#r. heart-shaped box

[kylo-wrecked]

@brooklynislandgirl sent :// [ whiskey sour ] Eyes glossy, she stands in the door way. Face made up of a mosaic of emotions that scholars can debate endlessly in a hundred years. Maybe she doesn't even know what they are or why they creep up into her voice as she helps to carve out the infinite space between them. She hates that it almost sounds like pleading to her own ears. "Wha's da bigges' lie you've ever told someone? Mo'beddah- why you tell it?" {Ex!Ben}

{ from this meme }

—☾—

Ben says it outright. Says what he sees in Beth's mosaic of emotions. 

"Not to you," he calls out, so she can't pretend to blunder the words. "'Bout anything. Least you could do is trust me not to lie."

Four farmhouse walls with their vertical slats. The kitchen lives in the same corner of the room as Ben. Beth knows he hates when people hang in doorways. She could cross the eight feet towards him. 

Nah. More questions. 

He misses the stove knob somehow and burns himself. Just not paying attention. Makes a reflexive sound, something between a grunt and a groan. 

"I had to lie in court," he grumbles. "Under oath." The words strain through his teeth. 

Ben flips the kitchen tap on, running cloudy water from the tank behind the old coop, what Uncle Luke called 'the moisture farm,’ until it’s clear.

"Was that or life without parole" he explains, sticking his hand under the tepid current. "Guess I thought I deserved it at the time."

His court-appointed lawyer didn't think he did. To Ben’s surprise, neither did the twelve members of the jury. Guilty of manslaughter. Guilty of conspiracy. But not the rest.

"Fuck me," he says in wonderment at the pink ripple on his wrist, the side of his palm. To Beth, nothing. His body angled away communes what Ben won't put into words. He won't be made to justify his feelings for her. 

Ben stares at the light burn. Seeing somebody else's hands, two red claws. Boiled clean. 

How long's he going to keep it from her, and isn't that the same as lying? Even if Beth already knows. If she looked into him when they met. If she doesn't care. He'd have to 'fess up to it himself. And Ben’s never lied to Beth before. Why start now? She knows he's holding something back, something besides himself. 

"Biggest lie," Ben says absently. Spares Beth a thoughtful glance, a glimpse of his profile beneath his sable mane. Breathes. The air musty, tasting like an apple left to dry in the sun. "Told my ma I was gonna stay with some friends for a while."

Every breath draws on tension until his words pare away to no more than the bare facts. 

"Said they knew the family. Didn't want her to worry."

The lie boys have told their mothers for generations. The most benign lie in the universe. That was the lie that changed his life. 

Ben turns off the faucet and looms uncertainly over the four-legged basin, the four-burner stove, and its big copper pot simmering goldenrod. Over the promise of yellow, like the last of the day's sun, poured in a bucket. His brown shirt pilled with florets. 

"Do I get to ask back?" 

[kylo-wrecked]

Ben's face, still somewhat flushed, falls a little. Beth's veil only hides the features of what he's already heard in her voice long before she's thought to bury them. The tremor in her hushed admission tells him everything he needs to know.

He hates that he does this to her.

He hates himself for making Beth feel she has to pack herself away.

He hates that he's big as he is, mammoth of flesh, titan of bone, and still not big enough for the both of them.

He hates how hard he clings to the idea of a them, an us, and most of all, how he says nothing, how the thought of giving voice to his needs paralyzes him, how even the word, desire, makes him turn to stone, in a way that's convinced him of his lack of humanity and his lack of hope.

Ben huffs. Rolls onto his mattress, smearing an ocean's spray of blues and greens across his sheets. He hopes it stains. He hopes not to hear the sound of Beth leaving, and his heart jumps at the tempo of Beth's packing, the small, defeated clap of each paint tube, then her palette, the small one that looks like a compact mirror, inside their case.

Yet, in his silence, Beth only retreats further.

In his silence, the dry food clinks in D.O.'s steel bowl, and there's the faint, grateful pat of her dog tongue, damp muscle on Beth's flesh. A lonely sound.

Back in Dontamo, late at night, the patterns of breathing, of tongues extending, springs creaking like katydids he recalled from crystal nights so long ago. Sometimes that's all you'd hear for hours.

Ben calcifies on his back, watches the light shift on the ceiling, certain that she'll leave after she feeds D.O. But when it comes to feeding Ben, Beth mustn't take his lack of response for an answer one way or another because he hears the burner click on.

He doesn't know who to thank. Probably Beth. He slowly pulls himself upright, and edges off the bed, bashful in front, lathered with paint in back—both sides in conflict with the weight of his features.

Finally, when it may even be too late, he says, "Beth, I'm sorry.”

She doesn’t turn so easily. He thinks. He thinks about what his counselor keeps telling him.

"I got…defensive," Ben says, at last, a little surly, gesturing at the impression of the word, an unwanted guest.

But there're no more ghosts to recall once he comes up behind Beth because, when his solid chest, his ribcage dressed in scars and sweat, meet Beth’s soft bronzed shoulders, and the rest of him curls around her, his solar plexus against her back, his belly at her tailbone, it's almost like his arms're right where they need to be, and he's where he needs to be; here. Beth fits; all of her fits here in his arms; here. Their bodies call to each other, and their bodies pressed together make a fairy story.

"I wish a lot of things." Ben rests the scruff of his chin on Beth's crown and lowers the flame under a pot of water. Hugs her close. Imagines they're nesting dolls. He rolls his cheek onto her temple, speaks dark and soft in her ear. "Mostly, I wish I never made you sad. 'I had three wishes, that'd be one. 'Second."

Ben squeezes Beth's waist, smoothing the inch or so of her skin made accessible to him with an artisan's pliancy, and just maybe, his thumbs get away with a little more, over the little beads of metal, gently kneading the tautness in her pelvic belt with no other intent but to soothe, though he could as easily fold Beth's torso in his golem's hands, pack her away like her paints.

"Second wish," he says into her ear. "I'd make you stop being sore at me and come back from wherever you go to make yourself small. 'Cause you're not to me."

He doesn't mention a third wish. They both know what it'd be. But then Ben thinks that whenever the moon hangs down to the lunette on its silver string, and the crickets start up their brush bands for the promise of a blue velvet night, Ben thinks he'd use his third and final wish for Beth, so she could use hers to catch a star.

@kylo-wrecked   {{from this hole in our souls}}

“Wishin’ is sometimes all I got,” she says softly. A splinter of her already smoke-quiet voice.  She wishes she’d been born someone else, someone of value. She wishes her brother never went away, to a place she couldn’t follow. She wishes she could live inside of Ben, to be a part of him. She wishes a lot of things. Her hands falter after his muscle ballet ceases, and she draws away. Gathers herself up off her knees and pads her way to the little, stain-splattered metal sink where she washes the evidence of her art from her hands.  He will shower and in that great deluge, her efforts will be washed clean. They will never have existed, not even in memory. She doesn’t blame him now nor will she later. He is a clock-maker god, he winds the watch and lets time run down. His body might be the canvas but the firmament doesn’t require his keeping.

Her hair veils her face as she packs up her paint. Offers him only faint slices of features ~the tip of a nose, the arch of a cheek, a glimpse of chin~ and even these are a little hollow. She’s retreated into herself as she often does with others, a rarity with him.

“Mebbe some day I’ll take you. Haumea. Dorumaa. Somewhere so far from here, you’ll forget it. You’d like shark-diving. Scuba or snorkelling.” She deliberately doesn’t answer his last question, hopes he takes it as something she just didn’t hear; it happens every so often if she’s not looking at his mouth, when they’re turned away from one another. She doesn’t know the answer to give him and anything she might say will hit too close to the bone. Beth doesn’t feel substantial enough today to bleed for him. “I’m going to feed DO. You wan me make somet’ing for you?”

[rawstfish]

Okay I did a shape tier list

[sammygender]

okay. tags for THEMES. have just gone through tons of my posts and started tagging appropriately but here we go. this is just for fun and ease of organisation for me <3. i’ll add more later

sam & purity & food: scrub it clean

sam & (metaphorical/literal) rape/csa: she walked in on us

sam & victim blaming: you wanted it

sam & dean & gender: bitch jerk

girl coded sam: favourite daughter

catch all for fucked up winchester family dynamics, especially precanon or early seasons: poison in the water

dean as abuser/patriarch/john stand-in, especially later seasons: the poison drips through

precanon sam: second child

precanon dean: loaded gun

sam & entrapment/cycles/dean’s hashtag battered wife/late seasons sam in general ig: heart shaped box

precanon sam and dean: would you rather

sam & powers: final girl

sam & othering/monstrosity/mental illness: the other shoe

sam & faith/religion/belief: angels are watching over you

sam post-canon: bruises that won’t heal

[angeltism]

for me its like the total opposite though. i have been painfully aware of everything that has happened in my life since like, 2021, so i can unfortunately discern very well that Good Lord Its An Entire Year I Have Changed So Much Its Scary AND YEAH SJSJJSHD if i think about it i have been on tumblr since two years ago Oh god thats a lot. i couldnt say having a blog has done me much good but also i do know very well it has brought a lot of good stuff for me so yeah. just as anything else in lifeI feel weird talking like that who do i think i am SJSHSJJS

YEAH I THINK MY INDECISIVENESS WAS CAUSED BY WHAT YOU SAID i think i might settle for 💌 anon though, sending you asks feels like writing love letters because yeah it kinda is but also The Vibes™ you know, also if you wanna like. name me (?) you can also do that if its ever necessary or something you wanna do, i would be honored honestly <3 hope and pray for me to not forget to add the sign off because i just know i might with the way my mind works sometimes HSJSSSHASJ

- 💌 anon

oughh yeah !! that's really interesting fufu , I suppose if I think about it I have changed a fair bit (it's weird it's like parts of me feel different but also I still feel so samey) and woaa two years !! in a way it's a lot but also kinda nawt , to me at least . that's interesting ! :3

and fufu , yayyy it's nice to officially have somethin to call uu , dear 💌 ! I honestly think that was a good pick , I definitely get the vibes n I think it's very sweet that uu feel that way <3 For nyeow I may just call uu 💌/love letter/crush/lovey anon . . . but mayhaps I'll find somethin silly or like a nickname or something 2 call uu , who knows (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

[rinnstars]

third’s times the charm!

in which you try to confess three times before rin finally understands your feelings

itoshi rin x reader : mainly just fluff, a bit of angst of readers part, no proofreading + likes n reblogs r rlly appreciate ily <3

rin has always been an enigma, as if hes from another world - an alien like figure on your life yet a constant, like an orbit from another galaxy orbiting around you. slowly, youve grown fond of him and suddenly, its no longer just a friendahip - your heart is pumping weirdly, your palms are sweaty, your throat goes dry the second youre beside him (which is most of the time but hey!) maybe its part of growing up, you tell yourself, but deep down this is the “love” you’ve seen in storybooks, manga, movies. denial is always the first thing, avoiding rin during break times, opting to go with your other class friends. eventually, you fall back to the same routine, beside him for lunch in class, stealing the candies he brought (specially for you, he wants to confess but he doesnt.) and of course with love, the next step should be confession as all fourteen year olds rationalise, and thus began your attempt at rizzing confessing to itoshi rin who has become your star.

#1 —VALENTINE CHOCOLATE?!

as all mangas and love story dictates: a gift during valentine practically screams a love confession, if not already hinted by the hearts clumsily pasted onto the heart-shaped box containing your own hand-made chocolates. of course, it comes with a sort of insecurity - what if he doesnt like it? what if he doesnt see me that way? what if our friendship forever changes? what ifs? yet, you held on tightly to the chocolate, walking into class to rin. until you see your own desk beside his flooded with valentine chocolates addressed to rin himself where all of the sudden, you wished to run away far away, you wished to live just in solitude by the ocean, you wish to pretend to be sick and go back home and cry again and again. its stupid, you think, youre just another person in love, youre nothing special. yet, when rin looks at you with sparkling eyes at your chocolates unlike anyone else, you feel as though youre at the top of the war, youre like diamond amongst the rest, that maybe rin sees you differently.

“is that for me?” if he didnt looked so expectant, so hopeful, you might have just not given it to him, simply from the pile of chocolates (that you hope hell pass to you after valentines, and he does.) on the desks. you nodded, passing it to him with a awkward smile. he doesnt get the hint you think, as he opens it without hesitation to eat one - his usual grimace that melted into a small smile changed into a grin, chewing happily onto the overly sweet chocolate you made. you want to be mad, that youll always be in competition with everyone, but when he smiles like that, youve got no choice but to look at him like hes built the very world for you, like hes your star in the dark, like hes your own galaxy.

its now or never. whats the worst that can happen? - that your friendship is forever broken, that your heart is shattered by his own hands, that youll never ever see him the same way again And he’ll never see you again?! “i.. i like you..!” courage, right, thats what those mangas would call it, but deep down it was just an impulse, as if you were born to say it to him, born to love him, like you were soulmates. he doesnt even blink, replying back with about the worst thing someone can hear when they confess : “i hope so? we’re friends.” with the most deadpan voice that had you question everything. nothing like this happens in those romance mangas - he should have either said yes or no! not an in-between?! this doesnt match up to any calculations, not by your friends, not by romance mangas, not by any youtube videos could have prepared you for that response.

nonetheless, you went home with a plastic bag with all of itoshi’s confession chocolates. thats a win? sort of. but its clear that you need a more straightforward approach to get your romantic intention, NOT platonic intention across.

#2 — CONGRATULATIONAL FLOWERS?!

after long months of cringing at the first failure attempt at confessing, and long days of rereading cheesy love mangas to gather ideas, it was finally time for round 2. this time not because of simply encouragement, but from the bursting butterflies in your heart. ever since that, your lovesickness have only gotten worst - if hanahaki was real, no doubt flowers would be pouring out of your lungs from the amount of love that has grown roots into your heart. every moment felt like straight from a k-drama through rose tinted lenses, every action of his felt like a confession, every second with him felt like heaven. and enough was this barrier called embarrassment, fear, cowardice to stop you from pursuing. another year had passed and now each second is like diamond - counting down every second to when lunch starts, to a free period, to after school, to after club - anytime where you can maybe, just maybe spot rin even if he ocassionally runs off for football training that had only lasted longer until the sun sets after the argument with his brother.

deep down, even though youve never met sae, you wished you did just to punch him - for now rin has only grown more distant, whilst your feelings had grown more deeper. like oil and water, you no longer merge together as one, and perhaps this is the last chance to confess before he eventually disappears. growing up is hard, but maybe losing him would be the scariest and hardest part. yet, here you are, still attending all his football matches, waiting for him in the air-conditioned library until the clock ticks to when the school gates closes to find him, waiting for him to come back to you.

flowers. longing and yearning - cameilia and carnation replied back all those cliche love mangas. and so, you saved up for weeks just to buy an overly expensive bouquet - one that seemed out of place with your bags or rin’s everexpanding confession gifts. would it be a rejection, a success? a repeat of the previous year, another retry of last year’s failed confession, just that this time he might just get the idea? hiding the flowers in a separate bag, because certainly this could count as romantic, and youd rather do away with gossips or talks. yet of course, fate strikes again.

“thanks..? its alright to not get gifts for my football matches win though, its nothing major anyways.” and suddenly you take it back. you rather he just thanked you for it platonically. in what world do friends get romantic flowers with ribbons and all sort of decorations for a simple congratulations for a no-name match?! perhaps you two were never meant to be, and this had to be a sign from the gods or something, you concluded. you blinked and laughed it off, your mind spinning with all sort of thoughts - was this his way of rejecting you?! was he truly this clueless or is he trying to let me down?! suddenly all the fantasies and daydreams had fallen flat - this is real life. there is no true school romance, that rhese are feelings left better unsaid as your parents and adults in your life say. teenage love never last, they say - but in this case, they dont work, or at least for you. maybe, your teenage life would be the same mundane, boring ones - filled with just waiting for rin, doing homework, talking with friends, one that is filled with love and normalacy but never the exciting and romantic films you see on tv.

and maybe, just maybe, youve given up on pursuing itoshi rin romantically for the time being. but thats alright, as long as you were friends, youd stay together forever right?

#3 — CONFESSION FOR YOU UNSAID?!

youve lived the rest of your mundane life, completing routines after routines as if its a time loop. maybe, that failure had affected you, brushing off datdreams quickly. growing up meant to be logical, to not blush like a teenage kid, to not linger on hopeless love and dreams - you tell yourself. and rin is still here, like the sun to the earth, always orbiting around you. as long as the world continues to hold you two together as though connected by red strings, itd be alright.

yet, it stings when he tells you about blue lock. its evil, its bitter, its jealousy, its anger that pumps through your very veins. just as rin and you were falling back to back then, where you guys were connected by the hips, to when you had first been enchanted by his star-like eyes. you want to blame the world, the universe for being so cruel. you want to lock yourself, trap yourself in your room, throwing away the key. yet, theres only limited days with itoshi rin, and youd rather die than not be with him until the very end. even if its to the end of your friendship, your dream, your life with you and him together. whether that is to bring him to old arcades where tou two once played, bring him to the old now run-down convenience store where you and him went after school to get lunch, bring him to the mall to take your final photos and lucky charms with him. each moment now even more precipus than previous ones - and suddenly you understand the saying ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. its love. you know its love, you knew since you were 14 when you gave him the chocolates, you knew since you were 15 when yoi presented him a bouquet, and you know now that youre 16 about to send him off to another world you can never reach.

its selfish when you blurt it out as he was half-way out of your door after your last sleepover. its out of desperation, out of feelings youve kept hidden in an bottle that is now exploding. its impulsive, its unconscious - the way youve just confessed to him that you loved him. “i love you” theres no way to misinterpret that. maybe he’ll tell you theres bo need to be sentimental, that hell be back (you were convinced he wouldnt.), that its cringe. yet, its silence that fills the room and all you wished to do was to run back to your room, to cry into the pillows, to read all those hopeful love mangas.

“.. i hope you meant it.. i love you too.” its anticlimatic, theres no dramatic scene of profession of love the way mangas portray it, yet you think that theres nothing more than you need. its the most itoshi rin (though youve never thought hed ever say love in a context outside of horror movies and games) and yet, its the words that you longed and yearned for for years by now, its the dream youve been daydreaming in class and in bed, its the life yoive envisioned as you look at him from the stands. and perhaps the world has finally answered your prayers, your musings, your complaints.

third’s the charm they say - and you for once agree with those stupid sayings because on your third attempt of confession did you finally get to be with itoshi rin.

[vampiefemme]

a soft n smutty piece for fall coziness… <3 the changing seasons always make me feel melancholic and i feel like ellie would take care of r if she was the same :)

tw: depression, nsfw, 18+ only

the sun filters into your bedroom through the half-drawn curtains, a warm glow that paints everything golden. you stretch out under the covers, hand reaching for sunlight, palm open against the blankets as warmth envelops your fingers. numb with cold, you defrost.

even as your hand soaks in the warmth of the sun, guilt twists inside you, ice cold. the phone in the kitchen has rung out three separate calls today, shrill and blaring in the silence of your apartment; you've melted too deep into the mattress to answer. the kitchen may as well be miles away.

she’s probably worried, you fret. what if she thinks i’m dead? i need to call her back.

but as much as you want to force yourself to leave the comfort of your duvet, the you-shaped crater in the bed, you can’t do it. you just can’t.

you’re not surprised when you hear the sounds of your girlfriend’s arrival, ellie’s key scraping the lock before she swings the door open. you’d given her your spare key months ago. she’d only used it on days like this.

you hear the rustle of plastic, the harried zips and thumps of ellie removing her boots at the front door. and then she’s appearing in your doorway, her face twisted with worry; brows drawn together, lips turned downward. she looks heartbroken.

“baby,” she says, voice tinged with a cocktail of equal parts relief and concern, “god, i thought you were—”

“dead?” you interject. your voice softens when you add, “i’m okay, el. i’m sorry i didn’t pick up the phone.”

“no, it’s okay, don’t worry.” she pads over the worn carpet, plastic bag crinkling at her side as she approaches you on the bed. “i brought breakfast.”

she holds up the bag for emphasis; you can see three to-go boxes inside. the smell of hash browns and scrambled eggs and pancakes wafts out towards you, and you hate the way it makes your mouth water. she knows breakfast is your favorite. you can hardly resist it, even this late in the day, as the sun sets outside your window.

“thank you.” you smile up at her. it’s forced—it doesn’t meet your eyes. she notices, because she always does.

“you don’t have to eat right now,” she clarifies. hazel eyes swoop over the bed, appraising the blankets splayed out over you in disarray, and she hesitates. you hold out your hand for her in encouragement. “come here, ellie.”

so she does. she sets the bag of breakfast food on the nightstand, then climbs over you with a clumsiness that seeps through her caution. you smile. genuinely. and then she’s kissing you, soft lips pressed to yours as her auburn locks tickle your cheeks. the kiss is gentle and languid, slow and soft and encouraging. she tastes like home, and you realize you’ve been aching for this feeling all day, body numb in the confines of your bedroom. you lose yourself in her kiss, sighing deep through your nose. her tongue is warm and wet against your lower lip; she works your mouth open and licks into you, sending heat rushing to your belly where it pools like molten gold.

you’ve found yourself in a haze lately: a fog so thick that it blurs out all feeling, leaving you spent in the silence of your apartment even after days of doing nothing. days of just thinking.

but ellie breaks through the fog as her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing soothingly over the apples of your cheeks. her tongue slides deliciously over yours and you moan without thinking. she freezes for just a moment. she draws back and you nearly whine, eyes barely opening to peer up into his.

“we don’t have to do anything,” she assures you as she leans forward to kiss the bridge of your nose. “not if you’re feeling down.”

your heart swells with affection for her: her disheveled hair, her soft gaze, her flushed lips swollen from kissing. her consideration for you. her love.

“but i want to,” you breathe. “i want it, ellie.”

so she disappears into the crook of your neck, the warmth of her mouth sending a shiver rocking through you as she presses kisses to your sensitive skin. each kiss gets more heated, her lips parting to suckle on the flesh right over your pulse. you moan and she pauses before murmuring against your throat, “are you sure?”

you nod almost frantically. “i’m sure, i’m sure.”

it doesn’t take long for her to undress you, which you’re grateful for. she works your shirt off and rolls your panties down your thighs, her hands smoothing back up over the supple skin.

on days like this, when you’re hardly afloat in the tidal wave of your melancholy, she tends to hold you with gentle wariness, as if you’d shatter if she moved too quickly. and you love it. the obvious adoration in her gentleness, in the need to take things slow.

but you decide you don’t want that today.

when her face is within reach again, you pull her in for a heated kiss. it quickly evolves into all tongue and spit and teeth, your lips smacking audibly as you trail your hands down her sides. you grip the soft cotton of her shirt and slowly pull it upwards, exposing inch by inch of pale, freckled skin, and when your fingers brush over her ribs, you feel the slow shudder that afflicts her. her body responding so instantly to your touch makes you dizzy with arousal; that pool of heat in your stomach grows ever-larger. it doesn’t help that she’s touching you too, the calloused pads of her fingers delicious against your skin. she grips and squeezes you in all the right places, drawing sharp breaths and high moans from your throat as her hands explore every inch of you.

suddenly, it’s hard to remember what came before this. the haze that had lingered over you for days. all you can think about is the feeling of ellie’s body against yours, her jeans scratchy as she rocks her hips down to yours. you hook your legs around her waist, bare cunt desperate for friction, even through a layer of denim.

you pull back from rushed, sloppy kisses to gasp at the sensation—you shamelessly rub yourself against her through her jeans, unable to find it in you to worry about the mess you’re making. ellie watches you in awe, your eyes half-lidded as your hips roll upward, your pretty lips parted in a delicate “o” shape.

“fuck it,” she rasps, and she’s lurching back to sit up on her heels, ripping her clothes off in a blur of fabric. her shirt falls off first, and then she works her way out of her jeans, so eager she stumbles a few times. you beam at her, eyes clouded with lust, and when she finds her way back between your legs, the feeling of her bare skin against yours has you gushing impossibly wetter. you find yourself in the same position as before, only now without the barrier of ellie’s clothes between you. you grind yourself up against her, twitching and gasping each time her pelvis glides over your clit; you can feel how wet you are, how messy you’re leaving her. and she can feel it, too, evident each time she moves her hips against yours and moans with her head tucked against your shoulder.

your impatience is a balloon that’s been filled and filled and filled, and it finally pops. you reach between your writhing bodies to ellie’s cunt; her teeth close around your shoulder when you give her clit a few slow strokes, fingertips pressing hard into the bundle of nerves. she soothes her bite with her tongue and then laughs under her breath, uttering lowly, “i’m sorry, fuck, just feels good.”

you hum in response, pausing to reach into the nightstand drawer, where you keep a harness and strap for situations like this. she draws in a shaky breath, turning her head to kiss your neck again, tongue circling your skin before she pulls back to slip into the harness. then she’s back on you, pulling you in for another heated kiss as she drags the tip of the strap through your folds and up to the bud of your clit. you’re soaked everywhere, and her cock feels so smooth as it glides effortlessly over you; you’re barely breathing.

ellie’s voice is in your ear, quiet but thick with lust. “let me eat you out first.”

and it sounds amazing, it really does. any other time, you’d relent, let her mouth at your cunt for hours until you’re so fucked-out you can’t think straight. but that’s not what you need right now.

“i need you inside me,” you tell her, voice low and sultry, almost unrecognizable from its usual timbre. ellie hears it, too, the husk in your tone making her grit her teeth with a low, gravelly moan. “shit, baby—can’t say no to that.”

she slides into you so easily, your cunt opening smoothly around her as she pushes in to the hilt. you both sigh in pleasure, you at the feeling of being so deliciously full, her at the satisfaction of watching your expression dissolve into pure bliss.

“so fuckin’ wet, goddamn,” ellie murmurs. she draws back only to fuck into you again, and you whine when she brushes up against the end of you. the spot that only she can find. that only spurs her on—she starts fucking you in earnest without much buildup, too pent up to be patient and slow and intentional. she knows what you want, you realize, flooded with arousal as her hips slam into yours. her strap drags perfectly through you, so deep you see stars behind fluttering eyelids.

“ellie,” you moan, brows pinched together, mouth hanging open.

she doesn’t slow down, skin smacking against skin as she fucks herself into you. “what do you need, baby? i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you anything.”

another moan tears out of your throat at her words, your arms moving up to snake around her neck and reel her in for another sloppy kiss. “more,” you gasp, your foreheads pressed together, slick with sweat. “more, please, more.”

ellie gives you one last, searing kiss, then pulls back to readjust. she stills inside you while she grabs hold of your legs, palms squeezing the doughy flesh of your thighs before she pushes them toward your chest. your knees are up by your shoulders like this, and you reach your hands around to support yourself, though your own touch can’t rival her. “good girl,” she praises when she notices what you’re doing, allowing your hands to replace her. she instead brings her attention to your hips, holding them still while she pulls almost all the way out and fucks back into you. and it’s rougher, now, more intentional. ellie moves faster, harder; you cry out a blissful oh my god, tears burning in your eyes from the sheer pleasure of it.

this is it—this is what you needed. and ellie gives it to you exactly how you want it, her body smacking against your ass and the backs of your thighs, her cock hitting that sweet spot within you so rhythmically that you find your brain is entirely empty. the ceaseless noise in your head has quieted, in its place is sheer pleasure.

your release sneaks up on you; you’re not thinking straight, overwhelmed with lust and the warmth it floods through your veins. you come suddenly but with so much force it nearly knocks the wind out of you. squirming and shaking under ellie’s towering form, your cunt spasms around the silicon cock and she groans out in delight.

spent, ellie lowers her weight on you, still careful not to crush you beneath her. you’re both catching your breath, but she can’t drive away the urge to kiss you. slower, this time. more loving.

“hey,” she says, “i love you.”

you smile against her lips, giving her another few pecks before you tell her, “i love you too.”

her arms are warm, lithe, and strong around you, holding you as close as she can. but when you start to wiggle underneath her, she groans in disapproval.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i just—i really wanna eat some pancakes.”

[be-good-to-bugs]

:D

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

trouble, m | jjk

... aka, jeon jungkook’s dick is so good and your pussy is so heavenly that faith in humanity is restored.

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; a hookup turned awkward meeting at a goddamn McDonalds of all places; smut (fem reader, hair pulling, heavy making out, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex, fingering, m-masturbation); non-idol!BTS – ft best friend!Park Jimin being a wingman little shit classic

--

“Oh, I’m in trouble.”

Panic coursed throughout his veins.

“I can’t be here.”

And maybe a little bit of arousal too.

“Jungkook, this is a public place,” Park Jimin corrected him. “Anybody can be at McDonald’s.”

He almost got up from his seat, except he was boxed in a corner of a crowded fast-food restaurant and Jimin shoved the tray full of food right in front of his face. The other side of the table held various shopping bags full of things that Jimin thought his mother would like for the upcoming new year. Why did Jeon Jungkook have to be here? Well, he was the one guy from Busan who happened to be Jimin’s close friend and Jimin’s mother’s favorite friend of her son’s. Therefore, Jungkook obviously had to select something for Jimin to buy just so Jimin could say, Jungkook thought you would look nice in this cream sweater, thus gaining maximum best son points.

Yeah, Jungkook didn’t really get it either, but he was told that he was getting free food out of it.

Didn’t think it was going to be McDonald’s, though.

Also didn’t think that his fuck from last night was going to serendipitously appear, standing in line looking drop-dead gorgeous as she pushed the fur-lined hood of her coat back. Her lush hair spilled out in soft waves over the shoulders of that the black suede long-line stunner, far too much luxury for the city mall. And then there was her face. What god thought it would be funny to allow someone to look that effortlessly pretty bare-faced? Who put such sexy eyes on such a cute face? One glance and one would think, how cute with those dimples and pillowy lips, and then do a double take when the shape of those foxy eyes sunk in, holy shit, fuck me right now. Or, at least Jungkook had thought that. Still thought it, looking at her again in the daylight. Tight white top, heather gray sweatpants that didn’t match the lavishness of the jacket, and easy black-and-white sneakers, clearly everything thrown together to grab some food quickly while being a goddamn snack herself.

Jimin was carefully positioning Jungkook’s meal in front of him – fries, massive sandwich with both a beef patty and fried chicken patty, tall Coca-Cola and all, chatting away, and all Jungkook could do was gawk like an idiot.

Like he said, he was in trouble.

Tomorrow.

The ghost of her hand slid up his chest, caressing his skin while her voice curled by his ear, soft lips kissing down his neck.

I hope your friends ask about me.

The image entering his mind, the way she smiled above him, her skin alight from his mood lamp with specks of red light playfully dancing over her jaw, her fingertips tracing his muscle making his heart race, her soft thighs against his, smooth and sleek and making him insane.

The devil was in the details.

“Hello? Did you space out again?”

Jungkook jumped, startled that Jimin was glaring at him. “What?”

Those small hands stiffly pointed to the food spread before them. “Eat? Come on, it’s busy and we don’t want to take up too much time.”

“R… Right.”

He had about two seconds to take a bite out of his sandwich before Jimin casually asked in between bites of curly fries, “Oh yeah, you ran off last night with that sexy lady. How did that go?”

Jungkook choked.

-

That’s all I am, sex and shallow feelings, tch, what an idiot, acting like it was ever anything else, I don’t need anyone and I won’t need anyone, go ahead and act all high and mighty in front of your friends during the day, we all know you’ll be begging to crawl in my bed at night.

Mind a billion thoughts a minute.

You tilted your head and found yourself not that hungry. Still, some fries and a drink sounded good, so you picked that. Reached into the fur by your chest and pulled out your cardholder, tapping it to pay as you continued scowling in your head, trying not to let it show in the form of resting-bitch-face.

Ten minutes before this moment had been an annoying confrontation. You considered if you could have handled it better.

Or more savagely.

You should have pulled up all those messages you had left on read.

Sigh, but, no, you hadn’t thought of it. Ultimately, it wasn’t worth your time. It would have been a childish move. Why was that anyway? Why was it that you needed to be the “bigger person” and not be petty when some guy got all up in your face about you not wanting a relationship as his supposed friends crowded around in a circle around you two, clearly silently intimidating you? In public! Fuckin’ bum-rushed you on the street as if the showy dramatics would illicit shame or obedience. Yeah, because you were a woman who would just kill to be in a relationship, right? You scoffed internally. ‘Cause it was just so important to be in a relationship, more than, oh, I don’t know, actively not being in one that was definitely, absolutely gonna make you miserable?

Also, he hadn’t even been that good in bed.

“At least I am sex. You couldn’t even be that for a slut with as low standards as me,” was your frigid reply before walking away.

You couldn’t understand it. What was so great about relationships anyway? People only got into them for easy sex. A lotta work for a shitty time. You could get laid without the emotional baggage of another, thank you.

Although, sex probably wasn’t easy for people who acted like little bitches.

Hah.

You thanked the employee and accepted your food, wandering over to the drinks fountain with your paper cup. A basic day of running errands on your off-day now ruined by this bullshit. Nothing a little McDonald’s couldn’t fix though. Something about the nostalgia of hot, simple, cheap fast food made it more delicious. You probably should have gotten a sandwich or something, but you didn’t want to be too full and not want to do your errands after. Fried potatoes it was.

Hey, people called you sex, not the epitome of health.

You notched your finger on the tab and watched the honey-sweetened black ice tea pour out of the nozzle, which was the exact moment your intrusive thoughts popped up.

You avoid making deep relationships so that no one will notice when you die.

Thanks, brain.

Funnily enough, no one had ever said this to you. You would think someone would have noticed by now but, no, this was a revelation you made yourself once you were old enough to understand yourself better, and it came randomly while showering. Hmph. Goddamn showers. You slipped past a lovey-dovey couple to sit by the window counter, plopping down on one of the stools to munch on your fries for a bit. Alone. Some people wanted a lot of people to surround them. A sense of community and togetherness. Some people wanted a chosen few, valuing the quality over quantity. And some people were like you, loners who accepted who you were and that was NSFS – not safe for society – patiently waiting for the one that really understood you.

Or maybe there wasn’t anyone like you and you were just delusional about that.

Anyway, didn’t really matter. This kind of thing simply ended with thinking in circles. Sure, you could dwell on the whole question of existence, the why, but you had determined the more important was the who, the self within, and that wasn’t driven by the why. The who was driven by instinct.

If your instinct was to eat, fuck, sleep, repeat, then so be it.

Oh, and occasional responsibilities, like getting your tires rotated. Hence why you even outside today in the first place.

Hah, what a bother.

You munched on your crispy, hot fries and didn’t bother anyone. You learned not to expect too much out of people. They talked a lotta talk and didn’t walk much walk. I want this, this, and this, you heard a whole lot and nobody did it. A speech was all well and good, just not nearly as half as interesting as doing. And if you didn’t want to do it, you didn’t waste time beating yourself up over it. If that resulted in you only hooking up and avoiding relationships that you didn’t feel like committing to, then at least you weren’t disingenuous or fake.

Yup.

Looking out the window, you watched the people rush past with their shopping bags, linking arms with each other to avoid slipping on the sidewalk. Snow flurries falling down, down. The glass was clean enough that you could see inside the restaurant too. Tables with families and friends sharing simple, cheap fast food and turning it into a collective memory. Laughter and conversation echoed around your silence.

The looking glass showed you two ways.

You didn’t mind it, but it was evident you weren’t part of it too.

Hmmmm.

Your gaze stopped at a pair of guys. One of them was wearing a big black bucket hat. You noticed him because large brown eyes were actively staring back at you. Ogling, even.

What the–

You turned slightly and sat up straight with alarm as Jeon Jungkook stiffened and shifted, scooting closer to the person next to him, sneaking a not-so-subtle glance at you. You continued to look back in stunned confusion.

At goddamn McDonald’s?

Is no place sacred?

It was only less than twenty-four hours ago, but last night felt like another world.

-

Your fingers framing your face.

You licked your lips. Staring into his eyes, everything dark except for the mood lamp he left on. Cycling lights slowly drifted on the ceiling in a colorful haze. It was easy to remember all the shit people liked to say about you when you were alone, she’s so pretty but I hear she’s only into casual sex, what a shame, but you found solace in knowing that they had one fact wrong, because casual sex was for casuals and that was the wrong adjective to describe what you did.

Definitely the incorrect one to describe what transpired between you and Jeon Jungkook last night.

Your hand slipped from your cheek, and you touched his skin, bringing his face close to yours, keeping the whispers only in the air that you shared with those trembling lips.

“You’ve got cute eyes, but I bet you can be sexy when you want to.”

What was wrong with this? What was wrong with your comfort zone being someone else’s hands on your waist, pulling you closer? What was wrong with accepting the surge of power you felt licking the side of his mouth, adding slippery friction to the harshness of the metal rings pierced there, drinking in his moan as you teased him? It was just so annoying caring about all that noise trying to get to you, telling you to tone it down, telling you to stop, and, for what, don’t you have shame, that’s not how women should act, no. What they really meant was that was not how they would act. The consensus was to strive to be the respectable audience, always strive to fit in and be the quiet ones.

You envied their desire for silence.

Because you had to be loud.

You tangled your fingers in his long black hair and pulled his head back, running your tongue over his neck, tasting that skin and the anticipation vibrating in those muscles underneath. Admired the shivers under your body as you rolled into him, nice and slow and agonizing, whispering dirty things to him, things you wanted and none of it safe for work, finally bringing his head back down to nip at those gasping lips, intending on turning them pink and prickling with want, kissing him softly in contrast to the way you tugged at his hair every time he tried to intensify it.

“P-Please…”

His hands on your bare ass, hiking your dress up, digging his fingernails in, trying to keep his breathing even as desperation bled into it.

“You said to show you what I like,” you murmured. “I like teasing you.”

You pressed your body to his so your perfume would cling to his clothes, his bedsheets, his skin.

-

This was going to sound dramatic, but Jungkook was pretty sure last night she saved his life.

Actually.

That sounded very dramatic.

And kind of pathetic, so Jungkook kept that thought to himself, but nevertheless he kept that secret close to his chest, next to his racing heart that couldn’t seem to slow down, especially when her nails raked down his back while her tongue snaked around his, sucking on it lightly compared to the force behind her hands, the contrast between kiss and touch causing unbearable levels of arousal. He hadn’t expected a casual conversation to turn into this. He liked to think he was maybe charming, perhaps suave in some cases, occasionally daring, but he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

Casual sex could only stay casual if both people got the memo.

And Jungkook knew he didn’t want to get in too deep unless he was sure and the truth was that he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to want someone that much. It was fucking terrifying to be that vulnerable. How could he ever be “sure”? If he failed at his own goals, the only one he was letting down was himself. If his plans didn’t go as planned, well, that sucked but it was okay because it was only himself and he could do something about it. But getting his heart broken by someone else – ugh, what could he do about that? Worse, everything became so complicated when people didn’t say what they meant and didn’t mean what they say. It would be nice to experience the good stuff without the chance of getting his heart broken.

Cut out all that risky business.

It was a bit strange that this situation hadn’t felt like a risk. Of course it was, how was it not risky bringing a woman you barely knew to your apartment with the intent to make out and who knows what else, but, hey, the moment had felt right.

Or maybe it was the gods playing tricks on him.

But, anyway, her tongue wrapping around his balls felt amazing.

She pressed her soft lips to the sensitive skin and sent shivers through his legs as her fingernails dragged down his tense thighs. He hoped they left marks, or at least lingered for a few hours. Looking down, and those sly eyes were gazing back, like they knew exactly the effect they had on him. Sparkling when her name escaped his lips in a pleading whisper, glinting in the low light as her head tipped back and her tongue curled underneath his balls to lick that thin skin behind him, making him gasp and almost fall over, his palm smacking into the wall to hold him up. A jolt of radiating pain shot up his forearm, and then her hot, wet mouth surrounded him and swallowed his cock as deep as it would go.

He wanted to say he had made a sexy moan, but he was ninety-nine percent sure his neighbors were awake, so instead Jungkook whimpered and rested the crown of his head against the wall, feeling his hair stick to his face. Apparently, his embarrassing vocalizations didn’t matter though, because her head started slowly moving back and forth. Her eyes closed, humming steadily in satisfaction. His breath caught in his throat, forgetting all about the pain and instead drowning in the pleasure that rose like scalding steam. Ecstasy shimmered through every blood vessel in his body. Soft lips, swirling tongue, tight throat that closed in around the swollen head and pulsed, pulling him in deeper, and Jungkook could feel it, his cock twitching and getting harder, the insistent softness on the cusp of not enough, and yet so much was happening. Flexing wet muscle under the head every time she backed up, trapped in that warm sleeve, her cheeks sucking inward and drawing him deeper every time her lips pressed into his crotch, her graceful fingers fanning over his thighs and ass, stroking his tingling skin in time with her tongue.

Holy fuck.

Maybe it was dramatic that last night she saved his life by blowing his dick with such incredible skill, but Jungkook was sticking to this drama.

Wasn’t casual sex supposed to be wham, bam, thank you, next. Not, holy shit, my cock is so fucking deep in her throat I can feel her neck muscles flexing, but perhaps he had done some good deeds or this year was going to be extra prosperous in the sex front (it wasn’t a question that came up much among those elderly fortune tellers his mom visited, how odd). It had to be something like that, because how was he supposed to know the friend of a friend was going to be, one, hot, and, two, down to fuck, and, three, actually good at it?

And, four.

Readily manhandle him. But not in a threatening way. In an unafraid-to-say-and-get-what-she-wanted way. The direct, forward assertiveness was sexy as hell, but Jungkook wasn’t going to tell other people that he liked it when a woman took charge. That wasn’t exactly small talk. It didn’t come up naturally. He didn’t even tell the women he had previously slept with. It hadn’t felt like the right atmosphere. And, well, the sex was just okay. He figured he had to be careful in what he said when he wasn’t sure if they were going to be long term.

He had to cover his ass.

Speaking of.

Her fingernails sank into his ass and dragged down harshly as she tilted her head back. His throbbing cock slid down along the back of her throat, sending uncontrollable tremors up his chest and down his legs, pain and pleasure and perfection.

Jungkook slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a muffled half-scream.

She started focusing exclusively on the head, back and forth, running her tongue over it with her plush lips constricting the base, holy shit, and his eyes rolled back in his head, his hand falling, exhale thin and thinning out even more as he was reaching the end. It was too unexpectedly good, fuck, it made the muscles in his back tremble and his blood boil, o-oh, fuck, made his heart race and his calves strain with tension, I’m gonna c-cum, made his scalp tingle and his mind go blank with pleasure and he never thought an orgasm could be this intense unless he was the one getting himself off, but he was wrong, he was so fucking wrong, because he could feel the tightening in his core spiraling a bit too much and he was going to lose his fucking mind.

He gasped and screamed under his breath.

The high hit him like the sudden violent snap of elastic, so sharp that he was winded and able to feel the muscles of upper thighs spasm, shooting a rather impressive amount down her throat, almost regretful he didn’t pull out so that he could see how much it was, but none of that mattered, ensnared in wave after punishing wave of indecent, gratified lust flinching through his shaking, hard muscles as he felt his cum fill her mouth.

She swallowed.

Jungkook almost punched the wall, the oversensitivity almost painful, his hoarse voice on the verge of cracking.

“C… Careful…. P-Please…”

Those eyes flickering up, and she seemed to understand. Gently, pulling back just a little. He almost buckled at the sensation of the sucking lessening, such a good feeling but overwhelming in the afterglow, and then it was cloud-nine bliss, achingly perfect in the way she carefully slid his cock along her tongue, his twitching length gliding in the puddle of saliva and cum, repeatedly, soaring high like the moon, the thick viscosity creating a slick friction that was wicked heaven.

He wanted to say, oh, yeah, I lasted a long time after that.

He did not.

I’m in trouble.

He realized that the second she got on her knees on his bed, raised her ass, and turned her head back to smirk at him. Made direct eye contact as he tried to hide his gulp and put on the condom, keeping his hands low so she didn’t see them quiver. He was staring a bit too much, but she simply reached over and took his right hand, caressing his tattoos, and then he gasped as his fingers touched slippery wetness, looking down, and was he allowed to fall in love with a beautiful pussy at first glance or not allowed? Fuck, she even had a cute asshole. Was that too dirty to think or what?

Jungkook didn’t contemplate it too much as she slid his fingers into her, the soft, firm walls wrapping around him.

“Ready?” she hummed.

“Y- Yeah…”

In hindsight, he could have said much sexier things other than, yeah, but that was the least of his problems. Getting on his knees, sinking in, and he nearly blacked out with how good it felt. A steady controlled pulse surrounding him. Somehow, his cock became even harder, his fingers splaying out over the juicy curve of her ass, deeper, so tight, and it was all her, that cute face smiling back at him with the tip of her tongue tracing her upper lip. Naughty smirk widening, captivating foxy eyes filled with mirth shining in the darkness of his bedroom.

Jungkook didn’t even care.

He was just trying not to bust a nut at this excessive amount of sensuality that he hadn’t been prepared for.

“You look very sexy with your hair over your face like that.”

He hadn’t even noticed the strands of black covering his vision because he had been too busy looking down.

“Your back looks… oh, f-fuck… looks so beautiful…”

She grinned and lowered herself on his sheets to push back against him.

He had stuttered because her pussy had squeezed him in between his words. There wasn’t any time to be eloquent anyway, not with the sudden need surging through him at this improved angle, his grip on her hips tightening and thrusting his hips forward, wincing at how loud that smack was, surely someone outside heard, but there was nothing he could do about it, didn’t want to stop, couldn’t stop, sinking his teeth into his lower lip and trying not to add any additional noise, wanted to slow down but it felt so good when he was so deep, so tight and choking his shaft, the sensitive head of his cock rubbing against her walls and swelling. Even with the condom he felt so much, pressure and power and intensity, placing a palm on her lower back and groaning between clenched teeth, the arc of her ass so obvious and the bounce so visible that he would dream about it, all of it, the slaps of body to body, thrusting hard, rough, his ears tingling with her low, sexy moans, too good, felt too good, and he wanted to last longer but just couldn’t.

Threw his head back and yelled under his rushing exhale, straining to contain his cry in his chest.

Didn’t last much longer with a new condom and in missionary position either. He kept staring at her pretty face and perky tits, feverish desire racing with every slap of hips-to-hips, his hair falling into his eyes, struggling to see her hands clutching his pillows, and then she arched her back to give him a full view of those perfect, tasty-looking, hard nipples. Honestly, he was proud of himself for lasting the ten minutes that he did. Five minutes. Er, at least he hoped he lasted more than five minutes.

He was sweaty and gasping but he asked anyway.

“Sorry, I… Are you upset at me?”

She tilted her head, confused. “For what? That felt amazing.”

His face burned as he mumbled under his breath.

“I… I usually last longer…”

“Oh.” Blink. “Oh!” She grinned at him, and it was so devious that Jungkook realized this must not be the first time she had heard that. “I don’t care about things like that. But, uh…”

Her sex saved his life.

Her next words murdered him on the spot.

“You know, when you came, uh… I’m sure you were trying to be quiet and all that, but you sounded a bit like one of those faraway screams that happen in movies. You know, when someone gets thrown far away mid-battle. A very tiny, aaaaaaa…”

Not the best sex of his life comparing his orgasm noise to the Wilhelm scream.

-

You could admit it.

You shouldn’t have said that.

But also shouldn’t people be told of such things so that they became more self-aware? It took everything in you not to burst out laughing in his presence (although you did laugh a lot when you arrived home). And it wasn’t as if you were going to see him again. For a while, anyway. Definitely not the next day at goddamn McDonald’s.

Right?

Wrong.

You gawked at Jungkook until the other guy with him noticed and started staring at you too. Oh, jeez, it was Park Jimin, another one of the guys who had been there last night at the birthday party. You remembered him and his distinctive, bubbly giggling all night. He had a great voice too, making listening to karaoke actually bearable. He was, however, the kind of guy that wanted to be in the know about everything and everyone.

Aw, shit.

You weren’t ready for another repeat of this morning.

Jimin’s round, discerning eyes recognized you immediately even in your casual clothes and lack of makeup. You snapped your head back to your empty paper packaging. Snatched up your cup, pushing away from the window counter and stepping down, winding over to the drinks machine to top off on tea before sprinting it. Hey, McDonald’s wasn’t that cheap anymore. Inflation was a thing. Better get as much as you could before leaving.

You tossed the oily packaging and your napkin before turning around, immediately nearly colliding with Jeon Jungkook.

“Gah!”

“Oh!”

And he grabbed your waist.

Of course, he did.

Your bare waist, because you were wearing a crop top under your heavy coat.

You kept your drink-holding hand out of the way and gasped into his chin, your other hand landing on his left upper arm and squeezing, suddenly tense all over. It was hard and solid under your grip, twice as tense as you were.

“S-Sorry, Jimin pushed me…”

You vaguely heard Jungkook mumbling but you didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to be let down again by humanity. Didn’t have time for Jeon Jungkook getting into your face about you fucking and dipping, scolding you about being too blunt, and possibly even directly calling you a bitch. Not that you didn’t deserve it. You just didn’t want to find out that cute-faced, criminally-undercover-sexy, surprisingly-a-very-good-fuck Jeon Jungkook could maybe be a shitty person.

Didn’t want to know.

Better not to know.

“S’okay. Let me get out of your way,” you mumbled back, turning your head away.

“You’re not in my way.”

You heard him say it, didn’t believe it, and yet his hands were still around your waist.

“Actually… Please be in my way.”

You froze.

Snapped your head back and found yourself centimeters from Jeon Jungkook’s face.

Oh, I’m in trouble.

He let go of you, slowly, his touch hovering as if you would make a break for it in the middle of this crowded McDonald’s, as if you would bowl over small children and their Happy Meals to escape, sending plastic toys flying in your wake. But you did no such thing, instead holding your breath, realizing how upset you would be if this was another you’re an insensitive whore moment. The truth was that you didn’t care until you did, or at least until you fully comprehended that you were glad to see Jungkook rather than completely indifferent. Why? He hadn’t said anything special. Just, please make it home safely. You had thought that was weird, please. Brushed it off as him being polite or even maybe trying to entice you with that light touch of submissiveness, anything but the possibility of him actually, honestly, straightforwardly caring about your safety.

You learned to expect people not caring for much except for themselves.

“I… Good afternoon,” you managed to get out, stepping closer as a crowd of kids squashed themselves against the drinks fountain, clambering over each other with their paper cups, yelling about how you snooze, you lose even though there was plenty of soda in a fast-food restaurant.

An adult, presumably a guardian, ran over to tell them to quiet down.

“Y… Yeah…” was Jungkook’s strangled reply, startled at you attempting conversation.

You held your sweet tea and tried to lightly bow, but realized that you could hit him in the chin if you did. You stepped aside to avoid that, and then his hand darted out. Stopping. Suddenly aware of what he was doing, stuck on what to do, looking at you helplessly for instruction. This was some love song or romcom movie shit.

No.

This was a goddamn McDonald’s, not awkward-sexual-tension meeting grounds. You grabbed his hand and pulled him along, spinning to find yourself crammed into the table with a grinning Park Jimin and too many shopping bags.

“Oh, hey. Funny seeing you here.”

Jimin was stifling his giggles.

You immediately let go of Jungkook’s hand, your face frozen and expressionless.

“Ah, Jungkook, can you watch my food?” Was it your imagination or did Park Jimin just bat his eyelashes? “I’m gonna go put the gifts in my car.”

Oh no.

“Stay right there!”

Jungkook looked mortified. “Jimin, wait–”

But he did not wait. Ruffled fluffy black hair, mischievous smile, and a whoosh later, those crinkly paper bags gone like a disappearing act, leaving you and your fuck of last night with a half-eaten sandwich and cold fries.

“I… He… I’m sorry,” Jungkook sputtered, jerking erratically.

You clutched your tea like a liquid social safety net. “Sit down. Children are staring at us.”

Sure enough, a small crowd of curious peepers were climbing the low half-wall and peering at you and Jungkook. They were being plucked off one by one by a pair of exasperated ladies who looked like they desperately needed a nap. As soon as one child was removed, another climbed up to take their place. Inquisitive little bundles in brightly colored jackets, pom-pom beanies, and sipping soda from paper cups. Jungkook whipped his head back, exposing his red ears under his bucket hat for half a second, saw the kids, and sat down beside you, turning his back to them.

Now even bigger peepers were directed at you.

“Uh…”

You cleared your throat. Drank some tea. “Erm.”

“I... I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You almost choked on your chuckle. “Yeah, uh… same.” You ticked your head to the outside, in the general direction Jimin had run off too. “Shopping for new year stuff?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Mostly for Jimin’s family. I usually shop online.” He scrunched his face with a little bit of dismay. “It’s too much on the weekends sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’m the same.”

Your knee touched his.

He looked at you.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m gonna want to kiss you.

“And we’re in the middle of a McDonald’s.”

“What?”

You could see stray strands of black brushing against his cheeks. Could see those starry brown eyes under that big bucket hat, those pink lips parted and that small mole underneath them trembling, something you had noticed last night even in the low light because you had been licking up his neck and watching his open mouth, savoring the way his whine travelled by vibration through your insistent lips from his throat.

“I don’t want to make out with you in front of all these children,” you clarified, letting out a slow, concealed breath. “But if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to make a bad decision.”

People only get into relationships for shitty sex.

Right?

I want to be around him.

“Um… I think Jimin wanted to get an air fryer and who knows what else… I’m supposed to carry the big stuff,” Jungkook grumbled, sounding like he wanted to abandon his current adventure for a different kind of adventure. Still, he begrudgingly remained a good friend. “But tomorrow…?”

You weren’t sure if he was aware that he was getting closer to you, practically thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, but then you put your hand on his coat sleeve. He froze up, holding his breath. He smelled good. Fresh and clean, like laundry from the dryer. He was close enough for you to clearly discern his scent.

Close enough for you to remember.

“I need to get my tires rotated,” you finally remembered. “I’ll call you.”

His cheeks flushed pink. “C-Call me?”

“Yeah, give me your number.”

-

She asked for it like it was easy.

Who cares? Jungkook determined, after all, that he was easy. Or at least his hands were hurriedly fumbling with his phone as he blurted out the numbers as calmly as he could, which was probably not that calm, but who cared? Not him and definitely not his dick.

“Thanks. Don’t forget to answer or I’ll feel dumb.”

“Wait, give me your number.”

She paused, glancing at him. Shivers all over when their eyes connected, and he was sure he saw a guarded flicker in those eyes, but then it was let go, her lashes lowering, casting away the unknown reservation that he hoped she could tell him one day. And yet she stayed silent, turning her phone over in her hand.

“I want it,” he breathed.

Her eyes shifted back up. Ghost of a smirk on those lips.

Like she was trying to hold back.

“I’m going to give it to you,” she whispered to him, and he had to lean in, no, wanted to lean in and the scent of her perfume caught him, sweet and smokey, all those memories flashing back, in the dark with fistfuls of his sheets and breathing in, his pillows, his blanket, his clothes, heavenly and arousing. “Just saying I come with a warning label.”

“What kind of warning?” Jungkook found himself asking even though he was desperate to indulge in this risky business.

“I’ll never let your last that long,” she purred with a smug smile. “Don’t give up, okay?”

Jungkook felt his cheeks burn as he typed down the number and kept his retort to himself because Jimin suddenly appeared and the conversation was abruptly over. He jerked his head away quickly as she mouthed a tiny aaaa under her breath, teasing him, and this was a bad decision but he answered the call anyway when it came.

-

What are you doing? You don’t do relationships. People don’t like the way you do things. They’re complicated and full of secrets. They can’t be honest. You’re too honest. It doesn’t work.

Your intrusive thoughts had worked the graveyard shift and were now doing overtime.

They don’t like you.

You weren’t that surprised at these thoughts. You also did the absolute most when fucking and probably not enough outside of fucking. Some would call this karma. You would call it a nuisance. Shut the fuck up, brain. You already knew all this. You knew and you muted all that sound, all that excess noise that warned of tomorrow being ruined, chose to shut it all out until there was nothing but the melody of Jeon Jungkook’s bated breath.

You could listen to your head and let those thoughts fuck everything up.

Or you could place your fingertips on Jungkook’s lower lip and feel his gasp travel through your nerves, feel the way your blood shimmered in your veins and raced faster. Caress that pink curve to stop at his lip rings, tangible, hard and soft juxtaposed. Breathe out, your eye line lifting, up, finding those large dark brown orbs surrounded by wispy black tendrils.

Jungkook wanted you.

That was pretty obvious, especially from his hands trying to slide up your skirt.

He was just waiting for you to start it off.

You could listen to your head or choose to feel and listen to your instincts, dangerous as it was.

I’m in so much trouble, fuck.

You knew it, and yet you leaned in and kissed him anyway. Something about him, the way his eyes instantly closed when you came close, the way he trusted your eyes wouldn’t stay open, the way his lips gave in to your insistence, no, yearned for it, his fingernails sinking into your hips and yanking you close, onto his lap and into his heat, and then it was darkness and tongue and breathing into his mouth, hot and unnerving and addictive.

You hadn’t even noticed you had closed your eyes until you felt your hands sliding into his hair. Barely even perceived how you held your breath when your chest pressed against his, gasping, too many clothes in between and all the anticipation, dancing your nails over his scalp and sucking on his tongue, his melodious moan melding with your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

What is this?

You rolled your hips into his lap and Jungkook groaned, breaking the kiss and tipping his head back, his hardness twitching between your legs, insistently pressing up through his sweatpants as his neck became exposed. And there was nothing you wanted to do but press your lips to that mole on his neck, tasting that tan skin and inhaling his scent, wanting to be covered in it, drenched in it, dancing kisses up his jaw and catching his ear with your teeth, tugging on his hair and rocking your hips back and forth, turning hot friction into hot, damp friction.

“I c-can’t…”

His moan rang in your ears, his fingers pushing up the sides of your panties and driving them into the crevice of your ass, creating a damn thong with too much fabric.

“Can’t t-take it anymore…”

Pulled hard and you gasped, feeling the slinky fabric slip in between your folds, soaked and soaking, strong hips knocking into that dug-in fabric and practically bouncing your pulsing pussy on his rock-hard erection.

You curled your arm around his head and tipped his face to yours, seeing his glassy eyes and open mouth, his shaking breath feathering against your chin, and if Jeon Jungkook was a liar, then he was a damn good one, one of those liars so deep in the lie that it started becoming truth.

He whispered your name in the shared air, between his and your trembling lips.

He’s too desperate to be a liar.

You closed the distance between lips and tangled your tongues in the tango, lifting your hips at the same time, smiling at his whine before silencing it by pulling his hand between your legs, pushing the thin fabric aside, and then the collective sigh. Yours, shivering satisfaction. His, driven desire, fingers exploring and sending shivers through your legs. Wet and slippery and soft. Pressing his face into your neck and then gasping when his soft lips pressed to your throat, light kisses and wanton need, his other hand sliding up your sweater, pushing it up.

I want you.

He slid two fingers into you and moaned into your skin, slow, pressing his touch into your clenching walls, his eyes closed under you. In, out, building pleasure, your hips following, riding his hand, deeper, intense, hard, his tongue licking your collarbone and your lashes fluttered, suddenly overcome by shivers.

“I w-want you…”

He gasped against your throat, almost a whimper, those pleading eyes half-opening. Pulling out slightly and rubbing slow circles that made your hips flinch, his fingertips brushing against your slick clit, and those brown eyes darkened, tipping his head back to watch your face. His fingers on your waist tightening, holding you in place, shifting his fingertips, and you bit back a hiss, locking your knees, staring back into his starstruck eyes that showed you everything he was as he stroked your clit, igniting all your nerves and scorching your skin in passionate flames.

You saw what Jungkook was saying.

He wanted you so bad, not just a little, not just for a couple orgasms, not just for every night but also every day, even every afternoon and every twilight and every dead of night. Every kiss, every touch, every look into the eyes telling you this meant more to him than casual and for some reason it didn’t feel like a burden.

Casual sex could only stay casual if both people got the memo.

Suddenly, you realized neither you nor him were getting the damn memo.

You leaned forward and breathed in his exhale, squeezing his hips with your thighs, harder, yes, so good, fast and harsh and closer, closer, pulsing sensitivity escalating, your fingers tangled into his long black hair, entangled moans slipping out, fuck, yes, I’m close, Jungkook, fuck, and he was good but this was more than skill, more than half-lidded eyes and your hand falling, tracing his jaw, biting back your orgasm until…

Until.

“I could stare at you forever,” you breathed.

Closed your eyes and moaned into his mouth, the high crashing down, leaking all over his fingers and causing his touch to slip, dripping down, everywhere, all over the front of his pants and down your legs, and there was no time to care, dragging Jungkook into kiss after kiss, driven by snaking pleasure coursing through your veins. His wet fingers grasped your thigh, kneading the softness, his whines trapped by kisses, begging for your legs against his naked chest.

How could you refuse him?

You just couldn’t.

-

I’m so fucked.

Truly, madly, deeply fucked.

Past in trouble and actually in danger, danger, you’re seconds away from cumming, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth so he felt something else, anything, please, clutching fistfuls of his sheets and wondering why the fuck the condom wasn’t reducing any sensation because, holy fuck, his cock was trapped in a hot, slippery, tight sleeve that pulsed around his twitching, hard length every time he descended. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe, could do nothing but follow that carnal instinct to thrust over and over, deep as possible, the angle so good he closed his eyes so they didn’t roll back into his head even though he was hopelessly losing his mind at the sensations of her, so soft, so intense, so good his legs were shaking with tension, the rhythmic smacking obscenely loud, rattling bedframe echoing throughout his bedroom.

“H-Harder,” she gasped breathlessly.

Harder?!

Was she trying to kill him?

She lifted her hips and Jungkook knew he was fucked.

He threw all of his energy into his hips and sunk his teeth into his lower lip, his lip rings hitting his teeth. Metal hitting bone. Screaming in his head and tightening his vocal chords, thankful to see her eyes closing, her head tipping back, low satisfied moan of his name travelling to in his ears and then all that he was keeping together shattered and slammed into him, heat rushing and mind-numbing, euphoric high punching all the air out of his lungs, visceral tension snapping at his hips and now he was pumping the condom full, o-o-oh, fuuuuck, her walls shivering and amplifying the good feeling of sexual intoxication, his vision a blur, only now realizing all the sweat sliding down his back and forehead, his damp hair swinging down over his eyes, and maybe lasting a only a couple minutes but it was a damn good couple of minutes if Jungkook was allowed to say so himself.

He was panting, hardly able to catch his breath.

It wasn’t enough.

Fuck, he was so horny and he was barely recovering from his first orgasm. Didn’t know what came over him. A wave of insanity? Inconsolable craving? Willful sacrifice of his soul to the sex goddess in his bed right now? Dramatic, sure. Casual, no, pushing his palms against the bed, shuddering as he pulled out of that tight warmth, almost regretting it, but then he looked down. At the shiny slickness, his white cum swollen at the end of the condom. He gripped the opening and pulled down, peeling it off with a whine, and Jungkook was pretty sure he was overwhelmingly crazy or overwhelmingly horny or both, because why else would he scoot his knees up and start jacking his spent dick like a madman, whimpering at the sensitivity and the slippery friction and the scene before him – her legs lowering from his shoulders, those curious eyes glinting under him, her soft, bouncy breasts rising and falling rapidly in her heavy breathing, fuck, so sexy, so fucking sexy, faster, tighter, staring at those hard nipples he wanted in his mouth right now, so fucking bad.

He let his eyes flicker up.

Gasping, baring his depravity.

She smirked, her tongue tracing the edge of her upper lip.

“Cum on me, Jungkook.”

Words so simple that they could be said by anyone, but this was different, this was too much intensity, too much irresistible pleasure, too much too sure about this feeling, this moment, this connection, and then her fingertips slid up his hard, tense, trembling thigh, sinking her fingernails in and dragging down, those stings of pain sending him over the edge.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

His eyes rolled back and his hips pitched forward, flinching powerfully and shooting cum over her stomach, up her cleavage, sudden streak of white glistening against her skin, jolts of aching bliss penetrating his quivering muscles. Shared gasp, everything smelling like sex, his bedsheets, his clothes, his skin, mixing with her perfume. Sweet like candy and heavy like lust.

Jungkook wanted to douse himself in it.

Her cum and her perfume.

He pressed the dark, purple-red, swollen head of his twitching cock to her cum-covered stomach and moaned, dragging it across and slipping further and further into blinding oversensitivity, on the edge of too much but he liked it, fuck, he liked it more and more as he saw her sly smirk and foxy eyes sparkle, savoring his reactions. It made him want to give in to this side of him more.

Her hand lifted, fingers curling around his chin, stroking his lower lip with her thumb.

“You’re so sexy, Jungkook. I love the way you look at me.”

Something about the way she said it, making him feel that she really meant it.

No, know that she really meant what she said.

His heart fluttered. Took flight.

No.

Soared.

They really were such simple words, nothing complicated at all, and that was how Jungkook knew.

He was sure.

--

masterpost

[cevenths]

somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known. 

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres. 

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves. 

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless. 

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin. 

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip. 

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

──────────────

The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer. 

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

──────────────

Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head. 

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice. 

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles. 

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act. 

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper. 

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like. 

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead. 

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology. 

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips. 

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.” 

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.” 

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation. 

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder. 

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.” 

“G’night.”

──────────────

It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter. 

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you. 

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road. 

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod. 

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit. 

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

──────────────

That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire. 

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so. 

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’. 

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood. 

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears. 

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish. 

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string. 

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself. 

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet. 

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought. 

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

──────────────

Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste. 

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust. 

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop. 

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication. 

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender. 

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach. 

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought. 

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising. 

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood. 

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place. 

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose. 

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

[satorhime]

on the ground ˚₊· gojo satoru + nanami kento. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : : f!reader, explicit smut, threesome + cuckholding, reader n gojo r in an established relationship, public foreplay (on an empty train), oral sex (m + f receiving), face sitting, spanking, degradation, teasing, praise, fingering, handjobs, double penetration (sort of), unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, cum play, squirting, snowballing, messy nasty smut w / lots of pet names lol ･｡･ w.c. 15.6k.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis & notes : nanami is awarded his apology, and more. part two of off the table, but can be read as a standalone. + ໒꒰ྀི ⸝⸝⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა ⊹ omg omg i finally, FINALLY completed this fic. i struggled a lot with the direction i wanted this story to go in, but i'm finally satisfied and can share it with everyone. i hope you enjoy it & expect errors because it's an absolute chunk of words. thank u 2 @fushisslut for beta reading <333

nanami kento is out of his mind. 

you see, he must be. that’s the only reasonable explanation for his behavior tonight. when people perceive him, they see him as a stable man with a level head on his shoulders. they take in the pristine cut of his designer suits, the glimmer of his luxury wristwatch, and they can’t help but see the prime example of a professional jujutsu sorcerer. his technique isn’t a lightshow to impress others, but consists of preordained, calculated mathematics for him to achieve the best results in a fight. even the higher ups trust him more because they’re soothed by his polite speech, strategic outlook, and solid reliability— because he can be summed up into one safe, khaki-colored box that will never pose a threat to their way of order, even if he disagrees with it. 

normal. standard. boring. 

but every sorcerer has a flaw, a trigger nestled deep inside of them just waiting to spring them into insanity. it can be anything, really— a fight with a formidable opponent or your favorite coffee shop getting your morning order wrong on a bad day. nanami’s own flaw is a crack in the perfect design of his foundation that can be exploited way too easily if you know where to look for it. 

and gojo satoru knows the exact location. 

while nanami has tried his best to ignore the tension crackling like a steady current between you and him, satoru sees everything. his crush on you is obvious though. written all over his handsome expression when you simply smile at him or your shoulders brush in a crowded meeting room and nanami makes the mistake of looking down to snap at you to give him space, only to be enraptured by the sight of your pretty face and lower, the print of your cute little nipples pressing through the thinner fabric of your tight sorcerer’s uniform. his ears pinkening up like strawberry syrup swirled on top of milk. 

the fact that he jolts awake almost every night from wet dreams about you, cock dripping wet in his briefs can’t be written on his face, but it happens. making him feel adolescent, green as fresh grass, when he has to slip a hand into his underwear and fuck against his dry palm with your name whispered desperately on his tongue until he cums, messy and full of shame, all over his belly. 

nanami kento’s weakness is a woman off limits. 

perhaps gojo should feel possessive and territorial that another man has such blatant feelings for his pretty girlfriend, but gojo feeds it like cupid with a heart-shaped arrow. only feeling like a winner in the long game he plays. and tonight, well, tonight is living proof of that. 

right now, you’re strolling ahead of nanami with gojo’s long arm thrown lazily around your shoulders. the three of you are heading leisurely towards the train station, as if you’re like everyone else out on a weekend night— casual colleagues walking home together after a boring company outing.

the city at this hour is alive, a kaleidoscope of movement and bright, twinkling energy. usually, nanami would enjoy a walk like this under the starlit night, tilt his head up and inhale the fresh breeze as he walks the long way home to unwind after a long shift but he just can’t, not tonight. not when he’s strung out and so fucking hyperfocused on your every move. not when the noise from the neon billboards flash loud advertisements, bustling shopfronts, and drunken giggles from twenty-somethings stumbling out of upscale bars washes away all rational thought from nanami’s skull until all he can think about is you.

it’s humiliating. his self-control over his own actions is usually adamant, an indomitable shell around his being that should have kept him from giving in to his desire to fuck all traces of gojo satoru from your body, but how can he really resist it? he should have known better than to get up from that table and follow the two of you home, but it’s too late to turn back now. especially when the colorful streetlights illuminate your frame to him, the late night breeze stirring the flowy hem of your expensive little cocktail dress— giving him a flash of the supple swell of your naked ass cheeks, panties still tucked away in gojo’s pocket. 

gritting his teeth, nanami tries to look away but he’s locked in. picking up on the slight limp in your walk instead— no doubt from the rough way gojo fingerfucked you under the table earlier. the memory of desperate tears glazing over your big doe eyes as you pleaded for them both, begging nanami to give you permission to cum, twists a serrated knife into the mass of hot arousal already simmering in the pit of his gut. 

you’ve got him entranced, just like that, staring at the soft jiggle of your ass until gojo notices and kisses his teeth, smoothing the hem of your dress down in mock chivalry as he glances back at nanami with a bright sparkle in his quicksilver blue eyes, blackout sunglasses slid low on his pretty nose and grinning with those fanged incisors gleaming in the moonlight like a predator.

god, nanami hates the way his mouth runs dry at that look. 

“it’s just like old times, eh?”

 gojo leers out as soon as the three of you pile onto the train. his crude vocals are too loud, slashing through the quiet to bounce against the big metal walls. blinding fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting an eerie green glow. 

“i don’t know what you’re referring to, gojo-san,” nanami lies breezily, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache forming behind his brow at the teasing sound of gojo’s voice. “if you could please be quiet now.” 

oh, but nanami knows exactly what the other man is referring to, doesn’t he? the unique moments in life when gojo satoru and nanami kento operated on the same wavelength. younger days before nanami left for university abroad at copenhagen, drunken nights in the dorm at jujutsu high after tough missions. dares and childish games that led to beer-flavored spit swapped between giggling peers. a lost bet. nanami never backing down from a challenge. suguru dutifully filming with a cracked flip phone as gojo mouthed down the length of nanami’s cock— 

he was a madman for playing gojo satoru’s games then, and he definitely is one now. 

“what’s like old times?” you pipe up with a question, breaking through nanami’s thoughts. your head bobbles between the two men rudely leaving you out of the conversation, confusion wrinkling your pretty features. “what are you two whispering about?” 

nanami grits his jaw, refusing to elaborate, but gojo huffs out the beginning of a chuckle and parts his lips to answer you. be it for dick, pussy, or spilling secrets better left buried, he can never keep his mouth shut, can he?

“mmm, nothing you need to worry that pretty head about tonight, angel,” he shrugs, a lazy smirk settling on his pink lips. the threads of patronization laced through his words makes you even more curious, though. “we’re just reminiscing.” 

his long arm curves around your neck after that, tugging you towards him. bending his head down to press his nose against your hair affectionately, breathing in the scent of your shampoo in a gentle kiss obviously meant to disarm your questions. 

and of course, it doesn’t work. 

“oh, i see,” you nod, like you’ve cracked the code. eyes fluttering down into narrowed slits at the both of them. “you two shared many women before like this, have you? is that what you’re talking about?” 

it doesn’t sound like an accusation. after all, you know how experienced your boyfriend’s appetite is, but the words come out a little more bitter than you intend. satoru quirks a snowy brow, still gleaming his signature grin. how would you react if you knew their truth, their history? 

“we have not,” that was kento, finally speaking up to clarify when it’s his reputation on the line, earnestly hoping that you’ll drop the subject. 

“but we’ve shared each other,” and that was satoru, cupping his hand to your ear like he’s spilling a juicy little scandal. 

“o-oh-” 

whatever answer you expected, it wasn’t that. 

your mouth opens to ask another question, but a safety recording cuts the conversation short before the train lurches forward, speeding out of the station. soon, you’re out in the city— skyscrapers and bright lights blurring past the windows at breakneck speed. 

gojo’s cue now that you’re temporarily sealed away from civilization. 

he leans against a pole, smirking against your hair. his hand caresses a path down your front slowly, and you momentarily forget how to breathe, sucking in your tummy because it’s starting again— his nasty fucking game. 

and for the first time, there is a third player. 

“remember the last time you tired putting your hand up my skirt on a train, gojo satoru?” you remind him as his hand begins to slither into the cleavage of your dress, disappearing under the fabric to shamelessly cup one of your breasts, giving it a gentle knead and making you bite down on a gasp. “not to mention, there’s cctv right there-” 

“how was i supposed to know there was an officer right across from us?” 

“you literally have the six eyes, satoru.” 

“shut up.” he huffs. “what are you so worried for anyway? we’re alone, and that guy won’t tell anyone what we’ve been up to. he wants you just as much as i do, right nanamin?” 

“i was under the impression you invited me back to your home, not to get arrested,” nanami retorts dryly, but his tone is a complete contradiction to the look in his honey brown eyes. he is staring across the train car at you with so much open lust, his intensive gaze simmers heat all the way underneath the surface of your skin, making you squirm even more. it’s that look in his eyes alone, like he wants to ruin you for your own boyfriend, that makes each move of gojo’s a little more than proprietorial. a farewell to his darling baby before he auctions you up for the taking. 

only, he surely intends on taking you back at the end of the night because you belong to him. but only after he checks off a certain box— after he burns the vision of you getting fucked on another man’s cock while he watches into his temporal lobe. 

“i’m not worried about nanami-san,” you frown, rolling your eyes, “i’m worried about the cctv.” 

“i’ll handle it,” he promises, his voice dark and low. he kisses your ear with a whisper that sends a hot shudder down the curve of your spine. “why don’t you go and greet nanami properly while i do, sweet girl? he’s over there all by himself.” 

your head whips around, eyes wide at his suggestion. nothing can really surprise you about the six-foot-three smirking egomaniac you’re dating at this point. that limp in your walk, the cooling slick still coating your sticky thighs from your last orgasm, and your missing pair of ruined panties are a testament to his want to fuck you in every location, in every way possible. to etch his mark into the world that stands at his feet, one drop of cum at a time. 

even if it means offering you up to nanami kento like a sacrificial lamb plump and ready for the slaughter. 

and you? you’re perfectly fine with being a sacred contribution left at his alter. 

“or are you scared?” gojo wonders, glancing over at the other man.

it’s not just a meaningless taunt. both you, and nanami can hear the weight behind the question. it’s a chance to back out. a consent form. he may be a greedy, overpowered sorcerer with an insatiable love for dirty fucking but he respects nanami, and he respects you above all else. you’re the love of his life, a little piece of his soul living outside of his body, and he knows how many steps he can take outside of the box before he runs into boundaries. and though you never back down from one of his challenges, though your mind is honey coated in lust, you lift your gaze to the ex-salaryman and you consider him, one final time. 

anyone with a pair of eyes can appreciate the beauty in nanami kento. he is all sharp contours and deep tenor. timeless handsomeness that reminds you of an old money heartthrob from the sixties, or a classic comic book hero. nanami may be the complete opposite of your boyfriend, austere and jaded, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him, that you did not enjoy the steadiness of conversations with him and the few, ill-delivered dry jokes he indulges in from time to time. perhaps it was the throb in your clit convincing you, or the memory of him demanding you be a good girl and cum for them both back at the restaurant, but god, you fucking wanted him.

no, you wanted them both, and you would deal with your shame for it in the daylight hours.  

“don’t you know me at all, gojo satoru?” you finally break the silence with a confident smile, making gojo snort at you before he shoves you off the deep end— hands on your shoulders to nudge you into stepping across the train car until you stop in front of nanami. 

he is the only one sitting down, watching you approach with that stoic expression of his. at first glance, he looks utterly unimpressed, but you should have known better as your legs bump his spread knees and you glance down, getting a glimpse of the outline of his hard cock bulging against the tight inseam of his khaki slacks. 

your breath shortens into a needy pant. wondering what it would feel like weighing your tongue down after you’ve wriggled him out of that boring designer suit of his? or how much it would make your hips ache as it stretched your cunt out until you soak gojo’s expensive sheets down to the last thread? 

warmth blooms over the skin of your cheeks as his sharp eyes follow your line of sight. he quirks an amused brow, catching your shameless stare locked on his lap. he barely shifts under the attention, no slouch in the posture he holds with an easy confidence. “didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare at a cock you don’t plan to sit on, young lady?” 

“who says i don’t plan to sit on it, nanami-san?” you mouth off, even as your knees weaken under the weight of his authoritative tone. you hear gojo scoff in amusement, still leaning against that pole, arms still folded as he watches the scene unfold— playing out just how he wants it. 

“you’re still standing, obviously,” he points out, and how he makes such simple words sound like honey spread over velvet you don’t know, but the deep, flat timbre of his monotone flutters a lick of arousal through your belly. 

“do you want me to?” 

“come here and sit, back facing to me,” he instructs, gesturing to his lap. he doesn’t even think about putting his hands on you, no matter how desperately he wants to, letting you build up the courage to obey someone new. instead, he unfastens the buttons on his blazer slow, one by one, before removing his goggles and tucking them away into an inner breast pocket. sandy hair tinted slightly green under the lighting in the train as he waits for you. it isn’t easy for him to fight the more reckless part of himself when you’re standing there, staring at him like this, and he’ll be ashamed tomorrow to say that he didn’t even try. “well?” 

behind you, gojo wears a dangerous smirk. temple of his skull resting against the cold steel of the balance pole, content to watch his girlfriend climb into the lap of another man. you’re thankful that the subway car the three of you are in is deserted. you had kept your head down when satoru shamelessly flicked his wrist at the mechanical sliding doors as other passengers tried to board, slamming it shut in their confused faces and twisting the metal into a makeshift lock with cursed energy so that no one else is around to witness what you’re doing. 

you settle until your back meets nanami’s firm chest, your heart beating erratically. the sorcerer’s muscled arm feels warm through the sleeves of his tailored jacket as he wraps it around your torso, pulling you securely against him. embarrassment makes you shy as you realize that you’re sitting on your coworker’s lap with no panties on underneath your dress, his wide stance forcing your thighs to spread— rucking your dress up past your hips and exposing your pretty pussy to gojo’s twinkling gaze. 

“the cctv-” 

gojo nods, and you whimper softly as he shifts to stand a little taller, smartly placing his massive stature in front of the camera embedded in the beam above your heads. “that’s that,” he claps, then he lifts a brow, “oi, oi. you gonna take all night? our stop is next.” 

“not everyone is quick as you, gojo-san,” nanami snorts at his own little joke before he dips his head, pressing his nose to your pulse point. his eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he breathes in a gust of your perfume. scented like ruination, supple like forbidden fruit laid over his lap— he can’t resist pressing his lips to your neck first, his veined hand cupping your face, thick fingers curled under your chin to guide your head in his direction afterwards. “she deserves my patience.” 

“tch.” gojo rolls his eyes.

nanami has always been a quiet man. he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and barely then, refusing to make idle small talk and declining offers to mingle after work with his colleagues, but you know what he wants without words. your own fingers move, brushing over the buzzed wisps of hair at the nape of his neck as he parts his lips. tender in the way he finally tastes you, in the way he suckles your plump lower lip into his mouth.

you’re unfamiliar, but your kiss feels decadent to him and already, he’s determined to learn you. how many times had he lost focus in a meeting, wondering how you would feel on his lips, his tongue, his cock? the blond sorcerer presses his thumb against the middle of your cheek, keeping your jaw parted so that he can pet his tongue over yours until you gasp desperately into his mouth. 

the kiss is slower than what you’re used to, but nanami gives you passion, even though he’s a stranger to your body— a scene that your boyfriend watches with hungry, almost envious eyes. you can feel the burn of his stare from across the metal car. seeing you writhe all over his kouhai’s lap, twisting your fingers in his short hair, sucking his lower lip into your mouth, makes hot need churn in the pit of gojo’s gut to take his place.

he’s supposed to be blocking the cctv, but he can’t help it. before he knows it, he’s crossing the space of the train in a few strides, taking a seat next to you and nanami. 

you jolt when you feel the familiar weight of satoru’s big hand splay out over your thigh. heart beating erratically. saliva coating your lips and you whine because you’re desperate for more, but you don’t have to wait long. 

“my turn, sugar,” satoru grins, tucking a finger under your chin to pull your head away from nanami and towards him.

you go to him easily, no care at all that the security cameras are watching you bounce between the two men and their touches. letting your boyfriend smooth your hair away from your face before he cups your cheeks, sparks dancing down your spine as he kisses you insistently, urging you immediately into a hungrier slide of your lips against his own. 

“oh,” you sigh, and satoru shushes you with his wet tongue between your lips. he loves tonguing you down, leaving you breathless with the hunger he feels for you. sweetness of the dinner wine he spit into your mouth earlier lingers in the kisses he gives you.

it’s easy to get lost in him, to bathe in the attention when someone like gojo satoru is willing to give it to you. you’re so lost in his kiss that you almost miss the sound of nanami’s sudden, muted groan; a needy throb pulsing between the seam of your cunt as you realize you’ve been squirming over his lap without meaning to, the hard weight of his clothed cock pressing snug between your bare ass cheeks, the tip rubbing against your clit. 

“this isn’t the place for that. be still.” 

“but i want to.” 

nanami grunts in the back of his throat as you ignore him, plush hips swiveling down, grinding against the sensitive head of his cock beneath his khakis, his rough fingers squeezing your thigh desperately in reprimand. 

“can’t handle her already, nanami?” gojo taunts in a drawl, redirecting his kisses down your neck affectionately so that nanami can claim your lips again. they’re swollen, bitten by kisses, strawberry rouge smudged and ruined as they build a routine, taking turns sharing your kiss, stealing the breath out of your lungs to draw into their own.

you know that comparisons are against the natural rules of a threesome, but you can’t help yourself. they touch you so differently, vintage and brand new— opposites like the burning rays of the summer sun and the cool beams of the moon during winter, but their intensity is the same. 

satoru... satoru kisses like a man out of time because love has a habit of being snatched out of his hands, and life is fleeting in the world you live in and he needs to show you just how much he feels for you before it’s too late. he’s impatient and a little forceful, digging prints into your skin, leaving marks and love bites that sting in the aftermath— so you’ll never forget him, he thinks. he’s not shy, never ashamed to touch you in the middle of a crowd because your taste is just that fucking sweet to him and he won’t waste a minute of time he has with you. you can always feel his desperation, the urgency to prove his devotion embedded into each, skilled kiss. 

and then there’s kento, who kisses like he’s stopping to appreciate a masterpiece in a museum. there should not be so much reverence in his touch, not when you belong to someone else and he’s just an extra in your movie, the thrill of the hour for a sexually adventurous couple— but he is unhurried and thorough in the face of your greediness. feeding you by hand what he wants you to have. if you surge forward to take what you want, he counters and nips the tip of your nose in a bite that startles you, that makes you giggle, leaving you soft as putty in his grasp. and when he kisses you . . . when he kisses you it feels like he alone can stop the hand of the clock itself. as if he’s got all the time in the world, even though he is a man who only has the pleasure of your body for one night. 

if he can survive a train ride with you, that is. 

“stop moving.” 

“pretty please, nanami-san. i need jus’ a little... jus’-” you plea, and despite his warning, you plant your heels on the edge of the train seat. leverage to grind your pussy over the weighty print of his cock. back and forth, choking on little whines against nanami’s lips while satoru kisses at your collarbone and stares between your thighs. it’s frustrating to have nanami sitting there under you with a barrier in the way, the friction a tantalizing itch that makes you want to dissolve into sobs. you can hardly find it in yourself to care that you’re wetting the fabric of his pristine clothes with the sticky arousal dripping out of your little hole as you angle your hips down, dragging your clit over the cool zipper of his pants. 

“you want it that badly? you’ll writhe all over my cock, on a train no less, with your boyfriend sitting right next to you? you should be ashamed,” nanami tuts, reeling back to press his voice to your ear. “but there, there. i’ll give you something proper to rub on.”

“that’s not fair ‘cause you told me to sit, mmfgh-” you pout in petulant protest, nanami’s words causing your skin to blister under the heat of them, but satoru cuts you off once more by suckling your lower lip, grinning a little when you choke on a whine.

though the ex-salaryman’s tone burns a lick of shame down your arching back, one of his hands hitch up to your breasts to soothe the sting, squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric of your silky dress. and then, his other hand fondles your thigh and you inhale because he’s so fucking close— rough, calloused fingers slipping along the joint of your hip to brush over your mound. 

“here it is,” he announces, pressing his wet mouth to your cheek, reveling in the whimper you give him as he pushes a stiff thumb against your clit, pressing it down hard. keening, your hips twitch forward eagerly. his finger doesn’t offer much friction, but you rut against the palm anyway until he draws his middle finger down, spreading your folds and swirling an unhurried circle around your entrance, causing your breath to fan out of your chest in a rush.  “don’t be shy about it. rub against my finger and let satoru watch.” 

satoru isn’t interested in just watching though. 

he takes your hand and guides it to his clothed crotch first, a ruined moan punching out of his chest when you immediately wrap your fingers around the outline of his cock. it’s hard against your palm, and though the angle is awkward, you make due; rubbing your hand over him until his hips jerk up off the seat. as a reward, you feel satoru’s index finger join kento’s between your thighs, rubbing figure eights into your wet, puffy clit. you have to squirm helplessly between the two men playing with you like a pretty doll. delighted sounds leaving gojo’s lips as he mouths at your breast, flicking his tongue over your clothed nipple until the front of your dress is damp with spit. 

all three of you know that this is going too far. that the two men are devouring you in the middle of an empty train car, and you need to stop this before the security camera records any more of your sins. but how can you, when gojo pinches your clit at the same time nanami dips the very tip of his finger inside you, a low groan rumbling from his throat at the way you greedily squeeze around the thick digit, wanting to suck him in further. he clenches his jaw, staving off a groan. knowing you’ll feel so fucking heavenly around his cock when he spades you on it—

but just as the both of them are about to give you what you want, push two long fingers into your needy cunt, rub soreness into your clit until you cry, the train screeches to a slow, metallic stop at the next station. you startle, eyes flying wide open in mild panic as the doors prepare to slide open. 

“oh, well, i do believe this is our stop,” satoru says nonchalantly like he’s back to pulling the strings, like he wasn’t about to fucking cry at being interrupted when all he wants to do is make you cum again. whistling the melody to one of your favorite songs as he dips in to press one last kiss to your cheek before he stands up, stretching his arms overhead to pop stiff joints. “if you two are finished giving the security guard material to fuck himself with during his shift, let’s go.” 

the air is thick with cloying tension, oppressive enough that you can hear the ragged breathing from both sorcerers. once you exit the train, you know what’s waiting for you. your belly lurches in delicious anticipation at the mere thought of it.

gojo satoru fucks like a god and that’s when he is alone. his competitive streak will have him trying to ruin you, not satisfied until you’re fucked out and bruised and crying, with another man sharing the field. and nanami... nanami kento is an enigma, a paradox you could have never pictured agreeing to share a woman for the night with someone he is seemingly annoyed by all day, all night.

but proper, orderly men like him have a tendency of harboring the darkest desires of them all, and you have a feeling discovering what they are tonight means having trouble getting out of bed the next morning with stiff thighs and an aching cunt. 

“are you alright?” nanami murmurs, as cordial as ever. he barely seems affected at all, except for the unsteady hitch in his breathing— and, of course, the fact that his cock is dripping uncomfortably wet against the too-tight fabric of his briefs. his hand abandons you, sliding around to smooth your dress down before he sets you to your feet on the floor. 

nodding, you step forward on shaky legs, and satoru stretches out his hand for you to take. but before you follow him this time, through the automated doors and onto the platform, you look back and offer a hand to the 7:3 sorcerer with a grin that nanami knows you had to have picked up from satoru. 

“coming, nanami-san?” you repeat gojo’s words from earlier, offering yourself up to them both for the night. 

nanami huffs out a snort, glancing down at his fingers in consideration. the thick digits still glisten with your glossy cum under the fluorescents, the knot in his throat bobbing with starvation. he feels insane for crossing a boundary and getting involved with gojo satoru again (and now... now, you) but he’s lost all fucking sense, all self control at this point. any other day, he would be too dignified to even bring a woman home after a date but tonight, he raises his fingers to his mouth to suckle them clean without ever taking his eyes off of you before he dries them on a handkerchief, ever the gentleman. god, he wants to weep at the taste of your pussy on his tongue, but he stands to his full height and curls those long digits around your waiting hand instead. 

“after you.” 

gojo’s penthouse in shinjuku is dark and chilly when the three of you walk inside. nanami doesn’t pay much attention to the living space as he trades loafers for guest slippers with pandas printed on the top at the door, but he feels out of place when he finally does glance around.

nanami never had any reason to think about gojo satoru’s living situation or interior decorating skills, but he’s surprised at how... human it looks.

to him, gojo is a curse. a curse that he respects, tolerates, and trusts, but a thorn in his side nonetheless. it is a childish thought, but he had expected to find the space to be as annoying as he is during the day. though it was obviously a bachelor pad meant for a man who never intended on settling down, there are signs of you all over it, turning it into a real home.

he passes by polaroids decorated with stickers and framed photos of you with his students at the beach in okinawa, presumably snapped by satoru himself. pastel pillows and plushies mismatch with the cool design of deep sea blue and sleek black furniture. he has to avert his eyes with a disbelieving scoff when you hurry past him to snatch one of your bras off the back of the couch, as if you and your freak of nature boyfriend didn’t invite him back here for one reason and one reason only. 

“are you hungry, nanami-san?” you ask suddenly to shatter the ice, glancing around the apartment nervously. you’re trying, okay? how are you supposed to know how to start a threesome with your colleague? “i, uh- i know you didn’t get to finish your meal at the restaurant and i’m not the best cook, but oh-! we do have leftover takeout in the fridge-” 

“what she means,” gojo begins, clucking his tongue at your awkward hospitality, not phased in the least bit when you shoot him a murderous glare that could level a city, “is to ask if you’re ready to finish what you started on the train. she’s wet for you- i bet she wants to know how different your fingers feel from mine when they’re fucking her.” 

he pauses with meaning, letting it hang in the air like a fat, full moon, grin widening as he drags that salacious blue gaze down right to nanami’s crotch. “how different something else of yours feels too.” 

“you are unbelievably crude.” 

“why don’t we show nanami to the bedroom?” gojo suggests, eyes on you now. you have no choice but to nod, a nervous bubble trapping your words inside of your throat. you spin around, heading down the long hallway and to the main bedroom, your red bottoms clicking against the lacquered marble floors. 

the entire penthouse stands for what being the precious scion of jujutsu society can buy you in a rich city. gojo’s bedroom is nearly the same size as the main living area itself, an open space with high ceilings, glass walls, and warm amber lighting. the furniture is sparse so as to not overwhelm his senses. there is a sitting area of chairs by the big glass windows that display a perfect view of tokyo’s glittery skyline, and a california king bed sits focal in the middle of the room, the memory foam mattress dressed with expensive bamboo sheets the color of rich chocolate.

it’s all familiar to you, a second home, but when the doors shut behind the three of you and you’re truly alone with them, the presence of two powerful sorcerers watching your every move, their lust humming around your body in a chokehold and threatening to devour you whole, makes you feel like you’re walking into this room for the first time.

as expected, gojo wastes no time when the doors are closed. he closes the space between the two of you, pressing the lean line of his stature against your back. you welcome him happily, desperate for his actual touch and not the teasing he does when he wants to make you cry. he lowers his head, pressing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder that earns him the tilt of your head to allow him more access, eyelids fluttering shut as he reaches the junction of your neck. 

“satoru...” you breathe out his name in the softest of sighs, and he makes a sound that he hears you— wrapping an arm under your breast as he bares down with his teeth, sucking a bruise into your skin while his fingers pinch the zipper of your dress. dragging it down until the fabric crumples to the floor and you’re the first one completely naked. 

“is this the real reason you took me to dinner with you, gojo satoru? to get me out of my dress?” 

“i don’t know what you mean, princess,” he says, and then he twists your body around to face him. cobalt blue orbs drinking down the sight of your naked body, darkening as he watches the way your nipples stiffen under the cold blast of air from the vents overhead. “i can get you out of your dress anytime i want.”

nanami almost rolls his eyes, but finds the restraint not to. he has enough confidence to make himself at home, too, while gojo undresses you. removing his blazer, he folds it neatly over the back of an armchair before moving to the silver drink cart on the other side of the bedroom where your boyfriend keeps alcohol he is too lightweight to actually consume, but you can feel his attention on you even though he makes himself scarce.

“are we being rude?” you whisper, only for satoru’s ears as he thumbs over one of your nipples, swallowing dryly. satoru follows your line of sight to nanami, and scoffs as if you’re being ridiculous.

“don’t worry about him right now. he knows what to do and he’ll come over when he’s ready. look at me.” gojo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze up and forcing you to look up into the twin pools of his blue eyes. at the sight of your plush body, his chest becomes so tight with want that it takes every last ounce of his self restraint to not flip you over, press you into the mattress, and split you on his cock. “that’s it. keep those pretty eyes on me.” 

“attention hog,” you roll your eyes. 

“gonna be a brat in front of our guest?” he hums, backing up until he sits on the edge of the bed. legs spread so that you can settle in between them. even though you’re no stranger to being naked in front of satoru, you feel exposed with the other man in the room. it doesn’t help that nanami is so quiet and observant— the sharp cut of his stare prickling against your skin from where he stands at the window, sipping dry scotch from the glass he poured himself. just knowing that he is waiting to make his move has your cunt pulsing with need, sweat beading along your hairline. 

hands resting on gojo’s shoulders, you lift a leg and climb into his lap. his hands drop down to gather the seat of your ass into his palms— shamelessly kneading the fat roughly between his fingers before delivering an open-handed smack that’s so fucking hard it gnashes your teeth together, your cunt clenching desperately around emptiness.

“o-oh-! what was that for-”

“for neglecting me all night,” he whines, and brings his hand down once more— quick, dirty slaps to your ass that bounces off the hollow walls of his bedroom until tears spring to your eyes, a bittersweet mixture of pain and pleasure that you love. “for holding out on me. not letting me fuck you on top of that table where everyone could’ve watched. for being a smartass.”

“dirty old exhibitionist.” 

“damn right,” he grins, like a madman. edging back on the bed and dragging you with him until you’re straddling his hips now. his cock pressing deliciously up against your pussy through his slacks and somehow, you’re no further in getting what you want than you were back on that fucking train. it frustrates you, knowing that he would rather tease you out than let you sit on it. but you know that satoru is good for it, and the only thing you can do right now is grind your hips down in a slow circle, rubbing a sticky spot into his designer slacks. 

“there’s just no satiating you, is there?” he sighs, one hand leaving your ass. thumb dipping between your folds to brush over your clit, the little nub oversensitive, puffy with need, and you squirm at his fleeting touches. “sit on my tongue then, huh? been dying to taste this pretty pussy all night long, angel.” 

“but i want-” your lips part to whine, but gojo sweeps in to kiss you quickly, sucking your bottom lip against his warm tongue that shushes your protests so quickly, it’s embarrassing. 

“you want my cock in you, i know,” he drawls, as if he feels sympathetic for you— as if he’s your liberator and not your executioner. this is nothing for him. oh, he’s plenty aroused. been aching to be buried in your cunt since the beginning of the night, but he could tease you for hours with his relentless touches and mocking words because it’s that much better. he’s a giver, and your pussy is so much sweeter to him when he’s got you swollen with need, cheeks streaked in tears. “or maybe . . . maybe you’re begging for nanami’s now?” 

you feel your heart flip, and you’ll never really get used to the feeling of knowing that you’re here, agreeing to get fucked out by your boyfriend and your colleague and they’re both denying you. head spinning into a dizzy twirl with arousal as you squirm over satoru’s clothed cock, desperate for friction. you try to bat your eyelashes, make it pretty, make him relent into skipping steps. “want you both, ‘toru. need you both. i’ve been so good for you, right? i deserve it.” 

“you deserve it, baby. and you’ll have us. after you sit on my tongue.” he says, adamant in this. 

“ugh!” 

gojo is so nonchalant about it, waiting expectantly for you. despite how confident you are in your sex life with him, it’s one of those positions that you’ve always been a little too shy to do often, but it’s hard to even think about refusing the skill of his mouth when he looks like that.

he’s reclining on the bed now, propped up on one elbow with those pretty summer eyes smoldering under wintery lashes and the peaks of his snowy hair falling over his forehead. pressed shirt all wrinkled now with the buttons popped open so that you can see glimpses of his strong chest and the ridges of his toned abs— just beckoning for a pretty girl like you to crawl up his broad chest and smother his face with your plump thighs and intoxicating scent. 

“what if i smother you?” you try one last time but the words sound ridiculous to even you.

“dare you to try,” he taunts, bravado on full volume but he squeezes the flesh of your thigh in reassurance as he reads between the lines of your words; catches the real meaning. “you shouldn’t worry about that, angel. i can take it. know why?” 

“not this again-” 

“know why?” he insists, like a bratty child.

you roll your eyes, but an endearing smile cuts through the thread of anxiety worming its way into your confidence. gojo’s talkative nature isn’t always annoying— sometimes, he knows exactly the right thing to say. “because you’re the strongest?” 

“that’s my girl. now get up here already. nanami is getting impatient.” 

nodding, you listen to him. inching up his body until your thighs cage in the handsome angles of his face, those striking azures glittering like gems between your legs as he smirks up at you like he’s got the best seat in the fucking house when in reality, it’s you. 

you screw your eyes shut as gojo leans forward, bracing yourself for that first warm lick of his tongue over your sensitive nerves— 

but instead of putting his mouth on you, the sorcerer presses his nose right up against your mound and takes a long, lewd whiff of your pussy— the sweet and sour musk of your slick clinging to the curls at your mound, filling his nostrils with a heady scent that makes a hoarse whine stumble out of his chest. 

“you’re so gross, satoru! behave-” you squeal, reaching down to tug painfully at the messy white strands of hair on his head, but the twinge of pain that shoots through his skull only causes him to grunt even more in pleasure. 

“and you smell like heaven, angel.” his nose nudges against your clit as he licks a long, rough stripe up the length of your slit. he’s not surprised that you taste as sweet as you smell either— you always do. sticky honey smearing all over the inner parts of your thighs and he makes sure it coats his tastebuds just as good too, appeasing your pretty cunt with starter flits that makes you grow hot. 

one of his hands trail up your tummy, landing right on one of your tits. he twists your nipple between the rough pad of his thumb, a whimper choking off at the base of your throat at the pinch.

pleasure blooms slow between your hips. it’s so gentle, so deceiving that you almost forget who you’re fucking. gojo satoru is never really gentle . . . sometimes he forgets you’re not as strong as him, that you can fall apart at the seams if he fucks you the right way. he’s just warming up, and you fall for it every time. relaxing into his grasp, a rabbit ensnared. letting him lick you into submission, and by the time you begin to squirm, intending to run from his oncoming onslaught, your boyfriend is locking you into place with his strong arms roping around your thighs. 

giving you no choice in it but to curl your fingers around the headboard in front of you and endure another round of the cruel pleasure awaiting you. 

“f-fuck, i could drink you dry,” he whispers under his breath, the low rumble of his baritone muffled by the press of your puffy pussy smooshed against his full lips, the vibrations tightening your hips with stinging jolts of arousal. 

you’re still so sensitive, gummy and docile in his grasp. body too tense and unable to move as gojo’s sadistic streak kicks in and takes advantage of your weakened state. he stiffens the tip of his tongue to a hard point, wriggling it right under the hood of your clit where he laps over the oversensitive, used nerves before suctioning the nub into his mouth so tight that you can feel the pull in the veins underneath. it burns. it’s everything. heat seething molten in the pit of your tummy, behind the skin of your clit, up the base of your spine. 

“gentle... s-satoru, gentle. i’m so sensitive-” 

“take it for me, baby. just for a little while.” 

gojo satoru eats pussy like it’s his breakfast of champions, like he’ll lose his mind and wage wars on the streets of tokyo if he doesn’t begin every morning and end every night with his snowy head buried between your thighs. he’s so messy with it too, spitting and smacking to wet up your pussy. saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, down his chin, into the collar of his shirt— unbothered that the lower half of his face is glossed up in your honeyed juices as his hands force your hips into a slow grind over his lips and tongue. 

and then, as if you’re not already burning from the inside out, your breaths choke off in your throat when he suddenly drags his tongue down, lapping over the entrance to your drooling cunt before he pushes it up into you. 

“o-oh- oh my god.” 

even though it’s nothing more than bothersome pressure, it feels so fucking good that it makes you want to collapse. thighs trembling and burning with the effort to hold up your weight. gojo makes languid, hungry pushes of the soft muscle against your walls that has you whimpering and gasping out. hips jerking as you forget yourself, bouncing down on his tongue like you’re fucking on his cock. and it’s exactly what he wanted, too— his moan is ragged, full of approval. cock throbbing against the tent in his slacks at the little sounds you make. 

you’re so caught up in the feeling of gojo fucking you with his tongue, eyes squeezed shut and knuckles aching around the grip you have on the headboard, that you had forgotten all about the other man in the room until he’s standing right next to the bed. his glass of scotch held in one hand while the other reaches for you, two fingers tucking under your chin to force you to look at him. 

nanami’s gaze roams all over your body. from the swell of your breasts to the tremble in your thighs as your tight cunt twitches around gojo’s tongue. your skin prickles over with goosebumps, swallowing nervously under his open scrutiny. his history with satoru and his apparent crush on you aside, you wonder what he thinks of you now? if such a proper, virtuous gentleman can keep up with insatiable freaks writhing on the bed in front of him. 

will he still dream about holding your hand on tuscan beaches after watching you grind on satoru’s face while begging nanami to touch you with big, pretty eyes, whimpering his name for mercy? 

“nuh-nanami-san, please-” 

“kento,” he murmurs, correcting you. and he doesn’t need the liquid courage— nanami kento is a man full of surety, but he drains the last dregs of his scotch anyway. “address me as kento tonight.” 

“kento,” you breathe and nod, like a good girl. “want you now. want somethin’ in my mouth.” 

visibly shivering at the sound of his given name leaving your lips, at your pleas, the ex-salaryman sets the empty glass down on the nightstand and then he’s reaching for you again. he traces your face, and then the underside of your breasts. his gaze briefly dips between your legs, too. and something in you stirs at the heated look that passes between the two men you’re in between. intense coffee brown meeting mischievous ocean blue before gojo smirks and looks away first to put his attention back on you as his tongue spears up against your sensitive spot, flicking and wriggling against it to spread warmth all along your hipbones and make you cry out desperately. 

reaching forward with greedy hands, you grip onto the front of kento’s dress shirt, needing a distraction from the tight coil winding slow in your gut. you tug him down to an angle where you can meet his pretty lips in a messy kiss. 

though you may have been the one to initiate it, nanami overpowers you easily. he makes the blood rush from your head, leaving you dizzy as he indulges you with his tongue. pausing to kiss over your jaw, sighing soft in the back of his throat like he’s coming home after waiting years to be able to fucking do this. it’s an overwhelming feeling, having one man lick into your mouth while the other challenges your sanity with his tongue against your pussy, his only goal to have you gush all over his face.

“finally,” kento breathes hotly, cupping your cheeks gently in his big hands as he kisses along the corner of your mouth, nipping at your upper lip like he can barely hold himself back to speak, his big hands palming your breasts. “i can become acquainted with this sweet mouth of yours without that one interrupting.” 

but oh, he shouldn’t have said that. 

gojo grunts in offense, but he doesn’t dare stop when you’re so close. if anything, it makes him worse. his hand replaces his mouth, and you barely have time to protest before he pushes three long fingers into your sopping pussy, curling them and fucking them back and forth with a quick pace that makes you ache, the tip of his tongue back to wriggling under the hood of your clit to spear right against those burning nerves again, causing you to thrash and bite down on nanami’s bottom lip, orgasm cresting too fucking fast, washing down over you like a strong tide ready to wipe out your mind—

“give me one right now, and i’ll let nanami fuck your mouth. come on, angel face, give it here-” 

“s-satoru, don’t-!” it would be a scream, but nanami drinks it down in a kiss. breath stolen right from your lungs as gojo forces the orgasm out of you, clenching and squelching so violently your cunt pushes his fingers out and you splash wetness all over the lower half of his face even though your clamp your knees together and try to hold it. tremors lock up the muscles of your thighs, and the pleasure chokes you out. high swirling in your head. you feel swollen, fucked out in the aftermath. knowing that satoru did it to prove a point, and not for your pleasure because you’re barely satisfied from it. your fingers are tangled in kento’s shirt, nearly tearing the fabric as satoru smirks victoriously between your thighs with his face soaking wet.

you push his head away from you weakly, but you know that he won’t let you off with just one. 

you don’t want him to. 

“y-you didn’t have to force it,” you whine, still shaking. “i fucking hate you.” 

“that wasn’t very kind, sweetheart,” kento is the one who speaks next, clucking his tongue. and you’re not sure if he’s talking about you insulting gojo, tearing his shirt, or nearly biting his lip in half or all three. but his lips look so fucking good all bitten and swollen, a dollop of blood pooling where you broke the skin that you ignore his scolding. at least until nanami takes your hand, pressing it firmly against the crotch of his slacks— letting you get a feel of just how painfully stiff his cock feels underneath the fabric.

“i expect that apology i was promised now.” 

god, you don’t need to be told twice. 

watching nanami through fluttering eyelashes, you work through unbuttoning his shirt and pants. the buckle of his designer belt clinks as you wriggle them down his hips just enough to free his cock. you can’t help the whine that leaves you, breath leaving your chest in a whistle at the way it slaps against his abdomen. it’s pretty. he hisses at that first contact of your hand wrapping around the base, moving it out of the way as you lean forward to press a kittenish kiss to his sharp, defined hipbone. 

“your cock is almost as handsome as the rest of you,” you breathe, voice the weight of a siren’s call. “can i taste it?” 

oh, you could pull him underneath the sea with the way you’re looking at him. he barely gives you a nod, and you smile. only a man as pristine as nanami would look this dignified with his pants tucked under his ass cheeks and his expensive shirt hanging off his shoulders, barely held out of the way as you stroke him slow from root to tip, wetting your palm with his sticky precum, opaque over your fingers for an easier slide. 

it’s not surprising that he is beautiful everywhere. a dusting of sandy hair on his defined chest and a sculpted adonis belt that tapers off into a pale and veiny cock. it’s not too long, slightly curved up towards his naval. perfectly heavy and thick— weighing your wrist down with body and strain. it feels scandalous and forbidden, like you shouldn’t be here stroking another man’s cock while your boyfriend watches, but then you remember that he is enjoying this most of all. 

“put your mouth on him, angel,” gojo instructs suddenly, pressing sticky kisses along your inner thigh to remind you of his presence. he barely sounds winded, nipping bruises into your pillowy skin as his salacious gaze locks onto the visual of your hand working over nanami’s leaking cock. “i’m almost done down here.” 

with that, he suckles your puffy clit back into his mouth. his throat flexing as he drinks down the pretty juices leftover. your hips jerk in surprise, but you try your best not to fall. to focus on your part in all of this. you grip onto nanami’s hip for purchase as your swollen lips part for the dripping, thick tip of his cock. sheathing your teeth like gojo taught you and sucking nanami between them slow, letting the 7:3 sorcerer feel the warm slide of your cheeks, fulfilling his darkest little desire of getting to fuck your mouth. 

and nanami hates to admit it, but gojo satoru being there to witness it, all six eyes on him, is like an added summer bonus. 

nanami is such a patient man. he would never think about forcing your pace, but he does place his hand on the top of your head, gently rubbing his thumb over your soft hair. it makes you want to please him further, sinking the tight ring of your mouth down on him until he grunts. the rough texture of your tongue scraping against the sensitive underside of his cock. you’re always such a good girl when it comes to sucking dick that satoru feels that familiar lick of envy burn fury-green in his sternum at the thought of his own erection sitting neglected in his slacks, but he wouldn’t miss the sight of his darling angel struggling to fit nanami’s girth fully into your little mouth even if the world was burning. 

“don’t suck him in like that or he’ll cum too fast and ruin it for all of us.” 

you’re about to reel back, smart off and tell gojo that you know how to properly suck a man off, that you’ve brought his ass to snot and tears with your mouth before, but something in your belly warms with lust instead and your words die under the weight of nanami’s cock pressing your tongue down as you remember what gojo said on the train. that maybe he’s instructing you because he already knows what makes nanami’s knees weak. that those pretty pink lips of your boyfriend’s have been right where yours are now. stretched obscenely around nanami’s thick cock, tongue flicking over the slit of his leaking head, swallowing like a good boy when the 7:3 sorcerer paints his throat white—

oh. 

“that’s it,” kento murmurs under his breath, low and gravelly. ruined. he bends at the waist, cupping your cheeks in his big hands, thumb brushing over the bulged outline of his girth pushing against your cheeks as you suckle around him. “i dreamt of this. laid awake at night thinking of how you would look when i touch you, how you would look with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.” he thinks he was a fool for saying that he does not praise or disparage, because he can’t help himself now. how can he not praise you, sweet, perfect you, when you’re suckling on him like that? staring up at him through coquettish eyelashes with a mouth so fucking molten, it makes his stomach churn.

he’s almost nauseous in his pleasure. huffing out low groans as you bob once, twice, swallow around the tip of his cock and repeat. trapping nanami in an endless cycle that makes his knees buckle out. falling too fast for the hot brand around him that burns straight through his skin. eventually, he has to draw back. huff out a groan as he lets himself slip out with a wet pop. “stick your tongue out for me, love. say ah.” 

curling your tongue down to your chin, smiling impishly when the sight makes him groan. he moves forward after a moment of reprieve, slapping the heavy tip of his cock against your flattened tongue— smearing sticky precum all over the surface. you barely have time to swallow it down, slide his sweet taste down your throat before he cups your cheeks in warning and his hips surge forward. widening your eyes in surprise as he widens your jaw at the same time. 

nanami kento isn’t at all what you expected. you figured he would be gentle and slow with you, almost boring in his romanticism. but your hands fly to his hipbones as your throat flexes and you choke around the thick stretch your colleague lodges down your esophagus. 

“that’s it. let me in.” he whispers, and he makes the words sound like heaven when he’s committing sin. you’re only granted a moment to breathe when he springs back, grunting deep in his chest as you part so obediently for him. spit bubbling down your chin, pooling to drip between your breasts and onto satoru’s cheek where he distractedly plays with your clit underneath. your jaw aches, but you let him bruise your throat without complaint. 

“fuck, fuck. you’re so good for him, baby. can’t wait to feel that pretty throat struggling ‘round my cock too.” 

“you’re neglecting her, satoru.” nanami chastises above the volume of your wet gurgles and gargles, jaw locked tight in pure pleasure. he places his hand on your shoulder, bearing down to add weight and force you back onto gojo’s waiting tongue. your boyfriend smirks against your skin, encircling his lips around one of your puffy folds, nibbling it with his teeth before he laves you with long, wet stripes of his tongue. it becomes a push and pull of how long they can tease you. every heated lick at your frayed, overstimulated nerves and every thrust of nanami’s cock against the gummy patch of your throat threatens to make you faint. 

“pw-pleashe-” you blubber around the stretch of nanami fucking into your mouth, fluttering your teary lashes up at him— hiccupping desperate gulps of air into your lungs when nanami eases his hips back immediately, pulling off your tongue so that he can listen to your sweet pleas. 

“i think she has something to say,” satoru muses as nanami wipes his thumb over your lips to wipe away the dribbles of spit drooling down your chin and connecting you to the flushed, aching head of his cock. 

“what is it, love? go on.” 

“i can’t take it anymore. please please please-” 

“been thinking ‘bout it since we left that restaurant, huh?” gojo swipes an indulgent, selfish lick of his tongue over your clit one last time before he’s lifting you off of him and moving out from under your body, letting you settle amongst the pillows instead as he kneels on the bed. “you’ve been nothing but an angel for us tonight so how can i deny you?” 

you should be embarrassed the way your heart leaps in anticipation, heat swarming in your belly and you shamelessly open your legs for him, but satoru doesn’t move an inch to touch you.

you’re convinced he enjoys watching you suffer when he moves to stand behind nanami instead, resting his chin on the younger man’s shoulder so that he can look down the long expanse of his torso while he boldly curls his fingers around nanami’s cock with a firm grip, just to make his entire body pitch forward with a startled grunt—

“gojo-” 

“look how hard you’ve got him, princess,” he muses gleefully, bright eyes shining as he swipes the wide pad of his thumb over the head of nanami’s cock. and you can’t help but look, watching the way clear precum bubbles out of the slit and smears between the joints of satoru’s fingers as he strokes him slowly. nanami’s cheeks flush, his lips parting on a groan before he seems to remember himself and clenches his teeth.

you’re reaching down before you know it, slipping a hand between your own thighs and petting two fingers over your folds but satoru’s gaze whips over to you so fast your heart drops to your gut, his eyes darkening as he catches you with a red hand. “don’t you dare, you little slut. wait your turn.” 

he waits until you nod meekly, move your hand and curl your fists to your chest and then he’s back to his task.

satoru’s hand is different, it’s always been like that. while your touch had been soft, warm, unfamiliar— satoru’s is intense and vivid, like a bad memory. his palm is calloused friction as he drags his hand up the thick length of nanami’s cock, spreading your leftover spit into his skin. no kind of rhythm in his movement, just enough to make the blond man’s hips buck forward before he’s ripping his hand away and chuckling to himself.

“you just couldn’t wait to get your hands on my cock,” nanami bites out through gritted teeth. 

“you’re right,” gojo purrs, a teasing grin on his lips, and then his attention slides to you. “i think nanami wants to fuck you first, sugar.”

at this point, you could care less who gets there first— as long as you’re given what you want the most. glancing at gojo with watery eyes, you look over at him for approval. wondering if he’ll edge you to the brim and snatch it away from you again, but he nods, giving you a soft look that melts your insides to goo. “i’ll admit, i’m reluctant. i’ve been dying to get into this pretty little cunt all night long, but i’m gonna be nice and put you both out of your miseries.” 

“i’ve got something else you can do for me, anyway,” he continues. his nimble fingers move to pop the button on his own slacks then, sliding them down with little effort. he isn’t wearing any underwear, and you swallow greedily around a dried-out tongue as you get your first glimpse of the night of his pretty cock. it bobs out— flushed bubblegum pink and pearling at the tip between strong thighs frosted over by white peach fuzz. unfortunately, you don’t get a chance to reach out and wrap your fingers around it because nanami is crowding your space, letting you breathe in the spicy scent of his expensive aftershave. 

“you’re so eager to do whatever he asks. will you do the same for me tonight?” he wonders, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and mussed hair. 

demure in the way you press your knees further apart until they brush the sheets, making room for his hips to slot in between them. scooting into his lap until your ass cheeks nudge against the wet tip of his cock— legs draped over his muscled thighs so that he can see everything. nanami’s eyes droop down, raking desperately over that pretty little cunt of yours. he swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing under the thin skin before he reaches down to spread your slit apart, all slicked and gooey in strings of wet and the remnants of satoru’s spit. 

“such a pretty pussy,” nanami breathes out the compliment like a prayer, like he’ll die if he doesn’t bury himself in your cunt within the next few minutes. “but i didn’t think you were so tight here.” he marvels, the tip of his cock just barely slipping past your entrance and catching. “how you manage to take that idiot is beyond me.” 

“that almost sounds like a compliment,” gojo quips, but his sky blue attention is distracted between your legs. 

it’s funny how a simple night out to a birthday dinner for principle gakuganji turned out like this— with your stoic, antisocial colleague wrapping his veined hands around your squishy thighs and laying the length of his cock, fat and leaking, on the top of your puffy mound to compare the difference.

the man in front of you is nothing like your quiet colleague. where you expected soft serve missionary and whispered praises from him, you got a fucking size kink and him sucking his cheeks against his teeth before letting a warm glob of spit trail from his mouth to drizzle onto his cock. it’s lewd, how he lets it cool there, watching it spread down the side until it drips onto your pussy as you squirm under the perverted scrutiny from both men. he grips the base of his cock and taps the tip against your clit to make you squirm, smearing his spit as he moves. 

“kento,” you breathe, the tight ring of your cunt twitching because he’s so fucking close to where you want him.  “fuck me already.” 

“be patient, love,” he coos, and you feel the calloused pad of his thumb shift from holding your folds open to dipping his thumb into your cunt briefly, making you jump. “how long does satoru usually make you wait and beg for what you want?” 

“too long. oh, he’s so cruel to me, kento,” you simper, batting those wet eyelashes to get your way, your hands grasping at nanami’s tapered hips. 

“i’m not like that,” he reassures. “if you want something, i’ll provide it for you.” 

and then, nanami’s hips angle down before sinking forward, the push of his cock spreading the walls of your cunt apart agonizingly slow.

“nghhhh-”  

it feels like heaven, and both of you let out a groan. it’s everything nanami dreamed of. pleasure scrapes up his spine, numbing everything else around him and burning his nerves raw until all he can feel is your pussy, splitting open nice and sweet for him.

“so good for me, just a little more,” nanami clenches his jaw, fingers digging into your hips as his lidded eyes stare down at your pretty face— eyes wide and swollen lips suspended in a silent moan. 

immediately though, nanami knows that you’ll be a fucking problem. for all your begging for him, you don’t take it well. he’s barely in as it is, only just past the fat, flushed crown and you’re already choking on gasps and gurgles. slipping out of his grasp and scrambling further up the bed, running to gojo— running away from that first, twinging stretch of the blunt weight of nanami’s wide cockhead. 

“oh, no you don’t- where are you runnin’ off to, sugar?” satoru is the one who reaches down, hooking his hand behind your knee and keeping your leg pinned open for nanami, halfheartedly twisting a fist over the head of his own cock as he watches the other sorcerer force himself through the tight walls of your pussy.

“god, fuck-!” you whine, pressing your forehead against gojo’s knee. 

“what’s wrong? is this not what you begged me for? begged us both for?” 

“y-yeah, but i- c-can’t take it. ‘s too big, ken. w-won’t fit.”

“now you’re just flattering me to get what you want, love,” he murmurs, voice soothing over your frayed nerves like melted chocolate; his soft, nasally voice vibrates against your skin as he dips his head down, pressing his lips to the valley between your sweaty breasts before angling his head to wrap his lips around one of your peaked nipples. “don’t you worry now, i’ll make sure it fits. i’ll make sure you take every inch of my cock.”

you hate that his words sound oddly reassuring, like he’s soothing a frightened animal— like he’s not wider, heavier than satoru when he reels back before fucking himself into you again, to the hilt this time. snorting under his breath when your knees close up, clacking violently against his hips. your first instinct is to push him out, thighs shaking with the effort to take him but he’s sinking with so much weight that it knocks the breath out of your lungs, giving you no choice but to let him split you open.

gojo doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is enjoying your struggle. he’s scratching the itch of a longtime kink of his, mumbling to himself like a madman about how you look so fucking hot like this, how you take nanami like the good girl you are. this is exactly what he wanted, and he always gets what he wants; but it’s what you wanted too. you wanted satoru to watch the way you thrash against the sheets, the way your pretty lips part to moan your coworker’s name— how fucking beautiful you look arching your back off the bed, hair splayed out on the pillows with another man’s cock fucking inside you.

“how does he feel, angel?” 

“so big, s-so fucking wide-!” you squeal, your words hiccupping off into a throaty moan, “i can’t-” 

“why don’t you be a big girl for nanami? show him how good you are at taking cock, baby,” satoru purrs, stroking his hand across your soft cheek. you nod a little, bite down on your lip, curling your fists into the sheets as nanami fucks steady, raw soreness against the walls of your cunt. the soft swell of your breasts bouncing with each calculated, hard thrust. you muffle the sounds you make against satoru’s knee, but nanami seems to enjoy your gasping cries. practically cooing in response each time he drags one out of you. 

“show him that you can take two at once.” 

before you can comprehend what he means, kento is the one who pauses his strokes, encapsulating your hips in his big hands before he tips you onto your side to give satoru easier access. it’s strange, seeing two men who don’t get along work together to fuck you to tears but it also warms your cunt, a feverish flush traversing through your veins because they’re taking care of you so well. nanami hooks your ankle over his shoulder, bending you until the joints in your hips ache and then he fucks back in, his blunt fingernails digging bloody moons into the doughy skin of your thighs at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him up once more. 

when gojo shifts his hips forward, you know what he wants and you loll out your tongue like a good girl, waiting until your boyfriend wraps his fingers around the back of your head, spindly digits tangling in your hair painfully as he guides your head forward, running your tongue across the leaking slit of his cock, let you gather up his precum on your tastebuds. groaning. sucking in his gut as you let him use your mouth for his pleasure, letting him control you like a little rag doll. and when he tugs on your hair, your swollen lips close around the tip of his cock, suckling on it obediently. whining when you suck just right and the salty taste of his watery precum coats your tongue. 

“look at you, you’re filthy,” nanami mutters, and though the degradation should smart, it makes your hips buck up against his in response because nanami says it with so much fucking veneration, it sounds like he’s praying to god. “i should have known because of who you’re dating, but look. at. you- you’re worse than he is. thrashing all over my cock while you suck another.” 

“k-kento-” 

you don’t need a mirror to know how you look under them. vixenish. a thing out of fantasy, a greedy little cockslut happily splitting open those honey thighs for one man while your pretty mouth is wide open for another; wedged between both of them to be used for their pleasure.

and you couldn’t be happier— you dip low, tonguing at the seam of satoru’s balls, spit congregating at the corner of your lips before he shakes his head, cheeks candy cane red and blue eyes lidded. fingers tightening in your hair with a brutal twist of his wrist, hips fucking forward to sink himself further into your mouth. 

“f-fuck, sweet girl. just like that.” 

nanami’s watching the entire thing, his gaze fixated on the two of you as you suck gojo greedily between your lips. his heart thumps wild, and he can’t help but fuck a little harder at the sight, a little faster, a little meaner, because he knows what you’re tasting right now from experience. salt and sugar at the tip, precum gathering against your tongue that never ends because satoru is messy. his throat dries up, sandy hair falling over his forehead as he tucks his chin against his chest and forces his eyes shut. 

“how does she feel, nanami?” satoru goads, voice breathless, lidded eyes flickering to the man fucking between your legs. “better than me?” 

“better than you ever have. look how easy she’s opening up for me,” nanami shoots at the white-haired man, his fingers holding one side of your pussy open so both men can watch nanami’s cock slide in and out, your cunt expanding to take him with each sink before squeezing down when he presses deep. he’s made a mess of you already— the thick root of his cock coated in a ring of white cream, flecks of it splattered over his lower abdomen.

it’s too much— fuck, he can barely keep his composure. he’s losing control and it’s too much and that’s why nanami does it. he’s overwhelmed. you run too hot, and his gut feels like it’s on fire. each sink of his heavy cock against the warm, squishy walls of your cunt, combined with satoru’s low groans and the sound of you choking around his cock up front threatens to send him over the edge too early. that’s why nanami’s honey eyes darken, why he reaches for satoru— gripping him hard by the nape of his neck and tugging him forward. 

gojo grunts in surprise as nanami yanks him in, but it isn’t as if he doesn’t want to go; as if he doesn’t want to chase the thread nanami is weaving right now. they barely share a heated look before gojo dips his head, locking them into a kiss. 

the first thing that crosses your mind is that it’s so fucking hot, and the second is that the way they kiss each other is not the gentle way they coaxed you into letting them explore your mouth. they aren’t delicate with each other, and you should not have expected them to be.

gojo usually has so much control over nanami— being a stronger sorcerer than him, dominating the conversations they have by annoying him to no end— but when they kiss, it’s different. nanami grips the back of gojo’s neck in a vice, keeping him in place while his long fingers tangle in the short strands of nanami’s hair. it’s all heated licks into satoru’s mouth, lewd sucks against nanami’s tongue. like they’ve waited so fucking long to do this again. one drunk on your pussy and the other drugged out on your throat as they kiss each other vigorously. 

their lips are wet with spit, and at one point gojo bites down on nanami’s tongue hard enough to nick it, groaning at the metallic tang that rides over his taste. you don’t miss how nanami’s hips drive into you harder after that, forcing his grunts down gojo’s throat as punishment. 

if you had any doubts that they had done this before, you don’t have them now. it’s obvious in their chemistry, and though the thoughts swirl in your mind, you don’t feel jealousy as they tongue into each other’s mouths. no matter what, you are the center of satoru’s world and nothing will change that. instead, it’s hotter like this, seeing the two of them kiss each other. knowing the three of you are sharing each other. 

“who told you that you could stop?” kento’s gaze flickers to you, head tilted down and directing the question at you. his chest rises and falls in a desperate heave as satoru mouths a path across the sharp cut of the ex-salaryman’s jawline to the long, toned expanse of his neck. leaving aubergine nips and bites along the smooth olive skin there that nanami hisses at. 

you had been so caught up in watching them that you don’t even remember stopping. you’re almost too fucked out to function yourself— to keep up with the only task you had besides laying there and taking cock, but your cheeks warm as nanami scolds you for slacking off. at some point, you had pulled off of satoru’s cock, rubbing your spit against his skin with a halfhearted, lazy handjob. neglecting your poor boyfriend to watch them kiss. nanami’s hand drops, gripping the back of your head and forcing you to swallow satoru’s cock once more. you suck him in quick, gurgling spit and precum and air in a dirty choke as the warmth catches him off guard and his hips snap forward too fast, the tip of his cock brushing against the fleshy patch at the back of your throat and gagging you out. 

“good girl, f-fuck. you’re so good for me, so good, so fuckin’ good,” oh, he sounds like he’s almost sobbing. 

as you pull him further in, a hot brand suctioning around the girth of his cock at the same time nanami boldly scrapes a fingernail over one of his nipples. it’s enough stimulation, enough overwhelming pleasure that he feels a lurch in his gut, a kick in his balls and then he’s withdrawing almost as fast as he buried himself in, pulling his cock off your tongue at an almost reluctant pace, a string of spit connecting you to his flushed tip.  

“need a minute. can’t cum yet,” he expels a deep breath of relief, grinning at you lopsidedly and bending at the waist to kiss your puffy lips— groaning when he tastes his musk on your tongue. but it’s obvious that gojo satoru isn’t tapping out of his own game.

instead, he stretches out on his belly and suckles one of your nipples into his mouth, pulling the little nub so hard onto his tongue that you feel your eyes wet up at the sensation, walls clenching around nanami with a gasp. he quickly grows bored, though. hand trailing down your tummy until you jump in oversensitivity as his fingers shift through your spread slit, the pad of his thumb rubbing against your puffy, sore clit as nanami sinks in and out of your pussy.

you whine, wanting to cum so desperately that your lashes are wet with frustrated tears, grinding against each of nanami’s thrusts, euphoric dopamine filling your brain each time his fat cock fucks right against that sweet spot inside of you. 

“gojo-san, behave,” nanami warns suddenly, already knowing what the snowy-haired sorcerer is up to. gojo just grins, and then his fingers are dipping a little further, a dangerous glint in his eye that makes your heart sink. 

“aw, come on, spoilsport. i just wanna see how your cock feels inside my girl,” he says innocently, but his smirk betrays his intentions completely. you hiss through your teeth as satoru fishhooks a finger into your pussy, thrusting it right alongside nanami’s cock and tugging, stretching you out even further.

“o-oh-” you keen, and then your boyfriend is leaning down and licking a broad stripe over the length of your slit, hardening the point of his tongue to flick it rapidly against your clit, the heady scent of sex filling his nostrils, making him lightheaded.

you squeak out in surprise, fingers flying to grip his hair, acrylics digging into his scalp because you’re so delirious with pleasure now, fucked out and so so full— walls twitch and clench with each weighted thrust of nanami’s cock, the forked ridges of the veins along the shaft dragging against your nerves, slick squelching out of your stretched hole to drip down the middle of your ass cheeks. 

“look at me while i’m fucking you, darling,” nanami beckons for your attention and you give it to him, looking up at him with misty, lidded eyes. “there we go, there’s my pretty girl,” he croons and he knows that he shouldn’t stake a claim on you like this— you’ll be back in satoru’s arms soon enough, you’ll never belong to him, after all, but he can’t help himself; his hand petting your cheek affectionately as he fucks into you. “you’re going to make me cum soon, love. gonna make me fill up this perfect little cunt. do you want that?”

“yes-! want your cum, kento. want it so bad.”  

“that’s right, darling. let me hear it. let me hear you scream my fucking name in front of your boyfriend.” 

“want you to cum inside me, k-kento. wanna cum with you. f-fuck me, it feels so good-!” you plea, and the beginnings of an orgasm stirs in your tummy— warmth spreading all over the nerves of your clit and building until you can feel it right on the edge, so close that tears bubble up in your pretty eyes because you want it so fucking bad. all it would take is for nanami to fuck into you at the right angle, for gojo to crook the fingers he still has inside of you and press up against that sweet spot and make you fall apart underneath them. 

but you should have expected that gojo satoru would have other plans. his tongue innocently flicking out against your clit until he moves down, mouth widening a little further so that when nanami reels his hips all the way back and plunges forward, it’s not your cunt that nanami sinks into, it’s satoru’s mouth. pretty pouty lips closing around the head of nanami’s cock at the last minute, hollowing his cheeks out, sucking him all the way to the back of his throat like a fucking professional—

“what the- fuck,” a guttural grunt of surprise is punched out of nanami that sounds so deep, so ruined that it rattles your teeth, his entire body trembling at the hot suction swallowing around his cock and he’s lost to it, no chance of fighting it or scolding satoru for the dirty trick— he simply grips the back of his head roughly, burying himself down the sorcerer’s throat as he spurts white ropes of cum onto gojo’s tongue, forcing him to drink every fucking drop. 

nanami heaves in the aftermath, barely able to catch his breath. “can you ever get through the day without being a freak?” 

“keep degrading me,” gojo sighs before he grips your cheeks, squishing them between the pads of his fingers until your tongue pushes out from the pressure and he can lean over your body, lolling out his own tongue and drizzling a thick strand of his spit and nanami’s leftover seed from his mouth into your own, bringing a moan to your lips as your hips thrash. you make a show of playing with it— spreading white it over the surface of your tongue before you swallow eagerly, whining needily as his cum slides down your throat. “it makes my dick even harder.”

“i didn’t get to cum,” you pout.

“sorry, princess,” he doesn’t sound apologetic at all when he looks down his nose at you, shrugging one broad shoulder. “can’t let you have all the fun. don’t worry, though. i’m going to take care of you.” 

you would be lying if you said your stomach didn’t lurch at the promise. 

you’re vaguely aware that the two of them are switching places, eyes too blurry with clouds to see for sure until nanami sits back against the large headboard and pulls you into a half-seated position so that you’re leaning against his chest and his strong arm is encircled around your middle as satoru nudges your cum streaked thighs apart. your eyes are lidded, but you still can see him brush his fingers over your used pussy before he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, unforgiving and no further warning before he presses inside of you.

heat washes over your entire body, your belly aching as you’re filled up to the brim once again. where nanami was thicker, satoru is everything— overwhelming, all consuming. making your eyes slam shut during that first push every time, unable to help your high pitched whines as he forces you to take every last inch of his cock.

“not gonna say ‘t-toru it’s too much’ for me like you did nanami? i must be losing my touch,” he sneers, mocking you with a condescending coo, his eyes rolling down when he bottoms out inside of you.

“f-… god. f-fuck you.”

“anything for you.”

satoru isn’t interested in teasing any longer, not when he’s been on edge for hours. the unruly, hard rhythm of his fucking has you squirming on his cock quick, each thrust knocking you against nanami’s bare chest— giving you nowhere to run. it hurts, but it’s so good. your cunt too sensitive after being used all night long like this, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

“be good for him, darling,” nanami encourages, and you think you could get used to the way he holds you— his lips pressed against the temple of your head, his breath hot against your skin as he presses the softest of kisses there, contrasted with the brutal lashings of satoru’s fucking. 

you nod dumbly, letting yourself be wrapped in nanami’s strong arms as satoru fucks in and out, relentless in his strokes, keeping that familiar ache in the pit of your belly. his hips press against yours as he grinds the tip of his cock against the entrance to your womb and he knows he’s too deep when you wince, when your fingernails scratch against his tapered v-line to beg for mercy so he compromises, drawing back until he can see the foam streaking his cock.

“puh-please, ‘toru,” you pant out, guttural and desperate so satoru falls over you, groaning into your shoulder as he does exactly what you asked— slamming his cock into you. making you cry out in surprise as he fucks deep once more, pulses of pleasure burning through your body and making your legs clamp around his hips.

“i-i can’t-” you whine, squeezing your thighs together, but satoru holds you open, not taking your complaints, pressing you down further against nanami so that it’s impossible to escape the dirty onslaught of his cock. “much- too much-!”

“oh, now you say it, ” satoru growls out, rolling his hips. “too late. cum for me and i’ll stop. come on, sweet baby. cum on my cock.”

you can tell that he’s losing it too, the friction almost too much to bear for you both. wrapping your arms around satoru’s neck and clinging to him, you bite your lips to muffle the gasps and moans trying to escape as the heat stirring in your belly is almost to bursting now, a rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap. 

nanami ducks a hand between the wet slide of your bodies, pushing his middle finger against your clit. rubbing in quick circles and you mewl, squirming and thrashing against them both. “do what he says, cum for him.” and you try to hold it, try to last a little longer but it’s no use; the three of you are pressed against each other beautifully and the room feels hazy and hot, suffocating everything else until your pleasure is sharpened to a bright point, until you can feel nothing but them. raw pulses. inner walls spasming against satoru’s cock as he thrusts against you, fucking against that spot inside you until it feels sore, his balls slapping against the fat of your ass cheeks each time he sinks into you. 

“i-i’m g’na cum, oh f-fuck, i’m gonna cum-!” 

“oh, there we go,” satoru groans as he fights through the tight squeeze of your walls, like you’re late and he’s tired of waiting.

your vision dots with black stars, screams echoing off the walls of the room in gojo’s penthouse before your back arches and you’re gone, squirting as your swollen walls clamp desperately around satoru’s cock; drenching the sheets below as you gush all over them both, sniffling as the force of your orgasm forces hot tears to spill from your eyes that gojo and nanami bend down to lick away from your cheeks.

satoru follows close behind, his own climax hitting him like a fucking train— groaning as buries himself deep to cream your cunt with his thick cum. the sight of the two of you, so pretty and filthy as you cling to each other, makes nanami cum again too. completely untouched, spurting hot seed against your lower back where he holds you up.

it feels like forever before your eyes flutter open and when they do, you look up at nanami, his face flushed and hair mussed out of the confines of his hair gel. then, your eyes slide down to gojo who is looking utterly pleased with himself. he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pulling it free before his thumb gently spreads your folds apart, snorting when you hide your face in your hands as both of them fixate on the sight of your ruined cunt once more. thighs streaked with sweat and cum, strands of seed dripping out of your hole to pool beneath you on the sheets. you look so messy and nanami has to tear his gaze away, his gut lurching with the desire to eat it out of you. 

“fuck, that was good,” gojo breathes, and you whine when he scoops up some of the cum leaking out of you with two fingers and pushes it back into your pussy.

“stop staring at it-!”

“don’t be shy. i’m glad i was given the privilege to see you cum like this, darling,” nanami murmurs, kissing your temple as he pries your hands away from your face. then he moves from behind you, letting your body rest amongst the enormous sea of pillows satoru keeps on his bed. “i trust that the two of you will allow me to eat dinner in peace next time, now that you’ve satisfied another one of your appetites.” 

“no promises,” you giggle, stretching out on the bed and bringing one of the pillows closer to cuddle it. 

“i should help you clean up. satoru, where do you keep the towels?” he says and though he sounds like such a gentleman, it’s really because if he keeps staring at the cum leaking out of you in rivulets, he won’t be able to ever leave this fucking room.

but the white-haired sorcerer doesn’t answer him. instead, gojo flops down and hooks an arm around your waist— his long legs tangling with yours as he pulls you against his chest. it feels symbolic to nanami, somehow. like he’s shared your body, shared his own in a way, and now he’s ready to fit the rightful pieces of the puzzle back into their places.

for a moment, nanami had almost forgotten that neither of you have ever belonged to him. 

he is the outsider, after all. 

his expression remains neutral because he knows when he has overstayed his welcome, knows when one of satoru’s little games are over and there are no rematches. he has been in this situation before, after all— younger, reckless, and just as foolish as he is now— so he stands up and prepares to leave with dignity, walk over to his neatly folded clothes on the armchair by the window and hope that he doesn’t fall asleep dreaming about the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. praying that now that he’s had you, it’ll be out of his system for good—

“where are you going, kento?” you wonder in genuine confusion, wrapping your hand around his wrist to halt his stride as you tilt your head up with a frown. nanami feels his heart kick in his chest. “we can clean up later, silly. come back to bed.” 

“i don’t think i should stay,” nanami sniffs, wishing he had his tie to adjust out of nervous habit. 

“you know, leaving right after you fucked my brains out is not very gentlemanly of you, nanami kento,” you scold halfheartedly, mouth twisted to the side.

“i have missions in the morning so i regrettably cannot-” his ears turn crabapple pink at your crude words, his free hand reaching over to gently pry your fingers away from his wrist but you refuse to let go.

“well, if you want to be a proper lover, then you will,” you tug on his wrist insistently, almost yanking him back onto the slightly damp covers. satoru grins like a cheshire cat as nanami obliges you, sliding into bed on your other side. 

nanami has never wanted to slap an expression off of someone as much as he does now, but as usual satoru sees everything. he sees what nanami refuses to admit right now: that he was relieved you asked him to stay. that you may just have him completely gone. that tonight unearthed long buried feelings for white hair and a mischievous smile. that he just needs a little bit of time, a little bit of coaxing, to stop being so stubborn and come to terms with those facts.

“i told you she’s greedy, nanami,” satoru grins. 

“i suppose i have no choice then, do i?” 

“nope,” you confirm, and you know that the three of you have a lot to discuss tomorrow about what this means but this progression feels natural, adding balance.

nanami staying with the two of you feels like it was meant to be.

“you have to make breakfast in the morning.”

[kylo-wrecked]

²⁾ the last room at a drive-in motel in the small hours of the morning {Ex!Ben <3 <3}

{ 🫀 You broke and bought: Ex-Con!Ben }

Three one-story, Spanish-tiled motels face perpendicular to each other like building blocks across swathes of newly poured asphalt shining back the remaining drops of moonlight, streetlight, and a rare rain.

They check into the last room at about 2 A.M. under funny fake names Beth chooses.

Imagine if we were...

They check into the last room because neither wants to go home.

Listening to crickets chatter from blanched grass squares in the car lot, Ben traces slow circles over Beth's dermal piercings. She still straddles him, warm and slick on Ben's thigh like summer.  

Ben is still shy, back laid against the headboard, loose-muscled and heavy-lidded. He finished too fast; when she asked for his hand, he gave it to her. Truth be told, Ben never saw anyone so flush and vital with pleasure before Beth.

His glances at Beth, in all her aliveness, small, lithe body risen and glistening here before him, are as fleeting as the night. Exhilaration swells Ben's heart in his chest, so full it hurts, and it all seems unfair that they ever have to go to places that aren't each other.

So here they are, behind fastened blinds, in starch white sheets, silken in the after-smell of rain. Here's Ben, taking Beth's lustrated temple in his arms. Here's Beth tracing Ben's constellations.

@brooklynislandgirl

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (1) Tis The Season For...Love?

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- After stressing out over a gift you were giving to your long term crush, it seems that it really is the season for miracles to happen.

Word Count- 5.5K

Warnings/Tags: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Secret Santa, Mistletoe, 18+ Smut, Soft Smut, Fingering (R receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Tribbing, Confessions, Implied Dom Natasha/Sub Reader

Kinkmas Masterlist

---

Christmas music softly spilled from the speakers placed around the living area in the compound, the festive spirit wrapping around the room like a warm, cosy blanket, a joyful and carefree atmosphere taking over everyone despite celebrating the event ridiculously early. It was only December fifth yet it was Christmas in the Avenger's household to accommodate everyone at once; Thor having to leave earth soon, Clint wanting to spend the festive season with his family along with Tony who was planning an extravagant Christmas for Morgan, resulting in everyone to revel in the season of joy earlier than usual. Well, almost everyone.

Your body practically buzzed with nerves and anxiety as your body refused to melt against the impossibly soft cushion behind you, Wanda's body relaxed next to your tense one as she sent you a soft, reassuring smile, able to feel the sheer worry inside your mind.

"Relax," she whispers teasingly, your best friend knowing of your current predicament. "I'm sure she's going to love it, don't worry about it," she adds with a softer tone, her arm wrapping around your tense shoulders, pulling you against her body and under the the festive blanket she managed to find, the fluffy and welcoming fabric helping you attempt to try and get snug on the sofa, but how could you possibly relax with what was about to happen?

Secret Santa was officially your least favourite thing about Christmas.

It all started when you pulled out the small slip of paper out of Tony's helmet, your eyes widening at the name you pulled out.

Natasha Romanoff

You just had to get the woman who was notorious for being impossible to buy gifts for, not a single person in the team able to get her a present that she was amazed at. It wasn't that she was rude about what others got her, no, she was always polite and accepting of the gift but you always saw that glint in her eye of wanting a present that was truly heartfelt, something that screamed, 'I got this because it reminded me of you', not something bought off the shelf that she might like.

You also just had to get the woman who you may or not have had the smallest, most miniscule, microscopic crush on. It wasn't like your entire body yearned to feel her arms wrapped around your torso in a gentle, caring embrace, hear the angelic sound of her laughter, body shaking against yours as she tried to stifle the noise, to see her eyes light up in a way that shows she knows she's loved by someone, by you.

Seemingly able to feel your gaze on her, Natasha's head turned to look at you, a soft, carefree smile playing on her lips as she met your brief gaze, your eyes naturally flickering away, cheeks tinting pink in embarrassment and nerves. You could feel your heart beating wildly in your chest at the fleeting look, butterflies swarming in your stomach so much you thought that you would just combust in the festive blanket next to Wanda, the witch next to you shaking her head playfully at your awkward and shy manner.

"She's about to open it," Wanda murmurs, your head instantly raising from away the blanket, watching attentively as Steve carefully handed the neatly wrapped present to the redhead, her fingers wrapping around the item and pulling it towards her, that gentle but teasing smirk written across her face. Her eyes looked at the shape of the present, a small warmth filling her chest at the handwriting on the label, the spy already able to figure out who it was from as she looked up at the rest of the room, eyes meeting yours.

"This better not be another box of chocolates," Natasha teases, a slight rasp to her voice as her gaze reluctantly leaves you, searching for Tony who's slumped over a seat, a smile taking over his lips as he chuckles.

"It was gourmet chocolate," he argues in defence, "And it was in the shape of us all, what wasn't there to love?" His usual sarcasm comes out, Natasha rolling her eyes at him, remembering the Avenger chocolate box he somehow managed to find somewhere for her present last year, the redhead not even that big a fan of chocolate.

She merely hums in response, her fingers deftly unwrapping the gift, your eyes trained on her as she peeled away the festive paper, the action seemingly lasting forever. The thirty seconds felt like thirty minutes, your fingers anxiously playing with one another as you gauged her reaction, wanting to impress her and get her something she loved. She deserved it.

Emerald green softened as she revealed the present underneath, her smile stretching that little bit wider as she recognised what the gift was, eyes flickering up to meet yours. It was as if time stopped when she held your gaze, a glint of appreciation and gratefulness swirling in the pools of enchanting green, a hidden glint of love in them unknown to you along with a flood of warmth consuming the redhead's chest at the care and effort you put into the gift.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs in response, looking back down at the framed piece of artwork you had drawn for her, your cheeks tinting a darker shade at her praise.

The piece was of Russian scenery the two of you had encountered on a mission together, your mind replaying the moment with the redhead as you paused in your journey to gaze over the picturesque setting, Natasha confessing to you that she loved little areas like this: little spectacles hidden away for people to stumble across.

"It's just so... so peaceful," she whispered in awe as the two of you admired the endless stretch of mountain terrain, various plants and animals thriving in the distance, the nature lower down contrastingly vibrant to the snow-capped mountains, the gentle rays of the sun illuminating the view perfectly while the moment brought the two of you closer together.

You were snapped out of the brief memory by Wanda nudging your shoulder, smile wide and teasing as Natasha thanked you once again before Tony interrupted, making another sarcastic comment about how a miniature Black widow chocolate would have been a far better gift, a soft laugh leaving you as Clint threw a candy cane at the billionaire to shut him up, wanting to open his present next.

Unbeknown to you, as you focussed on Clint, Natasha kept her gaze on you, smile tender and soft, fingers tracing over the frame that had 'peaceful' engraved on it, her heart fluttering a little in her chest as she couldn't deny her feelings anymore.

She'd fallen for you.

***

After the secret Santa event had finished, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, attempting to steal one of Wanda's freshly baked cookies without her noticing as they were just so delicious, a soft chuckle making you freeze, cookie half in your mouth.

Sheepishly, you turned around to see who had caught you in the act, cheeks tinting pink once again at the sight of Natasha smiling endearingly at you, slowly strolling towards you as you bit into the cookie, hoping she wouldn't tell on you to Wanda.

"So you're the cookie thief," she whispers in a playful tone, smile widening at the shy laugh that left you as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, trying to play it off.

"I don't know what you mean," you faux innocence in your voice as you watch how she moves to lean against the countertop opposite you, her arms bracing her body upright, your eyes naturally going towards her arms as they flexed slightly, a brief wave of arousal flowing through you at the sight before you flicker your gaze back to the humoured green.

"Mhmm, sure you don't," she murmurs sarcastically, pushing herself off the countertop and stopping right in front of you, her arm brushing yours as she reaches past you for a cookie, the proximity of you both making your breath hitch, her sweet perfume invading your senses, mind trying to process what was happening as all you could currently focus on was her.

"I won't tell if you don't either," her tone amused as she noticed how you smiled at her action, chuckling at her words and nodding in agreement, not wanting Wanda to threaten you with no more sweet treats, her baking skills just far too superior to give up.

"I won't tell," you whisper back, a comfortable and peaceful atmosphere filling the kitchen as you both finish off the heavenly snack before the witch could catch you in the act, Natasha then speaking up, gaining all of your attention as usual.

"Thank you for the present," her tone is nothing but soft and gentle, your smile widening at her expression, "I love it."

"I'm glad you like it. You deserved something special," you confess shyly, the gaze lingering as you both seemingly get lost in each other's eyes, the enticing green naturally drawing you in, the various shades luring you to keep gazing softly at her.

"I-" she pauses in her words when the both of you notice an object wrapped in red tendrils floating towards you, your cheeks a similar colour to Wanda's magic as you notice the piece of mistletoe that was now hanging above the two of you.

Panic and excitement seemed to fill you while relief flooded through the redhead as it was the perfect time to show how she felt towards you, already confident on how you'd react based on your not so subtle crush on her.

"You don't have to, I'm sure Wanda's just-" you ramble in case she was uncomfortable but the feeling of her hands softly cupping your cheeks makes you stop, her teeth biting down on her lower lip subtly at how adorable she found you.

"Is this ok?" she murmurs, her lips mere inches from yours as she looks into your eyes for an answer, thumbs brushing your cheeks softly.

"Yes," you sigh out, having dreamed of this moment, before tilting your head up slightly to meet her lips for the soft kiss, eyes fluttering shut as you savoured the moment. Her lips slotted perfectly against yours, her body moving closer as her hands remained cupping your cheeks, the brief kiss nothing but soft and intimate as you both pulled back from it, her lips tugging up into a smile as you eventually opened your eyes to meet hers.

Your whole body yearned to experience that again, a buzz of excitement flowing through you while joy consumed your entire body, lips stretching into a wide smile as Natasha remained close to your body, not having moved away completely.

The mistletoe above your head seems to explode into a small bundle of red tendrils in celebration, sparks of Wanda's magic gently floating around the two of you as you shake your head at your best friend's antics, thanking her in your head for her playing cupid.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," Natasha murmurs, her fingers delicately brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, amused at how flustered the action made you as your eyes flicker between her lips and eyes.

"Really?" you ask, almost surprised by her confession as the redhead nods in response, unable to stop the smile that creeps back onto her face.

"Really," she reassures you, your hands hesitantly going to her waist, holding her close.

"Me too," you whisper back, her arms leaving your face and mirroring your action, holding onto your waist as her face lowered once again.

"Yeah? I think we should have another one then," you softly chuckled at her words, obliging and giving into them, claiming her lips once again in a tender manner, a smile engraved on your lips as you lost yourself in the feeling of her body pressed up against yours.

"Good idea," you murmur after the two of you reluctantly pull back from the intimate kiss, her eyes gazing softly into yours before flickering back down to your lips, already addicted to you.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?" Her voice a soft whisper with how close you were, not wanting to speak any louder and disrupt the tranquil and peaceful atmosphere wrapped around the two of you. You didn't think it was possible to smile any wider, breaking out into a toothy grin as the butterflies in your stomach returned, excitement coursing through your body at what was actually happening, mind slowly catching up. Natasha Romanoff, the woman you'd been crushing on forever for just kissed you and asked you out for dinner, emotions and thoughts swarming through your mind.

"I'd love to," you say, not hiding how excited you were, her lips pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as relief floods through her at your response, her mind imagining various different plans on where to take you and how to make the night special before the sound of the rest of the team caught your attention, your moment being interrupted.

"I'll meet you outside your room at six?" she asks, stealing one more cookie and breaking it in half for you, your heart melting at the action, her already able to seemingly read your mind and what you wanted.

"Six," you confirm, reaching out for her hand tentatively, the redhead squeezing it back in response before walking back into the main room with you, smiles plastered on your faces.

***

Sticking true to her words, Natasha made your night perfect, in fact, she made the next couple of weeks perfect. The redhead planned the date to the last detail, even in the short amount of time she had to prepare, taking you to a small local Italian restaurant that was nice and quiet, the food one of your favourites and the place extremely cosy and welcoming which you absolutely adored. After the delicious meal that was followed by a rich desert shared between the two of you, she took you for a casual stroll through the snow that started to fall gracefully from the darkening sky, offering you her scarf in the bitter wind and helping you wrap it around your neck, cheeks the same colour as her hair as she smirked at you all wrapped up and flustered. The smell of her sweet perfume adorned the scarf, your nose buried in the fabric to fight off the cold that didn't affect her as she was 'Russian and could handle it', despite the tip of her nose tinting red, the smell of her resulting in a sense of safety and joy to bubble in your chest as she continued to walk you till you reached a small local park already decorated for Christmas.

The two of you strolled like a couple in a romantic film through the beautifully light park, various Christmas lights wrapped around tree trunks and branches, illuminating the park in a gentle glow, the snowflakes glistening in the light, your eyes amazed by the beautiful scenery. You smiled a little under her scarf as you glanced at her by your side, arms brushing as you walked, a little surprised at how romantic the woman seemed to be, the thought of her thinking carefully about the date making your heart beat wildly in your chest at how perfect she was. To make your chest fill with more warmth and affection, her hand eventually took a hold of yours, almost shyly as she made sure you were ok with it before interlocking your fingers, squeezing gently and continuing to walk with you through the park, hand in hand.

To top it all off, she stopped in an empty area of the park and whispered sweet words to you, eyes softening at the caring expression written across your face as she asked you if she could kiss you, your head nodding instantly, her hands moving to unwrap your scarf momentarily so she could press her lips to yours, cold fingertips resting against your cheeks, both of your eyes fluttering close to savour the moment, love bubbling within both of you. This was the start of something special.

After that night, the two of you seemed to be inseparable most of the time, you especially wanting to be clingy with the redhead as the array of emotions you felt in her presence were just so addictive, your body constantly craving for her. The two of you easily slipped into a natural relationship, small acts meaning a lot to the both of you.

Natasha loved it when you simply just accompanied her while she finished off mission reports, her back against the headboard, laptop in her lap as your body leaned slightly against her, occupied with something else but still with her. Your favourite thing with her was when you'd show her your favourite films, dragging her into bed with you and cuddling into her body, teasing her about how soft she secretly was as she grumbled she wasn't 'soft', despite it being abundantly clear she was with you, your body eventually falling asleep snuggled against her with the film still playing.

However, a joint favourite were the moments you'd spend together in bed, lips moving against one another's in a sensual manner, the two of you going slow with this aspect of your relationship until now.

It was Christmas Eve and after having persuaded the redhead to leave her work alone for a bit, enticing her with the promise of kisses, she joined you on the bed, effortlessly straddling your waist, fingers threading through your hair and playing with the loose strands at the back of your neck, eyes gradually flickering over all of your features, admiring them before lowering her face marginally.

It feels like you're waiting an eternity until she lowers her face even more, her lips barely putting any pressure on yours as they briefly brush over them. Your eyes flutter close when you feel her hands cup your jaw, waiting for her to kiss you, to crash her lips to yours, to do anything at this point as you just wait, wait and wait.

When she feels like she's savoured the moment enough, she kisses you. She kisses you like she's been starved of your lips forever; it's hot, it's desperate, it's passionate. It's everything you wanted it to be. You can't do anything but melt into her touch, hand clutching at her waist to ground yourself as all you can think of is her lips moving against yours, her body pressed up against yours, her soft fingers threading through your hair, just her.

A soft moan leaves you at the intensity of the kiss, heat immediately taking over your body, her touch burning into your skin as arousal pools between your legs at the feeling of her lips moving against yours, a sensual sigh escaping her as you pull back from the kiss, eyes darkening with desire as you peer up into the green.

Your lips peck hers in between laboured breaths, her hands moving to your shoulders, gliding them down your back, her mouth taking control of the kiss as she slides her tongue into yours, earning another sinful noise out of you.

You're lost for words as her hands gently push your body down, hers pressing into yours as you lay flat on the soft mattress, her mouth persistent against yours while her hands venture across your body, driving you delirious with desire.

"Nat," you pant out when she lets her kisses move to your jaw, making her way along your jawline and down your neck, smirking against the skin at your affected tone, teeth scraping the column of your throat making your hips buck against her knee that's moved in between your legs. "Fuck, please," you groan out, fingers threading through her hair, ruffling her red locks slightly by pulling her head back up for another intimate but desperate kiss, passion and love being poured into it from both of you, mouths moving slower against each other to savour the intimacy of it.

While your mouths move together in a perfect rhythm, her hands slide down your body, reaching the hoodie you've stolen from her and slip under it, her mouth parting from yours briefly.

"Is this ok Detka?" she murmurs affectionately, eyes gazing into yours tenderly as she waits for your permission, your lips stretching into a smile as you loved how caring she was, your head tilting up to reach her lips, pressing them against hers with a smile which she reciprocates.

"Yes," you sigh out, her hands deftly sliding her item of clothing off you, eyes raking over the exposed skin, your hands going to her shirt, pulling on the bottom of it and asking the same question.

Her body moves so she's back to straddling you briefly, her hands reaching down to the hem of her shirt, pulling the shirt off teasingly slow, amused by how entranced you were, hands reaching out for her soft, smooth skin.

"You're so..." you trail off, her body lowering to be pressed against yours, her eyebrow raising in expectation as she waits for you to finish your sentence, too busy focussing on the feeling of her warm body touching yours.

"So?" she pushes, one of her fingers trailing down your neck and lower, just hovering above your breasts, the action causing you to lose track of your thoughts as lust swirls in your eyes.

"Perfect. Beautiful. Mesmerising-" she cuts you off when you finally figure out the words to describe her sheer beauty, her cheeks slightly tinted red at your adoring tone, the compliments making her smile into the kiss as she lets her hands roam around your body, reaching the clasp of your bra and waiting for you to nod once again.

"Flirt," she chuckles out, unclasping your bra and tossing it onto the floor, your hands sliding up her body and mirroring the action, unclasping her bra and gaze instantly flickering down to her breasts that press into you as her body moves against yours. "You're divine Detka," she purrs, mouth at the shell of your ear, voice low and raspy sending a wave of arousal straight to your core, the heat intolerable.

"Nat, I need you, please," you whisper out, the redhead pulling back slightly so she could see your eyes, searching them to see if you truly meant it. Your hands interlock with hers, guiding one of them down your body to where the waistband of your joggers were to emphasise your point.

"Are you sure?" she asks softly, fingers sliding under the fabric briefly, not venturing any further as she wants you to be sure. She wants this moment to be special and intimate.

"I'm sure," you murmur back, face softening at her caring manner. "Now kiss me," you sigh out playfully, the redhead obliging in your demand and kissing you sensually, hands sliding your joggers off before returning to your clothed core, groaning at how wet you already were.

"You've been waiting so long for this, haven't you?" she whispers against your lips, the pad of her index finger slowly circling your clit through your drenched panties, a soft moan escaping you at the pleasure that slowly builds at her actions.

"So long," you reply honestly, her eyes gazing into your lust-filled ones, memorising your face as your mouth parts slightly as she trails a finger along your core, your hips bucking against her hand softly, "Please, I need you to touch me."

"I'll take care of you Detka, don't worry" her tone loving as she slides her fingers under the waistband of the lace you were wearing, pulling it down your legs at a torturous pace, mouth placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw as your head lolls back. "Tell me to stop and I will," she softly mumbles against your skin, one of her fingers sliding through your folds, gathering some of the abundance of arousal pooled between your legs, a soft, desperate noise leaving you at the feeling of finally being touched. Her free hand interlocks with one of yours, pinning it above your head gently as her lips mould against yours, stealing your breath away.

When her finger moves to circle your clit, pleasure sparks through your body, the intimacy of the moment adding to the arousal clouding your mind as a broken moan escapes you, the noise being swallowed by her mouth, Natasha smirking into the messy kiss.

"Does that feel good, Detka?" she teases in a soft murmur, repeating the action and earning another sinful sound, a gasp leaving you as another finger ghosts your entrance, the redhead leaning back in for another kiss, wanting more of you, needing more of you.

"Yes, Fuck, Nat," you groan when she slowly thrusts her finger into you, purposely taking her time with you as she intends to drive you mad with her touch, your eyes fluttering open, meeting enamoured green as she curls her digit inside you, mouth parting at the feeling. "Shit, just like that, please do that again," you practically beg her as she thrusts her finger back in, hitting your sweet spot perfectly while her thumb moves to circle your clit, lips moving to the shell of your ear.

"Do you need more, Detka?" her tone still teasing, wanting to hear how desperate you were, her finger persisting with her deliberately slow pace, gradually building the pleasure within you as your hips gently rock against her hands, your free hand moving to tangle in her red locks, wanting to keep her close.

"Please," is all you moan back in response, her hand parting from yours and moving down your body to cup one of your breasts, fingers ghosting over your sensitive nipple, sending more heat to build between your thighs.

"Tell me what you what," she murmurs, still at the shell of your ear, her tone making your mind fog with the thought of her.

"Faster, please move your fingers faster," you whimper out, her slow pace having your body beg for more, her smirking against your skin once again.

"Good girl for telling me," she praises and you can't help the groan that leaves you at the praise, her obeying your command and thrusting her finger into you a little faster, allowing more waves of pleasure to flood through you, fingers grasping the sheets as she reads your body perfectly, giving you exactly what you want.

"I'm so close," you pant against her, hips moving a little more frantically against her hand as she slides in another finger, stretching you beautifully. Another lewd noise is ripped out of the back of your throat as she curls both of them against your sweet spot, your hips bucking against her, hands moving to her face, guiding her back to your lips and moaning into her mouth when her fingers at your breast softly pinch your nipple, more pleasure shooting through you as you feel your orgasm about to crash through you.

"Come for me," she murmurs ever so softly into your mouth, a broken moan leaving you at her words, body obeying and crashing straight into your release, pleasure and euphoria crashing through your entire body. You clench around her fingers, hands tightening their grip momentarily on her red locks as she swallows the string of moans that spill gracefully from your lips, your hips grinding against her hand as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Soft kisses around your face encourage you to gradually flutter your eyes open, meeting the gentle green you were falling so deeply in love with, her smile widening at your blissed out state, her fingers slowly pulling out of you.

You tilt your head to meet her plump, kiss swollen lips, hands delicately brushing against the skin of her hips, gradually building in pressure until you are gripping them softly, intent in your actions that doesn't go unnoticed by the redhead.

"You don't have to," she whispers in between lazy kisses, eyes meeting yours before she lets her gaze flicker across your features, admiring the slope of your nose, tinted cheeks and lips pulling into a tender smile.

"I want to, if that's ok?" you murmur back, searching her eyes as one of your fingers slips under the waistband of her joggers, softly caressing the skin there while you wait for her response.

"You wanna make me come, Detka?" she purrs out, a small gasp leaving you at her words as she ghosts her lips against yours, her tone making your head spin as arousal swarms through your body once again. When you nod back in response, heart beating wildly in your chest at the way she was looking at you, she chuckles at your submissive form, claiming your lips softly. "I've got a better idea," she whispers back, your brows furrowing in confusion until she effortlessly and swiftly pulls her remaining clothes off, your eyes widening in shock at how beautiful she was, devouring the soft, creamy skin that was on display before she manoeuvres your bodies so that your cores are pressed against one another.

A broken moan leaves your lips while a low sigh escapes her, emerald eyes fluttering close in pleasure as you peer up at her face, admiring how her mouth parted slightly at the feeling of her body pressing into yours.

"Fuck," she curses, voice low and raspy as she gives a small grind of her hips against yours, a soft moan escaping you at her voice. God that was the hottest thing you've ever heard.

"You feel so good, so good," she murmurs, leaning down to press her lips to yours, swallowing another sinful sound from you before sliding her tongue into your mouth, the kiss turning messy as your hips roll against each other.

"Nat," you whimper out and it's pathetic how desperate you sound, her hands finding yours and interlocking your fingers, pinning them above your head and grinding her hips down harder against you, your back arching and pushing your body closer to hers.

"Y/n," she sighs back, tone almost as affected as she moves her mouth to the shell of your ear, a groan leaving you as you hear all the soft, sensual sighs that escape her, the small pants of breath as your clits brush perfectly, pleasure consuming you both.

Your fingers tighten their grip on her hand, hips bucking up a little frantically against hers as your second orgasm swiftly builds, her body on top of yours restricting your movement and denying you the friction you so desperately needed to send you over the edge. Upon sensing how close you were, her hips grind down harder, mouth letting out a soft moan by your ear to make arousal spike through your body along with pleasure.

"Please," you beg, voice laced with desperation as your body teeters on the edge of your release, Natasha losing her own composure at your tone, thrusting her hips against you with less rhythm as they start to stutter against yours.

"Come with me," she groans against your lips, kissing you with passion as you both fall over the edge, pleasure, euphoria and love consuming your bodies as you rock against one another, hands holding onto each other as you ride out your orgasms.

The room fills with the sound of soft sighs and laboured breaths, your body trembling a little under hers, hands releasing one another prompting you to hold onto her waist, face hiding at the crook of your neck as you seek comfort against her warm skin, your breath tickling her slightly. A few moments later, the feeling of soft fingers brushing along your jawline and pushing your hair back coaxes you out of the safety of her neck, Natasha wanting to look at you.

The redhead smiles at you affectionately, pressing one last gentle kiss against your lips, both of you practically grinning into it at the overwhelming feeling of joy taking over you, her body sliding off yours and pulling you into her arms to cuddle, her warm skin and soft body perfect for you to melt against.

You keep her gaze for a moment, the soft, tender look lingering as you build up the courage to confess to her, Natasha waiting patiently as she senses you're about to say something.

"Natasha I... I love you," you murmur, the quietness of the room making you hear your own pounding heart as you wait for her reaction, her lips pulling into a genuine, wide smile, arms snaking further around your body and pulling you closer.

"I love you too," she whispers back in a loving tone, pressing a kiss to your temple and letting her forehead rest against yours, her eyes flickering over to the clock on the nightstand briefly, noting the time. "Merry Christmas Detka," her tone affectionate as your leg slides between hers, tangling your limbs together as you cuddle into each other, her words eliciting a smile from you.

"Merry Christmas Nat," you say back in a similar tone, eyes meeting hers, love and joy engraved onto your faces as you kiss once more before eventually drifting off to sleep in each other's arms, locked in a lovers embrace. 

[tarosunshine]

THE BOY NEXT DOOR ʚɞ 라이즈

꣑୧ what kind of boy next door is him?

fluff headcanons ⭒ riize female r. words 1387 . . . 𝒞ataloge !

SHOTARO — the friendly boy next door

when you first moved, he greeted you and helped you with your heavy boxes.

every time he sees you he says hi with a very kind smile and crescent-shaped eyes.

if you need something, just go and ask shotaro, he says. he's always available when you need something.

after the months passed by, you two became actually friends.

the dinners and sleepovers became something common between you two.

always there for you 𖹭

after three years of being neighbors, his home is practically your home, and the same with yours.

and two years of friendship, you one day saw shotaro jealous for the first time. the shotaro all smily and cute was all gone that night at the club.

“i like you, okay? i like you so much that it hurts. i didn't want to ruin this friendship. you're precious to me, our friendship is. i'm sorry.”

that night ended with you two very flushed confessing your feelings to each other.

EUNSEOK — the scary boy next door

you already lived there when eunseok moved on the door next to you.

he was scary, giving you death stares every single time you greeted him, only murmuring a hey with husky voice.

never spoke to you until one day he forgot his keys, and you offered to him to stay on your apartment because it was 12 pm and the concierge was already gone.

that night, you discovered that he wasn't scary actually, just a little shy, even funny.

after that day, the things between you two started to go better.

so now he just bothers you and makes silly jokes all the time. it's nothing like the eunseok you think you know a year ago.

bothering and mocking you became a routine in your relationship. eunseok is always the one who tase you, making you laugh with his dad jokes.

his friends says that you are perfect for him because you're the only one who actually laughs about them.

before you noticed the feeling between you two just grow and started to being stronger and stronger.

SUNGCHAN — the handsome boy next door

when you first moved here, you weren't prepared to meet such a handsome boy next door to you.

since day one, sungchan took an eye on you.

when you two started to see each other randomly in the hallways, the elevator, or the lobby, you started to notice that he was eyeing you.

every time you were in the tiny space of the ellevator, your heart started to beat faster and faster.

the very first time you two spoke to each other was that time when he talked to you about the noises of upstairs,

after that day you and sungchan started to talk more and chitchat a little every time you saw each other on the building.

your surprise was huge when, the first day of your new job at the coffee shop, was sungchan the one who would train you for your first day.

and finally, after a lot of time together and two months, he asked you on a date.

WONBIN — the mysterious boy next door

when you moved to your department, you met this boy on the elevator while you were carrying one of your suitcases.

all his aura was kinda cool or something. the way his bangs fell on his forehead, the cap of his hoddie on his head, his hands on his pockets. yeah, you definitely eyed him that time. you thought he was so pretty.

but after weeks passed by, it was always the same. you entered the elevator, and he just stared at his phone in silence and a poker face. well, that was a normal thing, but you really wanted his attention. why?

always wearing such stylish outfits and messy black hair. you even feel bad about staring at him like some freak.

one day, you were entering the elevator late in the night one more time. the doors were about to close when you heard a wait!

there he was. you just pressed the bottom so the doors couldn't close, and for the first time, you saw him smile with a cute thank you. you literally fell for him since that day.

after seeing such a pretty and cute smile, he wasn't that mysterious like you thought.

after that night, he actually started to talk to you every time he saw you, showing interest in you. and you began to look at him more, noticing that he wasn't that mysterious, and actually, he was very silly, trying to act cool all the time. but also, he was someone shy.

six months later, after becoming officially boyfriend and girlfriend, he confessed that he was trying his best to play cool in front of you. he didn't know how to approach you.

“yeah, i realized that day when you where leaning against the door and almost stepped when a lady pushed the door.”

SEUNGHAN — the nice boy next door

the first time you two met was because of the loud music he was listening to in his apartment late in the night.

his pouty smile and dark eyes were the first thing that greeted you, almost choking when you saw him. but still you asked him to turn the volume down.

he said sorry with a calm voice and gave you another cute smile.

“seunghan. my name, it's seunghan” he told you that time when you called him on the hallways “oh, yeah, you're the boy next door, i remember you.”

you two always meet each other on the building, every time.

his relaxing voice tone and tiny smile made you almost melt, but you tried to ignore him. well, ignore the fact that maybe you had a little crush on him.

and one time, he just showed up in your door at lunchtime, saying “i made spaghettis, you wanna have lunch?”

and from there on, you two started to eat together or just hang out every time you could.

SOHEE — the cute boy next door

your first thought about that messy, haired boy was “he's cute.”

always meeting him at the hallways by chance, his handsome face and cute pokes on it called your attention.

the very first time that he said hi to you, you thought you could almost fainted.

the cute boy next door was always being friendly with everyone and giving kind and uncomfy smiles to others.

being friends with him wasn't difficult, so by the moment you noticed you were very good friends and comfortable with each other's company.

after hanging out with him a couple of times, you started to notice how everyone treated him, like he was the most cute person in the world, and he is. everyone loves sohee.

except that time when you just were at that party and some random girl started to touch his cheeks and arms, and an intense feeling grew up in your heart. you were jealous?

the awkward smile that he gave to her and the save me eyes that he threw at you made you act asap, grabbing his hand and taking him with you away from that party, outside.

when you came back to your apartment that night, sohee confessed that he liked you, and of course you did too.

ANTON — the shy boy next door

when you meet the tall and red-haired boy, the size of him intimidated you a little. his body almost ocuppying all the little elevator of the building.

the little sorry that came out of his mouth, took you by surprise, because you thought his voice didn't match with.. him.

and when you realize that both of you got off on the same floor, you surprise even more. what a coincidence.

one day, he was stepping outside your door, puppy eyes, and messy hair, telling you something about shearing some sugar to him. sugar?

after that day, he started to go more often to your door, staying for lunch, then watching a movie together, or just coming when was bored. and when you realized, he was almost every day with you. but that doesn't bother you at all.

still being the shy boy with a soft voice that you first met on the elevator 10 months ago, but now laughing more comfortable around you.

“do you want me to bring ice cream today?”

you definitely got used to his presence in your apartment.

your favorite part of the day was late at night when you came back home, and anton is there, just smiling at you and greeting you with a conformable hug.

[szkunas]

KNOCK KNOCK, GUESS WHO! ౨ৎㅤsuguru geto.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤwhen things in your life go well for a long time, there will undeniably be a problem knocking on your door. this time, the issue is your ex-boyfriend, wanted by the jujutsu society — who is very angry with you, even after he stole your money. || PART ONE (previous)

featuring ♱ㅤsuguru geto (jjk0 / 2017 version) x FEM reader.

warnings ♱ㅤ NSFW ♡︎ ㅤporn with very little plot ! toxic behavior ! suguru (GENOCIDAL man) ! unprotected sex (wrap it up) + unrealistic portraits of sex ! creampie ! reader and gojo are not in a relationship, but mutually interested in each other ! coercion / dub-con (both consent but just to be safe) ! genocide / death mentions (geto) ! stalking and breaking in ! bondage + choking ! spanking ! edging ! obsessed suguru agenda ! delusional suguru (you will see) ! seduction !

honorary mentions (inspirations, please read) ♱ㅤthis ask, by anon! all credits to them, i was not planning a part two, haha. whoever you are, i hope you enjoy it.

author’s note ♱ㅤso, today i was sitting down and thinking “im going to finish that yuta draft and probably start the sukuna draft for the event, since he’s winning the poll”. guess which of these two things I did? exactly. none. so, here is more suguru geto for you. i apologize in advance — i am not good at writing seduction. this is a bit rushed lol. repost because i can't see my post in tags

THERE IS NOTHING SCARIER than discovering that the person you love most is hiding a dark secret. it could be a lover, a second family, a dark past or a real, rotting present. that’s the feeling you get: everything is rotten. the walls around you and the space are shaped into a molten mist that rots as time passes, as you read the letter that someone slipped under your door.

the highly wanted criminal, suguru geto, was seen in your apartment two weeks ago, as shown in the photos below. we ask for your full and complete cooperation in the investigation, and soon some sorcerers will need to interrogate you. expect their visit at any time and answer the door when the time comes.ㅤ— the higher-ups from jujutsu society.

oh, hell. no. this cannot be happening.

as the procedure says, you burn the letter and get rid of the ashes.

although your situation is absolutely desperate, the secrecy of jujutsu comes before your disastrous love life. you turn to look for your cell phone, and the delay hurts your bones.

it seems like the object disappears when you need it most. when you find the damn phone, you don’t even hesitate. as you type the number that, at this point, your head knows by heart, your hands shake. this cannot be true. they are lying, they are trying to deceive me and defame suguru. but why? why would society need to do this?

of course, mentally, you suppress yourself. and a rational part of your brain — the part that isn’t driven by the love you feel for a man who’s been with you a long time — slowly realizes that this is the truth.

that’s why the disappearances in the middle of the night, the slight disregard for non-sorcerers touching you or him. the preference for privacy and not allowing you to post photos of the two of you together. he doesn’t have social media, he said. it feels very public. what a lie, he was actually a wanted criminal and cult leader.

no one answers the call, and you press the button once again. and again. and again. by the sixth time, you’re not sure if your hands are shaking with fear, disgust, or hate.

your money. your savings, built up after you left the witch life behind. a small guarantee of your future, a future you planned to have with suguru. a future stolen and lost, by the same man who once stole her heart. beautiful black hair and purple eyes really make a girl forget to pay attention to the red flags.

you leave voicemail after voicemail, until the box is full. then, messages. text after text while your fingertips digit furiously. it didn’t take long for you to realize that a response from him would be even worse, so your last messages were simple, direct. do not talk to me anymore. don’t ever appear in front of me again. and don’t you dare involve me in your affairs, you bastard.

pressing the send button through tears was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done in your life. and so, blocking the number seemed like the most sensible solution. it’s not like he would respond, even if you gave the number to the investigators — your exact intention.

so everything went as it should. 39 missed calls, 104 unanswered messages that changed her perspective of him forever, along with a letter that turned to ash, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. your life took a new direction, an unpredictable metamorphosis that made you move to another address after the entire legal process on your part was concluded. you didn’t know, and you had no involvement, as hard as it was to believe. and then the sorcerers left you alone, and this was your second new start to normal life.

lonely and with a betrayed heart, in a new apartment far from your ex. unloading the last box does not bring the relief of releasing a chain, but the pain. the pain of losing something. as if the chain had tied itself to one of your ribs and ripped it away, taking a part of you.

but the tears dry. time passes. the pain diminishes, and the space that takes it in the heart is hatred. you become your priority again, and in time, you rise again only to fall again. one last effort, a call to a certain sorcerer you once knew, satoru gojo. this was his noah’s ark, his last hope before resorting to more desperate methods.

he answered. and since then, a lot has changed.

it’s been almost ten months since suguru stole your money and trampled on your love and dignity. almost ten months in which you had your heart broken, and you slowly put the pieces back together. now, your latest relationship — it’s not really a relationship.

six weeks ago, you and satoru had sex in your apartment for the first time. since then, he has been very helpful in all aspects of your life and visits you regularly. he takes you on dates and even carried you when his feet got sore from walking. it sounds crazy, feeling so comfortable with someone after just six weeks, but that’s what happens.

gojo is more than an arrogant boy who uses humor in every situation he sees, he has a heart, and a very generous one at that. despite his insistence, the credit card that was entrusted to you is rarely used (and you managed to convince him to change the password, too). his intention was to ask for help, not to become a parasite that will take as much from him as he can. not when he’s a much better person than you expected. a kind of clumsy white knight, in a cute and a bit of a loser way at the same time.

so, of course, the dates have become routine now. cinemas, walks in the park, roller skating, going for ice cream. these experiences stand out in your memories, as sweet as scenes from clichéd romance films. kisses in the rain, desperate hands pushing you into the apartment — maybe this time, you might be able to tease him a little, make him lose it and have you right there, in a dark corner? the idea is exciting, dangerous, and so stupid it makes your heart flutter.

he still owes you a new bed, though. you keep fucking on your couch because you two broke your single bed the last time you did it.

checking yourself in the mirror before a date is, naturally, what everyone does. the red dress that adorns her body is a little short, the kind of thing you see on a seductive movie character. but satoru asked for this tiny — as tiny as the dress, in his words — favor and promised anything you wanted later if you wore that and hung on his arm all night. even when he’s being a pervert, he’s just a guy who’s whipped for you.

the idea makes you take a step back. satoru can’t be in love with you. yeah, okay. he does cute things often. he takes you on dates almost every week. he’s always trying to make you laugh and has already learned most of your quirks, likes and dislikes. he remembers you throughout the day, at random intervals, and buys you things so casually that you had to beg him to stop and not max out his card bill — he just laughed and said it was all cheap anyway. heirs…

but he can’t be in love. it’s all new, recent. perfect, but maybe it’s just hidden by the love fog at the beginning of a relationship. it has already blinded you to bad signals once, and you internally wonder if you are using gojo.

of course, part of you has already thought about it. having sex with your ex’s best friend and solve your financial problems. two birds, one stone. but satoru is everything suguru is not — true. intense and real, without a mask of sweet truth that covered a rotten truth.

honestly, you don’t want to think about it too much right now. this is a conversation that should be between you and satoru, not between you and your intrusive, insecure thoughts. he deserves to know the truth and he deserves to know that you’re just as interested as he is — not on the money, but on him.

a text message makes you smile right after spraying a sweet perfume on your neck. the screen lights up with that contact that has now become your favorite.

toru <3; ㅤ already in the dress? photos or else ill die (seriously)

a small laugh escapes your throat, and you immediately prepare to take a photo. stepping back a little and posing in front of the mirror, you could swear you heard something near your apartment door while simultaneously hearing the soft click of your cell phone.

one pose to show the front, and one for the back, with a soft, evil smile. satoru isn’t your boyfriend, but with his attitude, he could very well be. he looks at you as if you were the only woman in the world, and as if he wanted you forever. it’s beautiful. it’s such a beautiful emotion to see in those blue eyes that you can’t wait for the next time you look.

after texting back, asking what time the movie starts, your eyebrows come together in a frown. omnisity takes over the environment quickly, and you swear your heart stops beating.

this energy— it cannot be.

“hi princess. missed me?”

the whisper in your ear is so sudden that you immediately turn your face to look. a hand grabs your chin and forces your head to turn back to the mirror, and you gasp, immediately struggling.

suguru geto, on the flesh, the greatest traitor to have walked the earth since judas. traitor to the jujutsu society, criminal and mass murderer, and of course — your ex-boyfriend. right behind you, and forcing you to stare at the mirror as his free hand snatches your phone away.

you hit him with your elbow, but he barely moves. humming, as if he is amused. as if you are some game. geto’s hips press forward against yours, and he efficiently traps you between the sink and him.

this cannot be happening.

what suguru doesn’t find amusing, though, is your text messages with satoru. long or short, little flirtations or obvious nudes, these messages are simply something that makes him turn his nose up in disgust. how dare him. how dare satoru take the one thing suguru truly loved that way?

“get off me.” you murmur, your eyes widening. like any sorcerer, you know the basics of defending yourself, but panic runs through your veins like poison. your muscles feel like solid stone, and you can’t stop your breath from hitching when his hand stops cupping your cheek to grab you by the throat.

he’s a criminal who definitely must have had his share of fights. you are a sorceress who has not been in the field for almost ten years. in a real fight? he could drown you in that sink and satoru would only find out hours later.

satoru. the thought makes you immediately ramble.

“don’t you dare lay a hand on me. satoru will—” he squeezes your neck softly, a silent message for you to keep your mouth shut. suguru sighs, annoyed he needs to explain it to you, word by word. he really, really likes you, but he’s not in the mood after all these games.

this small action — squeezing your neck gently — makes you remember old times. old times, not good days. because, although they were good, the memory was effectively corrupted when he left you, almost a year ago.

“satoru will not do a thing. he doesn’t know i’m here, and he won’t know.” a break. “yet.”

your eyebrows shoot up, before your face contorts into confusion. what does he mean, yet? if anyone knows he’s here, he will be executed. why would he risk it, just to see you? is he here to kill you?

the thought brings visible panics into your eyes — the wonderful, pretty eyes you have. the window to your soul. your soul and body, which suguru would like to possess again.

again, what a ridiculous term. he never stopped owning it, in the first place.

maybe if you buy time, satoru will come see what’s taking so long. he will help. you’ll be safe.

but the date is only thirty minutes, and for satoru to come in person, you would have to wait another forty. one hour and ten minutes with your genocidal ex-boyfriend. wow. this must be some kind of twisted lottery of fate, where winning makes you unlucky.

you force your voice to remain calm, composed. he does not deserve the satisfaction of your fear.

“why are you here?”

“oh, look at her.” he mocks, as if you’re not even just there, listening. “asking why i’m here as if she has no idea.”

“i don’t.” you grit your teeth. “this is why people ask, imbecile. they want answers— ugh.” he squeezes your neck again, making you grow quiet until he relaxes.

“darling.” suguru smiles softly, but some veins are popping up on his hand. he is absolutely pissed, using that sweet voice to smooth you. “you know why i’m here. don’t play dumb. you— let satoru touch you.”

his tone is still soft, affectionate as the boyfriend you once called yours. but beneath the sweetness, there is an anger, a possession. like an animal whose territory has been pierced.

“did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he leans in, his hot breath making shivers run down your spine violently. “you underestimate me, my love. i’m a bit offended. coming from you, i expected so much more.”

his hand snakes all over your body, and close as he is, you’re sure he can hear your erratic heartbeat. thump-thump. thump-thump. thump-thump.

like the engine of a machine, accelerated to its limits. if your organs are your gears, you believe you are malfunctioning right now. a poorly functioning machine due to information overload.

it’s a lot to handle. his hands are warm as they gently pull your dress up, groaning. “i barely had to move it away. what, you enjoy dressing like a slut for satoru?”

it seems like your voice only works normally, as it should, when you feel your panties being pulled down, gasping. “suguru, no! you can’t!”

“oh, i can’t? why? c’mon, darling, just the tip.” he throws your phone away — the sound the device makes when it breaks against the wall is blood-curdling. he wraps both his arms around your waist, pressing his hips to yours. “pretty please?”

you grit your teeth. why the hell is this attractive? perhaps it’s because you barely heard geto beg before. but, no. you can’t. satoru, your satoru, he’s waiting for you — instead, you have your freak ex humping slowly against you. no way, is he wearing buddhist attire? like a monk or something. but these thoughts don’t matter. his words take you out of your head.

“i saw everything that day, you know. and a little before, and after that. getting all cozy with satoru, because i’m not here? you offend me, sweetheart. i’m a bit hurt.”

“oh, i’m not hearing this.” you curl your hands into fists, slamming them on his arms. “not after you lied about who you are, stole my damn money, and left! fuck you, geto! fuck. you.”

he smirks against your ear, grabbing your wrists and pulling your arms behind your back. you groaned, and he quickly decided to hit two birds with one stone.

tugging at the clothing strip that holds his robes together, he rips it off and uses it to tie your hands together as you squirm. he gives it a little tug, confirming it’s not too tight, and throws his clothings to the other side of the room.

“i know i haven’t been here.” he pauses, and you can watch him through the mirror as he forces you a bit down. “and i’m sorry. i wanted to tell you, i did. but i couldn’t. i know what you would think, and— i couldn’t lose you.”

it’s like a sincere admission, but you’re not foolish enough to feel sorry. not for him, definitely. throwing salt at the wound is your strategy right now.

“you lost me anyway. y’know, satoru really has a way with backshots that—” your words are cut off by a gasp, when he rips your panties off you and holds you down by the back of your neck. your back does a pretty arch for him like that, but suguru is not nearly amused enough.

“don’t be a brat. i made mistakes, but you, too. whoring yourself for my best friend? are you kidding me, love?”

“i’m not your love, don’t call me that.” he grabs you by the hair, tugging your head back up to look at his eyes through his reflection.

a pause, and suguru decided against what he was going to originally say, softening his grip on you.

“i missed you. i did. can’t i show it to you? just a little, baby, please?” he presses his hips into yours a bit more gently, and you can feel it.

his rock-hard erection, rubbing softly against your warm pussy. it makes you shiver and hum against your will. a part of you misses it. nothing wrong with satoru — he’s a great learner for an inexperienced guy — but geto knows just how to blow your back and be soft at the same time. an art satoru hasn’t mastered yet.

the idea of doing this to that white haired man who is so good to you — it brings tears to your face. how dare you want to say yes? but also, how could you say no when suguru’s head is rubbing deliciously against your entrance?

you close your eyes in defeat, not able to look at yourself.

“be quick. and don’t ever ask me anything again. you get this— and you disappear from my sight. forever.”

a deal with the devil. sacrifice something and gain something. your body for peace.

he chuckles, throwing his head back with a smirk. “oh, you and i both know that’s not happening, sweetheart. i’ll be here, forever.” he slips his hands down your waist, grabbing it gently and pushing his cock in.

the feeling is— exquisite. geto could try all he wanted, search in all the world, but he never could find someone like you. your body is almost poisonous — intoxicating is the right word. he just bottomed out and he’s already mixing his thoughts. that’s the effect you have on him.

suguru’s hips start moving at a restless pace, not giving you time to breathe or a warning. he can’t waste time with words, not now. not after being pulled away from you, his beloved, for ten torturous months. just when he was planning to come back and convince you to join his cult — or just grab you and lock you up, whatever —, he found you riding his best friend. sinking down satoru’s cock and making him cream all inside you.

the idea makes him huff, thrusting harder.

and you, under him? with your wrists tied up? well, you’re a mess. you’ll have to try bondage with satoru later, it’ll surely make his cock explode. your eyes widen, and you babble something — what’s wrong with your head? why are you thinking about satoru, then, suguru, then satoru again?

oh, lord above, maybe both at the same time? it’s a fantasy that makes you blush more than what you’re doing right now.

suguru guides your head up again, holding your neck gently.

“what are you thinking about, love? you keep—” he grunts. “clenching down on me.”

“nothing,” you stammer out. okay, there is something seriously wrong with you for enjoying this so much. a moan escapes you before you can stop it. “nngh— satoru!”

his eyes widen at the same time as yours. if your hands weren’t tied up, you would have brought one up to your mouth. the squeezing on your neck is firm, enough to not cut air circulation, but present. surely. the whisper of your name echoes through the bathroom.

“what did you just say?”

he looms over you, blushed cheeks and vulnerable expressions changing all the time, staring at your dumb little face in the mirror. suguru has a soft frown on his face, his eyes wide in horror, and his lips are slightly parted. but there’s a dark shadow oozing off him, a rage that cannot be contained.

he’s hurt. he’s mad.

you try to justify it quickly, to do damage control. “suguru! i said— i said suguru!”

but it’s a little too late for that, and lies only make it worse. he pins you down harder, his hips moving back at a ruthless pace this time. harder, faster — no mercy or trace of the sweet man who used to make love with you as if you were made of glass.

now, he fucks you as if he hates you, he hates your guts.

your moans and whines are muffled by the obscene sounds escaping where your hips meet. plap plap plap, mixed with a softly, slightly wet whisper of some sort. suguru lets go of your waist and brings his hand up.

you gasp when it hits the back of your thigh in a loud smack!

he forces you to look up, breathless as he murmurs.

“start counting.” he groans, harshly. and he smacks you again, right on the ass. he’s hitting so hard that you believe his intention is leaving a red mark — a present for satoru to look at later. and you’re right. his friend knows no boundaries and keeps taking what is his. what choice does he has, unless to mark you up?

smack.

you shiver, trying to squirm away and kick before he pins you down again.

“behave, brat. now start counting.”

smack.

“one—” you moan when his heat hits your sweet spot, huffing. smack. “two.”

“good girl.” smack. smack. smack. “how many is that, princess, mm? ohh, that’s the good pussy i missed so much. so— tight.”

“ngh! three! four! f—five?”

“is that a question, or are you answering me, my love?”

he chuckles meanly, thrusting into you again. you both grunt — near the edge already.

“suguru.” you throw your head back, whimpering. “i’m— i’m gonna—”

“ohh, you’re going to cum? that fast, honey? satoru hasn’t been good enough to you, i see.” he thrusts harder, laughing meanly at the way your eyes widen and tear up. “aww, he can’t treat you like you want. he fucks you like a good girl, i bet. but you want to be fucked like a slut.”

he leans down, peppering your neck with kisses and hearing your deep breaths. “it’s okay. i’m close, too. you have this effect on me, my love.” he grunts again, grabbing your hips. “throw that ass back on me, baby, yeah? yeah, juuuust like that.”

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up as he presses his lips to yours in a upside down kiss. it would be romantic if it weren’t so possessive, visceral, crude. carnal. desperate.

when your lips part, he grunts and sighs softly, while you’re moaning loudly. nearly at the same time, your orgasms hit you both with everything.

suguru’s thrusts become messy, sloppy, and his skin feels a bit sticky against yours as he fucks himself using your pussy, pushing in ropes of cum to paint your insides.

you let your head fall forward when it’s your turn, squirming and whimpering softly. his forehead would have hit the sink if he weren’t holding you up. some more seconds, to dry out both of your highs. slowly, gently, he pulls out of you, watching the fat drops oozing out of your used hole.

suguru smirks as he undoes your restraints, kissing the back of your neck tenderly and adjusting your dress.

“don’t forget who has you first, mkay? i left a little gift for you and satoru here.” he sighs, sounding a bit sad. “i’ll have to go again, i’m sorry. but i’ll be back soon. don’t miss me too much. just leave your window unlocked, and i’ll be here again.” he grabs your face to turn it again, brushing his lips against yours. “unlocking them is a chore.”

geto leans back, and you shiver, confused. the sound of clothes being adjusted and thrown back into a body makes you turn your head moments after you heard it, still a bit too slow.

and he is gone. as you fix yourself up on your feet, you shiver as the realization hits you hard as a stone. no, no. satoru. no.

you stumble to the corner of the bathroom, picking up your phone. the screen is broken, but a call icon appears. you accept immediately, nearly sobbing.

“hey, senpai,” the nickname is soft coming from his lips. a small joke, playing with an honorific that he does not use with figures he should use. “you’re— a bit late. did something came up, or?”

“satoru.” you sob, and even through the screen, you can feel him tense up. his voice becomes more serious.

“what happened? are you okay? where are you? i’m on my way.” the scraping of a chair can be heard in the background of the call.

“i’m— my apartment. i have something to tell you. we need to talk, seriously, we—”

you shiver, and for some reason, you can picture your ex perfectly — walking proudly, with his nose up, the wind making his black hair flow behind him and cruel, purple eyes accompanied by a soft smirk.

“i made a mistake.”

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES.ㅤthank you for reading! <3

[mysterycitrus]

so the body is a haunted house, right? ur haunted by past pain, ur experiences and regrets, the people you’ve known and lost. ur a living structure inhabited by countless others, and that kind of grief never stops. on a biological scale, we know that trauma rewrites dna and brain matter. we see how monumental loss affects the human mind through generations, how it shapes the way we think. u can track that down family lines to the present. even unseen, u r carrying the ghosts of everyone who came before.

the central thesis of persephone is how grief can be the proponent of so much change, both good and bad. part of that is bruce’s visible, living state of mourning in the manor, in the mantle of batman, in the pearls and the portrait. he is literally haunted by the alley, by the gunshot, by the darkness. but robin is haunted by mary grayson, by dick as a child and as a teenager and an adult, by jason in the dirt, by tim and steph and damian, and on and on it goes. how do u conceptualise that kind of loss?

both jason and dick’s grief is faceless. dick’s parents are remembered in colour and name, through dick’s embodiment of joy. they are transient. they are worn by children who do not know their names. they are honoured in that way, something that jason, despite not knowing robin’s origin, is conscious of —

in persephone, i knew jason would have an altar of some kind. his grief is action, but it’s also his heavy anchor to gotham. he could leave, but he doesn’t. he despises bruce for the same reason they’re similar. originally, it was a memorial to the people at his funeral, but that changed to commemorating the life he had before his death, and the people he left behind. he lies to himself and says the elephant represents robin as a whole, but it doesn’t. it obviously doesn’t.

it is a literal symbol of jason’s inability to fully abandon his life before. the body is being haunted, after all. we get to see his perspective in wolf-king, his anger at his disconnection, his isolation from others, his paranoid, neurotic interactions with dick. he has changed so completely that he cannot trust anyones intentions. he’s hurt people, and he doesn’t regret it. he thinks people see him as something he was, versus something he is. it’s dehumanising and hard. like he is memorialising something lost at the altar, so to is everyone else when they look at him. his presence in their lives is a haunting.

when a seventeen year old dick grayson sees the elephant there, he assumes he’s died and that jason is honouring him. how can jason explain that it’s to represent a past that jason himself can’t return to? after all, the only way out is through.

and then, at the end, he is given a gift — dick leaves behind a bird on the altar. not a robin, but something meant for jason the person, not the body in the box. he is remembered for what he was. and that connection to what he was is horrifying. the idea that someone recognises that grief and honours him hurts. after all, a heart is a heavy burden.