#oh this is a longer boi than usual
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puddleslimewrites · 2 years ago
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Physics Lesson
Part 2
TW: gun/gun mention
Villain leaned over Hero's shoulder. "What are you working on?"
Hero startled badly and looked around, eyes wide. "My god, don't scare me like that. Uh..." They blinked, realizing they didn't recognize the person's face.
Villain gave a disarming smile that would have had anyone else fooled. "You don't recognize my voice?" The villain leaned closer, fingers digging into Hero's shoulders and delighting in the way their enemy froze up at the touch. With a mild-mannered grin on their lips, they practically purred in their ear. "I've been wondering where you disappeared to, [Hero]."
"...[Villain]." The name was barely a whisper on the hero's tongue. Their eyes darted to check their surroundings.
The library was empty, save for the bookshelves that surrounded them in the little alcove Hero had dragged this desk into.
Villain took the seat across from them. "This is a study area, yes?" They glanced at the sign on the wall to their right as if they actually needed to check. When they looked back, they tapped Hero's notebook, smile still playing on their lips. "Study with me."
Hero stared at them, expression carefully neutral. They made to get up, chair scraping softly on the carpet, but they didn't even get to bend their knees before they found the barrel of a handgun pointed at their face. "Where are you going?" Villain asked. It sounded polite, like an innocent inquiry.
Slowly, Hero scooted forward until their legs were fully underneath the table. They didn't have a weapon to defend themself, and Villain was always a quicker draw than them, anyway. As they both settled back into their seats, Hero eyed the criminal warily. What did the villain want? What could their motive be for tracking them here?
"Show me how to do- what is this?" Villain picked up one of the stray sheets of paper scattered over the desk. If they weren't being held hostage, Hero might have smiled at the way their eyes narrowed at the list of equations.
"Physics," they provided reluctantly.
"Physics." For a brief moment Hero could have sworn they saw a frown, but the mask of feigned interest was back up the next time they blinked. "This looks like math to me."
Hero actually snorted and rolled their eyes - for show, of course. If they were stuck here studying with an extra annoyance, they might as well try to relax a bit. "Yeah, that's bascially what physics is."
"Hm." The criminal discarded the reference sheet for one of the example problems. "I didn't take you for a scholar."
"Degree's not gonna get itself," Hero shrugged. They picked up their pencil, movements clearly telegraphed. The gun was put away, but they didn't want to risk getting blood on their hard work.
For a few minutes, the villain simply watched them quietly, and Hero gladly welcomed the return of silence. They had to restart the problem they were on because of the interruption, but soon they were wrapped up in their work once more. They only looked up when they got too frustrated and decided to move on the next question instead. As they reached for a fresh sheet of paper, they saw the villain examining their notes, brow furrowed as if they were trying to parse out a secret code hidden in the numbers.
Hero twirled their pencil and wondered if it was worth asking for that back. Maybe if they offered a quick explanation of the topic the villain would leave them alone. They had several questions on the tip of their tongue, but the one that came out wasn't one of them.
"How'd you even know where to find me?"
The villain grinned. It was a fiendish thing, the way the corners of their mouth stretched wide to show the whites of their teeth. "That's my little secret."
Knowing better than to pry, lest the criminal talk them in circles, Hero decided to propose an offer. "I'll teach you how to solve free fall problems," they said. "That's what you want, right? I'll show you how to do those. But only if you tell me how you found me." It wasn't a bad deal - information for information. Villain was always a fan of fair trades if they deemed the benefits to them worthy enough.
The criminal glanced between Hero and the scattered worksheets before giving a nod of agreement.
~
The next time Hero looked up from the table's surface, they noticed with a small start that the overhead lights were on and that the sun had long set outside the windows. How much time had passed while they were studying?
"I got it!" Their attention was suddenly drawn back to the villain. They had a satisfied expression that Hero had never seen quite so clearly before. It was only now that they realized they weren't the only one who's identity was exposed. Their enemy had come maskeless.
"Here." The sheet of paper with the work they'd spent the last half hour on was suddenly shoved in their face. Hero let their eyes drift down to the circled number at the bottom of the page. "The question asked how long the ball was up in the air for," Villain reminded. "We found how long it took to reach the maximum height. We just forgot to-"
"-to double it," Hero finished. They dropped their head in their hands. They'd spent all that time redrawing the diagram and reworking the numbers when the solution was so simple.
Villain seemed to share the sentiment. They sat back in their chair, frustration giving way to exhaustion.
"We're stupid," Hero groaned.
"You're stupid," Villain corrected.
"This problem is stupid."
For once, they seemed to agree on something.
~
Tagging: @badluck990 (Hope this counts as part of that "sort of friendly but not really" trope you asked to be tagged for <3)
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cowboy-kidd · 3 months ago
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complicit // a regressor bruce wayne & caregiver alfred pennyworth drabble (pt. 3)
x - x - x
—NSFW DNI—
After Bruce’s little ‘slip up’ Alfred becomes more of an observer than an active participant in his charges' activities. He no longer does any poking or prodding. The realization that he doesn’t have to forcibly pry the boy open for answers but rather that he will come to his caretaker of his own accord (subconscious or otherwise) noticeably settles his heart and steadies his hands.
Just as Alfred’s patience pays off, so do Bruce’s escapades become more apparent. He overhears the boy sneaking into the cookie jar his guardian does his best to keep full- a well-before dying wish of Martha. When he pretends to be asleep by the firelight and Bruce brings his beat up coloring book and snapped in half crayons to come messily fill up the dirtied pages. His mourning grows louder and sounds much more pronounced- his sobs no longer muffled by an already damp pillow. The expression of his emotions become much more apparent in his face and body language, a stark contrast to what is usually such a “well put-together young man who knows how to handle himself.”
It doesn't show in the big things either. It’s one of the many critiques of Bruce that one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking. The slightest downturn of a lip at that day’s breakfast menu. Whenever Alfred isn’t where he’s expected to be at any given moment. When something’s too high for the boy to reach.
All of it is so achingly foreign and yet just as familiar as the butler’s own sleeping quarters. He knows in his mind's eye where his clothes are, how his furniture should be positioned, and what his made-up bed should look like. And yet everything is so different. This is not his room. This is Bruce in the absence of his parents. And it’s not necessarily that Alfred doesn’t know what to do- it’s more of a how to go about it. Like he’s holding an instrument he once knew how to play a long time ago, only to have it thrust upon him in the wake of a new realization.
On top of that, there is an insistent nagging in the back of his head that would otherwise be unrecognizable and even ignorable if not for the way it stops him in his tracks whenever he cracks the door open a bit and finds his young charge smothered in soft colorful blankets; the fragrance of both his mother and fathers perfume mixing garishly but permeating throughout the room nonetheless.
The binky from the other morning wedged between his lips and above it all; he looks at peace. The dry tear streaks caked on his face hold no weight. The boy is in stark resemblance of childlike innocence, picture-perfect. If Alfred didn’t know any better he’d assume something much more wholesome was going on. A child who wanted to stay up, lured to sleep by teary aching eyes and a familiar soother over the tongue. But he does know better, and instead he is like a deer stuck in headlights. Staring blankly at the face of a child who has no business grieving so seriously.
In fact, it is an inexplicable phenomena how silent and put together a child who used to be so rowdy and loud can be. And Alfred had just left it. Should Bruce not be stomping his feet and shouting at the top of his lungs until it reverberated off of the high ceilings and shook the chandelier till it fell from its perch?
Should he learn how to quiet himself and curl into a ball in order to no longer inconvenience those whose very presence is there in order to be inconvenienced? Should he feel inexorably selfish for wanting what can no longer be?
Those are the thoughts that keep the Wayne Family Butler awake far into the night. That keeps him scrubbing the counters until his knuckles are a bright, pomegranate red. That allows him unrest whenever he finds the strength to simply sit down. Until one day he finds himself in the store on a familiar drowsy and drizzly day. Gotham’s staple. The rain plops against the entranceway in a random fashion, roughly beating against the storefront's glass doors.
He’s standing in the baby aisle, memory’s flitting through his mind with the likeness and rapidity of a familiar rolodex that used to perch so prettily (still does) on Thomas’ desk. When Martha was pregnant with Bruce she’d drag him here and hand him a basket. Only to fill it with milk and cookie baking ingredients. Then she’d walk right over to the very aisle he’s standing in.
The tiles are squeaky clean, a murky reflection of his black penny loafers glaring back at him. He deigns to move his eyes down, keeps them glued on what’s in front of him. As if looking around and observing his surroundings would break the reminder of such a painful saccharine memory.
The aisle is put together nicely. It’s like the thousands of soothers, bottles, blankets, and their ilk glare into him- their perfection anything but in the wake of their use. The faint call of Martha’s voice makes his head twist to the side. Neck cracking with the speed, eyes alight with intensive, almost-there recognition. But the voice floats off somewhere far and safe. Somewhere he cannot reach in this Tantalus complex. Martha is not there. Martha will never be there. But he is.
He’s here. In the baby aisle. Grabbing new coloring books and checking the price tags to make sure that only the most expensive markers, pencils, and crayons are in hand. Added to that are a few new binkies and soothers and bottles that he’ll have to boil. There is a wetness on his face that he wipes away with an uncanny quickness as he gently places said accessories inside of his cart. Right next to some milk and cookie baking ingredients.
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drizzlesketchingnook · 1 year ago
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Meet Lycoris🌹
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Wahoo! I finally add my second MC OC for the Sacrarium series into the mix! This guy has been rolling around in my head for a while now as I tried to get a hold of his personality and somewhat of an altered backstory that diverts somewhat from the canon told in Pario.
I have taken a few inspirations from other media, more specifically MaoMao from Apothecary Diaries since her character is fucking fantastic and I had to take some inspiration from her for Lycoris.
As always, there's more information under the cut. And be sure to check out and support @stygianeyedev and everyone involved with the Sacrarium series!
Nickname(s): Lily (Mother), Treasure(VV), Ruby(VV), Voidlight (Title). Ly (Friends)
Age: Early 30's
Height: 6'6"
Pronouns: He/Him
Gender: Cis Male
Sexuality: Demi/Polysexual (Although this isn't realized until the events of Sacrarium Pario as he interacts with Violo and Vivere in the story.)
Profession: Mercenary (current)
Personality: Lycoris is the stone-faced and silent type. Due to this, it has always been difficult or him to express how he feels and for others to read his emotions in any given situation. However, when it comes to anything related to medical items (be it used for healing, harm or otherwise) he immediately lights up and becomes much more animated. Lycoris is also quite awkward when it comes to his emotions and has trouble reading others if they show interest in him as a friend or romantic interest. He prefers to keep emotional distance with others due to the incidents of his past, but is willing to still be kind and helpful despite everything.
Hobbies: Singing, Drawing, Training, Testing out different medicines (posions, aprodisacs, etc.) on himself.
Likes : Music, Training, Botany and Zoology, Night Sky, Medicine
Dislikes: Tourmaline Ring, Backstabbing, Drunkards
Backstory: Before his mother’s death, Lycoris used to assist her in their village’s local apothecary. It was there that he discovered his love for medicine(especially poisons and the like.) and helping out those in need. After that, he still continued to practice like before, albeit much more reckless approach until he had the chance to help out at the local clinic on one of the smaller islands on the Chain Isles.
It was there that he assisted the main doctor there with their patients as their assistant when he wasn’t doing mercenary work or at the local brothel/restaurant. It was there that he befriended both Zhao and Jackie. Over the years, he slowly began to open up to the two and eventually started to develop a crush towards his fellow mercenary. Unfortunately, Fate had other plans and the three were attacked out of nowhere. Zhao and Lycoris fended off the attackers, saving Jackie. Yet, in the end, as expected, Lycoris was betrayed by Zhao and taken by the Tourmaline Ring to sell to the highest bidder.
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m0thisonfire · 2 years ago
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This just in:
Day by day I’m coming just a little bit closer to snapping from reading a certain shitbrain’s blog about what she posts about my girlfriend.
#vent#tw // vent#I’m not usually a hateful person#I like giving people the benefit of the doubt and seeing the good in everyone!#I genuinely enjoy giving people chance after chance after chance because hey! Humans will be humans!#but when someone#Looking at a particular LYING LITTLE SHIT#Starts posting something about someone I know and have been talking to for a little longer than what their little sob story claims#even talking to them during certain events OF THEIR LITTLE FALSE STORY#well I get a little mad#VERY mad#I have been talking to my girlfriend for almost a year now starting in June#and this fucker went offline somewhere august and October#and comes back claiming absolute HORSESHIT#and I’ve snapped#I am mad mad mad#I have so much proof and contradictions on my end about what a fucking Manipulator this fucker is#she and Prime Starscream sure do deserve each other OH BOY!!! l#THEYRE BOTH FUCKING LIARS!! :DDD#I never thought I’d see the day I made a vent post about someone#but fuck me if you see me make a vent post about someone#know shits fucked and I’m going to lose it#this person has lost my respect ages ago and I genuinely hope she gets mental help and finds another source of happiness#other than FLAUNTING HER MENTAL ILLNESS AND WOE IS ME CARDS TO GARNER SYMPATHY BY RUINING SOMEONES INTERNET LIFE#fuck this fucker dude#she doesn’t get to hold power over shit like this because she’s a ‘Pretty pink Flowery artist with mental issues 🥺’#I’ve been through shit too but god i would have struck myself down if I pulled half the shit she’s pulled
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lilgynt · 4 months ago
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my mom keeps losing her own stuff - blames me like yelling screaming saying she can’t believe i did this and then finds it in ten minutes or less.
#personal#i pointed this item out before she ‘found’ it :)#and it’s like oh it’s right here nevermind#does not fix the screaming fit you just had over the five dollars i just lost you#and like this keeps happening#and she’s NEVER been right!#i didn’t send out her camera she just misplaced it!#i didn’t take the small trash bags!!!#i didn’t take her hair dye!!!!!#and i didn’t leave the yogurt today!!!!!!#i got in a screaming match with her and then had to be like#okay hoping your back gets hurt bc i will no longer help you move furniture was too much#but this is still your fault you’re a hoarder and don’t care about drunk driving#i had two mimosas and usually my mom has a panic attack#if my brother and i mention going out for the night and getting a beer or two#over the course of several hours#like she’ll have whole fits#but when she thought i left the yogurt at the store she wanted me to go rn#and i’m just buzzed but it’s like just admit you don’t care!!!!!#but god it’s genuinely fucking with my perception of things#like did i send that camera? did i steal her dye? did i forget the yogurt?????#does NOT feel great!!!!#and all she can come back to me with is you’re not my mother can you act like a mother at all!!!!! can you figure this out!!!!#like she can admit yesterday she’s done way more for the boys#granted it’s less for me bc of limitations#and it’s like you know you gave me less than them you can’t even try to even it out emotionally they get more too#jesus fucking christ
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devil-in-hiding · 3 months ago
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something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)
you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.
Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.
They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.
Perfect gentlemen.
Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.
You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.
“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.
When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.
“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.
“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.
“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.
“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.
“Hm. Interesting.”
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classyrbf · 1 month ago
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SHE'S A SUCCUBUS! — CHOSO KAMO
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SYNOPSIS...as a sex demon, she can always sense the horny virgin boy who’s dying to lose his virginity
INFO...choso x succubus!reader, sub!choso, virgin!choso, somnophilia, riding, overstim, creampie, oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), slight ass eating, cum eating, doggy, squirting, choso is super needy and eager, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
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Choso always felt left out when his friend would constantly talk about all the girls they’ve been with, all the experiences they had and what crazy shit they always got into. He’d just sit there, silent. He couldn’t relate to them not one bit. The closest he’s ever to having sex is his right hand or a sex toy. No girl ever looked his way, and his confidence was crushed. They’d only go after his friends, practically drooling over them. Not one of them spared a glance towards Choso.
He was begging to lose his virginity, dying to know what real pussy felt like, how soft tits felt in his hands or even some ass. God, don’t even get him started on wondering what it feels like to receive head. His friends swear it’s the best thing ever as long as the girl knows what she’s doing. He always watches porn, the women on their knees, slobbering all over the man dick like it was some divine dessert. He loved watching the way their pussies wrapped around the mans dick, just imagining how wet and warm it is. He was a lost cause. At this point, he was ready to pay someone to take his virginity. Literally.
And just like any other night, he goes back home, ready to fuck his fist to another average porn video before dozing off to sleep. He’s been extremely horny lately, more than usual and he can’t understand why. Not to mention the wet dreams he’s been having, waking up to cum in his pants like he’s a damn teenager. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, feeling the need to cum more and more everyday.
Hours later, he’s fast asleep, tossing and turning as he has another wet dream of someone riding him. He can’t make out her face, but it feels so damn real. Everything does. Even her moans and the weight on top of him. “Mmm,” he hums. His brows furrow. He can even hear the sound of skin on skin. His entire body feels like it’s on fire right now, like he’s been hit with some sort of sex pollen. It’s more intense than ever.
Little does he know it’s not a wet dream, no, it’s you. The succubus who’s been watching him for weeks, feeling his urgency to cum, to lose his virginity. He’s summoned you without even realizing. And now you were riding him, gliding your wet pussy up and down his aching cock while he slept, waiting for the moment he wakes up and realizes he’s no longer a virgin. He twists and turns when you run your clawed nails down his pale skin, smiling at the way he moans and whimpers in his sleep.
Choso couldn’t take this overwhelming feeling anymore, forcing himself to wake up, prying his tired eyes open. But the feeling doesn’t stop. The sounds don’t stop. And certainly the woman is his dreams doesnt disappear when he opens his eyes. “Wha—ah—what? Who…? Oh fuck!” He rasps, eyes darting around the room and over your naked body. “What the fuck? Oh my goddd.” As confused and scared as he is right now, he can’t escape the pleasure coursing through him right now.
“Shhh, shhh, just let me make you feel good. You’ve been dying for this haven’t you? I’m here to give you exactly what you want.” You slightly lean back, spreading your legs to let him get a clear view of the way your pussy sucks his cock in.
He looks at you with awe and confusion, but he can’t help but give in, moaning so sweetly when you fully sink down. “Who…who are you?” He gasps, eyes widen when you clench your pussy around him.
“I know when cute virgins like you wanna lose their virginity. You summoned me, accidentally. You’ve been so worked up lately, huh? Well,” you smile, “that was because of me.” His cock twitches inside of you, your hips bouncing faster and harder, watching the way he mouth falls open.
“Fuck, fuck! It’s feels so good,” he heaves, breathing heavily. His cheeks dusted a light pink. “I don’t wanna cum just yet, please slow down. Please, please—nnghhh, fuckkkk.” Choso didn’t stand a chance, shooting sticky ropes of cum into your pussy, his entire body quivering with how intense his orgasm was. “Please, slow down—ah, oh my god. It feels too good—” His eyes rolled into the back of his head as you kept fucking him.
“I’ll keep fucking you till there’s nothing left.” You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, placing your lips on his while you kiss him with such fervor, with such sloppiness. His hands reach down, gripping the plush flesh of your ass. He swears he’s in heaven right now. This can’t be real. No way a sex demon was taking his virginity right now. His dick was so sensitive, but still so hard. He knew he had so much cum left, the only thoughts he had were to fill you up over and over until it was dripping out.
He felt like he was losing his mind, fucking him so hard, creating a sloppy mess where you two met just so you can get him to cum again. Your devilish yet sweet giggles send chills up his spine and straight down to his already throbbing dick. With labored breaths, and his heart rattling against his rib cage, he already knows he’s going to cum again. So soon. “Come don’t hold back on me. I want it all,” you growl in his ear. “I’ll do whatever it takes to empty you dry and fuck you stupid.”
His trembling fingers grip onto your ass harder as he cries out, broken moans swallowed by your kisses and he can’t help but cum again, filling up your tight pussy to the brim. You pull away from the heated kiss looking at the way his hazy eyes stare up at you with such desperation. You halt the movement of your hips and get up from his lap. “No, no, wait. Where are you going?! Please, keep fucking me.” He sits up, watching you get on your knees. Poor thing looks like he’s almost about to cry.
And now he can get a real good view of you. The tail that swayed around and the small little horns that pointed from the top of your head. You really were a sex demon. Your hand took a firm grip on his throbbing cock, his tip leaking like it was begging you to make it cum again. “I can see your thoughts. Your nasty little thoughts.” You run a long stripe from his balls all the way to his tip, licking the excess cum off. Your tongue was freakishly long, but god did it feel so good on him. You spit on his cock, massaging it in as you stroke him, moving your hand in circular motions that make his hips jump. “Say it. I know what you’re thinking.” Your lips curl into a smirk, running the pad of your thumb over his slit.
“Put…put your mouth on it, please,” he says barely above a whisper, too shocked to even form proper words.
“Louder.” You massage his balls with your free hand, earning a guttural groan from him.
“Please, put your mouth on it! Fuck, I wanna know how good it feels!” His lip quivers, his breathing quickening the closer your lips get.
“Good boy.” You smile, darting your tongue out and wrapping it around the base of his cock, swirling it around the head before you take him in your mouth. You stare at him through thick lashes, bobbing your head up and down his thick shaft, spit spilling from the corners of your mouth. Glug, glug, glug.
The sound of you choking on his dick was like music to his hears, taking his all the way down your throat with no problem. How is he supposed to keep up? His brain is fried and his body already feels so weak from cumming two times in a row. But he can’t stop. It’s like you’ve put some kind of spell on him to make him want more. “Shit, I’m all the way in,” he gasps, fall back onto the pillows. You pull him out of your throat, string of saliva connect from your lips to his cock as you continue stroking him. You were so messy, so nasty, but he loved it so fucking much because this is always how he’d picture it.
You spit back on his cock before taking him down your throat again without warning. “Oh my—fuck me, I’m gonna fucking cum again!” He whimpers. His body jolts and his abs tense up at the sensation, pleasure shooting through his body like electricity. He’s so sensitive he can’t help it. His hips buck up into your mouth and next thing he knows, he’s cumming down your throat. “Nnngh shit!” He groans, each orgasm more intense than the last. It’s like as time goes on, he can’t help but get more horny, more greedy.
Within seconds he’s pulling you off his dick on bending you over, pulling your ass in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I can’t,” he’s muttering to himself, sweat dripping down his body. He pushes every inch into you with such ease, like your pussy was made for him. “Feels so good, feels so good I can’t stop stop,” he cries, rummaging his hips into you, fucking hard and fast.
“You’re learning so quickly.” You smile from below him, pushing your ass back against his hips. He watches the way your ass bounces back on his dick and he becomes mesmerized. “That’s it! Fuck me harder. Show me how badly you wanna cum in my pussy again,” you giggle.
Choso pushes your head into the mattress, broken moans falling from his lips. “I need it so badly, so fucking badly.” Your pussy grips him like a vice and he hisses at the tempting feeling.
“Make me squirt all over your cock! Come on, fuck me like you mean it!” You grip the sheets below you, feeling his swollen head press against your sweet spot over and over with each grueling thrust. Upon hearing your words, Choso remembers all those videos he’s watching of girls squirting, and to make you squirt just because of him makes his brain fuzzy. He keeps the same pace, huffing and panting when your pussy grows tighter. “Yes! Yes!” You laugh, sighing in relief when he pulls out and clear liquid shoots from your pussy, coating his cock and sheets.
His eyebrows raise in amazement. “Holy fuck,” he watches the way your pussy leaks before urgently ramming his cock back inside of you. “Do it again. Squirt all over me again! Please! It’s so fucking hot!” He begs as he pounds your pussy like his life depends on it. “Wanna watch you—nnngh—squirt again!”
As if on cue, your pushy gushes around him again, soaking his thighs and his cock and just the sight of it makes him cum so hard he’s toppling over you. “Fuck! I’m cumming!” He thrusts deep inside of you, making sure not to waste even a drop. “Yes, yes!” He huffs, bucking his hips. “I need to taste you, need to fucking—mmm.” He drops to his knees, pulling your ass back against his face while his tongue slurps every drop his cum and your juices, licking through your sloppy folds and sucking on your clit.
“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Such a good, good boy.” You praise, reaching behind you, taking a fistful of his hair and pushing his face deeper into your cunt. His moans at your taste, his free hand reaching down to stroke his swollen and sensitive cock. He moves his tongue up and down, running back and forth between your clit and your ass, and back down to your hole. You quickly pull him away before sitting up.
“Did I do something wrong? Why’d you stop?” He looks at with sad eyes.
“You’re done.” You look down at his cock.
“No, no, I’m not. I promise I still have more. Just keep fucking me, let me eat your pussy or something! Don’t leave!” He pouts, watching you crawl towards him.
“As much as I’d like to keep playing with you, you’re all out of cum, pretty boy.” You smirk. “I’ve got other desperate virgins like you to attend to.” You ghost your lips over his and Choso leans in for a kiss but you pull back from him. “You’re welcome.”
You disappear into a dark corner in his room, like you faded away into it. He runs to turn on his light and sees you’re completely gone. He’s at a loss for words, standing in the middle of his room completely naked. He looks towards his bed, seeing the wet spots you had left. So it was real? No? Yes? He didn’t know what to believe. He accidentally summoned a sex demon to take his virginity. If only he could do it again.
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hannieehaee · 2 months ago
Text
BOY WITH LUV
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18+ / mdi
summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.
content: richboy!jk, downbad!jk, barista!reader, sub-ish!jk, reader plays hard to get just for plot purposes, jk is down horribly bad for reader, afab reader, smut, dry humping, jk's the embodiment of needy, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.
wc: 8.8k
a/n: another silly and unserious jungkook fanfic<3
masterlist | patreon
"Anyways just be careful with how many pumps you add to drinks. Customers can be extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff. Trust me," rambled on your new trainer, Jen? Jess? Something like that.
You watched disinterested, already having had a menial barista job in the past and being well aware of the high expectations of disgruntled customers. You, too, had been verbally harassed by one too many people in dire need of a drink far too specific for the average person to memorize. It was still appreciated, though, the effort she took in walking you through every step to ensure you did good at your new position.
Despite your focus on the task being demonstrated to you not being at its best, you did take notice when Jean(?) stopped her mentoring and instead spilled some of the drink she was currently making, clearly now equally as distracted as you. Her focus was no longer on the counter you were practicing drinks on, but instead looking past you and towards the counter a few steps behind you.
You meant to call out her name to question her, but without an angle on her name tag or any confidence in actually remembering the correct name, you simply grabbed at a nearby towel and cleaned off the mess, not bothering to look at whatever was distracting her. It was too early for you to bother.
Snapping out of her trance mere seconds later, she tapped at your shoulder urgently, her voice now a whisper as she leaned close for you to hear what she was about to say.
"Oh my God, don't look, but that's Jungkook," she whispered excitedly, as if letting you in on information you had any context about — hint: you had no idea who nor what she was referring to.
Turning around, you eyed another one of your new coworkers tending to the line at the counter, but more specifically helping out some guy. Focusing your eyes on him, you could now understand why his presence had caused a short-circuit in Jane (?) and why she felt the need to announce his presence to you.
The distraction in question presented itself in the form of a very tall and fit guy, one with a fully tattooed sleeve and dreamy black curls. Other outstanding attributes were the very obvious muscles encompassing his entire body and the shine that came from the various piercings on his face. In short, the man was nothing short of a dream straight from a Pinterest board — and the charisma radiating from his mere presence did not help matters.
"He's a regular. No one really knows much about him other than he's rich. He tips like 200% above his total," continued June, still leaning in your direction to whisper.
You felt bad at how obvious you were whilst staring at the boy, but he was likely the prettiest one you'd seen in a while. The blank expression in your stare did not tell on you, but it did not deny the fact that you were staring.
"We take turns serving him," your coworker informed you, "Sometimes we fight over it. He's a natural flirt, but he does it with everyone, so we're not sure if he's taken or not," she proceeded to tell you benign details about him that had you nodding along as you continued to stare at him.
The usually fast-paced place seemed to slow down when he entered the coffee shop, with most baristas' attentions going to him rather than their jobs. If he was aware of it, he was good at ignoring it, instead giving a flashy smile to the lucky barista currently tending to him. From the short distance between you, you were unable to hear his conversation, but you still had a perfect view of him as he simply existed. He could easily see you, as there was nothing in his way, but he hadn't yet, somehow oblivious to the attention he was receiving from all other baristas in the house.
As time stood still for everyone else, it continued normally for him. He paid for his drink, having it quickly bypass all other prior orders and made immediately by one of the many girls fawning at him. God, even the two baristas working the drive-thru had taken a short break from it go gawk.
It wasn't until moments later that Jungkook seemed to get a taste of his own medicine, with his own time suddenly coming to a halt. As he turned around to leave, sweet drink now in hand, his eyes incidentally met yours, causing him to pause mid turn and do a double take in order to catch your eyes again.
It was ridiculous, really. Almost too identical to those moments you'd see in those dumb romcoms you used to enjoy as a teenager. Except this was actually happening. And it was happening to you. As all your new coworkers watched his every move with extreme attention.
His eyes widened a bit. It was something the naked eye might've missed, but not you (nor the other five girls watching). His head tilted a bit to the side — maybe in curiosity due to not having seen you there before (Joanne did mention he was a regular). A ghost of a smirk took over the natural smile that had been on his lips since arrival. And lastly, a nod was sent your way — a nod in acknowledgment to your presence, but also with a flirtatious hint to it. It was hard to describe. You simply had to be there.
You remained watching him with a poker face throughout. The same poker face you'd had since clocking in to work that morning. It wasn't that you were mean or not a people person, you simply hated work. You'd been told you had a bit of a resting bitch face and gave a mean impression to those who didn't know you, but that was beside the point. The pretty boy whose attention you'd caught had gotten lucky, though, as he at least received the ghost of a smile from you before he left.
The first thing to occur upon his departure was a squeal from your left. The perpetrator? Julie (or whatever her name was).
"Oh my god!," she let out, grabbing onto your shoulder so you'd face her, "Did you see that?"
"See what?", you asked, not 100% sure of what had just happened.
"He totally checked you out . He's never done that before. Maybe he likes you? God, don't let Lila find out, she's got a huge crush on him," she informed you, once again assuming you knew who the hell Lila was.
"Hah, I think he might've just been surprised to see a new face," you downplayed, "What were you explaining before he got here? The thing with the pumps and the-"
"He comes here every morning at 8 or so. How about you take his order tomorrow? Y'know, just to test my theory," she suggested, disregarding your question.
"Orders? It's my first day here. Isn't training like two weeks lon-"
"It's fine! I'll be shadowing you. You'll do great! Now let's get back to your training-"
"Jane! I need more change at drive thru!", called one of the drive thru girls, interrupting your conversation.
"Coming, Lila!", she responded, giving you a polite smile before handing you the shaker she had just been holding, "Just practice some drinks how I taught you. I'll be right back to show you how to work the register."
So her name was Jane. And that was Lila.
At least you learned something today.
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The subject of Jungkook stayed for a while after he left.
As you got to know a few of your other coworkers during your shift, you came to learn more useless details about him. Useless due to the fact that none of your coworkers had ever actually had a real conversation with him. It appeared as if he was always in a rush any time he stopped by. This bit of knowledge made it even more scandalous among your coworkers that Jungkook had stopped to blatantly check you out before continuing with his busy day.
And so the next day, you were admittedly a bit nervous when they'd suddenly prepped you for cashier duties only one day on the job. You'd done this before, but it was always slightly nerve wracking working a new cash register system and dealing with an entirely different hurdle of customers. That and the fact that you knew all your coworkers were awaiting the moment in which Jungkook came back, only this time he'd get a one-on-one with you.
For one, you didn't believe the suspicion that he liked you.
It was impossible to assert that from the simple one-over he'd given you. But then again, you didn't know the guy as well as your coworkers claimed to.
It was at 8:17AM that the theory was finally tested, when a certain heartthrob walked through the glass doors with all the charismatic energy a person could possibly carry.
He looked as handsome as he did the day prior, especially because now you had a beeline view of him, simply waiting for his arrival on the other side of the counter. His hair was wavier today somehow, and he donned a tight short-sleeve that gave you the perfect view of a sleeve full of colorful tattoos — fuck. His jeans were loose but still gave you a nice view of his physique. It was easy to tell the man was ripped to hell, yet another probable reason as to why your coworkers were all in love with him. Chunky shoes and shiny piercings accessorized his outfit, bringing an edge of grunginess you typically enjoyed in guys.
All things considered, he seemed just like your type.
However, the concept of even crushing on a guy that had every other girl at his feet sounded far too exhausting. You were just not into the idea of chasing after a guy who had a line of women waiting for their turn (or just chasing any guy in general). Today you'd simply serve his drink to prove a point and put an end to any possibility of even a mere flirtation with Jungkook before it even began.
Somehow, he hadn't taken note of you until reaching the cash register, too distracted by his phone as he made what was likely a familiar path for him — he was a regular, after all.
When he reached you, finally putting his phone away, he reacted similarly to last time, doing a double take before letting his eyes land on you for a more permanent stay. His mouth opened and closed a few times, hands reaching up as if undecided on what to entertain themselves with and remaining awkwardly on the air. A gulp took over his voice before he shook his head slightly to clear his head.
"Hi," he began, "You're new."
"Hi, yeah. What can I get for you today?," you got straight to the point.
As flattering as his reaction to you was, a line would probably form any minute now, and you'd already been thrown to the wolves, so you needed to move things along. There's never any time to waste in customer service.
"Oh, uh, the other baristas know my usual — but, uh you're new, like you just said, so, it's uhm just an americano. Medium, please," he rambled, not smooth like you'd expected someone as handsome and put together to be.
Your chuckle couldn't be helped, but at least it wasn't the girlish giggle you truly felt like letting out in the presence of such a man, "Yeah, okay. That'll be $4.95. Anything else?"
He stared at you blankly for a few moments, two silent blinks trapping his large eyes before clearing his throat, causing you to look up from the cash register to give him a curious look, hoping that was enough of a silent indicator at him to speak up.
"Your number, maybe?"
Admittedly, this caught you off guard.
You were surprised at the swift shift in confidence in Jungkook. Literal moments ago he was stammering his way through a sentence, yet the second time you looked up from the cash register he began to sport a cocky smile, confidently leaning against the counter separating you.
"God, you're gorgeous," he then added, eyes moony as he stared at you. It was said with a clear lack of thoughts in his brain, though also with an air of confidence, almost as if he were stating an irrefutable fact.
"Uhm, thanks," you mumbled, taking the money he was currently handing you with an awkward smile, "Okay, got a $5," you recited the usual cashier dialogue as you dug into the register for his change, "Here's your change. Your drink will be ready in a few minutes."
He took it, eyes still glued to yours with a dreamy smile on his face. Tilting his head to the side, his smile widened, "So, no number?", he asked with a teasing tone.
"Sorry, not allowed to give it to customers," you lied, "What's your name? Need it for the order," you asked despite already knowing his name. Disclosing this information would've only made him more adamant in asking for your information.
"That's a lie. Most of your coworkers have slipped me their numbers before," he called you out nonchalantly before giving you his name without any further argument, "What's your name? You don't have a name tag on," he seemed very okay with continuing with the small talk as much as possible, ignoring how your eyes looked past him to eye the line that had began forming.
You sighed, noting how settled he was on his spot, with his arms now leaning comfortably on the counter. He was clearly not going to leave with at least something from you.
You gave him your name, adding reluctance to your tone, attempting to send a message of disinterest.
Lifting his hand, he reached to yours which was currently lying on top of the screen of the cash register, softly grabbing its limp form to offer you a handshake. You did not grasp his hand in yours in return, making the handshake one-sided.
"Very nice meeting you. You'll be seeing me very often, gorgeous," he winked, dropping a bill way too high for a $4.99 order into the small tips cup on the counter and finally walking away as suave as humanly possible.
Internally, you groaned, knowing this was going to be the topic of conversation as soon as you clocked out for your break.
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As expected, a few of your coworkers squealed at you immediately after Jungkook's departure, rambling about how clear it was that he was into you. And yes, that much was obvious — especially considering the large $20 tip he'd left you for merely taking his order. It was difficult to not give into their encouragement to ask him out or to at least respond to his advancements next time.
Most of your coworkers expressed happiness for you, simply enjoying the sight of the pretty boy coming around on a daily basis, while one or two seemed to grow an immediate dislike for you upon his sudden interest in you. Regardless, you wished to steer clear of any emotions his crush on you could bring. All you wanted out of this job was to clock in and clock out and call it a day.
The next time you saw him was two days later when you were finally scheduled to work again. Once more, you found yourself at the cashier once again. Despite it being your first week, your trainer had decided that you seemed apt for the task after the test trial with Jungkook a few days prior, so cashier duties were now assigned to you.
You didn't mind this. It was a straight forward task and far more preferable to drive-thru or clean up duty. However, you couldn't lie in saying you weren't a little on edge at the thought of interacting with Jungkook again. So maybe you spent an extra five minutes this morning on your makeup, so what?
You spent most of your morning taking orders for the early risers that frequented the store. They were all pretty nice, likely too tired at such an early hour to trouble the baristas in charge of their morning dosage of caffeine.
"Hey, gorgeous," were the words that took you out of your thoughts, calling your attention to the boy you'd been subconsciously thinking about all morning.
"Hello, Jungkook. What can I help you with?", you readied yourself to enter his drink on the register.
"What, don't remember my order? Missed you the past few days, by the way. Where'd you go?", he pouted.
"Sorry, not good at memorizing customers' orders, you're going to have to remind me. And I was off this weekend," you were straight forward in your responses.
Similarly to last time, he leaned on the counter, diminishing the distance between you as much as possible before speaking again, a smirk still present on his face.
"That's no problem, gorgeous, I'll remind you every day. Any chance you're nearing your break any time soon?", he questioned with confidence, repeating his order afterwards for you to type into the system.
You sighed, interrupting your work to respond, "No, I-"
"Actually, yes!", interrupted a sudden third voice.
You turned your head to the side to look at the intruder. It was Jane, of course.
"She's been working all morning. She's due for her 15," she let out, pushing you away from the cash register to take your place, "I'll work your order for her," she insisted.
"Great," Jungkook smiled at you in triumph, "In that case, throw in some cake pops in for my new friend," he went to take out some cash, handing what was likely too much to Jane and insisting she keep the change.
Turning his eyes back for you, he nodded in his direction as a silent request that you round the counter and head over to his side. Jane somehow completed his order in artful speed and handed it over to you with a wink before nudging you to encourage you to go. With a slight scowl, you did as suggested, handing Jungkook his drink and cake pops before he gave one back for you.
He began walking over to an empty counter, leaning against it and inviting you to do the same. Very casually, he drank from his drink and took a bite from his cake pop as he offered the other one out to you, chuckling when you grabbed it with reluctance.
"C'mon don't act like I got you hostage."
"You kinda do. My break wasn't until another twenty minutes. This just means I'll have to stay another half an hour," you quipped, more contrarian than anything.
He liked this, it seemed, indicating his amusement with another chuckle. It was probably not usual for him be met with much resistance to his flirting. And it wasn't as if it didn't work on you (it did). You were just not very willing to focus on it over your job — as menial as it was.
"I'll cover your overtime, gorgeous, don't worry about that," he smirked, "What time does your shift end anyway?"
"Hah, wouldn't you like to know?", you laughed antagonistically, continuing to nab at the sweet treat he'd given you.
Taking a step forward, he got up in your personal space. It wasn't an intimate type of closeness, but rather a standoffish one. He was challenging your own defiance against his flirting.
"You are aware I'm flirting with you, right?"
"Very."
Another amused chuckle left him, "How many visits is it gonna take me for you to reciprocate?", he asked, "Fine, maybe being so forward after my second visit was a bit too much, but I'm willing to play the long game if you are."
You listened to him with the ghost of a pleased smile on your face. Fine, maybe he was attractive and likable too. You weren't about to shut him down so easily. Maybe the long game sounded good to you too.
Taking the rest of your cake pop into your mouth with one swoop, you gnawed at the leftover candy on the stick, sucking at it with a pop before eyeing him again and nodding at him.
"You're more than welcome to, Jungkook."
He nodded back, "Them I guess I'll be seeing you here tomorrow ..." he paused with a lift of his eyebrow, a silent question for your name and groaning when you continued to grin silently, "Come on! At least give me your name!"
The giggle left you before you could stop it, continuing to sound out your name to him as a sign of peace.
"Pretty name," he murmured to himself, "Same time tomorrow?", he asked before turning to leave.
"I'll be waiting."
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In the following two weeks of working as many hours as possible at your new job, you were finally no longer in your training period. You were now considered as useful an employee as Jane and Lila, meaning you got your name tag and could now comfortably settle into your cashier position.
In these two weeks, you also saw Jungkook almost every day (sans those in which you were off).
It got to a point in which Jungkook would occasionally stop by a second time in the afternoon in search of a peek of you, usually proving unsuccessful, but still trying anyways.
As summer time ended, the mornings became more packed, meaning yours and Jungkook's encounters diminished in time due to the peak of clients in the mornings. Jungkook was not shy in expressing his disappointment at this, always giving you eyes to attempt to get you to stall on his orders so he could spend a little extra time at the counter with you, or even attempting to bribe you with tips so you'd give him your number (something which had almost worked a few times).
Now, an entire month into your job, it was safe to say that Jungkook's crush was more than mutual by this point (though it really always was).
Unfortunately, your back and forth was so limited that you were yet to really find out anything about the guy other than his first name. Apart from having a vague idea of his wealth, you didn't know any basic details such as his age, profession or even his last name.
To be fair, you had never attempted to learn more about him, but this was partially due to your belief that he must've just enjoyed your casual flirtation. Likely, he liked your hard-to-get personality and enjoyed attempting to break you down. He had never actually asked you out past that first time he invaded your break, after all.
Up until today, that is.
"Please let me steal you away for your break," were the first words the boy had spoken to you when he'd finally caught you at the cash register after days of missing you altogether, "Or! I can wait until you get off. I'm finally off work for a few days. Please don't make me beg. I will do it, but it won't be pretty for anyone."
You sighed, fake annoyed at the gigantic pout on his face, "You've seen me almost every other day," you started, only to be interrupted by him.
"But you're always busy! God, why do so many people need coffee anyways?"
"Ask yourself. You're a frequent client here."
"Yeah, but that's different! I don't even come here for the coffee anymore. It's too packed," he continued, peeking behind him for a moment to make sure he wasn't holding up a line.
"Really?", you decided to play with him, "Why do you come, then?"
He leaned in closer to the counter separating you, grin copying your own satisfied one, "You know, the least you could do is acknowledge my flirting. It'd be really mean if you didn't."
"Fine," you gave in, "I work a full day today, but my lunch is in twenty minutes. Now order before my manager scolds me for letting you loiter."
He scoffed, "All your coworkers love me, that could never happen. But fine. I'll have my usual," he conceded, "I'll be waiting for you over at a table outside. If you don't come, I'll become even more of a nuance," he threatened jokingly as you processed his order, taking his payment and handing him a receipt with a reluctant nod in agreement.
"Okay, leave!", you couldn't help but berate him as you handed him his drink — which, hard to admit, you knew by heart.
With another chuckle in your direction, he made a face at you and made his way out, making sure to leave a far too large tip before exiting.
The twenty minutes before your lunch were spent boringly to say the least. Not many customers were around at that time of day, so you spent most of your time lounging around the small bar and restocking any lids or cups you felt were low enough to be refurbished. Contrary to how you'd previously expressed yourself, you were actually looking forward to getting to hang with Jungkook.
He was fun, what could you say?
Just a few minutes before your lunch break actually began, a subtle knocking sound caught your attention, causing you to focus your view on one of the many windows in the shop. Looking in that direction, you caught a smiley Jungkook attempting to grab your attention, waving cutely when you finally noticed him.
"Are you done?", he mouthed through the window, hands making a 'come hither' motion to entice you into coming out, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.
It got increasingly difficult to hold back a smile any time Jungkook would do something unknowingly cute, but you still managed.
You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, noting you had two minutes until your break. Looking back and forth between the empty coffee shop and Jungkook fawning at you from the window, you made a decision. What were two minutes, anyways?
Shrugging, you gave him a small smile, you began heading outside after clocking out of your register, having to force back a giggle at how much bigger his own smile got at your reciprocation.
"Was that a smile I saw?", he grinned when you finally made it outside.
You rolled your eyes, though the ghost of a smile didn't leave you.
"Shut up. You got me for thirty minutes, don't waste it."
You walked side by side up until the table Jungkook had been sitting at, not taking a seat but standing next to it.
"Do I have permission to take you out?", he tried, biting his lip in hopeful anticipation.
Pretending to mull over it for a moment, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips, hmm'ing at the proposal.
"C'mon! You know I like you. All your coworkers know I like you. And, y'know what? I think you like me back- Okay, wait, don't give me that look. Fine, you at least tolerate me."
"And?"
"See! You didn't deny it. That's a step in the right direction. Let me take you out. Please? I'm not in this just for the chase, if that's what you're thinking," he practically pleaded, looking down at you with those gigantic eyes you were unsure if you were truly immune to.
"Then why me?", you asked, truly unsure.
"I don't know," he began, "Call it love at first sight, I guess? Do I need a reason to like you? There's too many. I like everything I've known about you," he finished with sincerity in his eyes.
But you couldn't really buy it so easily.
"Jungkook, you don't even know me."
"But I want to! That's the whole point of dating. C'mon, I won't get in the way of your job. I'll even take you out somewhere fancy. I know you like pastries, I always see you go for the sweet drinks rather than the coffees, and you always pair them with a cake pop. See? I know as much about you as you've allowed me to know," he braved it and stepped closer, grabbing onto your hand tentatively, "So, please?"
You huffed, looking down before looking back at him, attempting to force the endeared smile out of your face.
"Fine. You can take me out. But not right now. If you want to take me out, you have to wow me. A measly thirty minutes in my work apron is not enough."
He took a few moments to wipe the huge smile off his face before responding, clearing his throat before doing so.
"Completely valid. Give me your number so you can text me your address and any time you'll be free for me to wow you," he handed you his phone, taking yours in exchange.
"Really? Any time?", you asked as you absentmindedly added your contact info to his phone, "Don't you have a job or something?"
"Huh, now who's the one who wants to get to know me?", he smirked lightheartedly, "That's for you to find out at our date," he went to hand your phone back, "Now, if I'm not mistaken, I still have an allotted seventeen minutes to spend with you."
In usual Jungkook fashion, he insisted on buying you something to eat from your own establishment, huffing at any suggestion for you to use your employee benefits and leaving a large tip as per usual. Whatever was his job, it must've left him more than satisfied. It made you curious, though his personality was even more intriguing. Against how you may have presented your lack of enthusiasm, you were quite excited for your upcoming date.
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The next time you saw Jungkook, you got a very clear idea of what his job must be. Or at least of which tax bracket he sat comfortably at.
You weren't sure what model of car sat in front of your apartment at this moment, but you were sure it was worth beyond the money you'd see in this lifetime. There was also no doubt it belonged to Jungkook. The personalized JK1997 license plate was good enough indicator of its owner.
After giving Jungkook your number, you became victim to a myriad of messages from him from that moment on. Not only did he make plans for your date, but he also took advantage of how easily reachable you had become and chose to display his affection for you in the form of endless messages.
You couldn't lie to yourself, it was fun to have a guy so deeply interested despite your constant indifference towards him, specially if it was a guy that looked like Jungkook.
His messages varied from flirtatious to friendly to downright thirsty — there had been an instance of him sending you a picture of him at the gym, one which you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. You'd tease him about sending pictures back, but the most you ever gave him were selfies (to which he responded with threads of heart eyes).
Your date had been planned almost immediately. Jungkook, claiming himself a romantic, insisted on not telling you his plans, but did recommend you wear a pretty dress and some cute heels. He ached to see you all dolled up for him (his exact words).
Part of you wanted to be a brat (as he seemed to enjoy) and deny him of this pleasure. But a bigger part of you as tired of rejecting him and wanted to break him in different ways. And so you dressed up. You pulled out the dress you thought would wear him down the quickest, dolling yourself up to the best of your abilities and even donning the cutest pair of heels you could find.
The fruits of your labor manifested themselves in the form of a practically drooling Jungkook standing in front of your apartment door, stammering a greeting to you as his eyes went up and down your body multiple times, taking various stops at the parts he likely deemed his favorites.
He led you downstairs by your hand, groaning out loud at your perfume as he complimented it, claiming you must've wanted him dead before he even got to take you on your date. Maybe he was half right about that.
Once downstairs, he played dumb when you gaped at his expensive car, simply claiming that you deserved nothing but the best and opening the passenger door to you with a kiss to the pack of your hand.
His hand remained on your thigh the entire way over, nimble fingers occasionally tracing t the skin or sometimes even squeezing at the plushiness of it. You smiled in satisfaction at how blatant he was about wanting you. He'd always been loud and proud about it, but the reactions he was giving you tonight inflated your ego tenfold.
The restaurant was, once again, another demonstration of his wealth. This time you scoffed at any other suggestion to him being rich, to which he simply chuckled as he allowed the host to lead you over to your seats — some which he'd introduced as the best in the house.
"Are you going to tell me what you do for a living or should I start speculating?", you asked after a few sips of wine.
"What are your thoughts?", he decided to entertain you.
"You're in the mafia, maybe? Or a nepo baby? One of your parents married into wealth? You don't seem the lottery type. You look like you're very well accustomed to being rich," you began speculating, enjoying his amusement at you.
"All very fine guesses, but no. Gonna have to try harder."
"Can I bribe you into telling me?", there was a suggestive tilt to your tone.
"Please bribe me."
You giggled. You enjoyed how open he was about liking you. It was extremely refreshing. It was hard to remember now why you'd ignored his advances for months.
"Tell me," you whined.
"It's nothing exciting. I'm afraid you'll be bored by it," he clicked his tongue.
Maybe you should flip the script and show him your own interest?
Before you could decide, your body took control of its own, with your leg beginning to drag up and down his own under the table in a slow and seductive fashion. He instantly hiccuped at his drink when he felt the touch.
"Tell me?", you asked again, but your tone was far more convincing this time. You let the strap of your dress fall to the side, giving him a sneak peak at the strap hidden underneath it; the first hint at the pretty set you'd thrown on for later.
"A-ah, I'm just a video editor and producer. Nothing too exciting," he managed to not stutter too much as he felt your touch and allowed his eyes to zero in on the tiny sliver of bra.
"Oooh, sexy."
"Well, not as sexy as being a barista," he joked back through a stutter.
"Is that why you're always at the cafe? You're rich enough to not work a menial job like the rest of us peasants," you leaned towards the table a bit, foot continuing to tease at his leg.
"I'd say the pretty barista there is the bigger reason- Baby, you gotta stop doing that," he interrupted himself.
"What, I can't flirt with you? How's that fair?"
"You have the upper hand here. It's not fair!" he almost whined.
"Trust me, I could be doing much worse," you threatened with a smirk, "Don't make me sit next to you. I'll be even meaner up close."
He gaped at you for a few moments before readjusting himself on his seat, eyes trailing to your chest for a brief moment before attempting to refocus.
"Baby, did you enjoy your meal?", he suddenly switched the subject, sitting up straight now.
"We just got here," you tilted your head in confusion.
"Yeah, but, uh, I think I might've left my stove on. Come back home with me to check?"
Oh.
Well, that was fun enough for you.
But you could make it funner.
"But I wanted dessert," you pouted as you let your foot find higher heights on his legs.
"What I want isn't on the menu," he played along with a matching pout.
"Will you treat me to something good if I say yes?"
"I'll give you anything you want," he gave up on the double entendres, tone exasperated as he visibly itched to get up from his seat.
"Fine," you feigned disinterest, slowly getting up from your seat only to be rushed by Jungkook who had suddenly made his way over to your side of the table, ushering you out of your seat.
He scrambled through his wallet to grab a stack of cash, gesturing at the waiter to let him know it covered the bill and that he could keep any extra as a tip. You giggled as he dragged you away, not at all subtle in what his goal was. Even his grip on your wrist as he dragged you away was clear on its intent.
"Well, that was a shitty date," you deadpanned back in the car.
"You're the one who ruined it by playing footsie with me!", he rasped, attempting to focus on the road while you sat pretty beside him with an unspoken promise of sex as soon as you reached your destination.
You were happy to not be the one driving.
"But you said you'll treat me once we take care of your oven, right, Kookie?" you teased with a hand beginning to draw patterns on his leg, causing him to flinch with a whine.
"D-don't touch me! I will crash and I need you intact for I wanna do to you," he grumbled.
You laughed again, surrendering for the rest of the ride.
The next time you spoke was when Jungkook began pulling into a building that looked a few tax brackets above your own. It oozed luxury, being so high up that you could not see the end of it from the car window.
"A producer, huh? Dude, you're loaded. You could probably buy out the entire franchise of the cafe I work at," you marveled as you took in the expensive-looking parking lot you were pulling into.
"Can I? Will that get you to stop working and pay attention to me?," he pouted.
The sight gave you some cognitive dissonance. On one hand, you had an extremely attractive Jungkook donning what was likely an insanely expensive suit whilst maneuvering the car with only one hand. Meanwhile, you also had a needy boy pouting at you for your attention.
But you decided to play into the latter. The control he gave you was just too enjoyable.
"Needy," you teased.
"You have no idea."
And those were hid last words before he finally parked the car, rushing to get out and round it in order to help you out of your seat. It was embarrassing, really, the urgency in which he ushered you towards the lobby, practically dragging you all the way to the elevator before pressing a button far too high for the ride to be a short one.
Which was why you chose to take advantage of tour solitary surroundings whilst in that small ascending box.
Jungkook should've seen it coming, really. You hadn't been shy about being a tease back at the restaurant, nor had you really restrained yourself while in his car. It should've been obvious to him that you'd try and pull something whilst on the elevator too, right?
Wrong. Or well, at least if his whimper of surprise had been any indicator of his cluelessness.
The most sensible thing to do (in your horny opinion, at least) at that moment had been to corner him and catch him in a heated kiss. Apart from his initial surprise, it seemed like this was the right step to take, seeing as he fed into it immediately.
His hands were just as needy as his person, gluing themselves to your body and refusing to leave it for even a second. Every curve was felt and squeezed at as his tongue infiltrated your mouth. But his needy hands weren't even the best thing about him.
Your favorite thing was how shameless he was when it came to his sounds. If a mere kiss had him whimpering against you, you were ecstatic to know what second base would make him sound like.
Pulling at his hair, you pulled him away from you just so you could take a look at his dazed eyes (which were very adamantly glued to your lips). The sight was too pretty to ignore. But this lasted mere seconds before the poor boy drew you into another kiss, humming when you kissed back with the same amount of fervor.
Needy hands landed on your hips, long fingers digging into the plush and pushing them against his own. His hardness was already proudly present and dragging itself against whichever part of your body was closest. Pants were released right into your lips and suffocated against your tongue. No words were exchanged, as the sounds of clothes ruffling and tongues meeting were already loud enough.
Sadly, the beautiful art of dry humping had to be put to a stop when the elevator dinged, indicating you'd reached your destination.
True to his character, Jungkook whined again, immediately setting course for his apartment as he dragged you by the hand once again. You found your destination quite quickly as Jungkook fumbled to let the two of you in, practically pushing you in before closing the door behind him.
"Fuck, I want you so bad," he spoke for the first time as he pressed your lips together once more.
Blindly guiding you through his expansive apartment, he somehow managed to only bump twice before making it to his bed. Sadly, you were unable to take in your surroundings due to Jungkook's insistence in keeping your lips locked, but who were you to complain?
Landing on his bed, Jungkook remained standing, beginning to throw off his blazer and unbutton his shirt as you leaned back in a sitting position, legs spread to allow him to stand between them. You enjoyed the show, not even attempting to get yourself into any state of undress.
"Stop staring at me like that. You're making me nervous," he whined when he found himself finally shirtless, squinting at you as you quite literally ate him with your eyes.
You knew he'd be the prettiest sight from the moment you first spotted him, but he looked even better than you could've possibly imagined. He was clearly sculpted, but you didn't realize it'd be to this extent. Carrying a lean figure, every inch of his body still managed to contain toned muscle. The tattoo sleeve also did not help manners.
You ignored his whining, continuing to stare.
"Come up wrap me," you lifted your hands childishly as if to invite him to undress you, which he accepted happily.
Chuckling at your demeanor, his hands reached out to you, helping you stand up before blindly unzipping your dress and letting it fall down to reveal the other pretty garments you'd chosen to wear for him.
"Oh, you hate me," he mumbled upon a single view of what was hiding below your dress.
Pressing his forehead to your shoulder, he groaned, hands hanging by your sided as he appeared to apprehensive to touch you, not really knowing where to start.
"You haven't even looked at it yet!", you pouted, "I got it just for you. And it was expensive — maybe not by your standards, but," you shrugged.
His nose trailed its way to your neck by then, breathing you in and continuing to groan at the peak of lingerie he'd just gotten. There was no way he had gotten a good look from his proximity, but knowing that the mere suggestion of you dressing up for him already had him frustrated.
"I'll buy you a wardrobe full of them," he huffed whilst his hands felt you up, fingers lightly scratching at the lace barely covering your hips and breasts.
"If I rip it, will you be mad?", he asked after getting his fill of you. Your neck was practically wet with his saliva by then.
"Well, you did say you were gonna buy me more, so,"
Your statement was followed by a ripping sound coming from down south, your lower half now fully nude as you gasped.
"Jungkook!"
"Oh, these rip easily. That's good. I like these," he muttered, unhooking your bra before beginning to kiss his way to your breasts.
"K-kook, fuck."
His lips caught onto one of your breasts, tongue teasingly rounding the hardened bud in the middle before nipping lightly at it. A huff of air was released against your skin as he sighed in what you believed to be contentment.
"You're so pretty," he sounded pained as he said it.
He continued kissing at your breasts and feeling at your body for a few moments before laying you back on the bed, hands aiding you in scooting towards its middle so he could hover above you comfortably. His hands didn't leave you once, latched onto some part of your body at all times.
Trailing down with wet kisses, his lips acted as a magnet against your skin, finding their way to your middle slowly but desperately. Immediately once there, he nuzzled his nose into your bundle of nerves, sighing against it before letting his tongue get a taste.
"I- fuck, Kook," you sighed when you received a wide lick to your folds, followed by precise movements of his tongue.
Jungkook's proclivity towards oral became obvious quite quickly. It was as if he was trying to replace all the wetness seeping out of you with his own saliva. It sounded disgusting in theory, but felt far too good in practice.
"Hmm, fuck. Baby, I need to be able to breathe," he chuckled breathlessly when your thighs began squeezing around his head a little too harshly.
"It's your fault," was all you mumbled before whining at him to continue.
Unable to deny you anything, he kept going, tongue pointed as it poked and licked at your swollen pearl while his ring and middle finger slowly inserted themselves inside, doing a 'come hither' motion and gracing against your walls to perfection. The constant rumble of his groans against you did not really help matters either.
"You're too fucking good at this, shit," you groaned when he held you impossibly closer, nose rubbing against your clit as he licked at your hole maniacally.
"Just, fuck, it's so warn n pretty," mumbled the drunken man.
It made you pulse the way in which he described your cunt. Pretty had never been a word you'd considered, but who were you to oppose his expert opinion?
Far too soon, you felt your orgasm approach. All your senses were heightened. The smell of sweat, the feeling of his tongue against you, the sound of his grumbles of self-serving pleasure; you were done for.
When you came, it didn't come to you as a surprise when Jungkook refused to create any distance between you. His head remained buried between your legs, tongue lapping at you despite your body begging at him to stop. The sensitivity was high, but the pleasure was ever so present, you didn't have it in you to actually make him stop. Your hands dug into his hair even harder than before, though they were indecisive as to whether to pull him closer or away from you.
"God, fuck. I've been wanting to do that since I met you," he groaned out once he resurfaced.
He climbed beck up your limp and ruined body, kissing his way to your lips before nastily shoving his tongue in your mouth. Not bothering to ask whether or not you'd want to taste yourself, he took a wild guess and asserted you'd be enthusiastic in your reciprocation — which you clearly were, practically reaching down his throat with your own tongue.
Naturally, your bodies melded with one another as you kissed. Both pairs of hips became needy as they ground against each other. Bumping bellies, you ensured Jungkook remained trapping against you as you wrapped your legs around his nonexistent waist. He chuckled at this for half a second before continuing to devour your lips with his own, hips even more desperate than before.
"Wanna- fuck, wanna cum like this, but ... God, need to be inside you," he grunted out his predicament.
Pity.
Maybe you'd rebirth the lost art of dry humping some other day. It'd be far more fun to make Jungkook cum in his pants, after all. Why waste a perfectly naked Jungkook with some dry humping when he was already in a full state of undress?
"What are you waiting for?", you nudged him with your foot, opening your legs further to demonstrate your want for him.
"You're mean," he huffed as he kissed you before pulling himself away to scramble through his end table for a condom.
In an uncharacteristically non suave manner, Jungkook ripped the condom open with his mouth, peeling it over his hardness with an urgency that showed you just how needy he was. This caused you to giggle at the sight.
"You laugh now, but I'm about to fuck you into this bed," he grunted as he absentmindedly rewrapped your legs around his waist, ensuring you locked them behind his back so he could grab onto his cock and begin lining himself up.
"Fuck, baby, do you see that? So puffy and needy," he mocked, tip running up and down your folds, catching your clit long enough to make you gasp.
"Stop it. I'm the only one allowed to be mean," you complained, legs pulling him forward.
"Right," he chuckled, "What I'm about to do to you feels really mean, though."
"Jungkook, I swear to- F-fuck!"
"God, so fucking tight," he mumbled under his breath, "Feels even better than I imagined."
You panted for a few moments as you adjusted yourself to the huge intrusion, eyes faltering a bit.
"Thought about this a lot?"
"Every night, baby," he groaned when you gave him the green light to start moving.
With this, he began grinding into you with an intensity that showed you he'd been telling the truth. Despite how much of a mess he'd been throughout your date, his suave and confident persona was ever so present whilst fucking into you.
There seemed to be no thoughts in his mind that did not revolve around your pleasure. His pace was mind-numbing yet sensual, his fingers circled at your clit with the perfect precision, his lips never ceased in their smacking against your skin. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to ruin you for any other man (hint: he was).
"Feels good, baby?," he grunted between thrusts, breathless and almost unable to form a sentence.
"K-kook-"
You were unable to formulate words, and he knew as much. Or at least that's what you got from the smirk pressed up against your cheek as he trailed back up to your lips.
"You're going to cum with me, right, pretty? Hmm?", his nose nudged your own, lips leaving teasing kisses against yours, "It'll feel so good, gorgeous, okay? I'm, fuck, I'm almost there."
"Kook, I'm c-cumming, sh-shit! Fuck!", you wailed when it finally hit you, having no time to feel embarrassed at how quickly it came. It had all been too much, but you were pretty sure Jungkook knew that.
He followed you into the abyss with a groan and a small bite down the skin of your shoulder. He hummed against the skin, getting it damp with saliva, but you didn't care. The heat from his body as he pressed you down onto his sheets created a damp sheen of sweat between you. It was all very humid and nasty, but the knowledge that Jungkook was currently creaming into a condom whilst buried inside you, mind lost as his sounds filled the room, was more than satisfactory to you.
"Fuck," he groaned once he slumped himself next to you.
He lazily slipped off the condom, throwing it at a trash can laid near his bed before nuzzling his body against your limp one. You had made no move since your orgasm, simply taking in the pleasure that had just invaded you mere minutes ago.
"You're dangerous for a barista."
"You knew this the moment you saw me. That's what you liked about me."
He hummed happily, "You should actually be mean to me next time. It'd be hot."
"Masochist," you laughed.
"Guilty."
"All the girls are gonna hate me when they realize I toon you off the market," you whined as you flipped yourself to your side, scooting closer to him and practically burying yourself in his skin.
"But you love that, don't you?", he chuckled.
You giggled back.
"Guilty."
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to read short 2k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on patreon!
content: more cafe shenanigans with reader and her coworkers, jungkook still being down bad, smut, afab reader, tit fucking, face riding, mentions of sexting, etc.
wc: 351 (teaser); 2k (full drabble)
sneak peak:
"What the hell are you doing here with those?"
"Is that how you welcome your boyfriend?"
Those were his last words before you rushed to round the counter and get him out of earshot, dragging him by the arm towards the exit. On his other arm, he held tightly onto the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers he'd entered the facility with mere moments ago.
"Woah, what's with the aggression?", he scoffed in jest when you finally made it far enough from your coworkers' eyes.
"Dude, I already told you Lila's been on my ass since she found out we're dating. You have got to stop bringing gifts to my workplace," you groaned, though still taking the flowers from him and giving him a peck as a form of thanks.
There had been a few instances already in which Jungkook had been far too loud and proud about your relationship whilst visiting you at your workplace. It always led to thin-veiled animosity between you and your coworkers.
"So? Who cares about Loraine, or whatever her name is?", he shrugged.
"I do! And it's not just her. They're all in love with you. And most of them keep giving me the cold shoulder because of you! Lila's just the worst of them."
He pouted and coo'd, chuckling when you complained at him for patronizing you. His arms wrapped around you, still chuckling in amusement at your predicament.
"Well, you won. You have me," he hummed in satisfaction.
"Pfft. As if I chased after you," you scoffed.
"Is that a challenge? I'm not afraid to go back in there and confess my love for you."
"Jungkook. No!"
"I won't. Just because," he stopped to check his watch, "it's 2:02pm, which means you get to clock out and I get to take you home. So get your pretty ass back in there so I can get my girlfriend in bed."
"It's two in the afternoon."
"I said what I said," he gave you one last squeeze before grabbing onto your hand and leading you towards the cafe you'd just technically kicked him out of.
...
find the continuation on patreon!
if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3
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nightingale-prompts · 3 months ago
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God's TV- DC x DP prompt
Accidentally summoning a god from another dimension can happen, especially when cults are involved. However, no can could predict that the not only was the god a teenage boy but also a very bored teenage boy who didn't want to leave.
So he stayed and moved into Titans tower.
Danny is helpful (when he wants to be) but rarely goes out on missions. He says they are boring and nothing is dangerous enough to exert the effort. Instead, he minds the medical bay. Having a healer more than made up for the lack of help.
It's not like anyone disliked Danny or thought he didn't do anything it was just that he was unpredictable. Danny could be nice, considerate, and even sweet if he was working in the medbay. He could also be a pain in the ass anywhere else. He loved pranks and scaring people with his powers. He was harmless though.
No one really knew what he did all day. He was usually in his room doing something they guested. Said room was an anomaly. It was larger on the inside having been made into a pocket dimension. The appearance and organization of the room changed every time you went in.
It was after one mission that the team learned what was in the room.
A rogue had used their invention to erase Superboy's memories and they didn't know what to do. They took him to Danny who was currently rearranging the medicine by color. They hoped that his powers covered mind-altering afflictions. Unfortunately, Danny couldn't wave a hand and fix this.
Instead, Danny took the group to his room. The decor was neon Tokyo meets space right now. The furniture was currently floating and almost hitting Wonder Girl in the head with an end table. Of course, there was no gravity here.
"Stay here while I grab it," Danny said flying up the vertical corridor.
While he was gone the room rearranged itself into a contemporary format. The furniture grounded itself and shifted into a normal living room.
Danny returned with a cart and a headset. He placed a card he pulled out of the cart into the headset and put it on the dazed Superboy's head.
"Wait what is that?" Tim asked.
"It's his memories. I kept a backup in case this happened." Danny shrugged.
Immediately everyone began asking what the hell does that mean and why does he have that.
"Oh please, this dimension has this happened all the time. Amnesia is so cliché and cheap. I saw a pattern and decided the easiest way to prevent you from losing the entirety of your lives was to make save states of your memories." Danny said matter of fact.
Robin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Impulse studied the rack of cases and looking for the card with his name on it.
Wondergirl sighed, she was used to this from Robin but even he wouldn't go this far.
"What? It's not like just anyone can find these. Only you can access your own memories anyways. I just decided to repurpose my RE:Viewer." Danny pouted.
"What is a reviewer?" Wally asked flipping through the cases. Each one had titles like moves or shows with an arrangement of stickers.
"The RE:Viewer is something I created to catalog things I've seen looking into other dimensions. I don't have an infinite memory you know. But the longer I have my title the more I'll lose touch with my mortality. These things help me stay close to people by giving me the chance to remember how it feels. I also have been using them to get the stories of others. Keeping their experiences like you'd keep a TV show or movie. So many stories could have been lost to time but now they are saved. I use them to teach myself." Danny smiled.
The concept genuinely sounded interesting. Like experiencing a movie in 4d.
It had been 3 minutes before Kon took off the headset and back to his old self.
Danny pulled the input card out and it disappeared into another realm with a flick of the wrist. Danny was completely honest that the copies were inaccessible to everyone but him.
"You feeling alright Superboy? Your memory should be backed up until a week ago." Danny said shining a light in his eye.
"I'm fine. I think. What happened?" Kon asked batting the light out of his eyes.
"Explanation later. Take a nap first. You aren't concussed at least." Danny informed.
"What are the stickers for?" Wally said pointing at the rainbow of colors the card cases had.
"Just the emotions associated with the experiences. Orange is comedy, red is action, pink is romance, and blue is tragedy." Danny listed. "That one with the pink is one of my favorites. I meddled a bit in that world. Two people who had never met fell in love at two points at different times. One of them was doomed to die but I worked my magic on a mirror that allowed them to meet once. They shared notes left in different places for the other months ahead. Makes you believe in true love. A real tear-jerker."
"What about the black stickers?" Wally asked.
"Don't touch the black ones," Danny said darkly, smacking his hand away. "You don't need to know about those. I don't like thinking about them."
"So you just take the memories of others and put them inside your machine to replay later?" Batgirl asked. "Isn't that kind of wrong?"
"No, I asked permission. I usually pull them aside at some point and ask. If it's my memories (that's the green stickers) I don't need to. The rainbow ones are simulations. Like a video games." Danny responded patting her on the back for not being to hard on him about this admittedly weird situation.
"So what's the black one with the rainbow sticker?" Wally asked picking up the case that was obviously stuffed in the back.
"STOP TOUCHING THOSE!" Danny yelled pulling him away.
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starcrossedmusings · 4 months ago
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Pretty Hands
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Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)
Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.
A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡
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Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.
"Yun? I'm here!"
His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"
You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.
"Whats up?"
"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."
Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"
"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."
Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"
You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."
"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."
"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."
Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"
"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.
"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."
"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."
Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"
"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."
"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."
You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."
You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."
You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"
Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.
"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.
"You set me up!"
"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."
"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"
"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."
"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.
"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"
"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.
You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.
"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."
"You sound jealous."
"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."
"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."
"I do not!"
"Do too."
"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."
"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."
He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.
An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"
"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.
"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.
"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"
"It's embarrassing..."
"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"
"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"
"I won't I swear!"
"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."
He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.
You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."
Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."
"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."
"Liar."
You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.
"Yun stop it--"
"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.
"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--
Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.
He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.
Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"
"Yeah?"
"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"
A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"
"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."
Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.
"Like...like right now he does?"
You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."
Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.
In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.
"Is this okay?"
You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.
"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"
You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."
Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"
The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."
He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."
You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.
"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."
Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."
Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.
Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.
"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"
You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.
"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"
You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.
"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."
Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.
"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.
Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"
You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."
He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.
"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.
"I look forward to that."
"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."
Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.
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wysteria-bloom · 10 months ago
Text
⚝ "oh shit you're crying okay"
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Hazbin Hotel boys react to you crying at a party
Warnings : mentions of val. hate that motherfucker.
Genre : angst, comfort, fluff
A/n : bro I jump between fandom obsessions too much I need help. Why am I simping for THE DEVIL from THE BIBLE and A TV-HEAD MAN 😭😭 actually devastated with myself. Anyways Vox and Alastor's may be a bit longer because... yeah. Angel-Dust's is a friend relationship but you can interpret it differently if you are a dude lol
Characters : angel-dust, husk, alastor, vox, lucifer
▢ angel dust 𔘓
When he walked into the bathroom, he was shocked at first at the sight of you, feeling fear grip his heart.
Had Val got his hands on you when he was distracted? He would never forgive himself if he had-
"Toots, ya can't jus' go an' disappear on me like that," He began softly as he closed the bathroom door, locking it for privacy," had me tearin' out my hair."
You sniffed as you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks swollen from tears," s-sorry..." you whimpered out, curling in on yourself a little more.
He grimaced at the dirty floor you were sitting on before maneuvering around you sit next to you, one of his arms pulling you into his side-embrace comfortingly.
"This party's fuckin' shitty, ain't it? Sorry for bringin' ya here, doll." He sighed out, hand caressing your side softly.
You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from sobbing as you shook your head vehemently," i-it's not that, Angel... you were only trying to cheer me up..." you furiously wiped at your eyes to stop more tears from falling," I just-... Fucking hate everything down here..."
He hummed, head leaning on top of yours," cheers to that." He droned out with a frown.
You looked up at him, his heart squeezing at the innocent look on your face. You weren't supposed to be down in a place like this, there was no way.
"Can we just... go get ice cream or something?" You then gulped, waving a hand," b-but if you're having fun-"
"Nah. I'd rather do one of Charlie's trust exercises than be in this shit-hole." He stood up smoothly and pulled you with him, keeping you close to him as he grinned toothily," I would kill for an ice cream right now."
▢ alastor ⍋
He didn't willingly want to be here, in fact he stayed for a total of 15 minutes to please Charlie before escaping outside to leave.
But the sight of you sitting on the steps outside sniffling to yourself made him pause in his long strides.
You had your head hung low, a red plastic cup sitting at your side alone.
You were prime for manipulation.
But... Alastor found himself being sympathetic. He breathed out a sigh before walking over to you," my, what do we have here? My dear, being out in the open in such a vulnerable state is a bold choice!" He exclaimed, grinning down at you, but it wasn't as sharp as it usually was.
You jumped at his sudden presence," Jesus-!" You looked up.
"Not quite!"
You seemed to relax at the sight of the red-haired demon and sighed in relief," Alastor..." you gave him a weak smile, wiping away at your tears," Wh-what brings you out here, huh? Needed fresh air?"
He sat down on the steps with you," As a matter of fact, I was planning my great escape from this wretched event!" He tilted his head at you, hair falling along with him as he regarded you with a knowing glint in his eyes," I believe you're well acquainted with the feeling, hmm?"
Your smile fell as you huffed, deciding it was useless to keep up a happy persona around Alastor when he was so good at reading right through you," You could say that."
"What bothers you so, my dear?" He gave you a closed-eyed smile, tugging at your cheek like an annoying auntie would do," perhaps your favourite radio demon can be of service to you."
He earned a giggle from you as you waved his hand away amusedly, making his expression soften at the sound.
"You're the only radio demon I know." You raised a brow at him in amusement.
He nodded with an exageratted shrug," I wouldn't have it any other way, dear."
You smiled genuinely at him, feeling your worries already disappearing," parties suck." You answered his previous question.
"Aha!" His smile looked like a grimace and his fluffy ears flattened as if an unpleasant memory was reminded to him," agreed."
"They're gross."
"Tell me about it!"
"And the people in it make me want to kill myself. Again."
He snapped his fingers at you," I knew we had something in common! Well-said, cher, very well-said~!" He pressed a hand to his heart - as if he had one.
As you laughed, your tears dried up and you leaned back a little," as for you being of service?..." You trailed off, referring back to his earlier inquiry. A soft smile made its way to your lips," I think you've helped enough already, Al."
The red demon's posture seemed to stiffen but relax, his grin curving gently which was his way of softening it," Wonderful to hear, my dear."
He gave you a gentle pat to the shoulder and you had never felt so comforted in that moment.
▢ husk ꩜
Before even attending the party, he knew something was up with you. You weren't smiling as much on the way there, and you were jumpy at his comforting touches.
Even so, you insited that you wanted to spend time with everyone at the party despite his assurances that you could stay home.
When he found you crying in the bathroom, he froze in his spot before grumbling to himself and closing the door behind him, not before giving a growl and a deadly glare at the demon that was whining about needing a piss.
He led you gently from the ground to a standing position before settling you on the toilet seat.
The silence between you both was soft and comforting, hanging in the air like a gentle caress of wind.
He got down on his knees in front of you and began to wipe away at your tears, a deep frown settled on his face.
You only stared into his eyes with your glassy ones, bottom lip trembling," my makeup probably looks so fucking gross..." you sobbed.
Husk snorted," should be the least of your worries, doll." When you finally stopped crying he huffed and flicked your forehead," you have some serious FOMO." He grumbled out, an amused smirk on his fluffy face.
You sniffled and nodded, choking back more tears," I know."
"And you need to know when to stop if you're uncomfortable."
You nodded again," I know.."
His brows furrowed," and you still look pretty with your makeup running down your face." His reassurance was sweet and charming despite the disgruntled expression on his face.
A watery smile broke onto your lips,"... Thank you." You breathed out softly.
"Wanna get the fuck outta here? There's a nice bar I know a few blocks away we could drink at. Just the two of us."
You hummed," Sounds awesome."
▢ vox ᯤ
When he agreed to go to this stupid party for Val, he wasn't expecting to run into something like this.
His greatest enemy, you, was sat outside with your head in your hands as you sobbed and cursed to yourself.
To be honest he was torn between making fun of you or just taking advantage of the situation and killing you.
But there was that little voice in the back of his coding that screamed to comfort you.
He groaned and ran his hands down his face," fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life..." He muttered to himself as he walked over to you.
He stood behind you and watched as you paused to look up at him, face puffy and pathetic.
He grinned wryly at the sight," Holy shit you're an ugly crier." He stated without thinking.
Your wide eyes turned half-lidded as you turned your attention away from him," Go fuck yourself, Vox. I'm not in the mood for your whiny baby shit." You grumbled out.
"Hey, hey. Whiny baby is too far, sweetheart. Take the insults down a few notches, yeah?" He then sat down next to you," treating me like this when about to comfort you. The fuckin' nerve of you."
You gave him a deadly glare, growling," Vox, leave. I told you I'm not in the fucking m-" you were interrupted by being pulled into a sudden embrace, making you shut up immediately.
There was a long awkward silence as you were pulled into Vox's side in a side-hug.
Then you spoke with a small voice,"... what is this." Was more of a demand than a question.
"Comfort." Vox replied casually when he was fucking sweating buckets.
"........ huh...." you bit your lip as you felt tears sting at your eyes,"... alright."
You leaned into him unknowingly, making him gush a little to himself. Why the fuck was he being soft right now? He didn't know.
"You looked hot tonight. All dolled up." He gritted out.
"Yeah? Looked? Past-tense?"
He nodded," you look like a wet-rag now."
You snorted," fuck you, man." You grumbled, and leaned your head onto his shoulder," fuck, I'm pathetic..."
"Yeah. But it's okay." He replied as comfortingly as he could but it just came out awkwardly," y'know parties are supposed to be fun? Why are you crying?"
"I hate my life? Or lack thereof?"
He hummed with a nod," Fair enough." Then he smiled widely," guess we have one thing in common, huh?"
You looked up at him before you sent him a slightly amused smirk," do we?"
He cleared his throat at your expression and looked away quickly, blush on his screen,"I-I mean.. yeah. Fucking sucks down here. Literal shit hole." Then he shrugged, trying to brush off the stutter of his heart," but... but at least you're not like... alone or whatever the fuck."
You stared for a moment, eyes softening as you nodded in agreement,"... Yeah. At least there's that, huh?"
You leaned back into his embrace with less tension in your body as Vox began to relax alongside you.
▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝
He came to this party just to make a brief appearance for his daughter's celebration of the hotel being rebuilt to be honest.
But he took quick note of how you had left very suddenly, mumbling to him about needing to take a breather outside. He was worried, of course, but he just left you in your lonesome until he got worried when you didn't return for 20 minutes.
When he walked outside onto the balcony of the hotel his eyes widened in horror at the sigh of you sobbing to yourself.
"Oh shit you're crying okay ummm," He walked over to you quickly, playing with his fingers awkwardly," Honey is everything okay? Do...do you need a hug?"
"Shit... sorry..." you mumbled looking up at him ashamedly from the floor, smiling pathetically as tears trailed down your cheeks," I.. I'm sorry you have to see me like this..."
He frowned deeply, his nervousness subsiding as he crouched down in front of you," Don't apologise for something so silly." He mumbled, grabbing on your hand and gently squeezing," what's wrong? Is it something I can help with?"
His concern was incredibly sweet and touching, not something you would expect from the King of Hell.
But here he was comforting you like you were the most precious treasure to him. And you were... aside from Charlie, for obvious reasons.
You sniffled and felt your tears gathering again at his concern, you bottom lip trembling. At the sight, he frowned," Oh, love... oh honey..." He brought you into a hug, arms wrapping securely around you as he let his wings embrace you as well," I'm here now... always will be..."
You nodded against him as you just cried your heart out.
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okwonyo · 28 days ago
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NERVOUS, 或 𓈒𓈒 making them loose it.
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SUCC𝑖NCT───────⠀❛ 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𓈒 ❜
( R𝑒QUESTED ) 𓈒 ⠀𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 7OO fluff ── non idol au skinship ⠀ 。。 ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )
지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀dedicated to @jaexiyu my girlfriend 🎀
( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )
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HEESEUNG&princess treatment : the simple action of your hand reaching his cheek, then cupping his jaw in your palm ever gently before, under his hypnotised gaze, running the finger tip of your thumb on the corner of his lips— sends him into a spiral. the tip of his nose gets red and he is unable to say anything, and before he can even do, the raise of your praise stops him in his tracks. warm creeps all over his body when you pat his cheeks lovingly and says, “good boy.”
“oh my god,” he chokes.
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JONGSEONG&public display of affection : listen, if there is one thing about your boyfriend is that he loves to touch you. whenever he can, wherever he can. he has a thing for doing it under the public eye— sliding his strong hand on the back of your lower back, to show everyone you are his. when you do it, it is different. you showing him off makes his heart crave you even more. your thumb rubbing his nape, here in front of all your friends, makes a shiver run down all the way to his spine. 
the world already faded away, “it tickles,” he tells you. 
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JAEYUN&tucking his hair behind his ear : he has never planned on keeping his long hair for longer than a month. usually, when he finally had the time to book an appointment at the hairdresser, he would cut it again. his hair habits completely changed when you did that for the first time. he admits that his hair was a mess at that time, but he was too busy talking to you to even notice. when your finger tucked a stray harstrand behind his ear, like in the movie, the air inside of his lungs evaporated. he couldn’t even do anything, and you adding ‘keep on going, baby’ didn’t help much.
“o-okay,” he stuttered out.
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SUNGHOON&eye contacts : the hottest part about this, he thinks, is that you have no idea of the true power you have on him. he doesn’t think you even realize what is the reason he stutters or stops breathing when you talk. even during the times whereupon you watch him from afar, he stops completely in his tracks— as if you have mind control—you don’t understand. it’s your eyes, he whines all the time to his friends about. your godforsaken eyes boring in his, alluring him like a siren in the ocean, closing his mouth. 
“i—you—we,” he malfunctions, his stomach aches from all the butterflies in it.
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SUNOO&pet names : he remembers, there was a time where he would find any sort of petnames given by romantic partners beyond embarrassing. he was never the type to call any one by those and disliked the idea of someone using one on him. he realized later on that it wasn’t disgust but sheer nervousness. because, yes, he admits that he has a weakness that would fall on his knees for you if you dare to call him ‘babe’ one more time. he especially loves when you say it in a whine— when you groan his petnames.
he hides his face in the crook of your neck before giggling, “what?”
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JUNGWON&flirting back : as the annoying and teasing boyfriend that he is, making you so flustered that your face burns and that you trip over the words you are trying to get out of your mouth, is his first mission. and he succeeds most of the time, a quick “don’t hesitate to call me if you need a hand taking that off,” while looking down at your dress. but when you retort with an “don’t start something you can’t finish, handsome,” as you slightly quirk your brow— it’s different. 
“bet?” he says after five minutes of silence, but you are already doing something else. 
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RIKI&compliments : never in his life he has found praise and compliments embarrassing to get. in the contrary, he loved them a lot. although it is not embarrassing when it comes from you, it’s totally different— and he can’t really pinpoint why. it is just that you have always been something else, you have always known the exact way to make his emo boy act melt in one single word. his heart completely bursts when you cup his face and coo, “isn’t he so cute?”
he holds your wrist, not to get your hands away, however. he chuckles like an highscool girl amd trailing the word, “stop,”
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ㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open
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emphistic · 27 days ago
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𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 ♱
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. preacher’s daughter x atheist trope, historical AU - 1930s, conflict of religion, childhood friends to lovers, making out in the back of an empty church, forbidden love, eventual smut [MDNI], fem!Reader, lovesick!Sukuna, outdoor sêx, loss of vírginity, fíngering, overstímulatiön, örgasm denial, degrâdation kink, choking kink
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 15.4k
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. hated every second of writing this. but, whatever, another historical au has been written ☑ anywho, here it is, and here you are, angel @antizenin // read on ao3, dividers by @/saradika
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“She looked like a religious icon, like somebody you’d sacrifice yourself for.”
You remember the day you met him like yesterday—well, how could you not? He stood out like a sinner in a church full of preachers. 
The first time you saw him was at a funeral, but, don’t start feeling bad, the funeral was for some old lady living down the street whom you hardly knew. He sat in the farthest pew to the left in the front corner, and, with his height, you could’ve mistaken him for someone who had already reached puberty, but, nay, he was only a year your senior.
Even with the canorous singing of the choir in the background, and the words of your father droning on in the distance, the only thing you could seemingly focus on was the color pink. His hair, the boy’s hair—it was pink!
You had noticed the boy’s unnatural hair color while you were walking down the aisle for the Eucharist, and you happened to catch notice of him from your peripheral vision. Now, if you were just a little bit less behaved, you would’ve made a dash for it right then and there, and went over to inspect the boy’s hair, but no, your father had taught you better than most children your age, and you waited until the end of Service before you made an attempt at befriending the boy.
Mass had dragged on for what felt like longer than usual, and you hoped, with great enthusiasm, that if you waited outside the doors of the church for the boy to appear, you would only be subjected to waiting for five minutes. But boy, oh boy, were you wrong.
You were the first one to exit the church, and as attendees walked out after you, you had no choice but to stand awkwardly to the side, with your back leaning against the doors, and your hands interlocked behind your back, as you bid them all farewell. It was . . . unpleasant, and rather boring, if you did say so yourself, but it wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve spent nearly half an hour doing that afternoon. After all, you were sort of a celebrity in the small town of Bromwell.
Your mother was a well-known, and viable midwife, while, on the other hand, your father—he was. . . Your father was the preacher of the only church in Bromwell. The town was small in size, but not in population, no. Most of the populace consisted of devout Christians, but the religion had begun to lose followers when there weren’t any places of worship for a myriad of leagues. Your father took it upon himself to establish a church, and from then until now—well, you get the picture.
Of present time—in the year 1933 anno Domini, and of the small town you know as Bromwell, there wasn’t much diversity between your neighbors. Bromwell was bland, boring; everyone’s the same, everything’s the same. As a matter of fact, since birth, everyone, including you, was taught the one true principle; “Live by God, and by God, you shall live.” It was short, it was concise, and you knew, or, well, you believed it to be the truth of the world.
If Bromwell was bigger, and as populated as a city, there would, perhaps, be a billboard near the sheriff’s building, with the motto of the town written on it in a big, bold font.
Anyway, by now, you must certainly get the picture, right?
Bromwell, Alabama. Far from any life other than the ones living in it. Dusty roads, humid summers, and dry winters. Not a pleasant place to live in, especially in times such as the Dust Bowl. It made waiting outside of the church a great pain. For seemingly four hours you stood outside—so many people exited in the duration, that, you even got to see your father as he left, but when he invited you to come on home with him, you coughed up some lame excuse, and he, after tipping his hat, walked off with your mother by his side.
Sighing, and clearly exhausted from standing around for so long, you were just about to call after your father, and take him up on his invitation, when, as if by the mercy of God, you heard a voice behind you, and the sound of doors slamming shut right afterwards.
“What the hell is a girl like you still doing here? Service ended a while ago, or, do people here just not know how to tell the time?”
Okay, that . . . that is not how you expected the pink-haired boy to sound. As you turned around to meet his eyes, your heart dropped to your feet. What the?—He was even taller in person! But, fortunately, his hair was the same as when you first saw him. Pink and rosy and uncombed. His eyes were unnatural, too, a mix, or some other sort, of a reddish brown color.
He walked outside alone, no guardian or parent in sight, no older sibling or relative. He was dressed rather nicely—not like a wealthy gentleman, but, rather, like he was living well-off—but, either way, it was nothing like the usual apparel of most residents here in Bromwell. You concluded that he was, without a doubt, not from here (which would also explain why this was your first meeting with him, you noted).
“Why would you say that?” you whisper-shouted, after looking around your surroundings in case anyone heard.
“Say what?”
“The H word. We’re right outside of a church, dummy; aren’t you afraid of God smiting you where you stand?”
“We’re outside, not inside; God won’t persecute me.”
You rolled your eyes. “God won’t persecute you, but I sure will. My papa built this church for all of Bromwell, y’know.”
“You call this a church? Looks like a shack to me.”
“Hey! There’s not much to work with here in the country. He worked hard to gather supplies and planks and all of that.”
“Pfft—Yeah, right. All of that junk, you mean.”
“What—What the hell is your problem, you . . . you jerk?”
“I thought you said not to say that word, squirt.”
You bit your tongue. “Why don’t you just shut up.”
“‘m not the type to take orders from little girls like you,” he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest, “but okay.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Say something, dimwit,” you began, caving in. “You’re boring me.”
“I didn’t know I was your personal jester.”
You stuttered for words.
Questioning whether that was your first time hearing sarcasm, the boy laughed at your hesitance. It was almost sinister-sounding. “You’re kinda funny for a squirt, you know; I like that, you’re not like all the other wimps I’ve met so far. Hey, how about you be an upstanding citizen of Bromwell for once and ask me for my name or something? Do country folk not have manners?”
Still stuttering, you gave him your name, and offered a hand to shake, but it was declined.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not touching that hand,” was the boy’s curt reply, after he introduced himself as Sukuna. “Not ever.”
“Why not?”
“Do I have to explain everything to you?” he scoffed, leaning down to your level, and getting all up in your face. “Your grimy little hand will give me cooties.”
The eight-year-old-you had never heard that word one day of your life, and a confused expression soon made its way onto your face.
Sukuna audibly facepalmed, and groaned into his hand. “C’mon, don’t tell me I have to explain what cooties are, too.”
That was it.
That was how you befriended Sukuna, though, he only accepted begrudgingly. It was more like an agreed companionship than friendship, honestly. Sukuna taught you more than any other mediocre teacher could have, and was, at least in the beginning, like the brother you had never had.
Sukuna was from the city, and, with his highly contrasting experiences and different walk of life, he had seen more and heard more than you (A/N: no offense to my country folk readers lmao). Sukuna explained slang—that was a big part of what he did as a sort of “mentor” to you. He also talked about the different types of weather he got, the views he saw from various points, the feeling of man-made pools and entertainment from television.
“TVs are for the rich,” Sukuna explained one time; “but my grandfather used to work under this nice man who occasionally let me sit in his living room and watch basically whatever I wanted, while he and my grandfather talked or something.”
“What did you watch?” you asked.
“. . .None of your business,” he said, blushing, “nothing that you should be watching, anyway.”
“‘Kuna, I don’t know if schooling is much different in the city than in the country, but we’re only a year apart.”
“A year is a big difference in knowledge.”
Sukuna wasn’t a particularly nice boy to you, but he was the closest you ever got to having a real friend, so you learned to take his jokes and banter with a grain of salt.
At school, you were a pretty sociable person, but your friends . . . well, weren’t really friends. They liked sitting with you during Service because it ensured them the best spots in the best pews, but that was it. They never ate lunch with you, never played with you during recess, and talked to you as if you were a mere stranger to them. They didn’t even think of you as a friend, honestly.
But Sukuna . . . Sukuna did.
While he may never have played silly games with you at lunch-recess, because he explained he was “too old to act like a silly, little child,” he still sat down on the innumerable blades of grass or dusty patches of dirt with you, and just . . . talked. You two talked a whole lot.
Sometimes, Sukuna would lie on his back, with shade from the tree above your figures granting him freedom, and he would toss an apple to and fro. The first time he did it, you were beyond confused, and brushed it off as “city-people behavior.” But, when he gave the apple to you after recess ended, and said, “Tossing it back and forth makes it taste sweeter,” that’s when you realized he was probably going to be your best friend for life.
Most people preferred to steer clear from you; they deemed you a goody two-shoes because of your father’s occupation as a preacher of faith, and didn’t bother listening to words that you actually said, but, rather, judged you merely on what was proclaimed by your father on Sundays. It was a common idea among your peers that you were some prim and proper “teacher’s pet,” or, well, in your case: “preacher’s pet.”
“What makes them think that?” asked Sukuna, one afternoon.
The two of you were outside at recess, squatting near a small pond; Sukuna was teaching you how to catch frogs—a hobby he had picked up the last summer he spent in the city, and also a hobby he hoped he could turn into a tradition with you.
“I . . . don’t know. I’ve spent almost half of my life with them as my classmates and neighbors, and I still don’t know,” you frowned, struggling to get a hold on a particularly slippery frog. “Do you . . . think I did something wrong?”
Sukuna chose not to respond, his eyebrows knitting together, creating an unreadable, conflicted expression on his face, as his grip around the neck of an innocent frog tightened to an extreme extent.
The silence dragged on for several minutes, only the croaking sounds of the frogs interrupting the calm, and your occasional grumbles of frustration at failure to capture said frogs.
Finally, shaking his head, as if escaping a trance, Sukuna didn’t say anything more as he finally released his unforgiving grip on the frog in his grasp, and threw it into your hands, to which you caught the amphibian with an elated squeal.
This marked the day everything changed.
During school, out on the playground, while walking on the dusty roads, even during Service—Sukuna had silently sworn to God that if anything or anyone were to hurt you ever again, he would be there. 
He didn’t like to say it, and you knew that, but you had gradually learned over time that Sukuna wasn’t used to people being there for him, but maybe, just maybe, thought Sukuna, if he were there for you, you wouldn’t end up going down the same path as him.
And when Sukuna had his mind on something, he wouldn’t yield for anyone. But, worry not, Sukuna couldn’t care less about the black eyes he got from beating up kids who talked down on you. He knew you would never let him do it if he told you his plans beforehand, and he wasn’t exactly keen on having you see him do that, either, so he never got into too much trouble when you were by.
Sukuna saw his reflection in your eyes that day you told him the other kids didn’t like you much, and he had never wanted anything more than to get rid of the Fifth Commandment.
There were, however, other alternatives to violence (A/N: shocking, right?), and Sukuna took up the habit of hanging out with you more often. Well, actually, “habit” doesn’t quite cut it; at first, it was like a hobby—a sort of pastime to get his mind off of homicidal activities, then it was like something built into his everyday schedule, and then . . . and then it was life.
Throughout his nine years of living, Sukuna had never enjoyed many sports, movies, or books, but everything seemed to change when you came into the picture. You—a rowdy, willful, and unexpectedly and unintentionally funny little girl, whose father was the town of Bromwell’s preacher. You wanted to be his friend? You wanted to sit next to him during school? No; no, that couldn’t be, thought Sukuna, every time he laid awake at night.
But, with beginning friendships, always comes the “getting to know each other” stage, and that was perhaps the most enjoyable two weeks Sukuna had ever spent with someone other than just himself or with his grandfather.
“Do you have a favorite color?” you asked, one day. 
The two of you were walking home from school together (another tradition you two created), and Sukuna would’ve answered, had you not cut him off immediately before he had any opportunity to.
“Wait, no, let me guess.” You paused your walking, put a hand on your hip, and rubbed your chin in thought. “Hmm, I would guess pink, but it’s literally the color you see every time you look in the mirror, and, if I were you, I would grow sick and tired of it.”
Sukuna shook his head in laughter, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You read into things too much.”
“Psychological tactic to get me farther from the right answer? Yeah, I think so.”
“Proved my point exactly, squirt.” Sukuna looked at you with a gaze neither you nor even Sukuna could comprehend as eight and nine year olds. There was a weird beating in his chest when he realized you were already looking at him, and he laughed again to mask his fragility.
You disregarded his words, and continued on. “Red? No. . . Blue—actually, purple? Wait, is it. . . Green! Yes, it has to be. It’s green, isn’t it?”
With all the hope you had in your body, you had greatly hoped that you were correct, but by the time you had guessed the color purple, Sukuna had already forgotten what his favorite color was, and what he said next was not his proudest moment now that he looked back at it as a man.
“Do you . . . like green?” he asked, redirecting the question to you. His eyes darted from corner to corner, avoiding eye contact as he tried to give off a nonchalant demeanor.
“Why wouldn’t I? I like all colors, y’know—maybe it’s just me, but I feel like if I liked one color too much, the others would get sad, and that’s why . . . that’s why. . .” You faltered, before beginning anew. “Anyway, yeah, I like green, but only when pickles aren’t a part of the equation. And, they’re not a part of the equation, . . right? You can promise me that much.”
Oh, but Sukuna could promise you much more. So much more.
“Sure. Yeah, no pickles.”
You looked at Sukuna with a reassured look after his declaration, and then, before you began walking again, you looked at him with a different look. A weird look—as if his presence disturbed you.
“Are you going to answer my question?” you asked, raising a brow.
“I just did.”
“No, silly, the other one. Is it green? Is your favorite color green?”
“I like green, yeah.”
That was how it went with Sukuna. No straight answers. Never, nada.
Even while you two ate lunch together side by side, while you two reenacted and geeked out over your favorite book scenes and movie scenes, while you two played a game of taking turns to crawl into a tire and have the other push them down the dusty, dusty roads—It was a racing game, (only occasionally, actually,) where you two would compete on who would make it to the designated end of the track first. You and Sukuna had neither the time, nor the care, honestly, to make authentic prizes, so the winner usually just had bragging rights for the rest of the day (or until the winner’s streak was broken).
You laugh about it now that you’re older, but you vaguely remember how, one time, you had rolled your ankle while going down a hill in a tire, and Sukuna had looked at you with an expression so full of sympathy and guilt that you actually couldn’t recognize him at first. It was nothing like Sukuna, and he even offered to let you punch him in the face as a strange form of compensation. But you laughed, simply choosing to walk it off.
Of course, like the stubborn mule he was, Sukuna didn’t let it end there, and he wouldn’t stop harassing you and forcing you to punch him until you finally put a hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eye, saying, with as much humor as an eight year old could muster, “If you are so sorry, you can go and confess the sin you committed today: hurting a girl.”
With this, you hadn’t originally intended for Sukuna to go to Confession; you were merely joking, using sarcasm, as Sukuna had called it before, or so you remembered. But Sukuna, having not realized this, looked at you with great surprise, and almost reeled backwards, tripping over his untied shoelaces.
“You want me to . . . confess?” Although Sukuna tried to appear composed as he repeated your suggestion, you could clearly tell he was either horrified or extremely uneasy. His eyebrows knitted together, and he stared at you as if you were asking him to throw himself off a bridge.
“Well, yeah,” you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world; you wanted to keep the joke going as long as possible, for you thought Sukuna would be somewhat proud of you for finally having tricked him at something, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized he had been bested. “Confess—I want you to confess.”
“Is that . . . absolutely, totally, really necessary?”
You grinned. “It’s absolutely, totally, really necessary for me to find out what ridiculous act of penance my dad will give you.”
When Sukuna realized you were joking the entire time, he audibly let out a breath of relief, and tried to casually laugh it off afterwards in order to cover up his clearly worried expression from before. But, Sukuna didn’t high-five you for succeeding in playing him, he didn’t laugh at your cleverness and how long you lasted character, he didn’t acknowledge anything regarding your prank, for that matter, at all.
Maybe you didn’t notice it at first due to how young you were at that time. But nowadays, you don’t joke about anything like that. Though, you did have many opportunities soon after that incident.
It wasn’t the last time Sukuna behaved strangely under the topic of a church-related subject, and it wasn’t the last time you mentioned a church-related subject either.
Children, the age of eight years, are usually at the stage of receiving their First Communion, or, at least, that was the way it went here in Bromwell. You had received the Eucharist a few weeks before you met Sukuna, so there was no need for you both to converse about it. Sukuna, on the other hand, was a twelvemonth older than you, and was expected to have already received his First Communion before moving to Bromwell.
He said it was the truth, you heard it was the truth, but you had never seen this supposed “truth.”
It wasn’t like you watched and observed your friends as they went up for the body of Christ, and made note of who was sat the whole time, but . . . you and Sukuna weren’t just friends—you two were best friends, and you thought, or, at least, you heard from Sukuna, that it was normal for best friends to be able to notice when their best friends were ill, or feeling down, or acting unlike themselves.
So, was it really strange for you to realize that Sukuna never actually received the body of Christ? 
In some instances, he was stuck in the bathroom during the time, sometimes he was tying his shoelaces (but it would be an awfully long time spent tying one’s shoelaces), and sometimes, he was just nowhere to be found—even if you nearly cracked your neck turning around the whole church to find him. It was almost like he was a ghost, who disappeared and vanished.
A malevolent phantom, even.
But, the Eucharist wasn’t the only thing. Sukuna rarely said prayers aloud. He mumbled them, actually, and most of the time, you couldn’t even tell if he was mumbling or not. Sukuna always had his head down, and his eyes casted to the floor during prayer. There were rare occasions, though, where he would be looking up, but that was only if he was standing outside. Never inside, no.
In all honesty, this was quite the strange observation to make. Noticing your friend rarely prays aloud? Realizing his absence when others go to receive the Body and Blood?
At first, you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, didn’t want to bring it up, even, but . . . at eight years old, you were so new to the world, and the world was so new to you. And, you just couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you on one Wednesday afternoon.
School was out, you and Sukuna were outside and drawing in the dirt with sticks in his front lawn, and the sun was shining on your face, drying and hardening the bits of mud on your cheeks, hands, and elbows. There was a warmness about you, and a radiant gleam in your eyes—it scared the living daylights out of Sukuna, and he rarely held eye contact for longer than needed. The boy had been much more cautious around you lately, and you didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Sukuna,” you whispered, to further get his attention as you simultaneously poked at him with a nearby stick. “Sukuna.”
He grunted, as if to give a sign that he heard you. (Or, maybe, he just wanted you to stop poking him.)
“Sukuna, I think you’re really weird.”
“. . .”
“Okay,” you paused, raising your hands in defense, “I’m sure that’s not surprising, since, like, everyone thinks you’re weird,” you laughed; “but I just wanted to point it out, because I noticed . . . something.”
“Okay. . ?” Sukuna raised a brow, never once pausing in his artwork—he was drawing a peacock, an animal you had never seen while living in Bromwell, and an animal he had apparently seen on television once, in the city. He briefly mentioned it earlier, and, due to your pestering and questioning regarding the animal, also wanted to show you what it looked like.
You took in a deep breath, and spat out what you supposedly noticed, and needed to say. “You never come up for Communion.”
Sukuna stopped like a deer caught in headlights (a phrase that Sukuna taught you; at school, it was labeled a figurative expression: a simile), and looked—not at you—but at his hands. He looked at his dirty, scarred hands, wiith an emotion on his face that you could not recognize.
“. . .”
You took his silence as a sign to continue, or, well, you interpreted it as one, but it might’ve just been your talkative nature speaking. 
“Why is that? Have you not received your First Communion? I won’t tell anyone, swear.” You held out your pinky in the possibility that he would make you solemnly swear. “Won’t even make fun of you.”
But Sukuna didn’t take your pinky, didn’t even glance at it. He only spoke after a long moment’s pause, when he realized there was no escape. “It’s . . . not that. I received it—my First Communion. Got it when I was your age, actually. But, ah, you probably guessed that already.”
“So, why don’t you receive Communion anymore?”
“Geez, squirt, you sure ask a lot.” Sukuna laughed, and scratched the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding a stick.
You grinned, the heaviness in your chest seeming to alleviate. “I can’t help it, I’m a curious person, you know—”
Sukuna cut you off as he moved closer to the spot where you currently sat on the dirt. He began to work, scratching and scraping at a new drawing. Only this time, it wasn’t a male peafowl. Wasn’t even a bird or an animal. It was a woman. Sukuna responded to your still unanswered question by drawing a woman.
Now, you knew Sukuna was an artist, but this was just. . .
“Sukuna, she’s. . . She’s beautiful. But, who is she?” you asked. “Is she someone you know? An old crush from the city?”
Sukuna almost laughed. “That would . . . be incestuous.”
You scrunched your nose, your face wrinkling in the process. “What does that word mean?”
“Just . . . shut up, okay? For a few minutes at least.”
You nodded, with some reluctance.
“My mother—this is my mother,” Sukuna began, when he was done with the drawing. “When I was just around your age, fresh out of the first grade, and living a pretty . . . decent childhood in the city, my mother. . . She was,” he hesitated, “diagnosed with a cancer I don’t even want to waste my breath naming. It doesn’t deserve to be recognized for mortality.” He scoffed, continuing.
“My father was never present in my life, and I had neither a brother nor a sister. My mother worked a total of three jobs to feed us both and take care of my grandfather. Do you know what that’s like? No; no, you don’t. But that’s of no importance, really.
“I don’t know much about my father. My mother never liked speaking about him, and Grandpa only ever mentioned his name if he wanted to berate my mother for choosing such a man. Nevertheless, I still wished he would’ve been there when my mother fell ill. I tried calling him—multiple times, actually, but it only ever went to voicemail, and I never had the courage to speak into the void. I was afraid. Shy. I didn’t think there was anyone who would listen.”
You noticed his sudden pause, the dimness of his eyes, and you wanted to at least lighten the subject. “But, there was someone—who could’ve listened.”
Sukuna finally looked at you. “God? Is that who you’re referring to? You mean to tell me God could’ve listened? You are just,” he sucked in a breath, “so hilarious. God could’ve listened? Well, guess what, kid, he didn’t. Could’ve, but didn’t.
“I prayed three times a day, and more times than I could count on both hands in the evening, in the night, while I laid in bed, while I dreamed up a fantasy where stupid, stupid illnesses didn’t exist. I prayed like a madman. Do you hear that? A madman. Probably made it to God’s list of ‘Most Devout Followers,’ too, with the amount of Amens I muttered each week.
“So many prayers. So many prayers. But did that stop cancer? Did that prevent her passing? Did that aid in her recovery? God—fucking—damnit, do you realize? it didn’t. She’s gone. Six feet under. Flowers bloom from her grave, and yet no one’s there to water them.”
You didn’t have the resolve to point out a nine year old just cursed in front of you. You didn’t notice, anyway. “Sukuna—”
“Are you going to tell me it was God’s will? Are you going to tell me God loves me all the same? Even though He took my mother away? The woman who gave me life? Breath? No. Maybe God loves me, but He doesn’t know how to love me. Doesn’t know how I want to be loved. Loves me in a way I don’t understand. . . God loves me, so I’ve been told; but I want Him to stop.”
Sukuna doesn’t know how much you cried that night.
The both of you parted soon after he told you about his life before Bromwell; the silence became overwhelming, no more drawings were engraved onto the dirt, and the sticks were left scattered on the ground. There, really, was no other choice.
You went home that evening, and asked your father about God. About religion. About death. You wondered why people were left to die, why there was suffering and oppression in the world. Was it truly all in God’s will? If He created everyone in His image, did He create everyone to die, too? Why were we to perish? to finish? to end? You thought He loved you—wanted the best for you.
And, from what you understood, Sukuna thought that, too. Or, well, he used to. Sukuna used to be just like you. Prayed every day and every night, went to Service on Sundays, and came up for Communion like any other devotee. But, that was when he believed, that was when he had faith; that was when he had reason to have faith. That was then, and now is now. Sukuna gave up on his religion, and his religion abandoned him. His move from the city to the country was based on convenience, but what is convenience in a world based on faith? Belief in the invisible?
Your father didn’t have much to say, and to answer you with. He honestly wasn’t expecting to have this conversation with you so soon, and at such a young age. But, what did he have to say, made you even more lost. Just as lost, as someone you believed you knew.
The proclamation of Genesis 3:19: “By the sweat of your face you will eat bread, till you return to the ground, because from it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Death was an interesting topic for you, from that moment until now. Since your birth you had been taught the one true principle: “Live by God, and by God, you shall live.” But, after Sukuna opened your eyes a little further, and introduced death in a way you hadn’t acknowledged before, you didn’t know if there was one true principle at all. How were you to live by the words of a god you could neither see nor hear nor feel, and how was that very god going to grant you the will to live, if you were to perish in the end?
You had never once doubted the existence of God. You had been born into your religion, and you didn’t question whether you would have your funeral in a church or not. But . . . as you look at your rosary while you kneel at the side of your bed before you sleep, hanging your head in prayer and whispering words of invocation, you cannot help but remember his face. His face while he talked about his mother. His face while he talked about his father. His face while he talked about his grandfather.
Did you look like that when you spoke to God? Did you carry a burden so heavy, so you could lift it up to your Creator—in the end? The one who would rid you of your sorrows, your griefs, your troubles? But, how was that to be done? When the Creator gave you those in the beginning?
You knew how.
Death.
But, was that really the end?
There was always Heaven, as well. The place where you shall reside once you meet your finish. The place where you shall live with your god, in eternal life. But, could it be, that you would see—see others that had gone and passed, just like you. . ? Would you see his mother? Would you see him? Would you see those eyes? Those eyes that held such emotion one could not possibly comprehend?
Children don’t understand much, Sukuna was right. A year was a large difference in knowledge. But, you could only hope that Sukuna didn’t know how much you cried that night. For him, for his mother, for his grief, for everyone who had lost a life—whether it was theirs and their own, or it was a loved one’s.
You didn’t have a conclusion or a thesis; you didn’t have a hypothesis in the first place. But, from this night on to the next, you soon began to think, that when the stars eventually burned, when the world flipped on its side, when the seas came out dry, maybe then—maybe then you would know, instead of believe, maybe then you would know, that there really was a god out there . . . a god who hated you.
For, you remember his face from that evening like it was yesterday, and you feared you would never forget—more or less, you feared the eventual day that face would soon be your own.
***
You didn’t utter a single question regarding any aspects or traditions or customs of religion for the next decade. You didn’t mention Christmas, didn’t talk about prayer, didn’t bring up the Gospel. And you rarely, if ever, spoke about your father to Sukuna. This was, however, all within your will; you chose to respect Sukuna’s wellbeing, and you decided to remain as neutral as ever when you two were together.
The first time you saw Sukuna, after the week where he confessed his past to you, was awkward. The room you two were in was stuffy, and humid, and you felt as if you couldn’t speak. Words didn’t leave your throat, and Sukuna’s eyes never met yours. He sat as far away from you as possible, and you wondered if he hated you, but then you wondered how that could ever be. You never spoke ill of Sukuna, especially not to his face, and you never did anything he was uncomfortable with or detested.
The only thing Sukuna held against you was your father, a preacher. A preacher of the very religion Sukuna swore he could never take up again.
It wasn’t your fault he converted, so why was he avoiding you? Why was he punishing you?
When you were eight years old, you feared no one but God. And that showed, because, when you stalked up to Sukuna—wearing old, scruffed overalls and muddy boots—you didn’t cower before him, didn’t get on your knees and ask him to be your friend again. Instead, you did what no one else ever did or dreamed of: you slapped him.
“What is your problem?” you asked, watching as Sukuna barely flinched from the assault.
“My problem?” he laughed. “You’re the one who slapped me.”
Honestly, Sukuna would have never spoken to you again after his confession, had you not approached him first. He didn’t know whether you befriended him solely for him, or for any sayings from the Bible. But, it was nice: knowing that you were his friend despite conflict of religion. He had been avoiding you lest you bring up the topic of “Atheism, Sukuna, and God” up to your father. For, well, Sukuna wasn’t exactly keen on that man knowing any of his business, and obtaining the knowledge from his daughter, no less, who asked everything from an innocent heart.
On the other hand, needless to say, you were glad Sukuna wasn’t the least bit affected by the happenings of last week. Maybe he frowned and sighed when speaking about his deceased mother, but that didn’t last, or, well, it didn’t seem like it. Sukuna—the Sukuna you knew—was back. And he was as cunning, witty, and snarky, as ever. Perhaps his confession brought the two of you closer.
Sukuna was never afraid of bringing up anything to you again (not like he ever was, he just didn’t feel the need), and you—the same. But, if there ever was a case, you two had mutually and unanimously created a tradition of engraving your confessions in the dirt: drawing with sticks what you could never even dare to whisper. Your bond was stronger than ever, and, as the years passed by, the two of you soon grew inseparable.
So inseparable, in fact, that . . . by the age of thirteen, you had even developed a little, silly crush on the pink-haired boy. Well, actually, back then, he was a boy, but that was then, and now is now. Sukuna wasn’t a little boy anymore, and you weren’t just a little girl anymore. The two of you were a little grown, a bit older: teenagers—thirteen and fourteen. You didn’t know exactly when it first began, but, when you started laughing at jokes that Sukuna said (even when they weren’t funny) just because he said them, and when you started to toss around all your apples as if it were a reflex, and when you started to become a little less independent, that’s when you knew.
You were the eldest daughter to the town’s preacher. Your parents weren’t often home, and you learned, in the process, to fend for yourself most of the time. You were cheeky, said jokes that sometimes cut too deep, and were used to doing things yourself. But, when Sukuna came into the story, most things changed. You were both the eldest childs, and you were both the only childs. What’s worse, was how stubborn you both were—Little Miss “I Can Do It Myself” and Mister “Sit Down.”
Sukuna taught you to relax, while also simultaneously kicking things up a notch. Yeah, he was clearly a bad example, but he was also a great best friend. He let you rely on him more than you relied on anyone during the whole span of your life, and you two were often named as partners in crime. Devious, mischievous, and troublesome. You kept Sukuna on his toes, and didn’t leave him up to too much bad, while he, on the other hand, let you experience letting go of expectations and rules.
From the second grade all the way to the ninth, you and Sukuna developed countless inside jokes, party tricks, stories, and so much more.
Sukuna climbed through your window when you weren’t allowed to leave the house, and stayed and talked with you until you were. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars, he laughed with you like you changed the course of speed and time, and he talked about you to his grandfather like you were the love of his life—and you were! A year was a big difference in knowledge, but, funny enough, neither of you knew how much hanging out with each other would change things.
The fifth grade was when the two of you first held hands. 
Sukuna had told you a story about how he supposedly heard a coyote in the middle of the night, and when you called him a chicken for not going outside to check, he forced the both of you to sneak out, late at night, to face the alleged coyotes. You two were both young, and the atmosphere was already eerie enough that, when you heard even the faintest sound of wind snapping and a rocking chair rocking, you subconsciously took Sukuna by the hand and made a dash for it.
(Neither of you speak about that night—and whether that’s out of embarrassment for being scared of a coyote, or embarrassment of holding hands, no one knows.)
The eighth grade was when the two of you had your first date. 
And, yes, I know, thirteen year olds are a bit young for that thing, but your and Sukuna’s date wasn’t exactly planned, per se. You were trying to make an excuse in order to get out of watching your mother help one of her patients give birth (which is a very gruesome sight, according to Sukuna), and Sukuna, who was standing beside you whilst you argued with your mother, decided to silently interrupt you and take his leave. But you, perhaps out of spite, grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back in the house, and told your mother that you two were both just leaving, and that watching a birthing process was not part of the schedule.
The two of you awkwardly, and with a significant amount of tension in the air, took each other by the arm and walked to . . . absolutely nowhere. You two walked out of the house sweating, because your mother was watching you like a hawk from the window, and you just followed wherever Sukuna walked, but then, you realized that, Sukuna was just following wherever you were walking. So the two of you walked in circles for approximately half of an hour, before you both decided to take a detour towards a nearby river, and splash around.
(You came home with soaking wet clothes that day, and your mother immediately exclaimed, with the assumption that you and Sukuna were not just swimming, “I knew I should have shown you the horrors of pregnancy,” which left you scarred—for life, possibly, because you never got a chance to explain yourself.)
The eleventh grade was when the two of you kissed for the first time.
The calendar marked the day of Christmas, and the town of Bromwell was as festive as it could get. Your neighbors hung up tinsel and other various drapings on their porches, the smell of gingerbread and candy cane wafted through the air, and the excessive number of candles in the church were all lit up. Service had just ended, and you were walking down the empty streets—everyone and their mother was probably already inside, enjoying the Christmas spirit. But, if you had to be honest, you were beginning to get a bit worried; you hadn’t seen Sukuna all day, and, well, you knew Christmas was always a delicate subject for him, but he usually showed up every once in a while on the sacred holiday.
You remembered the year before this one; you and Sukuna had hung out at your house, while your parents did whatever it was that they did at other friends’ and families’ houses. You insisted, begged, actually, for your parents to let the two of you spend the holiday together. And, as they knew you to be quite the responsible daughter, they complied with your request. 
You and Sukuna spent the day decorating gingerbread houses, sipping eggnog, and baking several various treats. Until the evening, where you two spent the rest of your time huddled up together on the sofa, sleepily murmuring stories and giggling to yourselves, before snores began to erupt, and your parents found you and Sukuna cuddled up together in the morning.
All in all, Sukuna didn’t care for the birth of Bromwell’s savior, but he enjoyed the winter season and what it had to bring. Although he never showed up for mass on this day, he still frequented your house, or his own house, where you two spent the evening enveloped in holiday cheer. But, today was different.
Sukuna hadn’t shown up at all: didn’t knock on your window early in the morning to wake you up, didn’t surprise you with baked goods (courtesy of his grandfather’s knack for baking), didn’t even throw snowballs at you when you were most vulnerable (taking out the trash). You felt a sense of loneliness; Bromwell was quiet without him, and, apparently, so was his own house. The Itadori residence was completely empty, save for the Grandfather, so, wherever Sukuna was, it wasn’t anywhere here.
Coming up fruitless after your search, you were about to head home—maybe spend some time with your own family, when, by your surprise, you passed by the church, which was still open, and still lit up. This was . . . a surprise, to say the least; your father usually packed everything up and locked the building when everyone finished heading out, but, maybe, even for just this night, that wasn’t so.
Each step you took upon entering the church echoed. The dimmed candle-lighting, paired with the quiet atmosphere and empty setting, created an eerie feeling, almost opposite of what Christmas embodied. You didn’t like it, hated it, actually; the stillness of the night never failed to give you the heebie-jeebies, and you felt that intensely on this very night.
You shrugged your shoulders, shifted your scarf around your neck, and attempted to tell yourself that your father probably just forgot to turn off the lights, and that you were going to do the honors in his stead before sprinting back home, but you changed your mind as soon as your eyes made their way to the back of the church, and you drank in the appearance of none other than Sukuna himself, as he sat in the very last row of pews.
“Sukuna? What—What are you doing here?” You could feel a smile etch onto your face, as you began to make your way through the church, weaving through rows and rows of pews before you found yourself taking a seat right beside Sukuna. His arm wrapped around the back of the bench, and pulled you closer to him.
“Not excited to see me? What, don’t tell me you’ve turned your back on me, as well.” Sukuna appeared composed and cool, but his body radiated warmth, which you dreadfully lacked. “Most of Bromwell’s figured me out already, started whispering my name right next to Satan’s—calling me a son of a bitch, an atheist, a scoundrel. Is the preacher’s lovely little daughter doing that, too?”
“Hey, don’t joke around like that, especially not on Christmas. Where’s your holiday cheer?” You used your thumb to stretch out the corner of Sukuna’s mouth, revealing his canines as you forced him to muster a lame excuse for a smile. “You are such a Scrooge, you know, always wearing this same exact scowl. Your face is just so mad all the time.”
Sukuna rolled his eyes, dragging your face closer to his. “You don’t like this face? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Maybe. Why? Gonna do something about that?” Your eyes peered into his, and his into yours; and you swore he could see through your soul right then and there. Maybe he really was Satan, after all, you joked.
Sukuna laughed, before saying, with a mocking tone, “Maybe. But it depends, you might not like what I’ll do.”
“There really isn’t much worse you could do besides meet me in the back of an empty church.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’s not like you would know, anyway. You don’t follow any of the Commandments; you don’t know what’s bad or good for me, at all.”
“Are you implying I don’t know what anything means?”
“Mm, yeah.” You leaned closer to Sukuna, your noses nearly touching.
“That’s kind of harsh coming from the preacher’s daughter,” Sukuna joked; “but, hey, I don’t have to be religious to know what this means.”
Sukuna pulled out a mistletoe from God knows where, and dangled it above your head like a child taunting its opponent. Bits of snow dusted off the branches, landing on the tops of your heads, but neither of you cared much, at least not in the moment; the most Sukuna did was push a strand of loose hair out of your face, but he did nothing more except meet your gaze.
Your heart was pounding, but you had had a few cups of apple cider earlier, and your stomach felt warm while the tip of your nose glowed; you felt as if ready to even take on Mount Everest, so, if you haven’t gotten the picture yet: you weren’t nervous for anything. Well, maybe save for the possibility that your father or literally anyone else could walk in on the two of you.
“I . . . change my mind,” you whispered, speaking languidly as you leaned in ever so slightly; “there is worse we could do besides meet in the back of an empty church after hours.”
“And, that is?”
“We could . . .” Your eyes roamed Sukuna’s face as you spoke, and you admired the occasional freckle you discovered in your way. “We could kiss in the back of an empty church after hours.”
“‘Kiss?’” Sukuna repeated, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you. “That’s all you’ve got?”
When you woke up this morning, you didn’t expect to end the Christmas day making out with your childhood best friend, Sukuna, in the back of an empty church, but, fate doesn’t wait for just anyone’s opinions, and you couldn’t help yourself when Sukuna looked at you the way he did. You couldn’t help yourself when you tangled your hands in his hair, and met his lips with yours—the sweet taste of eggnog on your tongue following soon after.
Mistakes weren’t made that night, but you went to your monthly Confession the next morning anyway.
You and Sukuna didn’t start dating until . . . well, actually, you two never actually started dating—in a sense, at least. There was never a candle-lit dinner, where it was just the two of you, speaking in low voices over a furnished table in the dark. There was no question such as Will you be my girlfriend? or, even, Will you be my boyfriend? but, that was okay. It was clear enough how you two felt about each other, and, even if it wasn’t, the amount of kisses Sukuna gave you whether you two were alone or surrounded, and the amount of nights you two spent laying on stacks of hay in his grandfather’s barn, whispering sweet-nothings to each other, ought to have said enough about your relationship.
Sukuna didn’t have a way with words, and you were always too embarrassed to bring up the fact your relationship wasn’t official, like, at all. But, most of your neighbors knew that their preacher’s daughter was dating the county’s atheist by the time you got into the twelfth grade, and that there was nothing they could do about that except for subtly look down upon you both, and convince themselves your relationship wasn’t serious enough to make it to marriage.
Your father never spoke ill about Sukuna; and, as far as you knew, he always saw the pink-haired delinquent (an affectionate nickname) as a bright boy: a respectful young man, who looked at his daughter like a goddess incarnate, despite whatever religion he partook in. As for how your mother felt about your boyfriend: she thought that as long as she wasn’t going to have to deliver your baby any time soon, she couldn’t have cared less.
But, it’s not like you actually cared about how anyone felt about Sukuna. What mattered most was how you felt about him—I mean, he was your boyfriend, after all. And, how you felt about Sukuna was . . . beyond definable. He was Sukuna, you were you, and that’s all you knew. Well, that’s all you knew in this moment, as you sat under the light of the moon—cascading through windows of Sukuna’s barn—as the two of you huddled up together, sharing kisses and purposely interrupting each other as you spoke with a volume just above a whisper.
The horses were asleep, (you and Sukuna had gone riding earlier in the day), but you were neither tired nor cold, even in this winter weather. You often found yourself feeling warm, your heart racing in your chest, whenever you were with Sukuna, and the heat which always rose to your cheeks did a good job at showing it.
“You make me hate myself,” Sukuna whispered, leaning his back against the sleeping friesian behind him, while his arm slithered around your waist, subtly pulling you closer to him every once in a while.
You laughed, wondering if he was just sleep-talking at this point. His voice was rough, and cold, but his skin was warm, and he didn’t wait for an answer from you before continuing.
“Do you know how stupid you make me feel? God, it’s like. . . You’re like an angel that has descended upon this wretched earth, and guess what, I’m the fool who’s fallen in love with you. This whole town’s praying for my downfall, you know that, angel?—for Satan to finally drag my ass back down to the depths of Hell, but. . .”
“Would you go?”
“. . .Where?”
“Would you go with him?”
“No.” Sukuna shook his head, laughing like a drunkard. “No, not even God could pull me away from you.”
“Why?”
“I wouldn’t let Him.”
“How do you know you’ll succeed?”
“Because I don’t believe in anything besides the fact that you are the closest I’ll ever get to Heaven. You are an angel that has been bestowed upon my black heart, you are every dark thought—every demonic idea—that has ever plagued my mind. You may taste like paradise, but even God knows you are a religion for only the lowest lovesick fools to have ever roamed this godforsaken planet.”
You turned around in Sukuna’s hold, looping your arms around his neck, and pulling him closer to you. “Would that make you religious, then? A devout follower?”
“For you? Always.”
That conversation was a fortnight ago. You’ve officially entered your twenties now, and everyone knows a new decade means a new chapter, especially for first-time lovers like you. It doesn’t feel any different, though; you’re older, but nothing’s changed. At least, you didn’t think so. Turning twenty meant you had been dating Sukuna for three years, and, well, in Bromwell, there was only one thing to be expected. Marriage; a topic that’s being brought up more frequently at your dinner table, whether you liked it or not.
You were an adult now. You’ve been an adult, actually, but eighteen and nineteen year olds were never as relevant as twenty year olds.
In full honesty, and full confidence, you didn’t care much for seeing yourself in a white gown and white veil. Being married is a title, it’s an expectation, it’s a milestone. It’s not . . . it’s not kismet. Being married meant you had a ring on your finger. But, when you compared it to simply being boyfriend-girlfriend, you didn’t see much of a difference. Now, you don’t mean to be ‘woke’ or prejudiced, you just didn’t feel much significance in the holy sacrament of matrimony. 
Not that you would ever say that aloud, though. . . Especially when you’re eating dinner with your very old fashioned parents who have very old fashioned ideals.
“How is—How is Sukuna, by the way?” began your father, as he cut into a smoked pork shoulder.
“He’s how he’s always been, sir.” You offered a small smile, placing your cutlery back down. “Why the sudden interest?”
“I am simply a curious man,” he laughed. “But, I must say, I feel quite sympathetic towards him.”
“. . .May I remind you that his mother died years ago, father—”
“My child, I am not talking about that.” His tone cut cold, and deep, like an icicle, and you suddenly noticed the strangeness of the air which surrounded the dinner table; this was no simple conversation.
Your eyes wandered your father’s face from across the table for any hint to what on earth he was going on about, but he evaded all eye contact. Your mother, on the other hand, remained silent, excluded from the conversation whether it was by her own will or not; she sat beside your father like a statue—beautiful, but with no exact purpose.
“Pardon?”
Your father cleared his throat. “Sukuna does know what is to come, correct?”
“Father, even I do not know what you are talking about; never mind him.”
“You are my only daughter, you hear? You are my eldest child, my only child. I founded the one, single church of Bromwell, and you take after me. How will this county react when they hear you are to be wed off to an atheist?”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“You are twenty years old. You are going to be married. Tomorrow, next week, next year. It will happen. My point isn’t that I’m going to rush you, that is hardly my job.”
You blinked. “Then, . . what is your job?”
Your father laughed. “You do not mean you are going to marry Sukuna, are you?”
“How is that relevant?”
“I let you talk with Sukuna, I let you hang around that fellow, I let you eat with that man in my own house. Several times, actually. But, regardless, that was all when you were young. I remember my first relationships, you know; they weren’t as serious as I would’ve liked to hope. But, you do know . . . I am not letting you anywhere near that man if he has a ring in his pocket.”
“Father, blessings from the in-laws before asking a woman’s hand in marriage are hardly relevant nowadays.”
“You think this is a joke?”
“I’m . . . sorry?”
“I always assumed you were in love with him because you were young, and everything was so new to you. But, don’t tell me you intend to stay with him for longer than you need to. Sukuna Ryomen Itadori is . . . an atheist. He’s turned his back on our religion. He’s abandoned our god. His eyes skip over our scripture.”
“. . .Why is that, sir? Why does he keep quiet when others are in prayer? Why does he close his eyes when we, instead, look above to the heavens? Because he has no reason to, don’t you see? Would you consider him a sinner even if he had never, once in his life, ever heard God’s name? You wouldn’t, because you would proclaim the Word of the Lord to him, anyway.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Do I, now?” you asked. “I may believe in what I call my God, and Sukuna may believe in what he knows to be his truth. We all come from different walks of life, father; and you can’t change that. There is nothing wrong with what Sukuna’s chosen for himself, and your fragility and selfishness won’t ever change that. I can marry whomever I please. I can give my hand to anyone who I deem worthy of it. You are my father; you gave me life, but you do not choose my outcomes.”
“I do not choose your outcomes, you say? Well, you make me laugh quite a bit, don’t you, because I already have.”
“. . .You have?”
“That’s what I just said. I’ve chosen your outcome, your future, your fate. He has a name, too, would you like to hear it?”
You stood up from the table so quickly your chair nearly fell over, scraping against the floor with a rather harsh sound. “I am not marrying someone I hardly know.”
“Even if it is God’s will?” your father asked, mocking you. “You are young, you’ll understand sooner or later.”
“Who do you take me for? I am entirely confident when I say I could never love a man I’ve neither seen nor heard.”
“My child, you ought to learn before you speak; joining in matrimony is not always done out of love.”
Your eyes flickered to your mother, who was as still as she was before, and you almost dropped down on your knees to beg forgiveness for any wrong you had ever done towards her. But you didn’t, you didn’t kneel, didn’t fall. Instead, you took a step towards the door.
“You are a child of God. And may I remind you, that no daughter of mine shall marry a nonbeliever. You walk out of that door right now, and you best believe you can call yourself an estranged child.”
When you moved to take another step, you turned around just in time to miss staying in line of aim of the empty beer bottle your father threw. It crashed behind you—shattering, falling to the floor—and left just the tiniest dent on the wall it hit. So tiny, in fact, that you wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been of impact in the very spot your head just was, milliseconds before.
You did not wait another moment to leave that house, and ran out as fast as you could, while your father, enraged, sat and mulled in his anger.
As you crushed leaves and twigs beneath your feet in your distress and hurry, you muttered prayers to God like a madman, wiped your tears with your sleeves every few seconds, and asked for your mother’s forgiveness as if you had just disgraced her lineage. But, you didn’t; instead, you ended a line of sorrow, misery, humiliation; you left because you wanted something anew, you wanted. . . You wanted Sukuna.
You don’t know how long you ran for, or in what direction you ran, even, but your legs ached, and you soon found yourself at a river bank, in the middle of nowhere—you couldn’t spot any houses or signs of life for leagues. The water was muddy, dirty, brown, and you could hardly see your reflection in it; still, you could just barely make out your disheveled state: your messy hair, tear-stained cheeks, trembling lips. You looked like a mess, and you were one. Metaphorically and literally. You looked nothing like a preacher’s daughter, but, it didn’t matter, you weren’t a preacher’s daughter anymore; you weren’t anyone’s daughter, in fact . . . only God’s.
When Sukuna told you about his family, about the death in his family, you questioned God and His ways. But you eventually went back to how you were before—a devout follower. Now that you’re older, you understand the picture more clearly. It’s not God you question and doubt, it’s His people. Men choose gods so that they have someone to blame, to use as reasoning, to make themselves feel less alone in this vast universe. It’s been done for years. Religion is man-made; immortal beings do not bleed; and belief is truly, utterly voluntary. You could believe in God, while hating His people, and the scripture would all be the same.
Nevertheless, you hated it. All of it. Why was your father like this? Why was everyone like this? Why did no one understand? What was so hard to comprehend?
You did not hesitate when you ripped off one of the several necklaces you wore around your neck, dropping it into the river bed, and watching as it traveled elsewhere. Anywhere—but here, you prayed, as you sat down on the dead grass to do nothing but sob.
You were wrong. So wrong. Your father didn’t want anything to do with Sukuna; what’s worse, he took you as the person to date someone for fun. Your father assumed you were mindlessly dating Sukuna. Was that all he thought of you? Did he even consider you his daughter?—His daughter, who he forbade from dating outside of religion?
All your life, you had been nothing but who you were supposed to be. Charitable, smart, generous, charming. Now, you couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore.
Maybe you were hallucinating, too, because hours had passed since you ran out of your house, and now, as you sat on the river bank and stared at your reflection, you could make out another faint reflection besides yours. A figure, walking from a distance. Then, a face. A reflection of a man. A reflection of . . . Sukuna.
He looked like he had been walking all around town for you, and there was sweat on his forehead to show for that. Sukuna called your name as he approached, seemingly unbeknownst of the fact you were practically bawling your eyes out, and began to ask you something stupid, but then he stopped as soon as he was close enough to sit down beside you, switched the subject, and asked, with earnest, “Your necklace. Your necklace, where is it?”
“I’m . . . wearing a necklace right now, Sukuna.” You wiped the remaining tears flowing from your eyes on your sleeves, which blew and billowed in the wind. Thankfully, you were always skilled at masking emotion, and Sukuna didn’t seem to have noticed your weeping prior to his arrival.
Sukuna looked at the pearls you had strung around your neck with not so much as even a full glance. “No, not that one. Where’s your . . . where’s the other one?” Sukuna turned his head in all four directions, and looked as if he were searching for something rather important.
“What other one?”
Sukuna licked his lips, using searching as an excuse for avoiding your eyes. “The . . . cross. Or, if it is called the crucifix instead, I am not sure.”
Your mouth opened, lips parted ever so slightly, but you couldn’t breathe. “. . .No; no, you’re right. It’s a cross. A crucifix has the image of Jesus on it.”
Sukuna looked at you now that your eyes were casted downward, and scanned your face with wonder. You were so angelic even when you were miles from home, shivering in the cold, crying your eyes out (yes, Sukuna could tell you were crying earlier; he was an attentive man, after all). Sukuna never felt confident enough to do half of the things he wanted to do whenever you were looking at him. Your eyes scared him, deeply—reminded him of too many people he would rather leave in the dust.
And, if that wasn’t enough, Sukuna didn’t have a way with words, and most definitely did not know how to comfort anyone (especially when he had no context). But, at least, he didn’t care much for any of that “What happened?” bullshit. What happened was your business, not his, but how you felt, on the other hand, . . was a different story.
Anyway, Sukuna didn’t say anything until he was sure you were okay; it was a whisper—of the words: “I love you.”
It was quiet, so subtle; you wondered if Sukuna even meant for you to hear it, but, nevertheless, you met his eyes with glassy ones—red, dimmed, distant—and asked, with the little strength you had left, “Why are you telling me that?”
“Just in case . . . you hadn’t heard those words in a long time.”
Your lips trembled, and you could feel the waterworks beginning again as you moved to sit on Sukuna’s lap, burying your face into his neck as his arms enveloped you at the drop of a hat with warmth, stability, and, you couldn’t quite put your finger on the last one, which was . . . peace. Come to think of it, you had never felt peace in such a long time. But it wasn’t the usual tranquility you felt, it wasn’t any of that, at all. It was just, simply, Sukuna. You were feeling Sukuna.
Which was, actually, quite ironic, if you did say yourself. All these years spent together, Sukuna always called you his angel, his blessing, his God-given miracle. He said you changed him for the better, you turned his life around, showed him a brightness and happiness he had never seen once in his whole life. But, maybe it was really the opposite. Maybe Sukuna was the one who saved you. The only man who could ever truly understand you: Sukuna—your first, and your last love.
“You make me feel so stupid,” you murmured, between sniffles, once you began to run out of tears.
“With my high intellect?” Sukuna joked. “Yeah, don’t worry, lots of people feel the same way.”
You sat upright, giving a playful shove at Sukuna’s chest. “You are such a bastard.”
“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”
You laughed, because you struggled to do anything else. “I can’t believe you’ve seen me cry now. This is incredible blackmail,” you grumbled.
“. . .I know.”
“Let’s just . . . forget this ever happened, okay? I’m fine now. I—I’m okay. You’re here, and . . . you’re here.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to say anything else?” you began, mindlessly playing with the fabric of Sukuna’s collar. “You’ve been saying the same thing over and over again like some giant oaf.”
“I know.”
“Hey! You . . . Sukuna!”
Sukuna threw his head back, laughing like a child, and you tackled him to the ground (with little to no malicious intent), which ended up with you straddling his hips.
“I’m . . .” You hesitated, brushing stray hairs out of Sukuna’s eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that—all of that, actually.”
“You’re sorry?”
“. . .”
Sukuna rolled his eyes, and sat upright, pulling you closer to him in the process. “You don’t ever need to tell me why you were crying for me to know you were clearly the victim in whatever the hell ever happens, you know. I’ve . . . been with you long enough to know that. The people of Bromwell suck, and your father’s a piece of shit; the reason you had to wait so long for me the first time we met, was because I was stuck in Confession with him, by the way. Such a nosy little—”
“Okay, okay, that’s . . . I get it.” As much as you appreciated the sentiment, you weren’t one to be ‘fond’ of hearing your father be slandered, or anyone, for that matter. “Thank you, really. I . . . don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re with me right now, angel. What are you gonna do with that? What are you going to do with me?”
You grinned. “I don’t know off the top of my head.”
Sukuna looked at you with longing, his eyes piercing through your soul—watching your every move—as you placed one hand at the side of his neck, and one on his cheek, drawing both of your faces closer and closer, till you couldn’t differentiate where his breath ended and where yours started.
“Any suggestions?” you asked, smiling.
“Many.”
Without missing a beat, Sukuna closed the space between the both of you, placing a soft kiss against your lips and pulling back, as if to test the waters, before knocking the wind out of your throat and smashing his lips back against yours. The two of you moved in sync, your bodies molding against each other as if two pieces of a puzzle, and, at that very moment, you abandoned any sense of control, chastity, and purity. Sukuna overtook all of your senses and virtues; but, honestly, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Sukuna’s hands moved to your hips, kneading the flesh there and keeping a grip so tight you were sure it would end up purple and blue the next morning.
“Does this suggestion suit your royal highness?” Sukuna teased, between kisses.
“Mm, it will do . . . for now, I suppose.”
With Sukuna, you had never gone past kissing. Never ventured, never planned, but . . . you couldn’t say you never thought about making it to third base. And, with the way Sukuna’s hands wandered and subtly slipped just under your skirt, you could guess he thought something relatively similar.
Sukuna’s hands roamed your thighs from beneath your skirt, his fingers lighting a path of electricity, which shocked you in their way; and you found your breath getting caught in your throat. He touched you as if he were a madman, feeling Heaven for the last and first time—like you could disappear at any given moment, and he was savoring every second spent with you.
“You’re . . . impatient, today.”
Sukuna laughed. “Scared? Don’t worry, I always dip my hands in Holy Water before I even think about touching you.”
You placed a kiss on the side of Sukuna’s mouth, rolling your eyes. “Oh, shut up, you make it sound as if you’re . . . worshipping me or something.”
“I am.”
“You . . . what?”
Sukuna looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, whilst his hands never paused for a second while trailing up your legs, near your core, up your spine, and back down to where they originally started. His touch was soft, gentle, as if cautious of destroying you, erasing any trace of the angel God had given him. His fingers—usually rough, and cold—were instead warm, and lit a fire somewhere inside of you. 
From your position above Sukuna, you sucked in a breath. You had to give it to him; for a man so frequently called Satan incarnate, his eyes were so temptingly full of yearning. But his voice was mocking, full of tease and banter, and you could no longer decide if this was truly your reality.
“Your throat is so raw from praying to a God who does not listen.”
“Is this your attempt at seducing me to apostasy?”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Let me be the one to hear your prayers, instead. Your wants, your needs, your desires; allow me, my darling angel, to satiate you better than any man or deity can.”
You did not know what had become of you, when you pulled Sukuna by the collar, and met his lips with yours. A wave of bliss overwhelmed you, and your head soon became full of nothing but the name of the man whose tongue explored every interstice and crevice of your mouth, your neck, your clavicle. His hands roamed your skin, his mouth crashed against yours, and your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer than you thought possible.
Your hips rocked forwards and backwards, as the sound of moans and mewls made their way past your lips. You had never entertained the idea of giving yourself to anyone prior to marriage, but maybe—maybe you could make an exception for someone like Sukuna.
There was no banter, no talk, no mumbling or murmuring for any longer. Only frantic, desperate movements as Sukuna clumsily unbuckled his belt, and shoved your panties to the side; for, neither of you could wait a second more. With your mouths still pressed against one another’s, Sukuna’s fingers made their way to the wetness between your legs, and slipped past your entrance, curling and twisting, applying pressure to where you needed him most.
It was so unbearable. And so, utterly, hot. Since when was the evening ever this hot? You two were in the middle of nowhere, outside past ten o’clock; the sky was painted a dark shade of indigo, crickets and birds sounded in their domain, and you and Sukuna? You two were whispering to each other, running your hands over each other’s bodies; you writhed and wriggled as Sukuna’s fingers never paused in their assault, and you couldn’t help the pornographic cries which left your throat.
It was unbearable.
You had never felt pleasure so intense like this. Your head spun, you clawed at Sukuna’s back, your body arched, and you whimpered and moaned like your life depended on it. You could not draw a line between pleasure and pain, and, you wondered . . . was this what sinning felt like? So good, but, at the same time, so bad?
You didn’t come undone on Sukuna’s fingers until what seemed like hours had passed by—hours of him toying with your clit: drawing you to the edge and back over again, never once allowing your release, entering depths deep within with just his fingers alone. It drove you to madness, and when you finally came, you came hard. Heavy breathing, panting, whimpering. You were a mess—an angel caught in the grasps of a devil.
“Regretful?” Sukuna teased, petting your hair as you rested your figure against his shoulder.
Breathless, you replied, saying, “Should I be?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Sukuna didn’t let you go until the sun came up. And, even then, he wasn’t truly satisfied; but you were exhausted by then, your legs barely held you up, and you had probably also forgotten your own name, so Sukuna took pity on you. The two of you had gone at it like rabbits; Sukuna showed you what it really meant to be locked out of Heaven for years, and how it felt to experience it for the first time since.
What’s funny, was that you and Sukuna had the same amount of experience, and yet, you felt as if Sukuna touched you like you weren’t even close to being his first. He trailed searing hot kisses down your shoulder blades, groped at your chest and ass with carnal desire, and after easing you with his fingers, fucked you with his cock like he had every intention to get you with child.
Your throat was raw, dry, scratchy, from all the sounds that Sukuna elicited from you. His thrusts were hard, and reached so deep within you, that you could’ve been convinced he was hitting your womb.
With your back flush against his chest, Sukuna wrapped a hand around your throat while you leaned your head back against his shoulder as Sukuna fucked his cock into you. He was merciless; thick and long. And you couldn’t count how many times your eyes rolled back into your head even if you tried. You were overwhelmed by how utterly full you felt, combined with Sukuna’s breath fanning your ear every once in a while, as he leaned down to whisper filthy language in your ear.
It was nothing like you had ever felt before, but it was everything you ever dreamed of. It was dirty—what the two of you were doing. But it felt so, so good.
God may have made you in His image: to look, to sound, to taste like Heaven—so others may be tempted to seek paradise, as well, but as He looks down upon his creation, under the dark sky, hidden beneath the clouds, He knows you are nothing but sin. And, if that wasn’t enough, so did Sukuna.
***
Sukuna was no more afraid of shotguns than he was of God.
You learned that the week you decided to come home after living with Sukuna for some time away from your father. You were moved by the deeply troubling feeling of missing the sound of your mother’s voice, and you had almost even forgotten the feeling of her hands touching your hair. A mother’s love was . . . you couldn’t quite define it, but you knew: to have none, was to be none.
When you knocked on the door of your home, you did not regret, for even a second, the declined opportunity of bringing Sukuna along with you. You told him you would be alright going by yourself, and if you weren’t, how were you to face God on the day of judgement?—You started alone, you could end alone. On the third knock, the birch door opened, and you did not see your mother’s face; in lieu, you saw his face.
He was not happy to see you.
Without a moment’s waste, and with your fist still raised mid-air to give another knock, you were taken by the arm, and into the house.
“Do you not listen?”
“. . .Do you speak of my returning? Father, I am your daughter, and no matter how much you resent me, I will still be made of half your DNA.”
“I believe I made myself crystal clear when I told you no daughter of mine will dally with an atheist.”
“But—”
Your father’s grip tightened around your wrist. “You are twenty years of age. Twenty! And this is what you do?”
“Come again?”
“You think I have no idea what you have been up to? I am your father, young lady. I would be a damn fool if I did not know that my own daughter was living with Sukuna Ryomen. Under his roof, eating his food, sleeping in his bed?”
“I had no choice—”
“No choice? Marrying a much better man is definitely still a choice you can make.”
Your father dragged you to the entrance of your bedroom; his strength outmatched yours, even as you tugged your wrist back, and grounded the balls of your feet to keep from moving.
“Father, what are you—! You’re hurting me . . . stop! Don’t—”
“I expected so much from you, and you have done nothing but disappoint me.” Your father finally let go of your wrist, releasing you once you entered your room with a thud as you hit the floor, after losing balance. “You gave yourself to that devil, and now, not even God can look you in the eye anymore.”
The door was slammed shut, locks you did not remember installing were put into place, and you were alone. Inside your bedroom, with nothing but yourself and your prayers. The window had been boarded up prior to your return, which gave you the impression your father had been waiting and planning in order to lock you up, or, in other words, keep you from sinning any more.
You did not hear from anyone for days, and neither your father nor your mother brought any rations or bits of food. It was so, so cold in there. Barely any light seeped through the wood boards nailed on your window, and you couldn’t even hear the singing of the birds. It was as if . . . everyone had, simply, left you.
You slept most of the time, because you had no source of entertainment. You rested your head against the wall while sitting on the floor, and tried to pray for any change of mind from your father, (because God knows where your mother was during this whole ordeal), but it only made you feel more ashamed of yourself—seeing as you did not have a rosary in your hands, or a crucifix, or a cross. You had thrown yours into the river, remember?
Maybe God frowned upon you for losing your virginity with such haste, and before joining in matrimony, no less, but, surely, you did not deserve this punishment, right? Staying with a man who did not believe in your God . . . didn’t harm anyone. Your father had no right to persecute for something such as this; this should’ve been left up to the will of God for any judgement.
In truth, you did not know how you managed to survive so long in such isolation. You slept, but you did not dream. And you could not eat, for you had no food. No sunlight, no water, no air. You felt as if you were suffocating, as if the walls of your bedroom were closing in on you day by day. But, maybe that was just a trick of your eyes—decievement; produced by having not been outside for so long.
On the third day, you heard it.
The sound of a shotgun. The cries of birds as they scattered through the air. The screams of distressed neighbors and residents of Bromwell as they gathered together.
It was dark outside; you could tell, for no sunlight seeped through cracks of the boards and panels on your window. You were sitting just beneath the sill, and when you heard the crisp, almost deafening, sound of a shotgun being fired, you scrambled from your spot on the ground, and cursed to yourself when you realized you could see nothing outside but darkness.
The gun was fired near the front of your house, and you almost wondered who the shooter was, but when you figured this could soon be your end, you thought nothing could be worse than being locked up in your own bedroom for a false truth.
Was it your father?—Who fired? Or was he who was fired at? you wondered.
You did not wonder for long, however, because only a second later, your door was kicked open, and lo and behold: Sukuna. Holding a shotgun over his shoulder, panting—as if he had just run a lap, or several—and beckoning for you to follow him. He took you by the hand and hurriedly led you out of your bedroom and out of your godforsaken house using the back entrance. You asked a plethora of questions as you went, but Sukuna didn’t answer any of them until you two were crouched behind and under a large tree a few miles away from your house.
Sukuna told you to be quiet, to steady your breathing, and to remain out of sight; but that just freaked you out more.
“Are you going to tell me what on earth is going on here? How did you even know where I was? And what—what is the shotgun for?”
Sukuna let out a dry laugh. “You haven’t changed at all; still ask a shit ton of questions, huh.”
“Explain, or I’ll strangle you.” You repeated yourself.
“The preacher’s daughter is so kinky, who knew?” Sukuna teased. “But, alright, I’ll bite.
“I realized something was the matter when you didn’t return home that night you left. I was hoping you just really missed your mother, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. But, now, I kind of regret that.
“Days passed, but I didn’t bother walking up to the door and asking your father where the hell you were, because I knew he would just give me some bullshit to keep me away, so I instead went over to the side of your house, like, you know, how I always do when I sneak in through your window and whatnot?
“When I went to the side of the house, your window was boarded up. And that’s when I knew something was clearly wrong. Obviously couldn’t ask you about it, and also didn’t want to get within three feet of your father, so I took matters into my own hands—”
You cut Sukuna off, asking, “What about the shotgun?”
“I fired it—at the sky. (No one was hurt, if you’re wondering, but I wish someone was.) Anyway: figured it was dark enough for no one to notice me in the act, so I fired it, and then my plan was in action. All your nosy neighbors went to the front of your house to see what was going on, and so did your father. He went outside, too. I took that as an opportunity to run to the back of your house before anyone could spot me, and break in through the backdoor, and then, y’know. We’re here now.”
“You broke into my house to rescue me? Chivalry may not be dead, after all.” You laughed.
Sukuna rolled his eyes; this clearly was not a joking matter. “Your turn. Explain. Why were you locked in your bedroom like Rapunzel or some shit? And why were the windows boarded up?”
You scooted over to sit closer to Sukuna, and sucked in a breath before explaining—explaining everything. Your father and his deranged behavior and actions, your isolation, your lack of food and drink, your loneliness, your longing for your mother and . . . and Sukuna. You whispered that last bit, in hopes that Sukuna wouldn’t hear how ‘pathetic’ you were, but he did, and he didn’t even joke or tease you about it. He . . . missed you, too.
“You know, if there really is a god out there, He’ll have to beg for my forgiveness before I even think of thanking him, but . . . fuck.” Sukuna avoided your eyes. “Do you know how desperate I was?—That I went and prayed to a god I don’t even believe in?”
“What do you mean? Why did you—?”
“I hadn’t seen you in three days. Three days too long. Why would I not worry? Why would I not resolve to begging God?”
“You were worried?” You giggled. “Awh, Sukuna, baby, you’re adorable.” You cupped Sukuna’s face in your hands, and watched as that familiar scowl of his appeared. You missed that grumpy face.
“. . .I don’t know why you missed me those three days, angel. Thought you were smarter than that.”
You frowned. “What do you mean? How could I not—?”
“How could you not? No. How could you? How could you love a man like me? I’m. . .” Sukuna turned away from you, your hands dropped from his face. “I’m nothing like you. You shouldn’t. . . I’m not a good influence on someone as pure-hearted as you. Hell, you make me wonder if the heavens above are really real, or, if Paradise is just . . . just you.”
“Sukuna, what are you going on about? We’ve been together for ages: as classmates, as friends, as a couple, as—as. . .” You paused. “Why are you—?”
“Do you not get it? These hands—these hands that cradle your face and tilt it upwards to lay kisses upon your skin are—”
You forced Sukuna to look at you. “But they cradled me, yes?”
Sukuna did not answer you, instead: he narrowed his eyes. “They are soaked in unfathomable amounts of wrongdoing, push away the Word of your God, and avoid nearing the Body of your savior.”
“But you have not killed, you have not murdered, you have not stolen, you have not. . . I do not see any blood stains visible.”
“You cannot see sin.”
You blinked, furrowing your brows. “The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. Guilt will not purify anyone.”
“. . .Who is it you speak for?” Sukuna asked, his voice just above a whisper.
“Who is it I do not?”
Sukuna looked at you with intent, then he looked behind you—at your house, and then met your eyes once more, before tangling his hands in your hair and bringing you to meet him in a kiss full of yearning, longing, and want. You two had not embraced, not even touched in days. It went without saying that your body ached for Sukuna, your heart beat for Sukuna, and your soul rejoiced for Sukuna.
Sukuna was a bastard. A cold-blooded bastard. He was not kind, he was not generous, he was not truthful. He did not care for the Bible, did not read the Gospel, and couldn’t give a shit about the Holy Trinity. But, he loved you. Loved you like a dog who had never known anyone else. Loved you like he would die for you, lay his head at your feet for you, and bend his knees before you. Loved you like he would be a martyr for you. Loved you like you were his beacon of light, his goddess, his . . . Saving Grace.
He did not believe in the Lord, he did not believe in the invisible, but he believed in the way you ripped out his heart, kissed it in his name, and dyed your lips red with his blood. A kiss may be the beginning of cannibalism, but Sukuna knew it was you who was for him since the beginning of Time.
When you two pulled back to catch your breaths, Sukuna held you close to him as he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and whispered in your ear—his voice languid, and gradual, “I do not believe in any god or any goddess. I do not care for any mythical creature or any other of that sort. The only faith I have is in us. The only force I believe in is you and me. And that’s what all my prayers will ever be about.”
Sukuna was a bastard, but you couldn’t have wanted anyone more.
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rin-may-1103 · 3 months ago
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College Rivalry with the Genius Toddler in the First Row.
My take on this prompt Requested by @purplereaderfans
Danny looked up from his paper, a bright green crayon clutched in his small hand. Jazz patted his head with a quick smile, pushing her chair in so she could start making her way to the teacher, something about the wrong definition if Danny had heard what she'd been muttering correctly.
grumbling, Danny shook his head in an attempt to fix his hair. he hated how everyone was treating him like a child, he was sixteen, almost seventeen for Ancient's sake!
sure, he looked like he was three, but was this really necessary? head pats, baby talk, dumbed-down explanations; it's like they don't notice that he's still mentally a teenager. Like, seriously?
Mom and Dad had been the ones who created the damn device, they should know how to fix this, but did they? no, because; "Aww, Jack, look at him! Isn't our baby boy just the cutest!" and "Why yes, dear, we should get more pictures! It's not like every day a parent gets to witness their kid's toddler years again!"
danny hated it, even Vlad was treating him like a baby! Danny never wanted to hear the man try and speak to him like that again. it might actually be his new nightmare fuel, you know if he wasn't still using what happened with Dan and Pariah to fuel his consistent nightmares, that is.
Danny was ready to start blasting people's knees the next time someone so much as even hinted at dressing him up again. thankfully, for everyone's safety, Jazz noticed he was still mentally normal. She volunteered to take care of him while their parents worked on a way to reverse what their new ghost machine caused. (though he doubted it would be anytime soon, considering the GIW was acting up again.)
which, by the way, apparently wasn't supposed to have de-aged him, but in fact, just you know, 'barrow' his naturally made ectoplasm and knock him out for a few minutes. Ancients, his parents were insane.
he should have known they were going to do something stupid, but no; he had started slacking after revealing his phantom form and getting accepted by them. Because, again, why would he need to keep an eye on them and what they make when they promised to never try and hurt him and his normal rogues again?
they're adults, they should know how to handle themselves. but no.
oh, ho ho, was that such a big oversight on his part. they were Fenton's, of course, he should have kept an eye on them.
no longer making ecto weapons, his parents wanted to learn how to help peacefully capture raging ghosts and how to help heal the injured ones (mostly how to help Danny when he gets hurt). Noble, right?
right?
Wrong. somehow, they managed to create a de-aging device when they were trying to come up with a way to knock out an angry ghost without hurting them. How? Just how?? and what do they do without even testing to see if it would even work? use it on him. because, oh, danny's half ghost, and it's only supposed to make him tired right now, not knock him out. it should be fine.
and now he's a toddler.
a three-year-old toddler.
"psst!" someone hissed, dragging danny's attention away from his crumbled crayon. blinking, Danny dropped the crayon on the table and grumbled. this was the seventh crayon this morning, he really needed to get his strength under control before someone noticed.
"psst, hey kid!" they hissed again, making Danny sigh. turning his head, Danny glared at the weird dude who kept trying to talk to him. The dude usually talked to him like he was an adult, which Danny appreciated, if it wasn't for the fact the dude was hellbent on figuring out danny's secrets.
all because Danny scored more than him on a dumb test.
"What?" Danny grumbled, wiping the crayon crumbs off his hands and onto his pants. the dude, Danny thinks his name is Tam or something, frowned at Danny, watching him wipe the last of the obliterated crayon away.
"aliens," he hisses, leaning forward so he could stare more intently into Danny's eyes. "that has to be it, you and your sister are aliens. probably from some planet that's more advanced than ours."
danny blinked, studied the dude for a second, and blinked again.
"no," turning back, Danny grabbed another crayon and started filling out the worksheet in front of him, making sure to use as little of his super strength as possible.
the dude groaned and slammed his head onto his desk, the sound echoing out and around the silent room like a gunshot. Jazz snorted, pulling out her chair and sitting down. "that one has got to be one of the worst theories yet," she chuckled, turning her body to face the dude.
"you seriously can't believe my brother and I are aliens just because we got higher test scores, Tim." Jazz explained, casually leaning sideways in her seat so she could see him.
the dude, Tim, just groaned, slamming his head back into the desk, his voice muffled, "I wouldn't have a problem with it if it was just you," Tim lifted his head, glaring at him as Danny continued to carefully fill out his worksheet. "I can accept the fact that I'm not the smartest person in the room, I don't like it, but I can do it. I even respect it, having this much knowledge takes a lot of work and dedication, but him?"
"He's three, Jazz. he should be just starting to figure out the names of colors, and noticing differences between things. not astrophysics-level math questions from an April Fools gag test that our Psychology teacher jokingly gave us." Tim's eyes somehow got even narrower as he continued his rant. Danny valiantly tried to keep himself from laughing; Jazz said it was rude to laugh at people, especially if they weren't mentally all there, so he couldn't laugh.
but by the ancients was Tim making it hard.
with a fianl dash, danny smiled triumphantly. Setting the crayon down, he gave the paper a quick once over before deciding he was finally done filling it out.
now, for the moment he was waiting for; turning in his seat, Danny excitedly held up his paper, "Look jazz! I did it!" he had finally managed to complete the paper without ripping the page! and he'd only broken seven crayons! it was progress! there was hope! but Tim didn't need to know that, no, he needed to think Danny was excited about completing the paper.
Jazz, who was just as much of a gremlin as Danny, smiled as she patted his head, "Good job Danny! I'm so proud of you! why don't you go turn it in, I'm sure Mr. Kronmatil would love to see it."
smiling, Danny turned, climbed out of his seat, and started to make his way over to the teacher.
Tim grumbled in annoyance, his crazed theories and curses filling Danny's ears like the sweet sweet sound of music. if there was one good thing that came out of this whole fiasco, it was that Danny was able to work on his studies and cause as much chaos as possible while doing so.
being treated like a baby was all worth it when Danny turned and spotted the same confused and crazed look Tim had been giving him all week. yes, being de-aged wasn't fun, and he didn't appreciate being partially interrogated every time he entered the same room as Tim, but man it was so worth it when he knew he was driving one of the Gotham bat's nuts.
all because he scored higher than him on a test.
He couldn't wait to see Tim's face once the scores were announced tomorrow. He was so going to tell Lady Gotham all about it later.
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chosok-amo · 3 months ago
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HIS TIP?! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY TIP : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU
you just got your nails done, and geto is the one who paid for it. so as your way to appreciate his gesture you decided to get your nails color with the same color of his tip, which results in gojo's relentless jealousy.
warning. established relationship! satosugu, jealous gojo, lots of make-out sessions ( not really, i guess ), dick mentioned, gojo asks you if you like his dick more than geto's.
wc. | masterlist ( art © artist )
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you step into the kitchen, feeling light and relaxed after your nail appointment. the faint scent of fresh polish lingers as you admire your nails, now perfectly done. as you walk further in, you spot geto and gojo sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of them, completely absorbed in their work.
with a smile tugging at your lips, you approach them. “hey, boys,” you greet warmly, your voice soft but enough to pull their attention away from the pile of documents in front of them.
geto looks up first, his tired eyes softening the moment they meet yours. “hey,” he says, a small smile forming on his lips. gojo follows shortly, pushing his glasses up as his signature grin appears. “look who's back, looking all fresh,” he teases, eyeing your nails.
geto moves his chair to the side, creating space for you to sit on his lap. with a light chuckle, you take the bait and settle on his thighs, his arms encircling your waist almost instantly, pulling you closer. gojo, not one to be outdone, takes a moment to admire your nails before leaning in to press a light kiss to your hand, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.
“so, what were you two up to?” you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you lean back against geto's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. gojo leans his forearms on the table, drumming his fingers against the wood. “just some reports and paperwork. nothing too exciting.”
geto hums in agreement, his fingertips gently tracing patterns on your hip. “it's just the usual stuff. but it's more interesting now that you're here.”
you let out a soft, exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes. “boring,” you mutter, dragging out the word playfully. you lean your head back against geto's shoulder, a mischievous smile forming on your lips.
gojo chuckles at your response, his smirk widening in amusement. “oh, am i not entertaining enough for you?” geto smirks at your back talk, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he speaks up, his tone amused but laced with a hint of possessiveness. “watch it, sweetheart. we can make things interesting real quick.”
you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you glance between them. “sorry, sorry,” you say with a playful smile, resting your cheek on your palm as you lean your elbow against the table. “didn't mean to bruise your egos.”
gojo leans in, resting his chin on his hand, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “so, how was your day?” he asks, his voice light but genuinely interested. geto’s hand on your hip continues to trace slow circles, his voice soft as he adds, “yeah, anything interesting happen?”
you smile softly, leaning back against geto as you answer, “it was good. i had lunch with shoko and yuu, then went to get my nails done.” your voice is relaxed as you recall the day, feeling both of them listening intently.
gojo raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “did yuu take you home after that?” he asks, the question laced with a hint of something more, like he already knows the answer. you glance at him knowingly, chuckling lightly. “yeah, he did,” you admit, seeing the small exchange of glances between gojo and geto. “figured that was your request to him, huh?” you add, giving them a teasing look.
gojo gives you a nonchalant shrug in response, his smile widening into a cheeky grin. “might’ve mentioned it, yeah.”
geto’s grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “we just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.” his breath tickles your skin, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “can’t have our sweetheart stranded, can we?”
you scoff softly, turning your head to glance at geto with a raised eyebrow. “stranded?” you repeat, your tone playful yet teasing before you break into a warm smile, knowing well that they just want to take care of you and make sure you are safe.
geto’s smirks, his hand on your hip squeezing you lovingly. “you know what i mean,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness. gojo watches the two of you with a knowing smile, his gaze flickering between you and geto before he speaks up with a hint of humor. “can’t have our girl wandering off without supervision, someone might snag you from us.”
you hum softly, an amused smile tugging at your lips as you settle comfortably against geto’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. “alright, boys, thank you,” you murmur, glancing at gojo with a playful glint in your eyes.
you let out a contented sigh, a warm smile on your face as the cozy, comforting atmosphere wraps around the three of you. moments like this—where everything is light, easy, and filled with unspoken love—are the ones you treasure most.
geto’s hand rubs soothing circles on your hip, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice as warm as a summer breeze.
gojo’s eyes soften, his smile gentle as he watches you lean back against geto. “we’ll always be there for you,” he murmurs, his words filled with a protective determination. you sit in a comforting silence, the three of you basking in each other’s presence, safe in the knowledge that you’re taken care of and loved.
geto shifts slightly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your hip as he chuckles softly near your ear. “so,” he begins, his tone teasing but curious, “did you really use your own money for those nails?”
his voice holds a playful edge, but there's that subtle hint of possessiveness again, as if he wants to make sure you're being well taken care of.
you can feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder as he waits for your answer, clearly enjoying the gentle interrogation. gojo raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued as he watches, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “or did you let someone else treat you?” he adds, his voice light but teasing, like he’s in on the joke.
you smirk, feeling their anticipation as they wait for your answer. “actually, yes,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “someone did treat me.”
both geto and gojo's expressions shift slightly—geto’s grip tightening ever so slightly on your hip, while gojo leans forward with mild curiosity. “his name?” you pause for effect, your smile widening. “geto suguru.” you lean closer to give the man kiss on the cheek.
you chuckle softly, tilting your head to look up at geto. “thanks for forcing me to use your card, by the way,” you tease, a playful edge to your voice.
geto’s lips curl into a smirk, his arms tightening around you just a bit more. “well, i had to make sure you got what you wanted,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of satisfaction. “someone's got to take care of you.” gojo lets out an amused snort, his grin widening as he watches the exchange. “how generous of you,” he teases, clearly enjoying the banter between you and geto.
geto chuckles, his hand on your hip squeezing gently. “anything for our princess,” he says, his voice warm but with a hint of possessiveness. he nuzzles his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “can't have you paying for anything when we're around.”
you smile softly at geto’s affectionate gesture, feeling his breath warm against your skin. With a playful glint in your eye, you turn slightly to face him, leaning in close. “that's actually why i have something special to tell you,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing.
geto’s eyes sparkle with curiosity as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and warmth. "oh? do tell,” he replies, his tone inviting and attentive. gojo perks up, his eyebrows lifting slightly at your announcement. he leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his hand, clearly intrigued and eager to hear what you have to say.
geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his eyes softening as he focuses his full attention on you. he gently pushes his chair back, turning you to sit sideways on his lap so he can look you straight in the face, his hand never leaving your hip.
“well? don’t keep us in suspense,” he says, a light smirk playing around the corners of his lips. you look between geto and gojo, enjoying their anticipation. with a teasing grin, you ask geto, “do you remember when i asked you to send me a dick pic before my appointment?”
geto looks slightly surprised at the direction the conversation is taking, but his initial shock morphs into an amused smirk. “i do,” he replies, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hip, his grip firm.
you smile playfully, leaning in slightly and teasing, “i actually chose this nail polish color because it matches the shade of your tip.”geto’s smirk widens, his eyes darkened slightly at your words. “is that so?” he says, his voice a low murmur. he slides his hand up your hip, fingers tracing up along the curve of your waist.
gojo’s expression shift, a scowl crossing his face as he watches the interaction. his usual grin fades slightly, replaced by a hint of jealousy. “you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” he says, his tone is light but edged with a touch of possessiveness.
you ignore gojo's comment, focusing instead on geto's deepening gaze and the way his fingers trace up your waist. With a warm smile, you wrap your arm around geto, pulling him closer. you lean in and press a gentle peck to his lips, savoring the closeness. “just making sure you know how much i appreciate you,” you murmur softly, your tone affectionate.
gojo watches the interaction with a mix of frustration and fascination, but you maintain your attention on geto, enjoying the intimacy and warmth of the moment. geto smiles against your lips, his hand on your hip shifting to rest on the small of your back, his grip firm but gentle. his other hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.
he leans in to deepen the kiss, his lips claiming yours in a soft but possessive manner, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth. he lets out a pleased sigh into the kiss, clearly enjoying the moment.
gojo scowls at the affectionate display, his eyes narrowing as he watches the two of you. he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. after a few moments of indulging in the kiss, geto reluctantly pulls back, his hand still on the small of your back. he gazes at you with an affectionate smile, his eyes shining with warmth.
“so, you really picked this nail polish to match me?’ he asks, his voice a soft murmur as he glances down at your nails. you nod with a playful smile, your eyes sparkling as you look up at geto. “uh-huh,” you reply, your voice soft and teasing. “i chose this color to match you because you paid for my nails. thought it would be a fun little touch. i like the color too, more like i like your dick,” you playfully said, voice drowning with sultry.
gojo lets out a scoff at your comment, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. geto’s grin widens as he hears your words, a mix of amusement and heat flashing in his eyes. he pulls you closer, his hand on your back sliding down to rest on the curve of your hip.
“is that so?” he says, his voice low and filled with a subtle hint of possessiveness. his gaze drops to your nails, his eyes studying the color for a moment before returning to your face.
you meet geto’s gaze with a playful glint in your eyes and a teasing smile. “it is so,” you reply, your tone light but filled with affection. you let your fingers brush gently against his cheek, enjoying the closeness.
geto leaving a peck on your lips once again, his lips linger near yours, his breath warm and his gaze fixed on you. he murmurs affectionately, his voice slightly huskier than before, “you’re such a sweet thing, you know that?” gojo watches the affectionate display with a scowl, but there's a hint of envy in his expression. he scoffs softly again, shifting in his chair as if to draw your attention.
geto, however, is completely absorbed in you, his gaze locked on yours as he whispers against your lips. his hand on your hip gently squeezes you, his fingers tracing along the line where your shirt meets your jeans.
“the sweetest,” he repeats, his voice low and filled with tenderness. he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “and you’re such a bad influence,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with affection and a hint of playful annoyance. he presses another gentle kiss to your mouth, lingering there for a moment.
you chuckle softly, your breath mingling with geto's as you kiss him back with an open-mouthed kiss, your hand gently cupping his cheek. you press your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his skin.
“yeah?” you murmur between kisses, your voice teasing but affectionate. geto's eyes flutter open briefly, a smile playing on his lips as he gazes at you. “yeah,” he whispers back, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness. he deepens the kiss, his fingers continuing to trace the line where your shirt meets your jeans, enjoying the closeness and the playful exchange.
gojo can't help but watch the intimate moment between you and geto, his eyes narrowing slightly as a mix of envy and affection flashes across his face. he leans back in his chair, silently observing the way geto's fingers trace along your waist, the way you cup his face.
geto's hand slides around to the small of your back, pulling you closer still, his kiss becoming deeper, more possessive, his tongue slipping into your mouth. he moans against your lips, his breath coming a little faster.
gojo lets out a frustrated scoff as he watches geto's possessive display, but he can't deny the pang of jealousy that he feels. he shifts in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance.
geto's mouth moves down to your neck, his lips tracing along the line of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. his breath is hot, his fingers gripping you tighter, his body pressing closer. gojo leans forward, his eyes fixated on the two of you, his frustration building. his jaw tightens slightly, his expression hardening as he watches geto's lips caressing your skin.
geto's lips pause near your ear, his voice a whisper filled with desire and possessiveness. “you're mine,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. he gently bites down on the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck, his tongue soothing the spot immediately after.
gojo's eyes darkened, watching geto's mouth on your neck, the way he seemed so possessive, claiming you as his own. he shifted in his chair again, his fingers continuing to drum on the table, his jaw clenching faintly.
he scoffs softly, his jealousy and frustration palpable. “can it out already, can you?” he grunt in annoyance. geto pauses at gojo's annoyed remark, his lips reluctantly pulling away from your neck. he turns his head to glance at gojo, his gaze a mixture of annoyance and possessiveness.
“jealous much?” he responds, his voice cool and calm, but with an edge of challenge.
he looks back at you, his eyes traveling down to your neck and the spot he had just been kissing. a flicker of pride crosses his face as he notes the slight mark his teeth left on your skin. you clear your throat and let out a sheepish laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed by the situation (which is a lie). you glance over at gojo, offering a smirk, clearly you enjoy the moment with geto which make the man more upset than he already is, especially that crush cherry color on your cheeks.
“sorry, baby,” you say, your tone is light with no sincerity. “i got a bit carried away.”
gojo scowls at your words, his annoyance flaring as he hears the lack of remorse in your tone. his eyes flick between you and geto, his expression growing more and more frustrated. geto, on the other hand, smirks at your response, his hand on the small of your back rubbing circles in a self-satisfied manner. he pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours.
“don't worry, princess,” he says, his voice is smooth and confident. “there's no need to apologize for enjoying yourself.” gojo's scowl deepens as geto's hand rubs circles on your back, the pet name adding fuel to his jealousy. he leans forward on the table, his gaze flickering between you and geto.
“yeah, don't apologize for enjoying yourself,” he mutters, his tone snarky, “not like you're neglecting anyone here.”
you chuckle softly at gojo’s snarky comment, finding his jealousy both amusing and endearing. you give geto a warm smile as you slide into the chair next to him, your body still close but giving gojo a bit of space. “don’t worry, baby,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “i’m just spreading the love around. no one’s being neglected here.”
uou turn your attention back to geto, giving him a teasing look. “and as for you,” you add, leaning in slightly, “thanks for the fun. i always appreciate your confidence.”
geto’s smirk widens, his hand still resting on your back, and he leans in closer to kiss your cheek, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. gojo grumbles at your words, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression one of mild annoyance and jealousy. he watches as you shift your attention back to geto, his eyes narrowing slightly.
geto, on the other hand, grins at your playful comment, his hand gripping your back a little tighter. he leans in to give your cheek a soft kiss, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment, his gaze fixed on gojo the entire time.
“always a pleasure, princess,” he says, his voice warm and filled with affection. gojo's scowl deepens as he watches you and geto, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly displeased, even if he’s trying to hide it. you and geto both know how he can get—he’s always been the jealous type, even over the smallest things.
you can feel gojo’s gaze on you, practically burning with envy. deciding to tease him a little, you pretend to be oblivious to his jealousy, glancing at geto with a playful smile. “well, suguru did pay for my nails this time, so it only made sense to match his color.”
gojo lets out an exaggerated huff, his fingers tapping against the table impatiently. “it should’ve been me,” he mutters under his breath. “i should’ve paid for your nails. and you should’ve picked my color.”
geto chuckles, clearly amused by gojo's jealousy and possessiveness. he gives you a knowing look, his hand on your back rubbing soothing circles.
“again, jealous, satoru?” he asks, his voice smooth and playful. gojo's scowl deepens as he hears geto's question, his eyes narrowing at the other man.
“damn right i am,” he mutters under his breath. “i should be the one you're matching. not him.“ you stifle a laugh at his possessive grumbling, looking at him with mock confusion. “baby, i didn't know you wanted to pay. you never said anything.”
his eyes narrow slightly, but there's a hint of vulnerability beneath his frustration. “what do you mean i never said anything? i shouldn’t have to say anything. you know I like doing things for you first and you know i always pay for you.”
geto can't help but chuckle again at gojo's response, enjoying the exchange between you and him. he rests his chin on his hand, his eyes flickering between you and gojo.
you feign innocence, tilting your head slightly as you look at gojo. “well, honey, you should have said something. maybe i would have matched your color if you had offered,” you say, your tone soft and amused.
gojo's irritation is evident in his expression, but there's a hint of hurt in his eyes. “i shouldn't have to offer. you should have picked my color without me asking," he grumbles, his fingers tapping against the table in an impatient rhythm. “i do so much for you, princess. you should just know that i want to do this sort of thing for you.”
geto watches the exchange between you and gojo, his expression neutral but his eyes flickering with a hint of interest. his hand on your back continues to rub gentle circles, a subtle gesture of possession.
you continue to feign innocence, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “well, sweetheart,” you say, your voice soft and sweet, “maybe you should have made it more obvious that you wanted me to match you.”
gojo's scowl deepens at your response, his irritation growing. he leans forward in his chair, his eyes locking on you.
“more obvious?” he repeats, his voice filled with frustration. “how much more obvious can i get? i do so much for you. i take you on dates, i buy you gifts, i spend time with you. i feel like i’m practically screaming at you that i want to pay for you.”
geto's eyes flicker between you and gojo, silently watching the exchange, his eyes sharp and observant. he continues to rub circles on your back, his hand staying possessively in place.
you maintain your innocent facade, your small smile growing slightly wider. “maybe you should try actually screaming it then,” you suggest, your tone light and playful. gojo's jaw tightens, his patience wearing thin. he lets out an exasperated sigh, his fingers drumming against the table.
“maybe i should,” he mutters under his breath. “it’s not like i haven’t been pretty damn upfront about how i feel, princess. i’ve said i want to take care of you. i’ve told you how much you mean to me. how much more obvious can i get?”
you can’t help but chuckle at gojo’s frustrated outburst. his jealousy, while endearing, always comes with a touch of drama. standing up from your seat. “sorry, baby,” you say with playful sincerity, your voice light as you step away from the table. “i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. you know you’re important to me.”
you stretch your arms and look at both gojo and geto with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “but for now, i’m going to take a shower.” you give them a little wink before turning toward your bedroom, leaving both of them to stew in their own thoughts for a moment.
both gojo and geto watch you get up from your seat, their eyes following you as you stride towards your bedroom. gojo's irritation melts slightly as he watches you go, his gaze fixated on the sway of your hips. he lets out a deep sigh, his fingers tapping against the table again.
geto's eyes linger on your figure, his hand still rubbing circles on the empty space where you had been sitting only moments ago. his expression is calm, but his gaze is filled with a mixture of desire and possessiveness.
as you disappear into the bedroom and close the door, gojo and geto are left alone at the table. for a few moments, they sit in silence, the only sound in the room being the soft hum of the air conditioning.
gojo breaks the silence, his voice low and frustrated. “she’s driving me crazy.”
inside your bedroom, as you stand in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and removing your jewelry, you hear the soft creak of the wooden door closing. you glance at the reflection, catching sight of gojo sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed and his gaze deliberately avoiding yours. he’s still sulking, his body language making it painfully clear that he wants you to know just how upset he is.
a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you turn to face him fully. his childish pouting is endearing, and you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head at how serious he’s trying to be.
“you're still upset, huh?” you tease softly, stepping closer to him. gojo’s stubborn silence is answer enough, his jaw set in a tight line, though you can see the faintest hint of a pout forming.
gojo can feel his irritation bubbling beneath the surface as you approach him, his arms still crossed over his chest. he refuses to look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tight. he knows he's being childish, but he can't help it.
he remains silent, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. he can feel your eyes on him, your soft chuckle breaking the heavy silence in the room. he grumbles under his breath, his resolve slipping.
you stand in front of gojo, watching the way his irritation bubbles beneath the surface. he's stubborn, jaw clenched and eyes glued to the floor. a small sigh escapes you as you reach out, gently stroking his arms up and down, feeling the tension in his muscles. his resistance is almost adorable, but you know exactly how to handle him when he's like this.
wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, your touch soft and coaxing. you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes, but he only looks further away, his determination to stay upset clear in every movement.
“come on, baby,” you murmur, your voice soft and teasing. “are you really going to keep ignoring me, or what?“ you lean in a little closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, hoping to break down the last bit of his sulking.
gojo tries to resist your attempts at breaking down his sulking, but the feeling of your arms around his neck and the sound of your voice against his ear start to chip away at his resolve. he lets out a frustrated huff, his shoulders sagging slightly.
he hesitates for a few more moments, fighting the urge to give in to your coaxing. but eventually, he gives up, his arms slowly uncrossing and settling on your waist. his gaze remains fixed on the floor, still stubbornly avoiding your eyes.
you smile softly as you feel gojo's arms finally settle on your waist, his stubborn facade starting to crack. without saying a word, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment before pulling back. your fingers trail up to brush lightly against his undercut, feeling the slight roughness beneath your fingertips.
he’s still looking away, but you can sense his resolve weakening, the frustration slowly fading. “there you are,” you whisper, your thumb gently caressing the side of his face. “i missed you already.” you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze, your smile warm and affectionate as you wait for him to finally meet your eyes.
gojo can feel his resolve crumbling with each gentle touch and caress from you. your soft whisper and the warmth in your voice only make it harder for him to keep up his sulky act.
he lets out a quiet breath, his gaze flickering towards yours for a brief moment before quickly looking away again. his jaw is still clenched, the last remnants of his annoyance still lingering. but the longer you hold him, the more it fades away, replaced by a mix of vulnerability and affection.
“ugh, stop it,” he mutters under his breath, his voice gruff but lacking any real heat.
you chuckle softly at his gruff response, leaning in a little closer as you stroke his undercut. “i'm sorry, baby,” you say gently, your voice soft and sincere. “i didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.” you give him a small, apologetic smile, your thumb brushing along his cheek. “i just wanted to do something nice for suguru since he paid for my nails, that’s all.“
you pause for a moment, letting your words sink in, hoping he understands. “it doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate you. you know i do, right?” you tilt your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes again, your arms still wrapped around his neck, holding him close.
his shoulders sag slightly as you apologize, his face softening as he absorbs your words. he knows he's being ridiculous, being jealous over something so small. he lets out a deep breath, his resistance crumbling further. he finally meets your gaze, his expression a mixture of annoyance and affection.
“i know,” he sighs, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just...” he hesitates for a moment, his jaw clenching again. “i hate the idea of you matching anything with anyone other than me, princess.”
you smile softly, your hand moving from his cheek to gently run through his hair. “baby, i always match almost everything with you,” you reassure him, your tone warm and affectionate. “more than i do with suguru, trust me.”
you lean in a little closer, your forehead resting against his. “but sometimes, it's nice to do things for him too, you know? he takes care of me just like you do. you both mean so much to me.” your fingers trail gently along his undercut again, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “you’ll always come first, though.”
gojo lets out another sigh, the last remnants of his stubborn resistance melting away at your words. he leans into your touch, his body relaxing under your gentle caresses. he knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help the possessive feeling that surges within him whenever he sees you with anyone else.
“i know,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your hips. “i know you care about us both. and i get that you want to do nice things for him. i just... i don’t like sharing you, princess.”
you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you brush a strand of hair away from gojo’s face. “isn’t it a little too late to be worrying about sharing, baby?” you tease gently, your lips curling into a playful smile.
you lean back slightly, keeping your arms around his neck. “besides, it’s not fair if i’m always doing things with you, and the moment i do something with suguru, you throw a fit.” your tone is light and teasing, but there’s an undertone of honesty in your words.
“baby, you’re not the only one who wants to take care of me. suguru does too, and i want to show him the same love and attention i show you.” you tilt your head, your eyes soft. “don’t you think that’s fair?”
gojo let out another huff, his face scrunching into a slight pout. he knows you have a point, but he’s still not entirely pleased with the situation. sharing you with geto is already a challenge for him, and now you’re giving him even more reasons to be jealous.
“i guess,” he grumbles, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just can’t help it, princess. when i see you with him, doing things we usually do together, it makes me want to... well...” he trails off, his eyes flickering to the side.
gojo’s pout deepens as he grumbles, noticing the small gap between the two of you. with a frustrated sigh, he tugs you closer by your waist, his grip firm but affectionate.
“why are you standing so far away?” he mutters, pulling you flush against him as if that would somehow chase away the jealousy lingering in his chest. he buries his face against your chest, letting out another low grumble. “i don’t like it when you’re not close to me,” he admits, his voice muffled but laced with affection.
you chuckle as gojo pulls you closer, his arms encircling you possessively. his possessive and needy behavior is both endearing and frustrating at times, but you know it’s just his way of showing how much he cares.
as he buries his face against your chest, you instinctively reach up to run your fingers through his soft, white hair, your touch gentle and soothing. “i’m not that far away, sweetheart,” you tease lightly, your other hand rubbing circles on his back.
you gently cup his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you. “baby, suguru deserves the same attention and treatment as you do,” you say softly but firmly. “he’s important to me too, and just like you, he wants to show me how much he cares.”
you lean in a bit closer, your gaze steady and sincere. “i love both of you and want to make sure you both feel appreciated and cared for. it's not about sharing; it's about balancing and showing the same love to everyone who means so much to me.”
gojo’s eyes meet yours as you cup his face in your hands, your words sinking in. he knows deep down that you’re right, that geto deserves just as much attention and affection as he does. but it’s still hard for him to shake off that possessive and jealous feeling. he huffs again, his grip on your hips tightening slightly.
“i know,” he mutters, his voice low. “i just don’t like sharing you, princess. it feels like i’m losing something when you give bits of yourself to someone else.” you chuckle softly, shaking your head with a playful smile. “you're such a drama queen, satoru,“ you tease gently before leaning down to kiss him.
your lips meet his in an open-mouthed kiss, your hands sliding up to his neck to pull him closer. the kiss is deep and warm, your affection clear in every gentle brush of your lips and touch. you let yourself get lost in the moment, aiming to reassure him of your love and commitment, no matter how dramatic he might be feeling.
gojo grumbles as you tease him, but his grumbles quickly melt away as your lips meet his. his arms instinctively envelope your waist, pulling you in as close to him as physically possible.
the kiss is hungry and possessive, the touch of your lips and tongue igniting a fire within the both of you. he responds with equal fervor, his mouth moving against yours with a mixture of need and passion.
he forgets about the jealousy and pettiness for a moment, losing himself entirely in your touch. as the kiss deepens, gojo's hands begin to wander, his touch becoming more possessive and needy. they trail up your sides, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your top, his touch hot against your skin.
he pulls back for a moment, but only to move his attention to your jaw and neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips along your sensitive flesh. with each kiss and nibble, gojo's need for you becomes more evident, his touch both tender and urgent as he holds you close against him. his lips and tongue continue their journey down your neck, his hands now roaming across your shoulders and back.
he's slowly losing himself in the moment, his jealousy and possessiveness taking a backseat to his overwhelming desire for you.
you let out a soft murmur, “satoru,” almost breathlessly. your eyes fluttering closed as you pull his silver locks gently. your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deepening the kiss. every touch, every nibble on your neck only intensities the connection between you, allowing you both to lose yourselves in the shared moment of intimacy and affection.
at the sound of his name, gojo groans against your skin, his lips and teeth still working their way along your neck and collarbone. his hands move lower, slipping beneath your top and caressing your bare skin.
he can feel your need, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. he responds to your silent request, his body molding against yours, his lips moving back up to claim yours in a deep, heated kiss.
as the intensity of the kiss builds, gojo starts to steer you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. his hands roam your body, exploring every inch of you as he continues to kiss you with a burning desire.
with a swift movement, he lifts you up into his arms and lays you down on the bed, his body covering you as he pins you beneath him, drawing a gasp from the back of your throat with sudden movement. his knee wedges between your legs, spreading them slightly as he presses closer against you.
gojo's actions are fluid and confident, his hands and mouth working in unison to send waves of heat cascading through your body. he pins you beneath him, his body pressing against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart.
he can feel your gasp against his lips, his fingers gripping your hips and pulling you even closer against him. he breaks away from the kiss, his lips moving to your ear, peppering it with kisses and soft nibbles. his voice is low, almost a growl.
“you drive me crazy, princess,“ he whispers, his voice deep and filled with desire.
you gently pull him away, your eyes searching his face with a hint of concern. you run your fingers through his hair, your voice soft and soothing. “are you still mad?” you ask, your tone filled with warmth and understanding. you want to make sure that his feelings are addressed before things continue, showing him that you care about his emotions as much as the passion between you.
gojo's frustration and jealousy melt away under your gentle touch and concerned gaze. he leans into your hand as you run your fingers through his hair, the simple, soothing gesture calming his restless thoughts.
he sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you beneath him. he's still annoyed, but the intensity of his feelings seems to have simmered down. “no,” he admits, his voice a little gruff. "i'm not mad anymore. just... jealous."
you poke his cheek playfully, a teasing smile on your lips. “don't,” you say, your voice light and comforting. “we just had a hot make-out session. it doesn’t change how much i care about you.” you lean in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek, reassuring him with your warmth and affection.
gojo can't help but chuckle at your playful poke and light tone. your words and the gentle kiss on his cheek only serve to soothe his jealous feelings further. he knows deep down that his jealousy is a little irrational, but he can't help the possessive part of him that wants you all to himself.
he leans his forehead against yours, his voice softer now. “i know,” he mumbles, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your hips. “i just... i can't help it, princess. i just want you all to myself, all the time.”
you gently push him onto the bed, a playful glint in your eyes as you crawl down from the bed. you stand next to him, looking down with a teasing smile. “too bad,” you say with a light chuckle, “you're going to have to bear it for the rest of your life. neither suguru nor i are going anywhere.” you lean down to give him a reassuring kiss, emphasizing your words with affection.
as you push him onto the bed and stand over him, gojo can't help but let out a small grumble, even though he knows you're just teasing him. he props himself up on his elbows, his gaze on you, a mixture of jealousy and adoration in his eyes.
he lets out a huff as you tease him with your words, but his expression softens when you lean down to give him a kiss, the reassurance clear in your gesture. “you're lucky i love you,” he mutters under his breath, his tone jokingly annoyed.
you give his thigh a gentle pat, your smile warm and reassuring. “you should go back to work,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of sincerity. “i’m going to take a shower, and then i’ll make you and suguru tea and dinner. your favorite, of course.”
you lean down for one last quick kiss, “sounds good, my love?”
gojo's expression softens at the combination of your warm smile and gentle touch. he sighs, sitting up on the bed and nodding slightly as you suggest he return to work. he knows you're right, that he needs to get back to his responsibilities, even though he'd rather stay in the moment with you.
he accepts your last quick kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your head, his touch possessive but affectionate.
“sounds good, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of resignation and fondness. as you’re about to walk to the bathroom, gojo's hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling you back to stand between his legs. he gazes up at you, his blue eyes holding a mix of playful jealousy and curiosity.
“you like suguru's dick, huh?“ he asks, his voice teasing yet laced with a hint of insecurity. “what about mine? do you like my dick too?” his fingers trail up your wrist, his grip light but enough to keep you close. he's seeking reassurance, the possessive part of him craving your validation.
gojo's grip on your wrist prevents you from moving too far away. his eyes lock on yours, the mixture of jealousy and curiosity evident in their depths. when he speaks, his voice is playful, yet there's an undertone of insecurity and seeking validation.
at his question, a small flush creeps onto your cheeks, your body moving slightly closer to him. you reach down, gently running your fingers through his silvery hair. “yes,” you reply softly, looking at him. “i do like your dick too, baby.”
gojo smirks in response, his grip on your wrist relaxing as he leans back slightly, his eyes still fixed on yours. he can see the flush on your cheeks, the way your body moves closer to his, and he knows he's gotten what he wanted— reassurance.
he lifts his hand, his fingers gently tracing along your hip, his touch light, almost teasing. his voice is playful, but there's also a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “enough to prefer it over suguru's?” he asks, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, seeking further confirmation.
as your finger trails from his thigh to his zipper, gojo’s smirk deepens, his breath hitching slightly at your touch. your whisper, soft and teasing, sends a shiver down his spine. you nod, leaning in slightly, your lips barely brushing his ear. “i like yours the most,” you whisper, letting your finger linger teasingly on his zipper.
“its sooo big, thick, and clean, and red, you take care of your dick so well,” you continue to whisper to his ear.
gojo's smirk turns into a small gasp as your finger lightly brushes his zipper and your whisper in his ear. his body responds instantly to your touch and words, his breath hitching and his heart rate slightly picking up.
he grunts lightly as you continue to tease him with your whispers about how well he takes care of his dick, his own voice a little huskier as he responds.
“are you really trying to flatter me right now, princess?” he mutters, his eyes closing momentarily as his own hand grips your hip a little tighter. “yeah? my dick's better, right?” he asks after, his tone bordering on cocky as he looks up at you smugly. he tightens his grip on your wrist, while his other hand moving to rest possessively on your waist.
gojo's smug expression falters for a split second when you whisper, “sooo much better,” your voice low and teasing. his grip tightens just slightly on your waist, but before he can respond, you tap his thigh and begin to walk away, leaving him sitting on the bed.
he watches you, a mix of frustration and amusement playing on his face as you head to the bathroom, his possessive nature still burning beneath the surface. “you’re really gonna leave me like that, huh?” he mutters under his breath, eyes glued to your retreating figure.
his fingers twitch in response to the sudden loss of your touch, and he lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head with a small, exasperated grin, knowing full well you’ve won this round.
gojo stares after you as you walk towards the bathroom, his expression a mixture of frustration, amusement, and possessiveness. his fingers twitch with the need to pull you back, to keep you close and satisfy his possessive nature.
he lets out a low huff, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that he's slightly disgruntled by your departure. “you can't just tease me like that and then leave,” he calls out, his voice low and slightly rough.
he leans back on one elbow, his eyes glued to the bathroom door, already plotting his revenge for your cheeky retreat.
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kikixreverie · 4 months ago
Text
Your boys
Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Female reader
Summary - The war has been a brutal reality check for you in more ways than one, the first being that life is far more fragile than you thought, and the second that you were deeply in love with not one… but both of your best friends.
Word count - 8k
Warnings - (18+) Smut, threesome, oral sex, handjob, mentions of war and homophobia.
A/N - Hi, im still here kinda. Suffered a pretty rough, year long writers block and then was finally able to edit this one shot I wrote ages ago. I hope you enjoy it and all its filth.
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The half-empty bar rings with laughter and the clinking of glasses as its patrons drown out their sorrows with liquor, a temporary haven for those seeking distraction from the heartlessness they've seen in the past few years. The smoke in the air was thick, but better than what you were used to, the scent of tobacco, not fire out on the field, though it lingers in your nose all the same. 
The music, a familiar jazz tune carries through that thickened air, paired with deep laughter from rowdy men trying to ignore the sickening sense of dread they all pretend not to feel. Your attention however, is divided. Humming softly to the tune you can only half remember, your focus stays fixed on him—Bucky Barnes, gazing from afar at his wide, mirthful grin, those blue eyes of his reflecting the low lighting of the bar as he sips at yet another beer. 
You watch as Steve walks over to rejoin them, more drinks in his hands which he passes to the surrounding men with a nod, which they each take from him, too distracted with their chatter to thank him. Bucky chuckles, shifting back from the group to say something to Steve, a sly grin gracing his lips, smirking as Steve laughs softly at his joke, sadly too far away for you to be in on it.
You get lost in the sight of the men you've known far longer than you haven't, and have seen sink into themselves more and more in recent years, weathered by war, and yet, beneath the surface, your heart can still manage to find a lesser problem to dwell on—feelings you never even asked for becoming even more known to you the more you watch them, both so pretty. They’d always been pretty.
"Come here often?" 
You sigh at the unexpected voice, an instinctual reaction at this point, and regretfully you looked away from the two men, staring down at your glass for a moment before you tilted your head to the left and eyed her with fake annoyance, staring deadpan at the mischievous smirk playing on her red lips. You both know she caught you staring.
You look down at your drink again, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass as you lift it to take another sip and wince, "No, should I?" 
Her smirk grows wider, resting her elbow on the sticky bar top. She shrugs, "Depends what you're here for."
You pause for a few seconds, squinting at her as if flicking through the possible reasons to be in this dingy bar, other than an easy escape from the war outside. "Alcohol?" You ask, raising a brow. The only reason you were in this bar would be for Bucky and Steve. 
"Ah, well in that case, no. The beer here is watered-down and overpriced." She quips, clinking her glass with yours before taking the seat beside you.
"Oh, that explains it." You respond, sighing dramatically as you take a swig from your glass. Peggy hums softly, her fingertips drifting over the lip of her glass. You can feel her eyes on you, as usual, watching, assessing the situation, and you take a risky glance at her, slightly apprehensive, not looking forward to the way she's going to read you like a goddamn book. "What?"
"Why are you over here, all by yourself?" She asks, her head tilted with curiosity.
You take pause at her question, setting your drink back down with a sigh, gaze drifting back over to the group of men talking loudly with warm grins on their faces, all the happiest you'd seen them in weeks if not months... actually years. 
"I don't know, I just needed some time alone I guess." You shrug, which immediately earns you a disbelieving scoff.
"Bullshit, the one thing no sergeant would want at a time like this is to be alone. It's a tough job, we all survive on these rare few moments when we get to feel some resemblance of normal. Now tell me why you're sitting here alone."
You don't respond for a long moment, eyes flicking over to your childhood best friends again, as they often do when you find yourself in any room with them. "I'm just in my head. I can't stop thinking about what could happen... and what will. I just- I wish I could go back just for a moment, just to remember what it was like before everything went to shit. I'm sick of thinking the worst every time it falls quiet." 
She listens quietly, then nods, her hand moving to your arm to give a reassuring squeeze, "I think we all understand that feeling." 
You nod too, chewing nervously on your lower lip, feeling that sinking feeling like you've ruined the small moment of fun you’d been granted by taking notice of those anxious thoughts. Bucky's hand rests on Steve's shoulder as he talks into his ear, his lips curling up as he laughs through his own words, Steve blushing beside him, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.
"I'd give anything to go back." You whisper, eyes glued to them, thinking about the times Bucky would drag both you and Steve out dancing with him, and Steve would always step on your feet, and then apologise with pink cheeks each time as you reassured him you lost sensation in them two songs ago. 
"I'm guessing you're talking about your boys." Responds Peggy and you nod before your eyebrows furrow, turning to her quickly with a confused frown on your face.
"My boys?" You repeat, ignoring how the notion of it makes you feel, because it just sounds completely ridiculous - and yes, they are your boys.
"Yes. I mean, they are your closest friends, aren't they?" She laughs, and you give your sad attempt at a normal laugh back to her. 
"Yeah, of course. We've been best friends since we were kids." You say back, cringing at your awkwardness and sipping on your drink to try hide it. 
It falls silent for a moment, which was a nice respite to the conversation that was making you anxious enough. Peggy obviously breaks it again. "You miss them." 
It wasn't a question, so you don’t answer, just stare down silently at your glass, swallowing the lump in your throat, that anxiety just getting worse, weighing you down onto your seat. You nod because it's true. With how hectic and scary the past few years have been, all three of you have changed in some way, and you've not had time to get to know those differences. You'd barely spoken to them about anything other than mission plans in weeks, everyone just more than eager to win this war and get home.
"Go talk to them, I'm sure they miss you too." Peggy offers softly, patting your shoulder again before giving you a smile. She slips off her chair, finally leaving you with your thoughts, walking across the bar to sit with the howling commandos with a half-empty drink in her hand, saluting the very boys you were just talking about, and you fight to ignore the stupid jealousy you feel when they both return the gesture to the gorgeous woman.
You’re in way over your head.
You’d hate to admit it, but she’s right, you miss them, very, very much. Things haven't been the same since the war started, and you know it'd be naive to think it will ever go back to how it was. You feel that breath-stealing sadness whenever you look at Steve, a feeling you know is mutual for Bucky too. You still don't always recognise him when he's facing away from you, searching in a crowd for a small, delicate Steve that no longer exists, before you remember the beast of a man he'd become and feel a different kind of warm flutter when you see him. 
Bucky is different too, quieter, rougher around the edges, darker. You miss that boyish charm of his, the easygoing, easy-loving James Barnes everyone knew. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, but he guards it now, keeps it locked away for safekeeping. He barely spoke for weeks after Steve got him out of that place, barely ate. You haven’t seen him cry in months either, which is somehow much more worrying than if he were to break down into tears each night like a lot of the boys do in secret. 
It hurts when you think back to before, a time when the three of you were so close you spent most nights sleeping at each other's houses, a time when your biggest worry was that the neighbours were gossiping about your 'morals', despite how many times Bucky reminded you that the old lady next door's opinion shouldn't matter to you. 
But it did. Sometimes even you worried about your 'morals', a socially-expected guilt clouding the thoughts you'd have about them, both of them. It's always been more. A part of you always knew there was a deeper understanding the three of you had for each other, like how soulmates would be described in the romance books you had read, only it couldn't be so easy that you were in love with one of your best friends, it had to be both.
A person sits beside you again, and you roll your eyes with a small smile, turning towards them and expecting it to be Peggy back to drag you over to everybody else, but you quickly drop the expression at the sight of a man you had never seen before, smiling at you as if you'd invited him to sit there.
"Come here often?" The man asks, not sounding the slightest bit ironic, as amusing as that is for you. You hide your laugh behind your almost empty glass, which doesn’t help you one bit seeing as the glass is clear. You resort to biting your cheek when he just stares back expectantly, apparently waiting for you to swoon and faint into his arms. 
You shake your head, reminding yourself to definitely not come here often. "No, sorry." You respond, mentally scolding yourself for apologising for no reason, and then scolding yourself for scolding yourself. Can he just fuck off maybe?
"That's okay. Pretty dame like you in a bar like this, you here with anyone?" He sounds like Bucky, you think to yourself, only its not charming one bit when this stranger calls your a ‘dame’. He moves closer to you, his arm almost touching yours, which was immediately enough for you to shift away, feeling uncomfortable and annoyed that he was in your space. You scoff, deciding you've seen far too much to give a shit about upsetting some creepy guy in a bar. You open your mouth to shut him down.
"Yeah, she's with us." 
For fucks sake why can't I do the fun part? 
You already know it’s Steve's voice, strong with that Brooklyn accent, even stronger with the distaste in his voice. You don’t turn to look at him, still trying to keep the distance between you and the guy who’s staring wide-eyed up at Captain America.
"Maybe go and bother someone else." Bucky adds, moving in behind the guy, his tone much less polite than the Captain's.
The man doesn’t say a word, much to your amusement, just puts his head down and stands, walking away, probably going to find some other poor woman to bother, or nurse a stronger drink and lick his wounds.
They sit either side of you, Bucky's hand moving to your back. "You alright, doll?" 
You sigh and nod, rubbing your forehead and smiling softly at him "I'm fine, Buck. You know I could've easily scared him away." 
Bucky nods, smirking softly. He's seen you shut down many a guy before the war,
"I know, just making sure." 
It falls silent for a moment, Bucky doesn't break eye contact with you and you can't bring yourself to do it for him, his gaze soft and inviting, almost as distracting as the way he wets his lower lip the way he often does. 
"Why are you sittin' over here?" Steve asks, and it finally draws you to look away from Bucky, clearing your throat before turning to Steve on your left.
"Just lost in thought I guess." You respond with a shrug, deciding not to disclose the fact that you were lost in thought about them, as per usual.
Steves cheeks remain a little pink and you don’t get why, wondering if he had noticed the weird staring going on between you and Bucky, which only makes you blush just the same in embarrassment. 
"Thinking 'bout what, doll?" Bucky presses, his warm breath brushing against your shoulder. You don't let yourself look at him again, staring straight ahead as your stomach flutters with nerves and something else you don't want to think about yet.
You shrug, breathless as Steve inches slightly closer to you too, as if he and Bucky had some nefarious plan to make you want them impossibly more, his shoulder pressing against yours. 
"I don't know. Just lost in thought about... how bad the beer is." You say, sheepish at your stupid response, but Steve laughs sweetly, which only makes you smile. 
Bucky only hums in response though and you look over at him again, that enticing look in his eyes, "How about we get out of here? Just us three, we can swing it like old times, got a fairly decent bottle of whiskey in my room that's waiting to be drank." 
You inhale softly in surprise and excitement. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the three of you had gotten drunk together alone, but it's been a while, and for some reason, it seemed like something different now, something new.
You glance over at Steve to see him waiting for your response, seemingly already aware of Bucky's idea, so you nod, not trusting yourself to speak and not look stupid.
You all leave the bar together after gathering your things, purposefully ignoring the smirk Peggy gives you as you walk past, just wanting to get out of the stuffy bar and away from the noise for a while.
It was a silent taxi ride the whole way back to the hotel you were all currently staying at, though not awkward. You sat between the two men, Bucky's thigh pressed against yours while you and Steve sit shoulder to shoulder. 
You'd always thought that taxis were fairly spacious until you had to share one with a super-soldier and James Buchanan Barnes.
Steve pays the taxi driver with the best tip he can afford and soon enough you were all piling into Bucky's room. 
You sigh when you walk through the door, not giving a second to hesitate to go to the bed, falling forward with another sigh as you stretch out across the mattress, kicking off your uncomfortable shoes and letting them hit the floor with a soft thud. It wasn’t often you had access to an actual bed.
You can hear Bucky and Steve laughing as they take off their jackets, which you didn't have the nerve to watch them do.
"Comfy?" Steve asks, walking over to the small radio on the bedside table and switching through the channels till he found some decent music to have on quietly in the background. 
You nod, humming softly and closing your eyes, "You try wearing heels for a whole night only 3 days after getting off the field." 
Bucky sits beside you on the bed, looking down at you as you hesitantly peek your eyes open to look at him.
"Can't imagine the pain, doll. Want a foot rub?" He teases, a lopsided smirk playing on lips.
You scoff in response, laughing softly and definitely not considering his most likely joking offer. Instead of putting your sore feet on his lap, you just blush and sit up, shoving at his broad shoulder. "Shut up. Where's that decent whiskey you promised, hm?"
He laughs, picking something up off the floor from beside the bed and holding up a full bottle, passing it to you as he takes a glass from the bedside table near him, holding it out for you to pour the liquid into it. 
"Hey guys, I'm gonna go change, then I'll be back, okay?" Says Steve, a smile on his face as he walks back towards the door, and you and James both nod, watching the tall man duck slightly through the doorway and leave room gently shutting the door behind him.
Its comfortably quiet in the hotel room, though the atmosphere slightly different. You sip at the strong-tasting, barely decent whiskey, the liquid burning its way down your throat to settle in your stomach, warm and familiar.
Your gaze again drifts to him, watching over the rim of your glass as Bucky moves to sit against the bed frame after pouring his own drink, shoes kicked to the floor, watching you right back, his head resting against the dark wooden frame, a soft look on his handsome face. A strand of his dark hair falls onto his forehead, and you follow it like an arrow pointing down to the white shirt he's wearing, the top few buttons undone as some sick way to punish you even further.
"You're always so sweet on him." He murmurs quietly, breaking the silence. He doesn’t sound one bit jealous, only fond, his head tilted slightly, his tongue casually dragging across his lower lip.
"Aren't we both?" You tilt your head at him as you ask the question. It feels serious, despite the sweetness of his smile, theres something more hidden in the words, but neither of you are ready to say something like that out loud, the denial comfortable for a moment longer.
He goes quiet again, chewing on his lip as he stares down at the bed sheets, sighing softly. "I guess it's hard not to be. I know he's all tall and macho now," He pauses to huff a laugh, you watching and listening quietly and intently, him looking up to the ceiling as he continues, the smile fading to something softer, "But he's still Stevie."
A hint of a smile pulls at your lips, and you nod, holding your drink up to not spill anything as you shuffle over on your knees to sit beside him against the headboard, huffing softly at the movement, then propping up pillows behind you to be more comfortable as Bucky watches with an amused smile.
"And you're still Buck." You add once you’re settled, looking at his gorgeous face, your chin tilted upwards, and his down. He swallows softly, and you notice the movement of it, his adams apple moving in a distracting way that you swear makes you feel thirsty, so you take another sip of your drink, hoping it will settle the feeling it obviously wont.
"You sure about that?" He asks, his eyes flicking down, watching the whiskey swirl in his glass, lips set in something closer to a frown now. You know he's hurting, even if he hasn't felt ready to confide in you about it yet.
"Very." He looks at you when you say it, and you hold his gaze this time, his stare so intense, eyes so blue, lips so pink. 
It takes your dumb, denial-stuck mind a moment longer to realise that you were looking down at his lips and that he was looking at yours at the same time, and there was no actual effort to either of you leaning closer, just a magnetism and a feeling spreading through your chest and butterfly filled stomach that you don’t even question it, don’t think once about the consequences, and technically its Bucky that ends up closing the tiny gap you’d made for him to do so, putting his glass down at the bedside table closest to him as his soft, warm lips make contact, eyes drifting closed,his hand then reaching across you and taking your glass too placing it down.
With his hands free, they move to cup your face, lips moving against yours, the kiss soft and sweet as your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, his right hand reaching down for your thigh, grabbing flesh and trying to pull you closer as your lips move faster, a realisation that this kiss can’t last forever and you both swear you need it to.
It shifts from sweet and soft, to passionate and fast-moving, an almost desperate feeling urging you to press closer, your lips coaxing Bucky's to open as his hands grip your skin, your hips, waist, thighs. You just want to taste him, just like you'd always dreamed of doing. It barely feels real, but you barely think about it when you slide your tongue against his lips and earn yourself a soft, heated groan in response.
The booze doesn’t matter, you were drunk on him, butterflies in your stomach, heart hammering in your chest, an ache forming between your legs.
You'd never experienced a kiss like this before, never this intense desperation, so needy for more, clutching at eachother and shifting on the bed, breathing against his cheek.
Time is far lost to you both, only warm skin and hot mouths and soft lips, but the noise at the door breaks through the goodness of the moment, and you and Bucky quickly pull away from each other, panting for air as your heart hammers in your chest. Steve stands at the door wide-eyed.
Bucky licks his lips wordlessly as he tries to calm himself down, sighing and pushing his hair back, looking down at the bedsheets. 
"Steve?" You ask when he doesn’t say anything, anxiety clouding the heated memory replaying of the kiss, as you wait for any reaction from Steve.
Steve couldn’t look more shocked, unable to look either of you in the eye, standing sheepishly at the door as he flushes pink.
"Sorry." He mutters, reaching for the door handle and making his turn to leave, and your heart lurches, sitting up to stop him, but Bucky speaks up before you can remember what words are. 
"Steve." He says softly, and the blonde pauses, looking over at Bucky and waiting to be chastised for entering the room without knocking, but Bucky only offers a small, hesitant smile, "C'mere." 
Poor Steve stands frozen for a while, face only getting redder as you and Bucky stare back at him, the image of the two of you kissing, Bucky's hand squeezing your bare thigh under your dress, yours tugging on his hair, its heavy in the forefront of his mind, and it sets something off in his stomach, something he likes the feeling of.
Bucky gesturesfor him to sit on the bed with them and slowly, Steve does. 
"I didn't mean to-" Steve begins, but Bucky cut him off and you watch dumbly as he handles the situation.
"It's okay." He assures, falling silent for a moment as he tries to find the words to say what he really wanted to, "We're all friends, right? It shouldn't be awkward." 
It’s actually incredibly awkward, but denial was a much easier option, and so you simply avoid eye contact with either of them as you think you’re so good at doing, as you reached over Bucky for your drink again, taking a long sip of the alcohol, focusing on the burn in your throat rather than the ache between your thighs.
"Yeah," Steve responds, sounding as breathless as you feel.
"Maybe-" Bucky stops himself, and you lookover at him, waiting with bated breath for him to say 'Maybe we should just forget it ever happened' but his mind goes elsewhere, "Maybe you two should kiss. You know... make it even." 
The tension in the room couldn’t be any thicker, and so completely silent, not a breath between you. You chance a risky glance at Steve and he stares straight at Bucky, mouth agape, eyes wide.
You feel like you need to say something, feel like you’re fighting between your mind, your heart, and your… The nerve builds up quick and words rush out of your mouth, just needing to escape this awkwardness, "Bucky, I don't think Steve would-" 
"C'mon, I'm not blind, I see the way you two look at each other. You're telling me neither of you is at least a tiny bit curious what it would be like?" Bucky cuts you off, looking between you and Steve with a raised brow, "Don't feel forced to do anything, of course. Just... I don't know... Think about it?"
Oh, you’re thinking about it, you have been thinking about it, for years, in fact you’re imagining it in way too much detail, but acting on it like this, rather than a random, heated frenzy like with Bucky, is much more nerve-wracking.
Its when you risk a glance at Steve that the doubts starts to slip away slightly. its so painstakingly obvious, the blush on his face, the way he can’t look you in the eye and he seemed just as deep in thought as you. You remind yourself who you're with, though much taller now, he’s still Stevie. Your teeth catch your lip, nerves fading enough that you feel less awkward and more anticipating. It already feels like it's the end of the world anyway, actions tend to feel much less consequential. 
"I don't know, Steve..." You start, watching with rising butterflies as he looks over at you, his lips parted, "Maybe he's right."
James grins like you’ve joined the dark side, smirking down at his glass, just listening to you shift into a second devil on Stevie’s shoulder.
"P-pardon?" He almost whispers, and you smile softly, still polite Stevie.
"Maybe we should kiss." You manoeuvre onto your knees, and James wordlessly takes your drink again, placing it back down and inhaling softly, leaning back against the bed frame again and just watching quietly. Steve breathes in, watching you move closer. "Only if you want to, of course." You add for good measure, and Steve gulps, lips parting as he looks over at Bucky, as if for reassurance, Bucky just stares back. You crawl over, settling in front of him, "Do you want to?"
He takes another moment, before softly, he nods, taking a deep breath. 
You look into his eyes, scooting close enough for your thigh to touch his, and you reach for his broad shoulders, biting your lip softly. You can’t quite wrap your head around the idea of kissing either of them ever, especially not both... in front of each other in the time span of five minutes... but there’s no room for regret, just you and your boys...
Your hand glides over to his face, holding his jaw softly as you tilt his head down to you, pressing your lips against his.
This kiss was softer, slower. You knew Steve had kissed before, you were the one who heartbreakingly caught him with not one, but two USO girls, but hes certainly not as experienced as Bucky, nervous and shy, so you stay as gentle as possible, not pushing him to go any further than the gentle touch of your lips until he presses for more, tentative, but he follows your lead, his right hand hovering over your waist before he pulls it away, and you kiss him once more before breaking the contact. You can tell how nervous he still is. 
The room is still as you and Steve pull away from each other, Steve's focus stuck on you as you sit back slightly, looking over at Bucky, as your lips tingle from the kiss, curious to see his reaction, and the sight of him makes your stomach flip.
He sits rested back against the headboard again, legs splayed out in front of him as he watches the two of you with a clearly lustful gaze, his lower lip caught between his teeth, this dark desperation in his eyes, and its like you can read the dirty thoughts clouding his mind.
You don’t think at all when the words left your mouth, but they do, "Your turn."
Buckys lips part, eyes widening slightly and Steve takes an audible breath from beside you.
"What?" The blonde gulps.
You swallow your nerves again, Bucky was right, he could see the way you and Steve look at each other, because you've always looked at each other that way, just like you and Bucky look at each other, just like Bucky and Steve.
It's something that none of you had ever addressed until now, something you'd never let yourselves act upon, but who cares what people think at this point, who cares where this could lead you. If the war has given anything but trauma to you, it's shown you how fucking fragile life is, how much you'd regret it if you never acted upon these feelings, how much they'd regret it.
"You two should make it even, right?"
Steve stares at you, not letting his gaze drift to Bucky, but Bucky stares right at him, something intense in his eyes, something between realisation and surrender, and its clear that he’s waiting for Steve to reject it, to reject him, to wrinkle his nose at the disgusting notion of a man kissing another man, just as everybody else would do, but Bucky knows that wasn't a fair assumption to make about the golden-hearted man he knows their Stevie to be. He still waits though, preparing himself to have to have to take the rejection.
"I-" Steve starts, the very same worries as Bucky filling his head.
"Steve, aren't you at least a tiny bit curious?" You ask gently, using Bucky's previous words in hopes of lightening the mood slightly, which seems to work when Steve huffs a small laugh, though he gives no response. 
You look at Bucky, seeing the heartbreaking disappointment and acceptance in his eyes. You nudge his foot, giving him a soft smile of encouragement when he looks up at you.
He gives you a small smile back, before looking over at Steve, wetting his lips.
"Stevie." He almost whispers his name, and his gaze is soft when it meets Steve’s, "Come here." 
Steve decides not to give himself the chance to hesitate, moving towards Bucky before he can think about what he’s doing, and Bucky leans forward to meet him halfway, his palm sliding across his cheek, thumb smoothing along the skin before he closes the space and Bucky and Steve are kissing right in front of you. 
Its gentle for a few seconds, hesitant on both parts before Steve’s reaching out, hands clutching the material of Bucky's shirt, pulling him forward, pulling him closer. 
Their kiss was rougher, all tongue and teeth and the sight was a lot to try to handle, all you could really do was squeeze your thighs together and enjoy the sight of your two favourite boys, enjoying how eachother kiss. 
Bucky detaches his mouth from Steve's to meet your eye, pulling you closer as his hand holds the side of your neck.
He kisses you, open-mouthed and needy as his tongue glides across your lip, steve groaning softly at the sight, his hand once again hovering over the curve of your waist.
"It's okay, Steve." You murmur against Bucky's lips before you pull back to look at Steve, gripping his hand with your own and guiding him to touch you where he had wanted to, "You can touch me. You can touch me anywhere you'd like. Both of you." 
"Fuckin’ Christ, doll." Bucky sighs, lips mouthing across your jaw, his head dipping lower to kiss your neck, "You want that huh? Want both of us to touch you?" 
You nod as you kiss Steve, Bucky giving you a hickey just below your ear like a goddamn teenager. Bucky makes his way to Steve's neck then, curious to what noises he could pull from Captain America himself, and he chuckles against Steve's neck when he sighs softly into your mouth, as sensitive and worked up as Bucky had always wondered he'd be. 
When Bucky and Steve start kissing again, you take the opportunity to catch your breath, sitting back for a moment to watch the way Bucky pushes Steve down against the mattress, everything escalating so quick and yet feeling exactly like the way it should be. He adjusts his hips over Steve, pressing against him, and Steve groans softly, his rising up to meet bucky’s.
You bite your lip at the sight, your hand almost subconsciously sliding between your thighs, applying slight pressure against your underwear as your thighs squeeze together again. 
It just feels so right, and your body is reacting like it never has before, all reservations out of the window when you fingers press against your clit ever so slightly, breath catching when Bucky starts talking.
"Y'see that Stevie? Look how desperate our girl is for us. She just has to touch herself, doesn't she? Think we should help her out?" He murmurs, speaking the words into Steve's ear, though saying them loud enough for you to hear them too, and Steve nods quickly, no more hesitation, panting for breath, lips a pretty shade of kissed.
Our girl. 
"God, yes." Steve answers.
Their attention turns to you, Bucky with that mischievous, knowing glint in his eye, "Why don't you help her out of that dress, Stevie."
Steve nods, following orders like this was a part of his training, moving closer towards you, more confident though a bit sheepish.
"Go on, honey." You say to him, kissing his jaw as his fingers brush against the zipper at the back of the dress. He somehow manages to unzip you as slow as physically possible, fingers dusting along your back in a way that brings on a shiver. He finally pulls the dress off over your head and Bucky gives a low whistle at the sight of you, their pretty lady just in her undergarments.
Your head tilts back when Bucky leans towards you and kisses your collarbone, the kisses trailing lower and lower until he was kissing across the tops of your breasts. You sigh at the sensation, loving the attention on you but it doesn’t seem vert fair you’re in your bra and panties only and these two were fully dressed. You tug at both Steve and Bucky's shirts until they get the hint and both start pulling them off, Steve's going over his head while you help Bucky undo the buttons on his. 
From then on the clothes seem to keep coming, and you chuckle softly as Steve helps Bucky unbuckle his belt and pull his pants off. It doesn't take long before they're both left in only their underwear, and neither you nor Bucky give Steve the chance to blush or second guess anything when you lean towards him, kissing his shoulder and Bucky kissing his lips. 
You'd think it would be overwhelming, but god it just feels so right. 
You hum as fingers drift across you back to the clasp of your bra, Bucky looking at you, waiting for your permission, which you quickly give, nodding your head breathlessly before he quickly undoes the clasp, helping you out of the straps and then finally pulling the bra away. 
"Fu-" Steve stops himself, staring down at your uncovered breasts, your peaked nipples, soft pretty skin, waiting desperately to be touched and he forces himself to close his eyes, convinced for a second that that was it, he was going to come right here and now in his briefs. Bucky chuckles, that cheeky grin on his face as he dips his head and kisses his way across your now bare chest, cupping your left breast gently and mouthing over your nipple, smirking as your fingers thread through his hair, swirling his tongue.
"I think we're corrupting our sweet little Stevie, love," Bucky murmurs, and you hum back at him, looking over at the blonde who sits in amusing deep concentration, trying desperately hard not to lose himself. 
"I don't know, Buck. I reckon Stevie's much less innocent than you think. Plus, he's not so little anymore..." You tease, knowing he’s listening, so you reach over, your palm against Steve's thigh, "Why don't you show us, honey? Get out of that head of yours, and come play with me and Buck."
Even Bucky groans at that, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he continues to kiss you with a bit more hunger now.
Steve looks wrecked already, opening his eyes to look down at the two of you, skin against skin, waiting for him to come back to you. 
"Why don't you tell us what you want, Steve?" You ask him, moaning softly when Bucky rubs his thumb over one of your nipples.
"I want.." He licks his lips, looking down your body, eyes lingering on the one place you’re still covered, "I want to touch you." 
"Then touch me, Stevie." You respond and his hand drifts slowly to your thigh, Bucky still busy paying attention to your chest.
Steve's fingertips brush against the edge of your underwear, looking up at you for reassurance, "Even here?"
You sigh when Bucky grazes his teeth across your skin, tugging on his hair, "Especially there."
"Go on, Steve, I think she's still a bit overdressed," Bucky adds, encouraging him to strip you of your final layer, and Steve does so, feeling his cock throb as your bare pussy comes into view. 
You part your legs for him, your inner thighs already showing how wet you are, waiting patiently for someone to finally touch you where you needed most, and when Steve brushes his fingers through your folds, tentatively exploring, nudging against your swollen clit as he did so, you moan openly. 
Bucky leans back, looking down at you laid out across the mattress, completely bare beneath them as you lift your hips to meet Steve's hand, needing more pressure. Bucky reaches down for Steve's hand, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as he assists him. 
"Touch her right here with more pressure. Make small circles." Bucky directs, and Steve gladly follows the instructions given, watching as you get more and more breathless as he touches you, his fingers getting covered in your slick as you whimper softly, "Just like that, Steve."
Steve bites his lip at Bucky praising him like that, his cock throbbing so hard in his briefs as he focuses on trying to make you feel good, before Bucky takes a hold of Steve's fingers, guiding them lower and lower until they were sliding into you. You gasp softly, head tilting back at the slight relief of no longer being empty, but you’re still no way near full, needing more and more, still, you enjoy this, shifting your hips as Bucky instructs Steve to curl his fingers. 
A pretty sounding moan slips from your open mouth when Bucky really starts participating, leaning on one arm as the other hand moves down to you, his thumb almost softly rubbing over your clit, watching in gentle awe and focus as him and Steve’s hands take good care of you, Steve's two fingers fucking into you as Bucky builds a steady rhythm on your clit. It doesn’t take long of the repeated pattern before your hips roll forward unknowingly, getting closer and closer to coming, the heat in your body rising, every nerve tingling... so close.
"James, I'm-- Fuck, Stevie." You moan, enjoying having two names to beg to, feeling your body tighten up as they both continue until you’re over the edge, coming on your best friend's fingers, your body vibrating as they ease you through the strong orgasm, Bucky not stopping until you reach down and gently move his hand away, bordering on overstimulation as your body becomes overly sensitive. 
"Holy fuck." Steve murmurs, and Bucky laughs at him, nudging his arm.
"Language." He teases. 
"Shut up, punk." Replies Steve, pushing Bucky’s shoulder back. You lay there catching your breath, humming with a gentle smirk as you watch them act so casual after both giving you the best orgasm of your life, so far.
"God, just make out already." You joke, grinning at the two, your body relaxed, and Bucky gives you a look as you sit up. 
"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you." He nips at your shoulder, and you roll your eyes playfully, enjoying seeing him like this again, the happiest and most like himself you'd seen him in weeks, "Good, thing I'd like that too. Steve?" 
Steve looks over at Bucky, nodding and moving closer to him, kissing softly.
You give yourself a moment to gather yourself, catching your breath, relaxing in the afterglow of the first orgasm you’ve had in a while, admiring them for a short while, and then eventually joining them, kissing across Bucky's shoulder, raking your nails through Steve's hair. 
"Think Stevie's ever had someone's mouth on him before?" You murmur into Bucky's ear, feeling pride in the sigh he gives in response, pulling away from Steve's mouth, humming against your skin as he leans into you, head laid back against your shoulder, nose tucked against your neck.
Steve just couldn’t stop staring, his erection straining against his underwear, both of you watching him with those eyes. None of it feels quite real, like it’s all too good to be true, yet so much better than he imagined. He groans softly when Bucky moves his hand down, watching him as he presses his palm against his cock over the fabric.
"How 'bout it, Stevie? Think you could handle someone's mouth on your cock?" God, the words are so obscene, yet so natural as they fall from Bucky’s lips, Steve all but whimpers when the both of you start kissing on his neck, "Ever done that before, Steve?"
He shakes his head, hands reaching to touch both of them in any way he can, "God, please."
"Not God, angel." Bucky starts, the pet name rolling off his lips, smooth as butter, sweet as honey, "Just us."
His briefs were off, his cock springing up when it was finally released from the far too tight confines of his underwear. Bucky leans forward, kissing Steve as he guides him to lay back on the mattress, hovering over him. 
The sight couldn’t be more mouth-watering, his cock a deep shade of pink as he leaks pre-cum onto his stomach, so desperate, kissing Bucky back like his life depended on it. 
His stomach tightens when you start kissing your way down his chest until you finally reached the tip of his cock, wrapping a hand around the base, kissing the tip, hearing Steve moan into Bucky’s mouth.
You lick along the underside of his shaft, swirling your tongue over the head and liking the salty taste it left you with. Steve’s an utter mess, bucking his hips and squirming beneath you and Bucky when you finally put your mouth around him, no longer having the focus to continue kissing Bucky, instead just letting his head fall back against the pillows, breath laboured and heavy as you start to suck. 
"C'mon, sweetheart. You can go deeper than that." Bucky purrs, tilting his head as you look up at him through your lashes, and you pull off of Steve, using your hand to make lazy strokes up and down his cock, shaking your head at the brunette.
"He's so big, Bucky," You bite your lip, and Steve whimpers softly at your compliment, watching as you fake a look of innocence, giving Bucky those doe eyes as you brush your thumb across the tip of Steve's cock. "D'you wanna taste him, Buck?"
Bucky already knows the answer to that, his cock was throbbing at the sight of you and Steve alone, but he glances up to Steve, meeting his distracted gaze and waiting for some sort of permission, which was given almost immediately, Steve frantically nodding his head. 
Bucky smirks, winking at you as he adjusts himself on the bed, moving beside you, giving your lips a chaste kiss before lowering his head, your hand still holding his cock for Bucky to enjoy, his tongue circling the head just as you were doing only seconds ago, as you continue to stroke Steve's remaining length while Bucky starts to take him deeper into his mouth. 
Steve couldn't hold back on the sounds he’s making, he's never been so vocal, never been so sensitive to touch, but he can’t help himself, Bucky's mouth felt so warm, so wet, and when he opens his blue eyes to look down at the two of you, he know he wont last much longer. 
You bend your head down when Bucky comes up for air, tracing your tongue against Steve's cock as you meet Bucky's eye holding his heart-stopping gaze as Bucky started doing the same, both of your mouths on him at the same time. 
It’s filthy, an act of sin no doubt you'll never come back from, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, humming when Steve starts panting, his abs constricting, you wrap your lips around the tip, pumping his cock with your hand until his cum filled your mouth, hearing the deep groan that reverberated through his chest as he came.
You swallow as you pulled away and a hand finds its way to your neck, Bucky pulling you closer. “No fair, you’re supposed to share, sweet girl.” He chastises softly, almost pouting, before he closes the gap to capture your lips with his own, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans softly at the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue, the pretty sound so perfect on your ears, only reminding you that Bucky was yet to be touched, focusing on yours and Steve's pleasure instead of his own. How very like him.
You rest your hand on his stomach as you kiss him back, gliding your fingers lower and lower until you reach the waistband of the underwear that he was still somehow wearing. You ping the elastic against his skin, smiling into the kiss when he only leaned closer. 
He shudders as your hand finally slides past the band, wrapping around his cock and pulling him out. Neither of you made any move to remove his underwear, you both knew he was far too gone, too desperate to wait any longer, so you squeeze the base of his cock, pulling away from the kiss only to look at him.
Hair mussed, light eyes the darkest you'd ever seen them, as he watches every little move you make for him, his lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed pink. He finally looks as wrecked as Steve, who was still getting over the fact that he just came in his best friend's mouth. 
You move your hand slowly at first, stomach fluttering with every strangled moan that caught in Bucky's throat, "You're all talk, ain't you Buck?" 
"Fuck, doll- please- I need to come." He groans, eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his neck, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, arm wrapping around your waist.
"You look as desperate as our Stevie right now, James." You tease, but still speed up your hand for him, swirling your thumb across the slit to hear his breath hitch in his throat. 
Bucky looks over at Steve then, giving a light-hearted scoff at the sight of him rock hard again, stroking slowly at his cock as he enjoys the show in front of him. 
"Fuckin' super soldier." Bucky laughs, laying his cheek on your shoulder, groaning softly as his eyes flutter closed.
You can tell how close he is, moving his head to tuck right into the crook of your neck, talking himself away like he tends to do, "Fuck, feels so good, sweetheart. 'M so close- Never felt this good before, doll." 
You were used to his nicknames by now, years of him calling you 'doll' more than he used your actual name usually had you rolling your eyes, but now, like this, it makes your stomach flutter. 
It wasn't much longer till he was coming onto both of your stomachs, hot spurts painting your skin as Bucky's hips twitched forward with every second he comes, groaning as you continue to stroke him.
Steve follows yet again not long after, and a glance over to him laid against the headboard with his abdomen covered in his own spend has you blushing, never mind the fact that he'd just had his fingers inside you, and his cock in your mouth. 
Bucky quickly cleans up your stomach with his discarded shirt, along with his own before he tosses it to Steve with a chuckle. 
You’re all glowing, surprised by the complete lack of awkwardness despite all the things that had just happened in Bucky's hotel room. Instead, you all huddle together on the bed, your head laid on Steve's shoulder as Bucky rested his on your stomach, your fingers naturally finding themselves threading through his hair. 
"Well, that was fucking amazing," Bucky murmurs, a content smile on his face as he looks over at you and Steve, his arms around your waist.
"Yeah, it was." Steve agrees, moving one of his hands through Bucky's hair too, before draping his arm above your head. 
You go quiet for a moment, the afterglow not quite enough to keep the anxiety at bay anymore, "I just wish we'd done this earlier."
They know what you mean, they know what you’re insinuating, and the room falls silent. None of you could deny the dangers, the uncertainty ahead of you, but that didn't mean you couldn't enjoy the time you had up until that moment you’d all have to risk everything again.
"We can't think like that, baby," Bucky speaks first, his voice soft, gentle and yet serious, "I know it's hard not to, but we can't focus on the regrets. If anything, we just need to live the best we can with what we've got... and if I've got you two, I don't need anything else."
You nod, pressing your face into Bucky’s hair, although you can’t see Steve's face, you know that he agrees, his fingers brushing against your arm affectionately. 
"Bucky's right. Let's just enjoy this, lord knows we've all been pining for each other for years." 
You chuckle softly, having needed this soft moment for a long while, feeling warm and loved between them, hoping they feel it too.
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