly, but the question feels loaded.

“Long enough, Cil.” Elvis cuts in and saves Jo from having to explain that they've only been together a week. They exchange the rest of the necessary pleasantries without Priscilla asking anymore questions. Eventually, she leaves and it's just Elvis, Jo, and Lisa Marie, who turns to Jo and gives her a skeptical look. She doesn't trust any woman who takes her daddy’s attention. Elvis notices the interaction and interjects.

“Yisa, this is Jo. She's daddy’s new… friend.”

“She's your girlfriend, daddy, you can just say it.” Lisa is sassy for a 7-year-old, but Jo is not thrown off. She fakes a gasp.

“Am I your girlfriend?! No one told me!” She turns to Lisa. “He's a mess.”

Elvis watches the interaction anxiously. Most of his girlfriends haven't really interacted too much with Lisa, especially not at first. To his surprise, Lisa giggles.

“He is a mess. But he's your mess now!” Jo laughs and looks over at him.

“I'll accept that challenge.” Elvis smiles softly at Jo. Lisa Marie looks back and forth between them and grins. She hasn't seen her daddy happy in a long time and if this woman makes him this happy, she's ready to play nice.

“I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?” Lisa asks loudly. Elvis bites his lip. He was in such a good mood yesterday, he gave the staff the day off– with rather large bonus checks– but he's not sure how they'll eat.

“W-well, baby– I-I-I–” He stutters, trying to come up with something.

“I'll cook. Let's go see what we have to work with.” Jo holds her hand out to Lisa Marie, who takes it easily, and they head into the kitchen. Elvis follows them, intrigued. He remembers that while they were making candy, Jo told him about how she had spent weekends with her aunt when she was a kid. Her aunt had learned to cook from her mother, Jo's grandmother, before she passed away, and she didn't have any kids of her own, so she taught Jo everything she knew. He hopes this includes breakfast.

In the kitchen, Jo moves around looking for what she needs. She manages to find eggs, bacon, and stuff to make biscuits and she puts Lisa Marie to work helping her. Lisa makes a huge mess with the flour, but Elvis is impressed with how little it bothers Jo to clean up as she's cooking.

“I like my eggs fried hard, honey.” He hollers at Jo as she cracks eggs over a pan.

“Hard? Why?!” He laughs.

“That's just how I like ‘em.”

“Alright, you're allowed to be wrong about that. I still love you.” Lisa giggles as Jo makes a disgusted face.

“Tell me you don't eat runny eggs, Tink.”

“I definitely eat runny eggs, Elvis.” He groans in disgust and pretends to fall off his chair. Lisa is beside herself laughing at the two of them. She decides at that moment that Jo can stick around. “Lisa Marie, how do you want your eggs?”

“Hard like daddy’s.” She gets a bashful look on her face. “But can I try yours?”

“Oh no! No ma'am. I'm not letting Tink corrupt you.” Elvis grabs her and puts her on his lap. Lisa laughs and puts her little hands on his cheeks.

“Oh, silly daddy. Why do you call her Tink if her name is Jo?”

“Doesn't she look like Tinkerbell?” Lisa turns to look at Jo, who is taking the biscuits out of the oven. She nods and then looks back at Elvis.

“Does that make you Peter Pan?”

“I guess it does, Yisa.”

“Good. It means you'll never grow up.” He smiles and kisses her forehead. Jo walks over with their breakfast plates and they settle in the dining room to eat.

After breakfast, they make their way to the living room for Lisa to open the mountain of presents surrounding the tree. Elvis fetches a camera and Jo snaps a couple of photos as they sit in the living room like a family. Once all the presents are open, Lisa sits on the couch between them with a doll on her lap. She turns and looks at Jo.

“How old are you? You look old enough to be my mom. Most of daddy’s girlfriends don't.”

“Oh, Yisa–” But Jo interrupts him.

“I'm 36. I am definitely old enough to be your mom.” Lisa sits up and looks at her, shocked.

“You're older than my mom!” Jo nods.

“I am. Is that okay?” Lisa settles back between them.

“It's fine with me.” Elvis chuckles.

“Good, I'm glad we have your approval, babygirl.” They sit there for a little while longer. Eventually Lisa sighs.

“Now what are we gonna do?” Jo clicks her tongue.

“Snowball fight?” Lisa scoffs.

“Daddy won't–” He jumps off the couch.

“Let's go. Me against you two girls. Unless you're scared?” Lisa’s face breaks out in the widest smile and she hops off the couch too. The three of them get bundled for the snow and head outside. The rest of the afternoon is spent in the yard. The girls win the snowball fight when they tackle Elvis and bury him in snow. Eventually, the sun starts to set and they go back inside to warm up with cocoa that Jo makes on the stove with milk. They're sitting in the TV room watching A Charlie Brown Christmas when the doorbell rings and Lisa Marie groans.

“Your mom’s here, babygirl.”

“Can't I stay with you guys?” Jo can see the pain on Elvis's face as he shakes his head and starts up the stairs with Lisa and Jo not far behind. In the foyer, Priscilla gathers Lisa Marie and the presents she can carry. Lisa grabs Jo and hugs her tight.

“Bye Jo.” Priscilla purses her lips.

“I'll send the rest of it soon.” Elvis says sadly. Just before she leaves, Lisa Marie gestures for him to come close to her. He squats down and she wraps him in a hug.

“Don't lose this one, daddy. She's special.” She says it in his ear, but both Priscilla and Jo can hear her. He pulls back a little and kisses her cheek and then looks her in the eye.

“I won't, babygirl.”

“She’s your Tinkerbell. She's magic.” Elvis stands up and puts his arm around Jo.

“She is magic. Don't worry, Yisa. She's not going anywhere.” Priscilla watches the scene with her mouth open a little.

“Come on, Lisa. Let's go home.” She tries to hustle her out the door, but they hear her little voice just as the door closes.

“I am home.”

Elvis breaks down as soon as the latch clicks and Jo grabs him and holds him on her shoulder as he sobs.

“I miss her so much when she's gone. And her mother…” He chokes a little. “I need her with me all the time.”

“I know, babe. I know.” They stand there for a while, with Elvis crying on her shoulder. Finally, he stands up and wipes his face.

“I'm sorry; I just–”

“Elvis, you don't have to apologize. I understand.” He smiles weakly and holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I love you, Jo Bellamy.”

“I love you too, Elvis Presley.” He kisses her softly and notices she's shivering again, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Are you cold, honey?”

“I'm freezing.” His weak smile turns to a grin.

“I know what we need.” He leads her through the house out to the carport.

“Elvis, where are we going?!”

“Just trust me.” She follows him across the yard to the brand new racquetball building.

“I'm not playing racquetball–” He turns and gives her a look.

“Will ya just hush and follow me?” She nods and follows him inside and up the stairs. He uncovers the surprise and exclaims. “Ta-da!”

“Woah…” Jo is almost speechless. He has a whirlpool spa full of already-hot water.

“Let's warm up. What do ya say, Tink?”

“Fuck yes.” He frowns.

“Language, honey, or I'll put something in that dirty mouth.”

“Oh, I'm counting on it.” She laughs. “I don't have a bathing suit, though.”

“Do you need one?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sure don't.” She smiles and starts to undress. Elvis turns to go back down the stairs. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Figured you might like a drink. There's a bar downstairs. Wine?” She nods and then stops him.

“I thought you didn't drink? I don't really want to drink alone.” He clicks his tongue and strokes her cheek.

“It's Christmas, honey. I'll have a drink or two with you.”

Elvis fetches the drinks while Jo strips down and settles into the hot tub naked. When he returns, he hands her the glass of red wine and then starts to take his clothes off too.

“Mmm, honey you look so good like this. Almost hate to ruin the picture by getting in there with you.” She stands up out of the water and moves over to him, grabbing his face.

“Stop it. You do this all the time. I love the way you look.”

“I just don't feel good about it. And it hurts. I'd like to be healthy for you. I want to stick around.”

“Okay, well that's different. That we can work on. But no more of this talking bad about yourself nonsense. I love you just the way you are. You hear me?” He nods and she kisses his forehead.

“Yes ma'am. You'll help me get healthy again?”

“Of course I will.” He looks down sheepishly.

“Already cut down on my pills a lot. Been only takin’ what's necessary.” She smiles.

“I noticed. I'm proud of you, babe. Whatever you wanna do, I'm here. Look at me.” He moves his eyes back up to meet hers. “I'm in this with you for the long haul, no matter what that means, okay?”

“Okay.” He finishes undressing and slides into the water with her. She sips her wine as he lights a cigar and takes a sip of whiskey. They sit in silence for a bit, just enjoying the warm water and each other's company.

“I'm sorry I didn't get you a gift.” She whispers. He sets down his drink and the cigar and lifts her into his lap facing him.

“Tink, honey, you are a gift. You've given me my life back. That's enough.” He leans forward and presses his lips to her neck. “Besides, I can think of something else I want from you that doesn't require you to buy anything at all.”

She moans softly as he kisses down to her collarbone.

“Yeah, what is that?” His fingers find their way between her legs under the water and start to make circles on her sensitive bud. She leans her head back and moans.

“This little pussy. Little Elvis has been missing her all day.” He kisses up to her ear and nibbles on the lobe.

“Oh is that right?” She whimpers as he works her clit with his fingertips. He uses his other hand to grab hers and put it on his erection. “Mmm, I guess so.”

He groans, slipping two fingers inside her to pump them in and out with his thumb on her clit as she begins to stroke him. Something about being in the hot water makes the whole scene even more erotic.

“Love how you touch me, honey.” His breath starts to come a little faster as she moves her hand on him. He grits his teeth and leans his head back, his hands drifting to her hips. “Fuck.”

“You wanna feel this little pussy, babe?” All he can do is nod.

“Mmhmm…” She moves over him to tease her clit with the tip of his cock and then starts to sink down onto him. His mouth falls open in pleasure. “Fuck yes, honey…”

She braces herself with her hands on his shoulders and starts to bounce on him. He looks up at her with her lower lip pulled between her teeth. She's so beautiful like this, lost in the ecstasy of loving him. His heart swells and he reaches up to pull her forehead down against his. She moans as he guides her movements with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

“God, I love you Tink. I love you so goddamn much.” She smiles and feels the lump form in her throat as she rubs her forehead on his.

“This is everything I've ever wanted. You are everything I've ever wanted. I love you too, Elvis.” His hands move to her back and he lifts his hips a little to thrust into her from underneath. The subtle shift in angle makes the tip of his dick rub against the sensitive spot inside her and she moans loudly. He pulls one of her nipples into his mouth and runs his tongue around it as he slides in and out of her, the water rushing against her clit with his movements. “Oh, God, Elvis. It feels so… fuck.”

“Come on, Tink. Cum for me, honey.” The sweat drips down his forehead as he works to push her over the edge, his own release gathering in his balls. The water splashes over the edge of the tub as they fuck, but neither of them cares. They’re too caught up in the pleasure of being together. He moves his thumb back to her clit as he slams into her as fast as the water will allow. Finally, her orgasm snaps wide open inside her and she moans, her body shuddering around him as she cums hard on his dick.

“Yes, honey, that's it. Yes, Tink, fuck!” He gets louder with each word and holds her still as he empties himself deep inside her, his cock twitching with the release. After a few seconds, they both relax against each other, sweating and panting.

But Elvis isn't finished. He kisses her shoulder and neck and lifts her off of him, turning and setting her on the corner of the spa.

“Elvis, what're you doing?” Jo asks, exhausted. He looks up at her and smiles, pushing her thighs apart.

“I promised you two.”

“Oh!” She moans and damn-near falls off the side of the tub when he dives into her pussy tongue-first. “Oh. My. God.”

Her clit is so sensitive, the rest of her so puffy with use, that his mouth is making her wild. She tries to stay still as he licks her, but she writhes and grinds against his face. He holds her ass cheeks with both hands in an attempt to keep her from moving, but he kind of loves that she's so turned on she has to move. Her hands are in his hair, pulling as she pushes against his mouth and he grunts. If he was twenty years younger, he'd be hard again already. It's so hot to listen to the little sounds that drip from her mouth as she loses control. He feels her tighten around his tongue and knows she must be getting close, so he slips two fingers up inside her to pump in and out while he licks her clit.

“Elvis! Oh, oh, oh!!” She exclaims as she cums again, her release splashing out of her onto his hand as he fingerfucks and licks her through her orgasm. Her whole body trembles as the wave of ecstasy rushes over her, knocking out the hearing in her left ear. When she relaxes, he pulls away and she slides back into the hot tub. He catches her and turns with her sitting sideways in his lap, resting her head against his chest.

“You okay, honey?” She sits up and shakes her head.

“No. No I’m not.” His eyes fill with concern and he holds her face in his hands as a single tear slides down her cheek.

“What is it?” He moves her hair off her forehead and strokes the side of her face. “Honey…?”

“I lied to you.” He blinks, a gnawing fear setting in. She tries to breathe and continues. “I said I didn't care how long we were together. I said all I wanted was right now and that would be enough, but it isn't. I don't want to live without you, Elvis. Not ever. And I'm terrified that you're going to go on tour or back to Vegas and that'll be it and I can't… I can't…”

She's overcome with emotion, sobbing into his chest. He relaxes significantly and smiles, kissing the top of her head.

“Honey, listen.” He rearranges to hold her face in his hands again, wiping the tears away with his thumbs and looking her in the eye seriously. “I meant it when I told Lisa Marie I wasn't going to let you get away. When I go to Vegas or on tour, you'll come with me. It's as simple as that. You think I'd forget my magic girl? My Tink? I'm not living this adventure without you. You got it?”

She sniffles and nods and he leans in and kisses her softly.

“I know this has been your dream for 20 years, but it's not just yours anymore. It's ours. And I'll be damned if I let it end any time soon.”

“Our dream?”

“Ours, honey. You and me. Forever.”

“Forever…”

******

New Year's Eve 1975 - Pontiac, Michigan

Elvis is on stage, doing his normal routine with as much enthusiasm as he's ever done it before. He moves around, jokes with the audience, and kisses fans– with his mouth closed– as much as he ever has. People in the crowd will talk about this show as a comeback of sorts. A reporter will write “1970 Elvis has returned.” He looks better, he feels better, he is better. Just before he sings Can't Help Falling In Love and ends the concert, he stops the music and starts talking.

“I wanna introduce y’all to someone. Tink, honey, stand up.” The spotlight falls on her and she stands up, blushing and giggling. “Isn't she beautiful, folks? This is my fiancee, Jo Bellamy.”

Jo’s mouth pops open and she stands there in shock. Elvis continues.

“She looks like that because I haven't asked her yet. You wanna marry me, honey?” The crowd goes wild as Charlie hands him a ring box that he opens and holds out to her. She laughs and nods, waiting for them to settle before hollering up at him.

“Of course I do!” There’s more raucous applause from the audience, but Jo and Elvis might as well be in a room alone. Eventually, the cheers subside.

“See folks? Fiancee. C’mere, honey.” Jo is beside herself with joy as she makes her way to the stage. He bends down and slips the giant diamond on her finger before kissing her. He holds the mic to the side and whispers. “I love you, Tink.”

“I love you more, babe.” He winks and then stands up. Jo makes her way back to her seat and sits down. She's already pregnant with their boys, Elvis Jr. and Jessie Garon, but neither of them know it. The music starts up and Elvis says one last thing before he breaks into song.

“To live would be an awfully big adventure, right honey? That's exactly what we plan to do. Come on guys, let's sing the song…”

And they lived happily ever after.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Ben and Jeff with a child reader thats like nezuko?:33

-🎀

Summary: Ben Drowned and Jeff the killer x (platonic) Child!Reader with the personality of Nezuko from Demon Slayer

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of speculated abuse, but nothing ever goes into detail

Credits: Ben Drowned- Creepypasta, Jeff The Killer- Creepypasta, Blood divider- bucciniexe, Code divider- sister-lucifer

A/n: I haven't watched Demon Slayer in a HOT minute so bear with me, I may get some personality traits wrong ourghhh....

Ben Drowned

So generally Ben doesn't worry himself with kids

The most he is ever seen interacting with children is when giving them their uniforms and job instructions after they first join the mansion

Sometimes you will catch him trying to spook the older children, but typically he keeps the pranks to a minimum around kids

All of this is to say, he doesn't get to know many of the children at all

But when you first came to the manor it was pretty much mandatory that everyone you'd be interacting with knew at least a few basic rules for interacting with you

You had to keep the little plastic "chew toy" in your mouth at all times, because you tended to be very bitey without it, and due to your sharp teeth it would cause the victim to (at the very least) need a few stitches

You tend to get a little slobbery, especially around meats, but it's nothing to worry about unless your pupils start restricting (which would only happen if you were on the brink of starvation)

No sudden movements around you, because you would instinctually defend yourself

And by defend yourself I mean tear anyone who isn't also a demon to shreds

Other than that, you were a very friendly kid!

Ben had no intentions of interacting with you too regularly, but due to him being the first person (aside from slender) you interacted with, you kind of just followed him around

And after a while, he just sort of became your caretaker

For the most part, you're pretty easy to take care of

You don't wander much, and seem to take more pleasure in observing the world around you

You're also very quiet, only ever making noises to signify your thoughts on something when asked directly

But when you do get antsy, well

Lets just say there's a reason they call you a demon

For example, lets say if you don't wanna go down for bed

Due to your nocturnal nature, you go to bed right as the sun is coming up

But a lot of the other children are just waking up then

And tonight it seemed, you wanted to stay up so you can play with the other kids for once

Ben tried to be nice for a while, but after a bit he got tired of being nice and began trying to wrestle you down into your bed at least for long enough so he could lock your door and have you trapped in there for the night

But when you wanted to be, you were a fast little thing

so every time he got you tucked in, you'd be already down the stairs and trying to hide by the time he blinked

And due to him having to take a more solid form to hold you down, he ended up with lots of scratches from you fighting him

He ended up having to hold you down while Jeff closed and locked the door, and just phased through the door

Needless to say, Ben already hates being a parent and he doesn't even have any kids of his own yet

But you're starting to grow on him

Jeff The Killer

Honestly, Jeff isn't to crazy about the whole "Chew toy" thing

It reminds him a lot of a muzzle, and with how he (and a lot of the other residents) were raised, it just really gives him a bad feeling

And as we know, Jeff would rather die than listen to authority

So one day he fucked around and found out when he decided to take off the plastic tube from your mouth

Almost immediately your body missed the stimulation of biting on something, and reached for the closest thing for you to bite

Which just so happened to be Jeff's arm

Even with his high pain tolerance, he couldn't help the shocked yelp that left him

So begun the walk of shame to E.J so he could get his arm patched up

"Why didn't they have their chewer on?" E.J asks as he sews Jeff's arm back together

Jeff coughs awkwardly before making up an excuse "Looked a little tight" he mumbles "Thought I'd loosen it"

E.J scoffs "Right. Well, now you know better"

"Yeah" Jeff grunts

After this, you always seem to be confused around Jeff

Not in a bad way, but whenever he is around, you cant help but look up at him like you're trying to decode what he's thinking

And in your little child brain, you think maybe he was trying to take yours so he had something to chew on

So one day you find a piece of scrap wood by the log storage, perfect for him you think

You wipe off all the loose dirt and bugs, and run off to go find Jeff

When you do find him in his room, you struggle to get over the pile of clothes in the middle of the walk way

He notices and picks you up over the pile and puts you into a clear-ish spot on his floor "Whaddya doin' in here, kid" He asks as he sits back down on his bed

You offer the wood to him, and he just stares at you

You offer it again with a grunt, and when he stares at you again you begin to crawl into bed beside him and into his lap

He raises a brow, but has no time to question what you are doing because almost instantly after you get into his lap, you are shoving the wood into his lips

He grabs your hand and pushes it away "Alright, that's good" he grumbles

He gets up, picking you up as well and carrying you over to the door

You kick your feet and whine, trying to get put down

He puts you down at the door, and you begin to reach up with the wood, trying to put it in his mouth

He closes the door in your face and you grumble frustratedly

Every time you see him, you try to put the wood in his mouth, and it is only after complaining to Tim that he finally catches on

"The damn kid has no sense of personal boundaries! Puttin' wood in my face and shit"

"They are trying to get you to chew on it"

".....dawg."

[ghostnotoast]

I'm having withdrawal symptoms from waiting for the new episode to come out, and this has been buzzing around my head since this part came out (also I wanna talk about my wife Lily)

Relistening to this part twice made me cry I'm not even gonna lie but weirdly enough it made me think of the end of season 1 where John gets a taste of being the king for a split second but then chooses to go back to Arthur. After he returns, he says:

"But it was in that time in the hospital, that month alone. Trapped in this body without you, when something changed"

"I found meaning. I found that the challenges of life within the boundaries of death were not only acceptable, but could be meaningful. That without a purpose I could forge my own. Is that humanity?"

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it was Lily who was fully responsible for giving John humanity - if anything, that's the mistake Arthur makes in season 3 when comparing John to Yellow (which John calls him out for). It was Arthur who laid out the pieces, and Lily was basically the one to make it click.

Buttt I think reducing John's reason for humanity to only one thing is almost a disservice- because developing a sense of self is so much more complex than that.

It was Arthur's love, it was the stories and thoughts he would share with John, it was being in awe of seeing trees and nature again after so long of living in the dark, it was hearing music, it was listening to the radio, it was the joy he felt after they complished something and he was finally able to feel something other than fear, it was seeing the wraith help them, it was holding a cute baby and picturing her future as a pianist, it was seeing her mother and recognising that she had just lost something priceless, it was having to hold onto hope that anyone is capable of redemption, it was defending and having empathy for the widow despite what Arthur had said.

The last moment is paralleled in season 3 with their conversation about Yellow. Listening to all these makes me realise just how much Yellow missed out on.

Arthur no doubt played a massive role in helping John find humanity and meaning, but honesty? I don't know if purely being with Arthur is what made John who he is. John himself has a conscious and had to make decisions on his own and, on multiple occasions, fights Arthur about ideology with basically little to no outside influence (e.g, their infamous first divorce).

Despite all that though, I still do think Arthur was one of the biggest reasons, I mean just look at Yellow 😭 I'll write an entire essay about him one day

But this entire yap session was basically me trying to imagine what exactly was so special about that month at the hospital because let's be real if I were John I would go crazy BUT sometimes i just imagine John being there, in a hospital without Arthur, being able to do nothing but think

He thinks about the bright clear blue sky he saw, a bird that landed on the windowsill when they were at the library, he thinks about how alive this world is compared to where he came from, he thinks about the radio that's playing, he thinks about the piano, and then he thinks about Arthur

And I imagine he looks at Lily, at her tending to them, at her chatting to them, at her turning on the radio for them so they're not bored and even though people would call all these extra bits of care pointless - she does it anyway, and she does it for them, and John is there to witness this, and that's the moment where it clicks.

I imagine it sort of being like being moved back to see a finished puzzle and finally understanding what you've been making this entire time after spending so long up close looking at individual pieces

And I think that's what the witch didn't understand about John's story. Lily's care was the climax of John becoming John, and even though John acknowledges that for her it was probably another Tuesday - it still doesn't dampen the fondness and love he has for her, he just loves for the sake of it

[brights-place]

Omggg I love your ficsss! Can I request a miles morales (42 or 1610, it’s up to you <3) & little sister! reader going through her first break up! Thanksss

[ITSV] Miles 1610! & Little sister! Reader Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Comfort

A/N: Hope You enjoy this request its quite small sorry

Summary: Can I request a miles morales (42 or 1610, it’s up to you <3) & little sister! reader going through her first break up! Thanksss

- Miles was going to his room after coming back home from school and he couldn't help but notice how he heard sobbing and shaky gasps of air in your room as he couldn't help but pause before knocking on the door "Yo... you good" "Go away" - Miles obviously was worried but knew sometimes people needed space when crying even if it was his little sister "If you want someone to talk to who ain't mum or dad you can always talk to me" miles wasn't that great at comforting you both know that but he tries even if it was awkward as fuck a sniff was heard as you spoke "can you- you actually come in? I change my mind" - Sitting by you in your room on your bed as you cried against your plushies as he listened to you tell him about how you and your boyfriend broke up cause it wasn't working out anymore. - Miles offers gentle touches and soft hugs when you want them and when you don't he will bring you comfort food that mama rio would make and put on a nice movie one that you've seen over a million times but still love so much - You want to cry more? he offers his shoulder the shirt he’s wearing is old anyway and he cares for his baby sister - you don’t wanna talk about it simply holds you and strokes your hair and whispers into your ear how much he is gonna make sure that you get to have your revenge that you both will throw water balloons at him if he cheated on you or if you wanted to just shout at him for being a cunt boyfriend - you want to cuss out every single person and your ex that thing that pissed you off he’s already wishing the worst upon them and is gonna make sure you and him have a game plan before your dad have to stop you two for hurting a guy - Miles is a good brother and made sure your relaxed as you fell asleep as he leaves you to your room as the good older brother of yours is gonna maybe visit your ex in his spiderman costume if he ever caught him acting rude like that to you or anybody again.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[sunshinemoon3341]

I JUST LISTENED TO THE ENTIRE ITHACA SAGA SO SPOILERS AHEAD

The Challenge:

We start off with a Penelope song! And I swear she eats this up!!! She only has 2 songs but she goes crazy with the vocals!!! Her voice is genuinely like lotus, I am just absolutely entranced and just cannot stop listening for even a moment!!!

Penelope saying “husbands old bow” while the suitors say “old husbands bow” is subtle but so meaningful and shows how differently they think of Odysseus!

The “Waiting” callback from the underworld!

————————————————————————-

Hold Them Down:

I’d listened to sneak peaks and snippets from like a year ago but hearing the actual version!!!! Antonious’s voice in this song is insane!

Don’t you dare hurt my baby Telemachus!!

What is their problem with his bones!!! “You’ll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through”(Little Wolf) and “Hold him down while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones”(Hold Them Down)

The way they talk about Penelope gives me worse shivers than the beginning of Thunder Bringer. But it’s also very telling of what the suitors actually think of Penelope!! They don’t care about her as a person. They just want the crown, and the power.

Bye bye Antonious!!

Overall great villain song. One of, if not, the best I’ve ever heard. I feel conflicted about liking this song because the lyrics are so dark but the song itself is sooooo good!!!

————————————————————————

Odysseus:

Right off the bat, I love the name. The only names in song titles are monsters(Polyphemus, Scylla, Charybdis) so the title being “Odysseus” indicates that he has become some sort of “monster” and that’s a really cool form of symbolism to show it!(you can also hear the monsters names in the background throughout the song)

DO NOT talk about his family like that!

I like the “Where is he?”(Legendary) reverberation. It’s a nice touch!

He stole their weapons!!! This is some Athena level stuff!!

“You don’t think I know my own palace? I built it!” no notes! That line is one of the most perfect lines to ever grace Spotify!

It’s interesting that the suitors asked for mercy. They know as well as Odysseus does that if he didn’t show up who knows what they would have done!! It’s more of an attempted trick than it is an actual apology.

The way the suitor suggests “open arms” and Odysseus doesn’t even let him finish!!

Odysseus shows his cleverness and why he deserves the title “Warrior of the Mind” in this song.(though he is clever in many other songs).

DONT YOU DARE TOUCH TELEMACHUS!!!!!

Again with the bones!!! “I’ll break the kids hands”. Just leave the kids poor bones alone!!!

That voice after Odysseuss says “mercy”!!

This song was brutal, perfect and I get why Athena told Ares the Odysseus “wanna gonna make everybody b|eed”

————————————————————————

I Can’t Help But Wonder:

Heartbreaking!! So cute!!

They both just want to be good enough for each other!! They missed each other soooo much!!

I’ve never cried during any movie, play, book, anything and got almost got me

ATHENA!!!!

The Queen has returned!!!

All the “Warrior of the Mind” callbacks!!

She’s sorry for what’s she did to him! She feels like she turned him into this. This is the the closest thing Athena’s ever gotten to an apology.

He forgives her(or close enough)!! He’s not gonna dwell on all the things he could have done differently, he just wants to see his wife!!

————————————————————————

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again:

Again Penelope ATE THAT UP! I still cannot get over her voice!!

She acknowledges that he’s a bit different but to her he’s still the love of her life!!!

THE WEDDING BED!! Odysseus seems hurt when she asks him to move it. She proved that he’s still the same man!!

The “Waiting” callback again

So cute, so romantic, so beautiful!

————————————————————————

Perfect ending. After everything he sacrificed he was able to get back to the people he did it all for.

10/10 no comments, no suggestions, absolutely nothing!

I’m so excited to see what everyone does next!! I hope Epic grows bigger than I could ever imagine!

I still think the play should have ended with “And that’s my Journessy”

Tysm for reading my little rant

[ectoplasmer]

guess who is being clinically unwell over yb and technically tkb again haha it’s meeee *SOBBING*

[coulrology]

So what's the lore with Juniper n their relationship with Vitimir n Hettie?

WELL for both, their relationships go back to their school days! Although the difference being that Juniper and Hettie went to St. Epiderm together, while Vitimir went to a different school (Glandus at the time he met Juniper).

I’ve briefly touched on how Juniper and Vitimir met here, so that explains their first meeting. To reiterate, Vitimir was a shy kid that didn’t really have any friends growing up (aside from bugs/whatever little creatures they spent their time around) and was bullied frequently, so that single positive interaction with Juniper, though small, really stuck with him and he never forgot it. Juniper didn’t forget it either, but being the sociable type meeting and talking to lots of different people, that moment sorta blended in with the rest of their memories. So fast forward to them both working as Coven Heads at the same time, Vitimir immediately recognizes Juniper. Despite Juniper changing a lot since his child self, that one good memory left such a big impact on Vitimir as a kid that he still held that soft spot for them. So of course, when Juniper eventually approached him on their own time, Vitimir already had this layer of vulnerability. Even though they might not have recognized him, from Vitimir’s perspective, there was that sense of familiarity and comfort; Juniper might have changed, but that kind kid was still in him. Now that they have the chance, Vitimir wants to actually get to know this one person who had plagued so many of their thoughts as a kid. And the rest is history!!

As for Hettie! Again, she and Juniper attended St. Epiderm together. Hettie was just as terrifying as a kid as she is now. She was everything- a jock, a princess, a bully, a weird girl, whatever you can think of. Though she’s very open about who she is, everyone around her was always so intimidated by the fact that she was unpredictable (and the fact that she’s both the smartest AND strongest person you’d ever meet is terrifying enough on its own). Most everyone- except for Juniper. To Juniper, Hettie was always such a character. She’s always been so confident and unapologetic, able to command people’s attention without even saying a word. Her unpredictability made everything she did so interesting. Juniper so deeply admired this about Hettie. And the fact that she’s 100% his type only drew them closer to her. Hettie was Juniper’s first ever crush, and that love Juniper had for her never faded. Though as kids, they weren’t in the same social circles, they did cross paths a lot, whether it was through Sonia (Scooter Crane’s daughter and childhood best friend to Juniper, who was also in the Healing Track), or Juniper getting injured for whatever ridiculous reasons. At this age, Hettie didn’t reciprocate her feelings (yet), but she had a fondness for Juniper because he was so different from the other kids for the fact alone that they had a (very obvious) crush on her. And while their crush may have caused them to do embarrassing things, and foolishly being used as her own guinea pig from time to time to practice her magic on, Hettie had cared about Juniper. To her, he always made life more fun and interesting. Fast forward to them as Coven Heads- Hettie has grown a stronger affection for Juniper. He’s changed over the years, but he still makes life so much more fun and interesting. Perhaps now, Hettie admires Juniper for the same exact reasons they always have her. They’re still a bit pathetic around her, but Hettie finds it endearing. Not to mention, Juniper still makes for a good doll to experiment on, and she takes good care of her favorite dolls ;-)

[sunbedo]

Hey guys. gay rights

[jervis-tetch-my-beloved]

I really wanna cuddle arkhamverse jervis so goddamn bad

[versupital]

geeked up.

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

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

incl pairings: kento, toji, satoru, suguru

word count. 8.3k

soundtrack 🌧️💿: sativa ft. swae lee

COCK THAT TEA / NANAMI.

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

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

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

He’s so polite about it. At first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, just take it out,” he begs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until finally he’s had enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KNOTTY BOY / TOJI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A honey packet like I’m some booty call?” Toji gripes, drilling his hips into you so mean, that all you can do is slap your hands on his back for mercy. “‘Bout to turn your pussy inside out, demon brat.”

“Toji! Please,” you cry, trying to spread your legs on either side of his hips to make it feel like he isn’t going so deep, but his cockhead is so slick and fat that it’s threatening to crack you open.

His body being covered in oil is not working to your advantage. Your hands are sliding off of him, until you finally give up and take your hands in his hair, and he increases his speed because of it.

“I oughta chain you to the bed with a vibrator on your clit,” he threatens. “Since you wanna play with me. Fuck. So fucking creamy, ma.” His head falls to stare at your cunt as his cock drills in and out of it, white substance layering on his groin and between your folds.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,” you whine into his ear, “o-ooh. Shit.”

“‘Sorry baby,’” Toji mocks. “Yeah. ‘M sorry too. Sorry that you ain’t gonna be able to walk for a few days. Hold on tight, brat.”

SHOOT MY STEAM / GETO.

"Baby, can you pass me my bottle?"

The sentence you've been waiting to hear for about thirty minutes now.

You're at the gym with your boyfriend. You've been resting on the bench, watching him do his sets, waiting for him to ask for his water.

Suguru knows you always mix in his electrolyte packets for him, only this time, you'd found a convenient aphrodisiac powder to put inside instead. You wanted to see just how hot and sweaty he could really get with it flowing through his veins while he trained.

Only one issue with that: you’d accidentally forgotten about putting it in there, so you’d taken a fat swig a while back and now you’re paying for it as you sit and watch him.

"C'mon, monk, back on your feet," he says, taking a deep breath after chugging some of his water. He places it next to you and then reaches his hands out to help you stand. "'M gonna lose motivation if you're not up with me."

You swallow thickly and force a smile, before taking his hands and rising back up to follow him to the weights. Your body is tingling, cunt ripe with desire.

You decide to do some lunges to distract yourself while Suguru works on the lat pulldown, and you stare with heat in your chest as his back muscles flex under the cut-off sleeves of his shirt.

You think about your nails sliding over the sweaty skin to incite dangerous growls from your boyfriend, making him fall apart as he pumps you full of dick. Your head spins.

You attempt to shake the thoughts away and continue lunging until he finishes his pulldowns. When he stands, an erection is painfully obvious in his shorts.

He walks over to you, voice low. "Well, I guess this means I'm doing good," he comments, pointing to his new friend, and then gesturing to you. "It's also probably because your legs are looking good, angel. Damn."

You giggle and walk to drop off the weights. "Are you gonna be able to keep working out with... that?" You’re mostly asking for yourself, because if you’re forced to sit here and watch him workout with a boner, you may combust.

Suguru glances at himself in the mirror, rolling his shoulder blades. "It'll go away in a second. It's just all the blood pumping through me."

You blink. Your self control is dwindling but you try to redirect your focus. "'Kay, well I'll be over here starting some squats."

Suguru nods and pulls you in for a sweaty kiss, "Alright, love you."

God, you wish he hadn’t done that. Now everywhere his body touched you feels like a thousand needles. You want to grab him the minute he attempts to pull away, but you’re frozen in place, the fuzzy memory of his sweaty lips on yours making your panties damper.

And the next twenty minutes are history. You watch as Suguru loses more and more of his focus, his painful erection never coming close to dying. He slows down in his workouts, his eyes lingering on you much longer than before. You even watch him blink harshly, attempts running futile at pushing away his feelings. Then at last, he comes to collect you.

Now, you know it's a little unsanitary to be laid out over the sauna bench, Suguru leaning over you as steam and sweat drip from his locks.

You also don't care. The lust in his eyes, the furrow in his brow from where he doesn't understand why he couldn't wait to get home to do this is making your pussy throb around him.

"Fuck me," Suguru’s eyes roll back as he brings one of your slippery legs over his chiseled hip, sides of his cock gliding against your internal ridges. “Feels too fucking good, monk.”

All you can do is whine in response, as the subtle curve in Suguru’s dick causes it to poke the squishy roof of your tunnel. Your arms are trying to hold onto him, but with the steam, the two of you are just sweaty, wet bodies gliding against each other.

His abs rub over your belly and sensitive nipples, and he takes in the way each grind makes you gasp a little harder than before.

"F-fuck, Suguru," you whimper.

"Hah - ngh," he growls in your ear. "Don't say my name like that."

"S-Suguru," you repeat, feeling his nails attempt to dig into your skin before his fingers slide over your wet hips. "Wanna feel your cum."

He shakes his head, slinging water all over your face until you’re envisioning it being his warm semen instead. "N-No, feels too good, don't wanna cum yet."

You continue pushing him. "Cum for me, please?"

"No," Suguru spits, the end coming out breathy as he tries to compose himself.

"Please fill me up," you keep going, knowing that he won't be able to even if he tries.

"Baby," Suguru whines pathetically, but his strokes have noticeably gotten sloppier, needier. "Y-You have to stop."

You shake your head defiantly, before you crash your sweaty lips onto his. You moan against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, piercing pressure onto it. His lips part as he continues slipping in and out of you.

Your bodies roll to the side on the sauna bench and continue going at it.

“Can’t get enough,” he mumbles against your mouth. “So wet for me, angel.”

It’s not long before you’re practically shoving him off of you, pussy sore and swollen. But he keeps holding you back onto his cock, making sure you nut on him as many times as he is able to drag it out of you.

Then, after concerns about your time spent in the sauna, you wrap it up - even though Suguru still hasn’t cum himself. But that doesn’t remain the case for long.

You find yourself pressed against the wet shower wall not even five minutes later, only a curtain hiding the two of you from the rest of the people in the bathroom. Suguru keeps his hand clamped over your mouth, whispering in your ear how good girls keep quiet, while making it impossible for you to obey.

And when he finally releases his thick cum all over your asscheek, watching as it instantly washes away under the hot water, he’s sticking it back in just a few seconds later.

Your brain is mushed with ecstasy from the powder, so you hardly notice that you’ve cum on his cock twice already, still ready for more.

GUMMY THROAT / GOJO.

“Want a hit?”

Shoko coughs and turns her wrist to hold her blunt out to you. You sit beside her on the couch and shake your head, holding up the bag in your hand.

“I’m good,” you grin. Inside the bag is edible gummies, which you’ve taken two of, and can already feel your toes stretching.

Shoko nods in understanding and passes it to someone else, leaning back against the couch with her eyelids laying low.

You check your pockets for your other bag, which has libido gummy bears, not edibles. This is the bag you’d handed to Gojo, watching as he’d devoured three obliviously.

“Satoru, you know you shouldn’t have eaten that many,” you’d scolded, trying to play along.

“Relax, my tolerance is higher than yours,” he’d quipped sassily.

But now that Shoko’s party has started to slow down, people disappearing in spurts, others sitting in corners or on the floor because they’re stuck, you and Gojo are having a staring contest - and you know what it means.

His eyes are wide and his fingers are restless. He’s sitting next to Suguru, who’s naively engaged in conversation with a pretty ginger. You’re pretending to ignore Gojo’s clear body language that says he wants to leave so that he can scramble your brains.

You giggle as your head falls on Shoko’s shoulder. Your body feels like it’s lifting off of the couch as the THC begins to flood through your bloodstream. All you can do is grip onto your skirt as if it’ll ground you.

Gojo stands from where he sits and struts over to you, his blue eyes appearing to glow with madness. “Y/N, get up,” he instructs, his voice commanding and unlike him.

“No,” you huff, nuzzling further into Shoko.

“Have it your way.” He reaches down and grabs your wrist, yanking you off of the cushions, and you can distantly hear Shoko laughing as Gojo puts his hand under your thighs and lifts you into his arms.

“Hey-!” you protest as you’re now being hauled princess style, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin with just how harshly he’s holding you.

“It’s way late,” he says. “And you’re high as hell. We need to go.”

“You’re being extra,” you scold, bopping your finger on his nose before letting yourself go limp against him. “Y’sure this is about it being late?”

“No, it isn’t,” he admits. “Watching you sit there and play with your skirt is making me lose my damn mind.”

“But I was hanging out with Shoko,” you pout, and realize he is not taking you towards any exits at all. He’s walking you to the back of the house, near the laundry room. “Gojo, what are you-?”

“I need your throat,” he blurts suddenly, glaring down at you with a compulsory twinkling in his eye. “Happy now? That’s what this is about. Need it so fucking bad.”

You giggle. The air feels crisp and your mind is so free. The room spins and you still feel like you’re floating.

“Okay, but be warned that I have cotton mouth,” you hold up a finger matter-of-factly. “May be a bit dry.”

He reaches the laundry room and pushes the curtain aside. If you were more sober, you’d realize how incredibly risky he’s being, but since you aren’t, you don’t care.

He puts you down in front of the washer, and wraps his fingers around your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing your mouth to open. In the same beat, he tuahs a mean glob of spit in your mouth.

“There,” he whispers. “That should help. Now I need you on your knees.”

He uses his grip on your face to push your head down until your knees collapse and you land on them. He releases you and you look up at him expectantly.

“All this for some head?” you taunt, placing your palms on his thighs. “Not that serious.”

“Yes it is,” he whines, “might die if I can’t shove my cock between those pretty lips.”

He leans down and swipes his thumb across your mouth, flicking your bottom lip and making your eyes flutter. You’re looking at him but not quite seeing him, as the gummies in your system have you spaced out. Your limbs feel like they’re stretching. You dig your nails into Gojo’s pants and he responds with an unearthly growl.

Your face is shadowed immediately, and upon focusing your eyes, you realize there's a fat, peachy cock looming over your face.

You gasp, watching as it comes down and taps you on the nose, fleshy and dripping in precum.

“Satoru-!” is all you can manage to say, as his tip grazes your cheek.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you part your lips slowly, expecting him to shove himself inside but instead he leans forward and sends another drop of saliva down your throat. “Just making sure it’s wet enough.”

“Y- mmh,” you're cut off, because Gojo has rammed the tip of his cock between your lips.

You part your teeth and wrap your tongue on the underside instinctually, eyes fluttering closed as you take in his salty taste.

"Speak up," he grunts, “you were being so bratty a minute ago.”

"Ngh - no," you gargle around his girth, saliva filling your mouth and making it hard to breath, pouring out of the sides of your cheeks and coating his shaft.

"Look at you, can't even take all of it," he taunts, pushing his hips deeper so that the tip begins to push down your throat, making you gag, your mouth becoming wetter.

Your eyes are hardly staying open. With your brain being so mellow, all that you can see or feel or taste is Gojo’s cock as it pumps in and out of your throat, bulging through your neck.

“So gummy,” Gojo purrs, putting his hands on the edge of the washing machine behind you. “Throat fits me so perfect, baby, y’know that?”

You can’t respond but the moaning attempt you make around his cock pulls a grunt from him. You know he’s being incredibly loud and obvious, but you can hardly scold him. The most you can do is crack your palms on his thighs, leaving tiny hand-shaped prints on the smooth skin.

“Hngh - what was that for?” he scolds before murmuring, “do it again.”

You smack his legs again and keep your eyes closed. You’re salivating all over his length and it drips down your chin, which is being abused by his heavy sac in repeated claps.

“Quiet,” you moan around his cock, as he’s letting out the most pathetic, desperate moans while you drive your mouth down to the base.

“N-No,” he grumbles, lifting his shirt up, before taking it between his teeth. You’re met face to face his with his perfect abdomen, glistening in droplets of sweat. “You suck me up so good, princess.”

Your eyes roll in pleasure at the name, eyes watering, mouth no longer dry. You don’t care if he wants to wake up the neighborhood; you just want to hear the delicious, sultry noises.

But right when you feel his dick twitch against the sides of your cheeks, you force your mouth off and swallow down the pool of saliva in the back of your throat. Your lips are wet and puffy as you part them and stare up at him.

“Gah - baby, why?” he quarrels, gripping tightly on your head.

You answer by leaning back forward and kissing his tip, sticking out your tongue and flicking it over the head before backing up again.

His knees nearly buckle, his grip on your head tightens.

“P-please don’t,” he whimpers. “S-suck it.”

“Mm-mm,” you mouth defiantly, wrapping your lips over the tip and gently pressing your teeth down; should he try to shove it deeper, it would only hurt him.

“Ngh - ‘m too horny for this, baby,” he growls. “Was so close.”

“Too bad,” you shrug, voice muffled because of the way you’re swirling your tongue over his slick pink tip.

His head falls forward, white locks dangling over his face as he tries to fight through his unbearably high libido. Your high has started to wear off but you can tell it’s going to be a long night for Satoru.

“Alright princess, I-I’ll remember this,” he coos from above, trying to push his hips towards your face but ultimately hissing and stopping when your teeth clamp down on the meat. “Goddamnit baby, what’s gotten into you? P-Please jus’ le’me cum.”

“Maybe,” you hum, taking him out of your mouth and using your spit to stroke his cock. “How bad you want it?”

“S-so bad,” he begs. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” you question, running your thumb over his tip. “Hmm. You’re in charge of cooking dinner for a week. Deal?”

“Ah - fuck it, just please,” he whines, writhing under your touch, barely able to get his words out.

“Cum,” you say silkily, sticking your tongue to catch the salty, white ropes that waste absolutely no time shooting from his shaft.

He twitches under your grip until his high has ridden out, but you use his cum as lubricant to keep stroking his poor length.

“Okay, okay,” he whines. “I-I’m good now, agh.”

“You’re not good till I say so,” you gruff, until his hand comes under your chin harshly, and brings you to a forced standing position.

“I said I’m good, but if you think I’m not getting you back for that - you’re a stupid little thing, aren’t you?” He swipes his thumb over your cum-covered lips, and then licks it clean, before cracking you on the cheek. “Now, on your toes baby. And be quiet.”

A/N:

I’ve been trying to finish this for forever bro wtf is wrong with me

I’m fighting demons (writer’s block)

And also… I think I wanna write some Gojo fluff after #jjk271 because my baby deserves love and light good fucking bye.

all the love always!

~pennjammin

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu���”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[cathnospam]

“I didn’t shave—“

“I do not…give a fuck. Open your legs.”

You and Bakugo have this argument at least once a month. You only need to wax your little lady once a month after your period , and it’s about that time to do so but you have 2 problems;

Your appointment isn’t until 2 more days, and you have a boyfriend that has been waiting a full week to eat you out.

“‘Suki I told you I hate—-“

“Why do you give a fuck about that? It’s HAIR.”

“I FEEL DIRTY.”

“You just took an everything shower.”

Bakugo NEVER understood the point of shaving your pussy anyway. He genuinely does not care whether there is hair or not on it, and after having an irritating crave to eat your pussy he definitely couldn’t care less.

“It’s a bush.”

“I don’t—- y/n the area I wanna suck—“

“Don’t be a pervert.”

He deadpanned at you, the Blondie also never cared for how blunt he was with his dirty words. Just two weeks ago you and him were eating cereal when he just casually spoke, “When I get home tonight I wanna eat your pussy against the door like I did last night.” As he gets up to clean his bowl.

No emotion

And no care.

He’s a damn savage.

“Your clit don’t have hair on it it’s just the lips.”

“OMY fucking—“

“Please.”

You blink, “what…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Bakugo groans loudly and lays his head on your shoulder. And bites it, “OW!” The main reason why Bakugo haven’t let up is because you and him established a strict safe word rule. He knows he can be pushy with things he wants but he’d never want to make you uncomfortable about it. If you GENUINELY don’t want him to all you have to say is “TNT” and he’ll drop it no questions asked. And never bring it up again.

But here you are, contemplating.

Your thoughts get broken by a soft kiss on your jaw, his scarred warm palms lifting your his shirt , playfully tapping his fingers on your clothed panties, “I heard you playing with yourself in the shower.”

You freeze, feeling his devious smirk against your cheek, his natural scent and musk clouding your mind as he keeps kissing you, rubbing on your body, “You want it as bad as I do. I fucking know you do.”

“Remember last time?”

He had your knees to your ears last time, ass hanging off the edge of the bed as he spit, licked, and sucked all inside and on your pussy. His fluffy hair tickling your inner thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin so deep you could just barely grind against his mouth. Bakugo was always a nasty ass eater to the point you were embarrassed just watching him.

His ring and middle finger swirling circles on your clit as his tongue filled your aching tight hole, the way he stops for a moment to kiss the soft little nub , nearly making out with it making you roll your eyes because his pillowy wet lips felt soooooo good against you.

You remembered how he’d slap your ass a few times when you looked away for too long or covered your mouth, you swore he’d heat up his hands slightly just to do so.

You remembered how he’d hold your ankles up and he licked stripes against your pussy and his tongue teasing your other hole.

You remembered how he’d swished his head back and fourth while his lips captured your clit and tugged on it. Sending you over the edge while he sucked and groaned. Two fingers pumping inside you.

“You remember, huh.” His raspy voice against your ear, already teasing his fingers inside you panties, “You came so much you passed out right after.”

The more he spoke to distract you the further he got, eventually laying you down on his huge couch, to pulling off your panties, to opening you legs, to kissing each thigh, and down to repeating his exact actions from last time.

And no he did NOT care about the hair.