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irisintheafterglow · 10 months ago

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a kaiju attack spoils date night with bf!hoshina. he is so pissed.

cw: canon-typical violence, swearing, mild angst/fluff, happy surprise ending

"is it just me, or does the vice-captain seem angrier than usual?"

"maybe he's just fired up. there's a lot of yoju for him to take care of," iharu observes, scanning the emptied streets from the rooftop of an evacuated office building.

"you idiots really don't pay attention at all, do you?" shinomiya mumbles under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. the rest of the officers with her stare at her blankly. "it's thursday, geniuses."

"is there something special about kaiju appearances and days of the week?"

"not that i've heard of," kafka states, scratching his head with a finger. "did new research come out?"

"maybe it's because of the full moon," haruichi says and the other men look up at its soft shining light, nodding in understanding.

"that makes a lot of sense."

"but why would that make the vice-captain angry?"

"maybe he's a werewolf," iharu whispers with sincere worry. "maybe kafka's not the only shapeshifter in our division."

"it's date night, you meatheads! the vice-captain's supposed to be off-base and relaxing," shinomiya explains impatiently like it was written on the floors in fluorescent paint. "he's probably angry that the attack came right when he usually picks up..."

"picks up who?" the officers stiffen and quickly fall into perfect lines. you smile at their professionalism and try not to laugh at how quickly they changed their gossiping demeanors. "you know, officers, you should be careful about what you say in regards to the vice-captain."

"our deepest apologies, platoon leader," kaguragi monotoned, ever the perfect soldier.

"at ease," you command them. "you have nothing to apologize for. i'm simply warning you of what might have happened had it not been me passing by."

"understood, platoon leader," izumo confirms. "if we may," he continues slowly and you can see the rest of the officers eyeing him warily. "were we...correct in our assumption as to the reason for the vice-captain's mood?"

"the werewolf assumption or the assumption that only shinomiya was correct about?" everyone but shinomiya reddens, looking down sheepishly at the toes of their suits. the axe-wielder straightens her shoulders with a proud glint in her eyes. "to answer your question, it would be the latter," you answer with a poorly-hidden smirk. "he'd barely knocked on my door when the alarm sounded."

"oh, i bet the vice-cap was seething."

"he definitely was," you confirm, recalling the colorful curses he uttered as you both begrudgingly shed your nicer clothes for your combat suits. i was supposed to take off your clothes under different circumstances, he'd lamented. don't go thinking our night is canceled because of this. i'll finish them off quickly for you.

your relationship with hoshina was no secret, considering that he talked about you whenever he was given the chance. every kdf member on base knew you preferred to keep your romantic life as private as possible to avoid questions of power dynamics from higher-ranking officials. hoshina, however, either didn't listen or didn't seem to care. he happily declared thursday nights to be date nights, threatening intense punishment for the officers below him if they caused trouble while he was gone. a static-filled message from the scouting teams sounds in your earpiece and you dismiss the officers, moving to join the vice-captain at the front line.

judging by the slowly increasing trail of dead monsters covering the asphalt, you find hoshina easily as he cuts a clean slice through a fast-moving yoju. you change the frequency on your earpiece so that you're directly connected to his.

"someone's been busy," you remark, pulling the batons from your back and electrifying them with the switch by your thumb. they hum in your hands, electric blue lightning crackling in sync with the released power of your suit. "save some for me, would you?"

"any other day, i would," he replies and you hear him smile despite his annoyance. "but it took me three months to get those reservations, so i wanna finish this up quickly." another yoju falls, your boyfriend a phantom blur in the darkness.

"are you calling me slow?" your hand plants itself on your hip as you continue to watch him cut down enemies, barely moving from your place between the dead kaiju. "i can't believe my boyfriend thinks i'm slow. here i thought you were my biggest supporter."

"that's not what i said," he huffs, the slightest waver in his exhale the only evidence of exertion. "i'm just faster." he pauses for half a second to catch his breath, and you snag your chance to overtake him.

"hmm, i think i'll take over for a second, then." launching yourself from the ground, your feet run perpendicular against the wall of a crumbling building as you close the distance. you can feel hoshina's attention on you while you dodge the yoju's swinging limbs and sink your batons into the skin covering its core, electricity surging through its body as it falls with a loud thud. "how's that, mister i'm just faster?"

"cute," he admits, offering you a hand as you hop down from the monster's head. you're shoulder to shoulder facing opposite directions and catch the challenge in his eyes as you look at him over your shoulder. "but i know you can go harder."

"go your fastest then, soshiro," you dare. his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, a subtle sign that you'd thrown him off. "i'll do my best to keep up."

---

"so, this is not how i wanted date night to end up," he says through a mouth full of noodles, slurping them loudly from the bowl on your living room coffee table. "and i'm sorry we couldn't go to that fancy place."

"to be fair, the website didn't exactly update its hours immediately," you remind him. "how were we supposed to know the place got demolished in the attack?"

"true, but i made you get all dressed up for nothing," he grumbles, accidentally dropping a vegetable and splashing broth onto his face. "ow." you snort against your spoon, setting it down in your bowl and swiping over the corner of soshiro's mouth with a napkin. "this was my favorite shirt, too. worst date night ever."

"good thing there's this place called the cleaners, babe." he continues to frown despite your unending patience, letting you clean him up while he indulges in staring at you in your nice clothes. you could make anything look pretty, he thinks, staring unashamedly at you wrapped up in a blanket and covering your going-out clothes. "hey," you murmur, gently grabbing his chin and turning him to face you. "i don't mind."

"you don't mind what?"

"this kind of date night."

"but we could do this anytime," he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. you shake your head, pushing away your food and climbing into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

"no, we can't. we don't know how many times we get this in our line of work," you point out with an ache in your chest and he finally blinks up to look at you. "so i'm grateful for any time i get to spend with you, soshiro." his throat bobs again, but he manages to give you a small smile.

"you're too good for me, you know that?"

"if you say so," you shrug, leaning down until your lips barely brush his.

"but, you know," he murmurs and you pull back, staring into his starry eyes. "there's not a lot of nights," he inhales, reaching behind him to grab something from under the couch's throw pillow, "where i get to pull this move."

"what're you--ohmygod." he smirks at you as you blink down at the small box sitting in his hand, covered in crushed velvet and embroidered with gold. "that's-you didn't..."

"i did," he whispers, memorizing every inch of your shocked expression. "so," he pushes open the top half of the box with his thumb to reveal something that sparkles even in the dim lights of your apartment, "please--"

"yes!" you scream before he can finish his sentence, your excitement echoing off the walls as you both break out into wide grins. "holy shit, yes!"

"baby, i didn't even ask the whole question," he chuckles, giving in and slipping the ring on your finger. "what if that wasn't the question i was gonna ask?"

"i'd skewer your head with my batons," you smile sweetly and he hums, admiring the jeweled band in the light. "that was the question you were gonna ask, right?"

"of course, sweetheart," he assures you, finally leaning up to press his lips against yours. "you're the only one i'll ever let keep up with me."

"you gonna marry me, hoshina soshiro?"

"i'm gonna marry you so hard, the entire base will know." you fondly remember your conversation with the officers earlier in the night.

"darling, i think they already know."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#kaiju no. 8 x you #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no.8 x y/n #hoshina x you #hoshina x reader #hoshina x y/n #kn8 x you #kn8 x reader #kn8 x y/n #hoshina soshiro x you #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro x y/n #soshiro hoshina x you #soshiro hoshina x y/n #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina fluff

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redwingstan · 4 months ago

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"you know what we are. you just want to hear me say it." with bucky please!

debts paid - bucky x reader insert

author's note; thanks for your request, anon! hope you like it! (I may make a part 2 with this one!)

"So, what are we?"

Bucky grunted, a response you got when he didn't know what to say, or when he was just playfully annoyed. This time you couldn't tell which one it was.

"What happened to not asking questions?" He said as his back remained to you. He was hunched over the balcony, looking below at the bustling streets filled with people heading to their destinations.

"The same thing that happened to no secrets," you mumbled, shoulders dropping as if the miniscule book you held in your hands weighed a ton.

There was a rule you both had agree upon back in the day—a two for one special that kept your relationship—friendship, whatever—thriving: If you were both honest from the jump, there was no need to ask questions, no need to harbor secrets.

Looks like you both were breaking the rules tonight.

Bucky did a double-take as you stood next to him and nudged the little black book against his bicep. It took him a second or two to realize what it was. When he did, he took it before as if you hadn't already read the contents inside.

You sighed and looked straight ahead at the skyline. "I don't know whether to be relieved that you didn't forget about me," You sighed. "...or offended that I'm the last person on that list."

Granted, you didn't even bother skimming the list hard enough to recognize any of the names. You didn't even know what the list meant. You only managed to see your name—your first initial and last name scrawled at the very bottom— and that was enough for you to confront him about it.

Gently, he settled his hand on yours as he shoved the book into his back pocket.

"You weren't supposed to find this—"

"To be fair, I didn't have to go looking for it. You don't have much furniture."

Bucky's apartment was desolate save for a tv, and whatever bundle lay in the corner of what was supposed to be the living room. No furniture, not even a coffee table was in sight. The book happened to be laying on his makeshift bed made of disheveled blanket and jacket.

Bucky sighed as you pulled your hand away from his. You turned to head inside, but he made another quick attempt at your wrist. This time with a more firm grip. You spun around, though made no effort to close the space between both of you. Bucky took it upon himself to step forward, his grip on your wrist transferring to your hand. His thumb ran over the back of it in remorse.

"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh, eyes softening as he looked down at you. "I'm sorry. I know I should've been more honest. I know I should've found you sooner." He lifted your hand and gave it a soft kiss before lowering it. "Forgive me? Please."

"Under one condition," you said, appearing unphased on the outside in regards to his gesture of affection. He knew it was one of the things that worked to settle your nerves.

He lifted a brow in curiosity before lowering your hands, though he didn't let go of them.

"I get to ask three questions," you stated, chin lifted in defiance.

"One," he argued.

"Two," you countered, taking a step forward with a subtle grin on your lips.

Bucky's brows furrowed. "One."

You narrowed your eyes in defeat. "Then my question still stands." Your eyes traced his tired face. He looked beaten, like he had gone more than hundred rounds with the world. The bags under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. The rough stubble crawling across his jaw made him look more rugged. His hair was cut short—a stark contrast to the longer dark locks you were used to. Six years had certainly done a number on him.

With a sigh of your own, you gave his hand a squeeze. "What are we, Bucky?"

He groaned in internally, though it wasn't out of annoyance, you knew. He wasn't the best at talking about his feelings, but you never held that against him. At least after years of not seeing him on account of The Blip and a year after, you believed you were owed an explanation to this question. A question you had been holding on your tongue since the moment he told you he might not be coming back.

His gloved thumbs traced your hands as he gently tugged you towards his chest. "You know what we are. You just want to hear me say it," he said.

You grinned. "I do," you said tilting your chin upwards with a lifted brow.

With dark eyes, the infamous Winter Soldier stroked your cheek. He placed a kiss on your temple.

"I can't be the only one to say what we are," he sighed, "but I know that you're one of the only people I can trust, and losing you again would be another devastation I wouldn't be able to bear." He stroked your cheek gently, eyes looking everywhere but at you. Your fingertips migrated over his stubble and guided his eyes back to your face. The Winter Soldier gave you a look of surprise before his lips settled into a subtle smile.

He kissed your temple once more.

"Does that answer your question, doll?"

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evegwood · 4 months ago

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Nosferatu’s Contracts: A Linguistic Deepdive

(This is one half of a blogpost I put on my website! Read the full thing for a full list of sources and even MORE information on the contract from the 1922 film).

So I saw the new Nosferatu film the other day and while I didn't think it was all that fantastic (I loved the first half okay, calm down) the one thing that did stick out to me was the absolutely gorgeous scripts used for the contract that Thomas has to sign. Thank you to this Reddit post for sharing a picture of the entire thing:

The BEAUTIFUL red calligraphy is called Vyaz, a form of decorative Cyrillic calligraphy. In Vyaz script, letters are all joined and interwoven together to create a beautiful, ornamental typographical piece. The Wikipedia page about it is fucking pathetic but it does feature this example of text with a coloured breakdown of the individual words that comprise the piece:

Obviously this itched my language brain like crazy. The best resource I have found since to learn more about Vyaz is this full, free guide written by Viktor Pushkarev. He has also released a 254 page PDF for 25 euros called the Modern Slavic Vyaz Calligraphy Workbook and I think I'm going to have to buy it. His examples look stunning and I would love to learn more about this style of calligraphy. Thank you, Nosferatu.

The Vyaz calligraphy is only one style of writing used in that contract. The other is a completely different style of writing and, surprisingly (or not, maybe?) the best place to look for answers turned out to once again be Reddit. This commenter suggests it's another form of Cyrillic:

Here's some Glagolitic, to compare:

In a different thread, this commenter claims to have cracked it:

This commenter replies with an addition:

So that's cool! In that same thread, this commenter says that the contract looks like a Romanian hrisov, or medieval chancellery charter, and recommends this video explaining how they were written. As you can see from the example below that the commenter shared, these traditional contracts look pretty damn similar to Orlok's contract! So let's talk about them real quick, because it's interesting!

The video is by Adrian Gheorghe, a historian whose speciality is the editing and translation of all documents regarding Vlad the Impaler. He talks about how unlike letters, which would be written in Latin, these charters were written in Slavonic, a liturgical and "literary language, based on Slavic dialects of the Balkans, developed by monks in the 9th century" (X). Viktor Pushkarev suggests a book called Grammar of the Church Slavonic Language if you want to learn more about the grammar and syntax. Slavonic was often written in Glagolitic and hey, we've seen that before!

These charters also had explicit and strict structures that they adhered to. This strict standard served to not only prove the legitimacy of a document, but that "the document was drawn up with all due solemnity" (X). Interestingly, each charter would invoke God in the opening lines or would simply have a cross at the beginning, and according to the translations given above Count Orlok's contract does not seem to include this. I recommend checking out the video in its entirety to hear more about this cool bit of history.

But of course... that's not all that's written on the contract, is it? Thomas signs it, and he signs it in Kurrent script, an old traditional form of German cursive. If you'd like to learn how to write in Kurrent, there's a free guide by Margarete Mücke right here! Here's a screenshot I took of the scene along with a Kurrent alphabet for comparison:

Kurrent has a really interesting history. It evolved from gothic cursive at the beginning of the 16th century, which saw a lot of use in the medieval ages. Compared to the vast variety of gothic cursive writing styles, Kurrent was "beautiful, fast to write and comparatively legible" (X). It soon moved out of use solely in chancelleries and into everyday use, becoming more and more standardised.

This script saw a bit of a rollercoaster of popularity; in the early 1900s it was established and taught in all German schools, then steadily became seen as "antiquated and ugly", then the Nazis declared other writing scripts "Un-German" and promoted gothic typography until 1941 when Hitler declared Kurrent and its sister writing style Fraktur "to be of 'Jewish origin' and therefore taboo". More information about this can be found on this page about the history of Old German Script (another name for Kurrent).

So that's that! Count Orlok's contract is based on traditional charters of the region with set structures to highlight their legitimacy and importance as documents, using traditional scripts and handwriting of the time, and is also a style of document that is directly tied to Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula and ultimately Nosferatu. Extremely cool and also totally makes sense considering Robert Eggers interest in authentic linguistic detail (like I didn't even mention the language that Orlok speaks throughout the film, which is Dacian, an extinct ancestor of Romanian). Lots of really tasty stuff to look at and I had a blast putting it all together.

Except.......... it's not the end. There's a whole second saga to be told about the contract from the 1922 film, and if you wanna read that (I get deep into talking occult symbols and angel languages) you're gonna have to read the original post on my site!

#nosferatu #not art #long post #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu 1922

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pittrabbit · 1 month ago

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warning: explicit content, sex at work, very unrealistic and unserious lol, not proofread (so if theres discrepancies no there's not), assumed age gap bc im me, p in v sex

although it wasn't prohibited, dating your superiors (or subordinates, for that matter) was not exactly appreciated by your higher ups at work.

it'd happened a few times already, in not-so quiet ways. some worthy examples were robby and collins with their on-again, off-again situation, along with mateo and victoria's will-they, won't-they shenanigans. so, although it wasn't encouraged in the least, it surely wasn't against the rules.

that's where you and jack came in.

while other flings around the hospital were pretty much common knowledge, the flame between you and doctor abbot was not one people were very aware about. there were a few whispers from princess and perlah, along with a few looks of curiosity thrown by dana, but there was not much further than that.

oh, and of course jack's not best friend, robby, knew.

it was easier to keep it private. it was a scandalous matter, after all.

jack abbot, senior attending, dating his student? you couldn't even imagine the flood of rumors that would invade you the moment people found out about his favoritism towards you.

he tried not to let it show while working, while teaching you. however, there was a softness in jack abbot's heart that not many got to experience in the ways that you had, and once he'd given you a taste of it, he never withdrew it from you.

sure, maybe he did take some extra time to share medical articles with you. and perhaps he'd guide your hands through difficult procedures from time to time. he possibly also handpicked cases he knew you'd be interested in. but he also knew that you had the potential to flourish beyond belief with his catered attention towards your learning.

or at least that's how he reasoned it to himself when he spent a good 90% of his shifts attached to your hip.

people were aware by now that you were some sort of unit. although they didn't know to what extent your unity went, seeing you together, working the same shifts time and time again, wasn't rare.

but the thing about jack abbot was that he had this massive self-confidence.

he ran the place like he owned it while still working alongside robby, shen, walsh, and so on. his confidence mostly manifested itself in the form of self-assurance. he practically lived at the hospital, after all, picking up shifts here and there while knowing that his expertise was always welcomed.

sooner or later, he utilized this confidence in your relationship — both at work and in private. and sometimes both at the same time.

jack wasn't one for pda, that much was obvious with one single look at him. yet somehow he always got away with it, hiding it under plain sight while you struggled by his side.

his eyes were always glued to you, that intense gaze always penetrating yours with hidden intensions behind it. jack was heavy on eye-contact, chasing it without regard of how intense he could appear at times. while you loved this in private, it proved problematic while at work. one look from him was enough to get heat on your cheeks, always becoming too self-aware and worrying that others might've caught wind of the unspoken words behind his eyes.

but no one ever really suspected it, specially not due to your age gap. jack wasn't big on dating, much less someone multiple age brackets below him. so despite any whispers from the more gossipy members of staff, and his longing gazes, his actions always went unquestioned.

and so he got even more confident.

sex at a hospital seemed so out of mind for you. it was something you'd only ever see on those reruns of cheesy hospital dramas. yet here you were, recreating yet another scene of grey's anatomy with your attending.

the emergency room did not come with the luxury of on-call rooms, but thanks to whitaker's big mouth, jack had recently come to know of the perfect place in which to take you during the short lulls in time during your shifts.

the second floor of the building, completely empty and unstaffed, but filled with clean beds for the taking.

jack's hand currently under your shirt, fishing for the skin hidden behind it while his knee wedges itself between your legs, puffs of breath released into your mouth at the way in which you arch yourself against him. your hands, equally as messy in their movements, claw and explore at his upper body, often making a stop at the buff muscle of his arm — one of your favorite parts of his body.

his noises were low, both in tone and in volume, the perfect juxtaposition to your loud and high-pitched ones. with a many years in expertise at the human body (and a few years with intimate knowledge about yours), he knew just what buttons to push to get you melting under his touch.

never really one to be into public sex, you were actively trying to lower the volume of your noises, but jack had other plans, pulling out new tricks any time you lowered your voice.

"c'mon, honey, no one's around. you can be as loud as you want," he hummed into your neck, teeth scrapping that one spot that had you tilting towards the feeling.

"we gotta go back, jack, it's almost rush hour," you tried, but made no attempt to separate yourself from him.

neither did his nor his leg stop their ministrations. if anything, he became more daring, lifting your leg to wrap against his waist and working at the drawstring of both of your scrub bottoms. being susceptible to each and every one of jack's whims, you aided him despite your previous complaints.

pulling out a condom from his pocket, he lifted his brows ironically and gave you a smirk as he placed the corner of it on his mouth, ripping it open and consequently causing you to pulse behind your panties. by now your hands pulled at his shirt, finding the skin under it and feeling up and down the hard muscle there, verbalizing your want for him as you berated him to hurry up.

he teased you about it. something or other about you being "an insatiable little thing" before pulling himself out of his boxers and putting on the condom. but before finally penetrating you, he took further advantage of your neediness, dragging the tip up and down your slit, which was now bared as you used one hand to lower your panties before holding onto him once more.

jack shifted weight back and forth from his foot to his prosthetic, clearly a little tired of partially lifting some of your weight along with his own, but made no verbal complaint. it was very like him to put up with the discomfort, but you still always tried to subtly ensure he didn't overexert himself.

which was why you kissed him at that moment, walking yourself sideways til your back hit a table and jumped on it before pulling him closer, never once breaking the kiss. he chuckled at your excitement, once again placing himself at your entrance and teasing, this time just circling your clit with his tip before aiming lower and finally beginning to push in.

"fuck, always feel so good ..." he groaned, "halfway through a shift and still so fucking perfect for me," his nose trailed from your cheek to your ear, kissing it softly before nibbling at the earlobe.

meanwhile, you were braindead already, having needed this more than you were willing to admit. your head buried itself on his neck, biting at his shoulder through his scrubs and getting him to pound you a little harder after that — he loved when you couldnt control your reactions to the pleasure, it made him lose himself a little more each time.

"tell me how good it is, baby," he encouraged, voice low and barely heard through your gasps and the fast-paced plap plap plap's of your skin slamming together.

"so good," you groaned, gasping at the end of the half-assed sentence.

he chuckled, groaning too before beginning to pepper kisses on your neck, lost in the mixture of the scent of your perfume and the smell of your shampoo.

jack really could've lost himself in the pleasure, turning his mind off as he fucked you. this was always his favorite way to decompress, and today was no exception. it'd only been six hours since he clocked in, but he'd been a little extra exhausted today, wanting to take advantage of the forced lunch break robby had assigned him and stealing you away for the whole state-mandated thirty minutes of rest.

and he really would've, had a sudden interruption not stopped him in his tracks, with this interruption taking place as a sudden gasp from you — and not the usual gasp of pleasure he was used to pulling out from you.

he turned behind him, still inside you but now stilled. behind him he found not one, but two, of the freshly transferred residents gaping at him by the door for a good five seconds before turning their gazes down or away and closing the door back up (mostly).

it took jack a total of three seconds to step into action, pull away from you and turn his back to you, covering you up from any onlookers while letting his scrub top cover his (still hard) dick, hands scrambling for his pants before beginning to bark at the pair of blonde interns still hiding behind the half-closed door, stammering a reason as to why they'd so rudely interrupted.

"what the hell are you still doing standing there?", he raised his voice, still able to see mel gazing down in mortification through the gap of the door.

"uh, i, uh, robby was looking for you," she gulped, "he sent me, but, uhm, whitaker said he saw dr. y/l/n heading upstairs with you, and uhm, yeah," she managed through the sentence, still looking down while whitaker hid behind her.

jack sighed, hand running down his face in frustration while you continued hiding behind him, face buried in his back in embarrassment, "get the hell out. tell him i'm busy. i'll be down when i'm done," there was no more bark to his voice, not really one for yelling, but his tone was still reprimanding (and maybe a little mortified, an emotion rarely expressed by him).

whitaker nodded and bowed a bit in an unnecessary demonstration of respect while mel stuttered through some apologies as they scattered away, forgetting to close the door back up before mel turned back with another mumbled apology and closed it with an accidental slam.

immediately, jack groaned an exaggerated groan, coming all the way from the back of his throat. this was followed with a disbelieving chuckle. he then turned to you, pulling your head out of your hands and cupping your cheeks.

"baby, c'mon, it wasn't that bad," he attempted but failed at clearing the air, wanting to dissipate your embarrassment.

"jack! my coworkers saw you fucking me! they saw your dick inside me!" you exclaimed, eyes wide. being a first year resident, you were pretty much at the same level as the new interns. this was not only going to spread through the ER like a wildfire, but it was also going to make facing your coworkers incredibly awkward.

but jack continued chuckling at the mortification on your face, pulling your head down so he could kiss your forehead.

this calmed you down somehow, looking at him afterwards and matching the amused expression on his face. soon the two of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, leaning into each other as you laughed. it was probably just the shock, but maybe it wasnt that big of a deal after all.

his hand went to your thigh, patting it twice before taking a step back and giving you some space, "so, wanna finish or should we just make a stop by hr right now?", he lifted his eyebrows in suggestion.

you pretended to ponder over it, grabbing his phone from his pocket and checking the time.

"we still have ten minutes before your 'mandated break' ends," you did air-quotes, "id say we still have some time," you smiled suggestively at him, legs wrapping around him again and pulling him closer.

#the pitt x reader #the pitt #the pitt smut #dr jack abbot #jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott smut #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott smut #jack abbot smut #jack abbot x you #jack abbott x you #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbott fanfic

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meanbossart · 1 year ago

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Pin!

Hi, I'm RJ (Male, 28 years old) I'm a -usually- horror oriented artist and collaborator alongside my partner and better-half @barbatusart, though I'm currently on a Baldur's Gate 3/DnD streak with both my art and writing, specifically centered around the Dark Urge I created for my campaign and his antics, so that's most of what you will find here!

I want to leave a warning right here that I occasionally venture into delicate topics in regards to character lore and history - though none of it strays too far from what the game already delves into and I try to give a heads-up ahead of time whenever I feel like something might catch someone off-guard otherwise.

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PSA: I get a lot of asks and I'm slow to go through them, please don't take it personally :U

Anyway, here's the guy of the hour:

🚨FAQ BELOW🚨

Q: Does your Durge have a name? A: Nope! I named him "drow" when I played the game because I didn't feel like thinking up anything special. His lack of a name has become part of the character's lore and you will find him to always be tagged with "DU drow", or referred to as The Drow or just Drow.

Q: Where can I read your BG3 fan-fiction? And what is it about? A: Right here! The main plot follows DU Drow, Astarion, and Shadowheart on a new adventure that fractures into a couple of different directions, but mainly focuses on the aftermath of the spawn that Astarion has released and the personal development of the main cast, alongside a number of original characters that get involved in the narrative. My goal was to create a kind of "DLC" experience, so you can expect a lot of themes that parallel the main game.

Q: Can I draw one of your characters, a scene from your story, or any of your characters interacting with mine/other characters? And can it be NSFW in nature? A: YOU ABSOLUTELY CAN, AND I'LL BE DELIGHTED TO SEE IT IF YOU CARE TO SHARE. I'm equally fine with NSFW as long as everyone involved (in the art and otherwise) is an adult.

Q: What drawing software/tablet/brushes do you use? A: I draw on a Wacom Cintiq 22, using Clip Studio Pro. I switch around brushes quite often but most of what I use comes from the DAUB super-bundle by Paolo Limoncelli.

Q: Where can I find more of your work? A: You can find mine and my partner's comics here, but please bear in mind that most of it is highly violent stuff and you should read the content warnings on the store page carefully before making any purchases - if in doubt of whether or not any of it could be detrimental to your mental health, DON'T BUY IT. Stay safe!

Q: Do you take commissions? A: I am not currently taking any new commission inquiries, sorry!

#text #pin

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spookieloverslittlemind · 7 months ago

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“dating” Art would include…

- this is classified as “dating” bc Art’s version of asking you out was looking at you like 😱👉🏻👌🏻

- so romantic <333

- if you don’t know asl already, you’ll learn some from Art, but he also has his own miming gestures that he often prefers just bc he’s dramatic

- unlike some other slashers, we’ve seen Art eat (casual cannibalism but the point is he actually does eat sometimes) so he loves skipping hand in hand with you to take you places to eat

- sometimes he starts food fights in public but he makes sure he does it when you go to the bathroom so that only he gets in trouble

- he’s also been known to fake-propose to you in the middle of restaurants to get free meals

- anything that is messy or results in mess, Art loves

- makeouts are ALWAYS sloppy

- but he is capable of giving you the tiniest, barely-there kisses on your nose, your forehead, cheeks and temple; more in fond teasing than affection

- Art prefers to be holding your hand at all times when you’re close enough

- a few times, he’s started doing something oddly domestic like folding laundry when he suddenly frowns VERY seriously, stomps across the room over to you, grabs your hand and drags you over to the laundry pile. just to hold your hand while he folds laundry. he doesn’t care that it takes him longer to do that with his one free hand

- Art likes to take things from his victims or their homes to gift to you, when things remind him of you

- he’ll raid jewellery boxes and closets most of all, sometimes spending actual hours holding clothes up to his own body to judge how they’ll fit you

- doesn’t necessarily care for special occasions but loves ANY excuse to throw a party! valentines day? christmas? st patricks day? HATS! PARTY POPPERS! BALLOONS! TWISTER! CAKE! doesn’t even matter that only the two of you are in attendance, Art loves every goddamn second

- more often than not, Art is rough when he grabs you, drags you places, holds onto you; he’s not opposed to leaving marks but most of the time it’s genuinely not intentional

- on the rare occasion he unintentionally hurts you enough for you to cry out or flinch, he has learned to utilise what he very fondly regards as “Art’s sorry kisses”, which include him nuzzling into your hair and your neck while his fingertips trail up and down your arms soothingly. it’s debatably genuine, more likely he’s doing it bc he knows you’ll forgive him in no time

- he knows how to play you like an instrument and you fall for it every time

- he is a freaky little weirdo but simultaneously not always meaning to be sexual about it

- he’s a certified panty pervert but instead of sniffing them he likes flinging them around like slingshots and silently giggling to himself

- likes snapping the waistband against your skin and gets very upset when he inevitably accidentally tears them bc he literally just wants to play w them he’s an idiot

- that said, when you first warn him that if he keeps snapping/tearing your panties you’re going to run out of them…you’ve given Art the best idea he’s ever heard

-terrifier 3 spoilers below-

- so yk how Art sat still for literally 5 years? that’s bro when you don’t text him back

- doesn’t even LET YOU get jealous of the time he’s spending w Vicky bc you’re by his side at every moment you want to be and he’s comin right back over to you, leaving a little kiss on your nose to show you that you’re his priority always

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niwaart · 15 days ago

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DOCTOR!MALE!READER X BATFAM

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - Part5 - part6...]

#############################

Y/N groaned as he stumbled into the hospital staff hallway, rubbing his tired eyes. Last night's Wayne family dinner had been a disaster—stealing a cake, a food fight, and Damian trying to stab Tim with a fork. He just wanted to get to his office, drink his orange juice in peace, and forget about it all.

But the universe had other plans.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Sammy, his usually calm assistant, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the pantry.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sammy whispered in panic. "Do you have any idea what's going on right now?!"

Y/N blinked. "Um... no? Did anyone die?"

Sammy shoved a newspaper into his hands.

The front-page headline:

《《Bruce Wayne's Secret Doctor? Mysterious man spotted leaving Wayne Manor late at night! 》》

Below, there was a blurry but clear image of Y/N sneaking out of Wayne Manor, his bag suspiciously stuffed with what appeared to be stolen goods (which were actually Alfred's cookies).

Y/N's stomach lurched. "Oh. Oh no."

Sammy groaned. "Oh no?! That's all you have to say?! The entire Gotham press is out, convinced you're Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist! The hospital board is panicking, the nurses are cackling, and—"

A loud thump echoed from the front hall.

Both men froze.

"Dr. Y/N! Are you treating Bruce Wayne for a mental illness?!" a reporter shouted from outside.

"Is he unstable? Is that why he adopted so many children?!" another reporter said.

Y/N slowly turned to Sammy. "...I think I need to fake my death."

Sammy grabbed his shoulders. "No. What you need is a statement—something to make them go away!"

Y/N rubbed his temples. "Like what? 'Sorry, I'm not a therapist, I'm just his bastard son and I went to him for cake?'"

Sammy gave him a blank stare. "...Maybe you're ignoring the bastard son and cake part."

Y/N hoped the reporters would get bored and leave.

They didn't.

Instead, they multiplied.

By noon, the hospital lobby was packed—reporters shoving microphones at anyone wearing a lab coat, cameras flashing, and sweating security guards holding back the crowd.

Y/N, hiding behind a potted plant, watched in horror as an overly aggressive reporter cornered a terrified intern.

Reporter: "Is it true that Dr. Y/N is using the experimental treatment on Bruce?!"

"I—I don't know, I'm just getting coffee—" the intern said, panicking.

Y/N grumbled. "This is a nightmare."

Sammy, his auras appearing dark circles under his eyes, he muttered, "You think? The council is threatening to suspend you until this 'gets sorted out.'"

Y/N's eye twitched. "Suspending me?! Why? For my presence?!"

Sammy sighed. "For causing a media frenzy that harmed the hospital's operations."

Y/N opened his mouth to argue—

**Bzzzzt.**

His phone vibrated. A text message notification lit up the screen.

Unknown number:

"Turn on channel 5 now."

Y/N frowned, grabbed the remote in the break room, and flipped to the local news.

Newscaster (on screen):

"Breaking news—Wayne Enterprises has just released an official statement regarding the rumors surrounding Bruce Wayne and Dr. Y/N Wayne of Gotham General Hospital."

The video cut to a pre-recorded video of Lucius Fox, standing in front of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Lucius Fox said calmly, "Contrary to recent speculation, Dr. Wayne is not, and has never been, Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist. He was invited to Wayne Manor as part of a special charity initiative for the pediatric wing of Gotham General Hospital. Any other claims are baseless and irresponsible.”

Y/N was surprised.

Sammy whistled. “Oh my God. Bruce Wayne saved you.”

Y/N stared at the screen, torn between relief and skepticism. “...Why?”

Sammy shrugged. “Maybe because you’re his son?”

Y/N snorted. “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to want the press to explore his secrets.”

By evening, the reporters had finally dispersed, though some lingered outside, hoping for a scoop.

Y/N sat in his office, exhausted, staring at the last remaining cupcake he’d smuggled out of Wayne Manor.

“Okay,” Sammy said, looking at Y/N. “Now what?”

Y/N took a slow bite of the cupcake. “And now? Pretend it never happened."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "And the next time Bruce Wayne invites you to dinner?"

Y/N chewed the muffin thoughtfully. "...I'll get a bigger bag for the muffin."

Sammy grumbled. "You're hopeless."

Y/N smirked. "But you love me."

"That's debatable," Sammy said wearily as he walked out of the office.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce sat at his desk, watching the news coverage fade on his tablet.

"That was...uncharacteristically kind of you, Master Bruce," Alfred said coldly.

Bruce sighed. "The last thing I need is for the press to associate him with me in the wrong way."

Dick leaned into the cave entrance. "Or...maybe you didn't want your son to be bullied?"

Bruce glared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dick grinned. "Of course, B. Anything to help you sleep at night."

Bruce ignored him and went back to his tablet. But as he watched the last reporter leave Gotham General Hospital, a small, almost imperceptible smile spread across his lips.

############################

Side story:

Dick: [sends article link] GUYS LOOK Y/N BEING KIDNAPPED BY RED HOOD

Tim: That’s not kidnapping. That’s a rescue.

Damian: Tt. He’s weak.

Steph: Aww, Jason’s being a protective big bro!

Jason: SHUT UP.

Bruce:…Is he safe?

Jason: Yeah, yeah. He’s complaining about missing his cupcakes.

Y/N (added to chat): I HEARD THAT.

Dick: WELCOME TO THE FAMILY GROUP CHAT, BIG BRO!

Y/N: …I hate all of you.

[Y/N has left the chat.]

Jason: He’ll be back.

Tim: Yeah. For Alfred’s cake.

[Bruce Wayne has sent a photo of a triple-layer chocolate cake.]

[Y/N has rejoined the chat.]

Y/N: …Fine. But I’m bringing my own fork

############################

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

@eyeless-kun @thegothamsiren @a-brilliante-mariposa @s4raahi @s0ggyrate @glasscurrents @iiriam5 @f33rumm

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bokunoheros · 8 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ naughty iida tenya hcs 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

🪲 authors note:// okay yes, these will be naughty sorry i’m fucking insane okay????? this man is critically underrated and every fic i’ve read with him is fucking ass. that being said: fine, i’ll do it myself. these are. not in order. FYI.

topics discussed & warnings:// voyeurism, thigh/leg fetish, crying during sex, oral sex, BDSM undertones (?), cunnilingus, mutual mast., gender is not specified but I use female anatomical terminology, established relations kind of, kissing, lots of kissing, shared showering.

word count:// 836-ish

ᯓ heed the warnings laid before you, your media consumption is your responsibility! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

every WORD under the cut will be R-RATED- SO, +18 only, respect my wishes regarding interactions.

𝜗𝜚 edited and proof read by the lovely calius .ᐟ xoxo

✎ᝰ He’s not into fucking, and prefers the term love making.

He’s a voyeur. I SAID IT! When you two finally get comfortable in your relationship, he will be spying on you in the shower— or while you change, taking a peek even if you told him to turn around. Sure, he’d be all bashful and nervous about it, but damn, he cannot help himself when it comes to you! — adding onto his voyeurism, he is very interested in mutual masturbation. He… finally… admitted that he saw it in an “inappropriate video” once, and got curious. Of course you had berated his ass for this, and he pouted until you were done laughing. But alas, you couldn’t say no to his darling red eyes. He’d stare at you so intently, studying every inch of your face as you respond to his touch, struggling to keep your pace between his legs as he brushes over your clit…

HOLY SHIT, does this man like legs. God forbid you incorporate panty hose or stockings or thigh-high socks into your specially designed costume, because he will be touching himself to you, ripping a hole in them, or ripping them straight off. Tenya revels in the way the fatty skin of your thighs melt over the elastic band, as it is quite literally a sight to behold. When you guys are dating— and have finally found the courage to have sex— he is not bashful about begging you to crush his head around your thighs, no matter the consequence.

Tenya is… let’s just say—very— into oral sex. He definitely has an oral fixation, and will basically do anything to go down on you, or for you to go down on him. Don’t want to do your homework? He’s already done it. Don’t feel like showering after battle training? Like he gives a shit. He’d pounce between your thighs at any given chance. — while being proud of his behavior when he goes down on you, Tenya is completely the opposite when it comes to your mouth on him. He’s bashful, nervous, and unfortunately, an accidental head-pusher. Though, he will apologize profusely as he pushes you down, he just cannot help himself. Tenya’s on the verge of crying already, and you’re barely halfway down his cock, so you at least have to give him this, right?

Iida Tenya happens to go brain dead more often than you’d think. Yes, he is just sooooo headstrong, but your warmth and the way you squeeze him, pulling him in further— and he’s babbling. Mindlessly humping into your cunt, muttering every curse he knows— slobbering as he tries to form a coherent sentence only to tell you just how good you feel.

THIS. MAN. IS. A. KISSER. DAMNIT! He loves to kiss. That’s it: kiss. Tenya would kiss all over you for no reason, other than just because he can. He loves to swipe his tongue over your neck, nibbling your earlobe before sucking a specific spot just below. He loves how you react, especially when his tongue dives into your mouth and slides against yours and the only thing you can do is thread your fingers through his jet-blue hair, tugging on what you can because you cannot fucking breathe.

Get on top of that man. RIDE HIM LIKE THE GODDAMN STEAM ENGINE HE IS. He’ll keep you firmly atop him when you do, keeping you snug in a bear hug around your waist while you grip his shoulders. He’d rutt his hips upwards when you got tired, burying his face in your tits as he brought you down hard into his hips.

Trust me, he ain’t coming until you have, that’s for sure. He’d be eating you out, fingering you with one big hand, and the other snaked between his own legs, jerking himself off. Like clockwork, only a moment after you does he finish, hastily pulling himself upwards so he can shoot his load onto the skin of your thighs with a huff, resting his forehead against your navel. You run your hands through his scalp, scratching his skin with your nails gently as you both calm the hell down.

aftercare hcs, a treat for my sweet readers ᥫ᭡.

✎ᝰ Tenya is such a sweetie. He would snuggle forever if you hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom; even then, he’d stare at the door until you wandered back out, beckoning you to fall back into his warm embrace, which of course, you do. He’d hold onto you so tight, almost as if he was scared you would leave, disappear, dissipate— he draws little shapes over the skin of your back, pressing his strong hands into your skin every once and a while.

He’d continue this act, adding the sensation of kissing the top of your head before you inevitably drag him to the shower with you. He leans down so you can scrub his hair, sighing as you scratch his scalp, his hunky form relaxing ever so slightly under your touch.

THANK YOU FOR READING! if you wish to see more of me, ₊⊹

my carrd

kofi (tip me!)

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sonotpattismith · 8 months ago

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we hereby conduct this postmortem. (yuta okkotsu x reader)

WARNING: MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS BELOW

word count: 7.8k (oops) warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, smut, Yuta in Gojo’s body, manga spoilers 18+ summary: reader attempts to cope with Yuta’s new body, mourning the loss of his previous one a/n: Hi!!! No one really requested this but Yuta is my man fr and this idea has been heavy on my heart 😮‍💨 Yuta is aged up in this as it made more sense for the point in their relationship they were already in. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I loved making it!

Life as a sorcerer was one littered with pain, fleeting hope, loss, and regret. These pitiful factors could practically be named the pillars of the damned lifestyle. You knew what you were getting into right when you joined, and you were reminded of it as your love held you close to his chest, his large hands secured over your head as if to cement you into his memory. Yuta pulled back just a hair, still clutching your head between his hands to look at you, fingers digging into your scalp gently as his long eyes fluttered around your face.

Through the haze of your tears, he appeared blurred. Still, you could make out the inescapable expression of fear that clutched his features. It wasn’t the battle he feared— far from it. He felt as though he could slash through an army at the moment. What gripped his mind and soul so fiercely though, was the thought of leaving you behind. His warm, dark eyes regarded you with care, taking in the way you clutched at his white shirt as if willing him not to go. It broke his heart.

“Everything’s going to be alright, my love.” Yuta assured gently, trying to keep his trembling voice leveled. He was well aware of the countless sorcerers surrounding them, allowing them the privacy of their intimate moment. They pretended not to watch— not to listen, but their hearts were collectively breaking for the pair before them. “It’ll be over before we know. We’ll go home. I’ll cook you something nice— maybe not burn it this time, huh?”

A laugh escaped you despite your tear soaked face. He smiled softly at the sound. The pads of his thumbs reached out to swipe the surface area of your cheeks before pulling you in softly. Your eyes closed as he placed a soft kiss to one eye, moving to the other and doing the same.

“I want the special rice—” you choked out, attempting to pull yourself together for him. Reaching out to run your fingers gently through the end of his hair, you clarified. “The one you had in Kenya.”

“Yeah? The pilau?”

You nodded softly and forced a smile. He laughed breathily at your reply and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Okkotsu?” Their peer that called out to him sounded apologetic to be interrupting the delicate moment, but, then again, there was a war to be won.

Without tearing his gaze from yours, he nodded in understanding. Leaning down with a certain determination in his energy, Yuta captured your lips in his. It was powerful, rough— desperate. His looming figure hunched over you, as if attempting to swallow you whole. Perhaps you would have been happier if he had.

It was the last time your lips felt those of Yuta Okkotsu.

You had been sent out as support, patrolling the area. Realistically, you knew there wasn’t much that you could contribute. While you served as a perfectly decent sorcerer— your techniques were nothing to be put up against the horrors that lied beyond the culling games. It was mainly a distraction. Your peers didn’t want you to watch the fight. They didn’t want your eyes to have to bear witness should your lover be slain that night.

For a few hours, you would get updates from them. First, it was that Kenjaku was dead. A silent tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly swiped it away as you thanked them for telling you. It was a victory— one of astronomical proportions, but the fight was far from over. After the second hour with no update— a small part of you already knew. After twenty more minutes of radio silence, you forced yourself to go back inside, despite the fear raging in you of what you may find.

As you entered silently, all heads snapped toward you. You knew. Without a word, you made your way back to where Shoko had set up her make-shift infirmary. It ended up being Kusakabe that called out to you— subtle warning in his tone. As if motivated by his attempted persuasion, a few more of your peers began to step forward, but, before they could reach you, you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Yuta’s katana was leaning up against the wall beside the infirmary, unsheathed and bloodied. Through the sound of the blood rushing through your ears, you faintly heard a commotion stirring from outside the hall. Your mind was miles away from the beloved friends and colleagues gathered just outside though. Your fingers delicately grazed the hilt of his precious katana, wondering if they had to pry it from his stiff fingers.

One more step. It was terrifying— the sense of impending doom that echoed within the chasms of your mind. Just beyond this door frame, it would no longer be a fleeting ghost story whispered between two lovers— a worst case scenario— a horrifying ‘what if’ that was consistently followed by reassuring kisses and desperate love making. The shouting behind you was growing louder now, rushed footsteps pounding down the hall, screams of your name to not go in there, you don’t need to see it.

You took the final step. The healer stood in the middle of the room and seemed to be busying herself with cleaning. She was cleaning a body. Its mid section was cut off from your vision by her somewhat tense figure. Still, laid unceremoniously at the end of the steel stretcher, the unmistakable locks of dark hair your fingers had been buried in just hours prior. As if sensing your presence, Shoko shifted to see who had been watching her work. Her movements faltered when seeing the face of the stiff corpse’s lover. It was too late though, no matter how quickly she tried to adjust her position once again, the image had been burned into your mind— branded.

The body of Yuta Okkotsu lay bare on the examining table— or what was left of his body. It had been mutilated; your beautiful love’s temple disgustingly desecrated. The cavity of his chest was practically split open, slashes running down his once gorgeously cream skin. Even worse though— his head. It was split down his forehead. His paler than usual head was turned just fractionally toward the door. Your lover stared back at you, eyes unmoving, unloving, gone.

There was blood in your mouth. The iron tinging your taste buds was the only way you realized the visceral shriek that emitted from deep within your gut. Your realization didn’t stop you though, and neither did the pain in your throat as you ripped it to shreds once again, knees buckling underneath of you.

“Yuta!” You sobbed, voice eviscerated raw already. The hurried footsteps from outside seemed to finally reach you and, before you could process what was happening, there were hands everywhere. They were on your shoulders, at your elbows, over your eyes— doing anything to attempt to shield you from the sight before you, which you assumed they never intended for you to see in the first place. It was overwhelming: the attempted, hushed coos of comfort that all merged together to sound like the humming of angered bees just waiting to strike at you; the varying grips all pulling you in separate directions, all with the intent to just get you out of that room. Still, despite their efforts, through the gaps of their fingers and shoulders, Yuta’s dead eyes still stared hauntingly back at you.

Pushing against them all with a newfound strength, you fell against the unforgiving floor on your hands and knees, determined to reach him.

“Please, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this.” Kamo attempted to get through to you, his hand once again reaching for your shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” Your wavering, sliced whisper caused his motions to falter for a moment before reaching out anyway. Another sob was ripped from your mouth at the feeling of hands everywhere again. “Please, please, I just need to hold him. Please. Let me hold him.”

“I told you all to make sure she didn’t come in here.” The commanding voice that spoke up had all five or six desperate individuals looking toward the door. Had you been more present in the moment, you would have recognized the voice. With your peers distracted, you crawled forward once again.

“My love,” The term of endearment reached your ears, making you pause. Wide eyes staring at Yuta’s still lips, you gaped silently. Shoko suddenly moved to cover his body with a sheet she’d retrieved, breaking you from your haze. Reaching out with trembling hands, you attempted to fist the sheet between your fingers. “Please, don’t do that.”

The individuals whose hands had been grappling with you just moments prior released you all together, before another set of firm, purposeful arms slid around your midsection. In mere seconds, you were being hauled up off the floor. For a moment, you were suspended mid air by unfamiliar arms. You thrashed around furiously until they set you down on your feet once again, and you turned to smack whoever it was that was still holding you back.

When the eyes of Satoru Gojo met yours— your movements faltered. A phantom, right before your very eyes. He was real though, you could see his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths, and the warmth radiating from his arms that were still wrapped uncharacteristically around you.

“Gojo—” It was all too much, as you tried to make sense of the scene before you, all the while in the midst of mourning— or attempting to come to grips with the fact that you should be mourning. You suddenly felt as though you might pass out. Steadying a hand on the firm chest before you, your face began to pale a bit. “How are you— what’s—”

Your words failed you though— and so did your body. Satoru leaned down quickly just as you began to slip away. It was too intimate— the way he was looking into your eyes, and the manner in which he held you to his chest. You wanted to push him away, but you felt weak. The snowy whisps of his white hair swayed as he scooped you up and brushed the hair from your forehead. You flinched away from him. As you looked up incredulously at him to question his inappropriate behavior, your eyes caught the scar running along his forehead.

“Everything is okay,” he murmured, but the voice wasn’t comforting, it was confusing as it fell upon your ringing ears. “I’m here, my love.”

The term snapped you from your chance, the murmuring and shuffling around the two of you coming at you in full force as if you’d just come up from underwater. Staring unblinkingly at the man before you, you watched as his piercing, blue eyes drooped softly and uncharacteristically into a haunting stare that was so unmistakably—

“Yuta?”

Following the closure of the grueling culling games, most sorcerers were granted substantial time to rest, and both you and Go— Yuta, were unarguably granted as well. After what you’d seen, what Yuta had subjected himself to for the sake of everyone’s safety, there was a quiet understanding that the pair needed time to adjust to one another again— to heal. As you walked into your shared apartment with the unfamiliar body behind you though, you couldn’t help but gulp down the lump in your throat.

Relieved wasn’t the sufficient word to use to describe how you felt upon learning Yuta was still alive. Granted, he was certainly alive in a very different way than he had been previously— but his soul was still with you. He was still there. Still, the anxiety and grief was eating you alive. You had seen his corpse, seen his lifeless eyes staring back at you. Yet you were still expected to latch onto him once again, resume your bond as if it hadn’t already been irreparably changed. It made you feel selfish— being so uncomfortable by the means by which he remained alive. You wouldn’t say it to him, not after all that he’d been through and the selfless way he sacrificed so much for his peers.

The door of your shared apartment shut behind you. A soft sigh of relief left you. When you last exited this familiar apartment, the two of you were unsure if you’d ever return to it again. A lone tear slipped down your cheek as Yuta set his katana against the wall and came up to grasp at your shoulders. His grip was firm— firmer than you ever remember it being. Feeling the tension in your muscles, he rubbed soft circles into them.

“You want me to start a shower for you, love?” He offered in that unfamiliar voice, his cheek grazing yours as he leaned down to meet your ear. Unable to speak, you simply nodded. With a soft kiss against your temple, he made his way down the hall and disappeared into your shared bathroom. The distance eased some of the pressure building in your chest, and you leaned back to rest against the wall.

How could this ever go back to normal? Gojo was a man who had watched your love grow together from the moment the both of you were introduced as mere teenagers. He’d given a horribly anxious Yuta advice on how to talk to you, given him money to take you on a nice first date before the boy had received his first stipend from the school. And now— now you were expected to live with him, to wake up to him every morning, make love to him. He wasn’t a stranger, but in a sense of closeness and intimacy, your body saw him as just that.

With a shaky sigh, you pushed off of the wall when you heard the shower running. Entering the bathroom with your towel folded over your arms, the steam from the shower enveloped you like a warm blanket. It invited you to wash away all the atrocities you’d faced in the past weeks. You placed your towel on the sink, but your pre-shower routine was cut short when you felt fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt to pull it up. A startled gasp escaped you, and you whipped around to face Yuta. He abruptly halted his attempts to undress you, staring at you with wide eyes. Much to your mortification, he was naked.

“Oh—” You stuttered out, staring up at the ceiling, at the wall behind him, anywhere but him. “Sorry. You— you can shower first.”

Yuta stopped you with a soft hand on your wrist as you moved to exit the bathroom. You were stiff before him, flinching away just barely noticeable as your arm made contact with his bare chest.

“Hey,” he said softly with a chuckle. It sounded a bit forced though— he sounded scared. “It’s just me, love. You can— you can look at me.”

Your head was still turned away from him as he pulled you closer against the stranger’s body, leaning down to press a delicate kiss against your cheek. Your eyes drifted and were met with your reflection in the mirror, wrapped up in the arms of Satoru Gojo. Following your gaze, his icy blue eyes met yours in the reflection. As if recognizing the apprehension in your expression, his face dropped a bit. Your heart clenched guiltily.

“S’okay,” Yuta attempted a nonchalant laugh, his strong arms loosening their grip on you. He gulped down the nausea that began to stir within him along with the pang of rejection. “Umm… I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you pick out a movie for us to watch, yeah? We’ve probably missed out on a bunch.”

With a soft nod and forced smile, you couldn’t have exited that small bathroom quick enough.

Time. You just needed some time.

Following your own, mind numbingly relaxing shower, you made sure to dry off and dress in the safe confines of the bathroom. You smiled softly at the feeling of the fluffy rug against your toes as you stepped into your very missed room. Yuta was already under the covers, remote in hand as he read the description of the movie you’d picked out. He was chewing absentmindedly at his bottom lip, a habit you’d never seen Gojo partake in before. It made you smile softly— something that was uniquely Yuta still shining through. His gaze snapped toward you while you stood hesitantly on the side of the bed. Smiling warmly, he opened up the blanket on your side of the bed in invitation, a faint glimmer of hope sparkling in his blue eyes.

“Yu, this shirt is…” Your comment drifted as you fingered at the tshirt spread too tightly across his broad chest. It clung to his bulging arms unnaturally, straining against the muscles.

A blush painted his pale cheeks, and you were once again put off by seeing the innocent expression on the face before you. He smiled sheepishly, looking down at himself.

“I know. None of my stuff really fits me anymore.” He explained bashfully, reaching up to scratch his head awkwardly. “Guess that means we can go shopping, and you can pick out all my clothes like you always wanted to, huh?”

You giggled softly at the idea. Truthfully, you were grateful he’d put the shirt on despite its tight fit. For the past few days, he didn’t even smell like himself anymore. But now, as you timidly shuffled closer to him and buried your head into his chest, you were able to inhale the lingering scent left behind by his previous body. It was the only thing keeping you huddled closely to his new one that night.

You dreamt of him that night— the old him. He was wrapped around you, his grip merciless as he clung onto you, as if you might float away. When you turned to look at him, the sight of his big, warm, puppy dog eyes filled your chest with butterflies. You recognized the scene, it was the first time you’d tended to him following a mission. Both of you unaware of the other’s feelings, timid in the way you brushed against one another, hyper aware of every breath and stare. As you dapped the alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek, his shaky hands came up to grip innocently onto your waist. In truth, though you teased him relentlessly for it, he really just didn’t know what to do with his hands in the moment. When he saw the way your face burned under his touch, something had shifted between you— an understanding.

Your head burrowed deeper into the pillow below you as you were pulled from your slumber by the heavy hole in your chest. The arm strewn across your waist tighter around you, drawing you closer as he hummed. You smiled softly at the sound of him awakening. Shifting to catch a glimpse of those warm eyes that had just been plaguing your dreams, you were ripped from your trance. A startled yelp escaped you, sending you flying to the other end of the bed at the sight of the electric blue eyes staring back at you. In response, Yuta jumped out of bed with a start, staring at you in bewilderment.

“I— I’m sorry,” you cried breathlessly, not even feeling it when tears began to fall down your face. It was as if you could hear his heart break as he watched you. Running a trembling hand across your damp face, you attempted to calm your breathing. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s not your fault, I just—”

“You need time.” He finished softly for you.

For the following weeks, Yuta slept on the couch of your shared living room. It made you feel awful, coming out every morning to see him twisted uncomfortably on the furniture that was far too small to hold him in this form. You insisted that it should be you sleeping on it, given it was you who was so startled by the arrangement, but he refused to even hear of it. He said he’s always found the couch comfortable, but you knew that was about four inches and fifty pounds of muscle ago.

With the guilt knawing away at you, you made every effort to adjust to the dramatic change. The two of you watched your usual television shows on the couch together every night before he’d give you a longing goodnight kiss on the cheek and forehead. He never pushed you for more. You had just begun feeling somewhat comfortable enough to press quick, timid kisses on his lips every now and again, and he relished in each and every one of them like a man starved. It was evident in the way his eyes remained close and his lips chased yours each time you’d pull away.

He really did mean it when he said he wanted you to go shopping with him. After one too many ripped pants and boxer briefs in the trash, you insisted it be sooner rather than later. His wispy hair did a good enough job concealing the fading scar across his forehead while you two stepped out in public for the first time again. Being out of the stuffy apartment helped to ease the underlying tension that had grown between you. Yuta was making you laugh, charming you with his sheepish jokes and shy charisma— the type only he could pull off. It was good for you. You two walked from store to store, and you felt his pinky finger graze hesitantly against yours.

Looking up at him, you found his blue orbs already focused on you. They were wide, hopeful— asking for permission. Smiling softly at him, you silently carded your hand into his large one. It felt foreign, but the wide, excited smile that he tried to conceal seemed to mask any apprehension that bubbled within you. For the remainder of the day, Yuta walked with more confidence in his stride, pulling you giddily along with him wherever his attention drew him to.

It was a much needed break from the awkward push and pull you two had found yourselves in. So, when you returned to the apartment that night, you were almost scared to break that bubble. The two of you fell into your new routine, regarding each other friendly, showering separately. You were just gathering your things when he emerged from the bathroom, a towel hung loosely around his waist. Quickly averting your gaze, you muttered an apology as you attempted to step past him.

“Hey,” he called softly, stepping to the side to block you from entering the restroom. You felt his fingers clutch your chin and turn you to face him. His platinum hair clung to his face, droplets of water spilling onto his chiseled face. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sight. An amused smile fell easily on his lips. “You haven’t blushed like this looking at me since we were in high school.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, envious on the way he seemed to be unable to find the insanity of the situation. His damp hand ran down the side of your neck, creeping over your shoulder and arm until he grasped one of your hands in his. His intense gaze stayed focused on you as he brought your hand up to place on his chest, softly running it down his abdomen.

“I want you to… be comfortable with me again. Be able to look at me again.” He mumbled, his chest beginning to rise and fall more dramatically at the sensation of your hands exploring him once again. You gulped, your fingers catching on the scar that circled all the way across his stomach, sides, and back. It made you tear away from your hesitation, finally allowing yourself to look down at his sculpted body. You circled your finger tentatively around the jagged scar, your other hand creeping up to test the waters in feeling the wet ripples of his abs. Yuta seemed to tremble under your touch, a soft moan falling from his lips at the sensation. It snapped you from your haze. It felt wrong, hearing Gojo’s voice like this, thinking of his body in such a way. You withdrew your hands from him.

“Time.” you quickly reminded him, refocusing your gaze on his face again. His lips were parted, eyes half lidded but blown out with a lustful haze. You darted past him and into the bathroom, hearing him repeat it breathlessly as you closed the door.

“Time.”

You were still a bit shaken up when you exited your shower, pacing the room pensively as you clung to your towel. Looking around, you noticed the small, discarded pile of Yuta’s old shirts that he’d likely just removed from his drawers to make room for his new ones. You smiled fondly at the sight. Picking one up, you brought it up to your face and inhaled deeply. Though evidently fading, his smell still clung to it. It was faint though, so faint that it made your eyes water as you clutched desperately at the material. He was slipping away, every part of him, and all you could do was watch as each bit was replaced. Shoving the discarded shirts into your own drawer for safe keeping, you shed your towel and slipped one over your head before climbing into bed, relishing in the soft, familiar smell that graced your senses.

After a moment or so, there was a gentle knock at the door. Yuta poked his head in and smiled hesitantly at you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted softly, stepping fully into the dim room. “I just… I wanted to say goodnight to you. You okay?”

You nodded with a sad smile, blinking rapidly to stop more tears from manifesting in your traitorous eyes. Humming softly, he sat on the edge of the bed and grasped your head between his large hands before leaning in to press a gentle kiss against each eye.

“Goodnight, my love. I love you always.”

You couldn’t stop the silent sob that wracked your body as he turned to return to the living room for the night. It was pathetic, the way you continued to mourn for the man sat just outside your grasp. Just moments ago, you stood in tears, willing him not to slip away, yet you were allowing just that.

“Yuta?” Your meek voice made him turn around in question. “Can you… can you come to bed?”

His face lit up the dark room, moonlight illuminating the way his blue eyes seemed to spark at your request.

“Y-Yes, yeah!” He stammered out, looking around eagerly. The man seemed to trip over his own legs as he made his way to the door, holding a reaffirming hand out in front of him. “Hold on, I’m gonna grab my pillows— don’t move!”

Even through your tears, you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he still didn’t seem to have full control over his new body yet— at least not when he was buzzing with the excitement of a teenage boy. Just seconds later, he barreled back into the room, slamming the door behind him and eagerly jumping into his side of the bed. The both of you giggled at the way the bed creaked under his sudden weight. As the laughter subsided, he stared breathlessly at you, eyes gleaming.

“Do you think it’d be okay if I held you tonight?”

Your lips began to tremble at the pained vulnerability in his timid request. Without answering, you scooted closer to him, and he quickly opened his arms for you to tuck yourself against his chest. His chest heaved with a sigh of relief at the feeling of holding you close again. All too soon, he felt his eyes begin to droop despite his burning desire to stay awake and just be with you for a little longer. You were both fast asleep within seconds.

With his old shirt and scent wrapped around your frame, your subconscious couldn’t help but manifest him just as it had remembered him. Again, it was a familiar scene— the night before you two left your apartment for the final time. Before— what happened to him. His dark hair hung lazily over his face as he desperately grinded into you. A gasp over took you at the feeling of him entering you. Your fingernails raked mercilessly across his chest, squeezing the firm slab of muscle there. Yuta whined at the soft stinging that accompanied this action, but it only spurred him on. He wanted to mold himself to you, become one with your body. You helplessly moaned out his name.

Back in reality, beside you, Yuta was stirred from his own peaceful slumber by your shallow, whiny breaths. Your body practically trembled against him, your fingers grasping at the arm that circled your waist.

“Yuta.” Your soft moan filled his ears, making all the blood in his body rush down to the uncharted territory below his waistband. The manner in which you writhed desperately against him did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his pants. Gulping roughly, he allowed his hand to wander from your thigh up to your side, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt— his shirt. It was the only thing donned on that trembling body of yours save for your underwear. You looked ethereal with the barely risen, morning sun kissing at your supple skin. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, dragging his lips down to peck and lap aimlessly at your neck. You arched into him, rousing from your sleep with a gentle moan of his name.

“Yeah?” The man mumbled against the back of your neck, gently rutting into your ass from behind you. The wandering hand that had slipped up your shirt grazed over the lush skin of your breast before squeezing it gently between his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips. “Let me take care of you, my love, hm?”

You could only nod breathlessly, and, in an instant, he disappeared under the covers, eagerly shifting you onto your back. Typically, Yuta was a soft, gentle lover— slow in his care for your body. He loved taking his time with you, savoring each sound he could pull from you with each inch of skin he explored. Now though, as he found himself face to face with one of his favorite parts of you for the first time in weeks, he had no patience.

Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he shoved his face into your clothed core. A high strung moan ripped up your chest and out your throat as he mouthed lazily over you for a while, wetting the already damp fabric with his drool. Getting tired of the damned barrier, he wanted to taste you for real. In hasty motions, he ripped your underwear down your legs before settling against his breakfast once again.

“Yuta!” You gasped, face reddening with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. He moaned against you at the sound of his name falling from your lips again. His hips involuntarily rutted against the mattress, but he stopped himself. This was about you.

Your fingers trembled, making their way under the sheets to grip his hair firmly. His head swayed side to side as he ravished you, drinking up everything you were willing to give him. Your hips bucked up to grind against his face, making the sheet fall down his back. Looking down, you were met with the sight of Satoru Gojo between your legs, lapping lewdly at your sensitive core as if it gave him life itself, as if it made the sun and the moon and brought all the stars to the night sky.

His eyes opened upon feeling your gaze on him. Those piercing blue eyes that you were becoming so accustomed to regarded you with a deep lust, a carnal desire that had your release creeping up your toes, into your legs and torso, to the very center of your mind.

No, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t come undone like this. It was so wrong, and you felt as though some part of you was betraying Yuta, despite the fact that he was the very man currently worshiping you with his tongue. You partly wondered if he knew what was going through your head right now, watching as his brows suddenly furrowed and his grip on your thighs tightened with a newfound determination. With a harsh, loud suck to your clit, his gaze demanded to be met as you tipped over the edge. Your back arched up with a deafening cry, all the while Yuta’s lips hungrily laid open mouthed kissed against your core as you came down. He caught your clit gently between his lips, pulling at it a fraction before releasing it.

You were gasping for breath, trying to catch yourself before you passed out in an overwhelmed haze. Yuta licked a final, loving stripe up your folds before peppering kisses up your trembling body. Sliding a hand under the arch of your back, he abruptly sat you up with a strength unfamiliar to you. You landed atop his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to catch yourself before you fell back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whimpered, capturing your lips against his desperately. They were still wet from their assault against you. Between rushed kisses, he gasped out against your lips. “So beautiful, my love. You’re everything to me.”

You moaned against him at the sound of his familiar praises, pressing your chest against his. He broke from you for barely a millisecond, tossing his shirt over his head before grappling for you once again. His hands found their natural place on your waist, gripping firmly as he brought you down to grind against his straining manhood. Gasping at the sensation of your folds sliding against his thick length, you reached up to grasp at the ends of his hair as you always did. It hit you then, as your fingers grazed the slowly growing hairs of an undercut, that you were about to make love to someone else. Breaking from him with a gasp, you looked at the man before you. His eyes were practically glowing, drinking you in in a manner that told you his thoughts were positively filthy at the present. Closing them once again, he chased your lips with a determined hand against your jaw. You flinched away. Slowly opening his eyes again, he watched in horror as you climbed off of his lap and stood from the bed, looking around for a pair of shorts.

“W-Wait!” Yuta gaped, practically tripping over himself to follow you out of the bedroom.

You pretended not to hear the desperate confusion in his tone, pretended it didn’t squeeze at your chest with guilt. Opening the fridge, you busied yourself grabbing ingredients to make you two a quick breakfast. He called out your name softly, dejected. Bracing yourself, you glanced back at him. His massive frame was hunched in on itself, and his eyes looked so hurt you could practically shoot yourself in the foot for being the cause of it.

“What are you doing?” Yuta breathed quietly, watching as you spread all the ingredients onto the counter.

“I’m making omelets. You want cheese on yours?” You asked over your shoulder, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet for mixing.

“What? No, I—” He could feel the irritation rising in his chest, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. Stepping closer so he was right behind you, he grasped your wrist softly to halt your rushed movements. “Baby, I miss you.”

“I’m right here, Yu.” You whispered, unable to meet his unwavering gaze. You heard him sigh in frustration at your response.

“No, love,” he pleaded, grasping your hips to press you roughly against the ever present bulge in his sweatpants. Releasing a shaky breath, he snaked a hand across your collarbone before lining it with hot kisses. “I miss you.”

“Yuta,” you protested, slipping away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I just need—”

“Time?” He cried out, tears welling up in his sad, wide eyes. “You can take all of my time— have all of it! But please just— please look me in the eyes and tell me I’ll still get you back at the end of it.”

“I’m trying!” You sobbed, smacking at his bare chest. He took it all without so much as a flinch. “I’m trying but every time I look at you all I can see is—”

“I’m not Gojo! I’m right here, I’m me. Look at me!”

“Well I don’t recognize you anymore, Yuta!”

His response got caught in his throat. Those glittering blue, six eyes watched as you fell to the floor, clutching your hands to your face. Gentle sobs shook your frame as you curled in on yourself. Yuta stood before you, unsure if touching you would be helpful or not right now.

“I saw your body, Yuta. Your head was split open. Your eyes were lifeless! I accepted that you were dead!” You felt a hesitant hand come down on your back. He slowly sat beside you on the floor. “And then you come back, and you have a new face, a new voice, you even smell different. You’re bigger and you’re stronger, and you’re not my Yuta anymore, okay? You wanted everything to go back to normal but it’s not.”

“I just… I don’t see Yuta anymore.”

Both of you agreed that you needed some time apart that day. Yuta insisted that you be the one to stay home, but you convinced him that you needed time outside of the apartment.

You found yourself in front of Shoko, who regarded you with surprise at your sudden request.

“I want to see his body.”

She blinked a few times at you, slowly. Not even Yuta himself had bothered asking what it was that they did with his body. When he came to, the only thing that was on his mind was the overwhelming relief that he’d be able to come back to you. As the healer looked over your bloodshot eyes, and the dried tears on your face as you clutched at the old t-shirt covering you, she understood what you really needed.

You blinked down at the simple grave before you. It was large, marbled and domed. It had Gojo’s name on it.

“Is this some sort of joke?” You asked breathily, your brows furrowing in anger. A fiery glare was shot in the direction of the woman standing beside you. “Where is his body?”

“Right in front of you.”

“Then why isn’t his name on here?”

“Because Yuta Okkotsu isn’t dead.” Shoko stated flatly, eyes steady on you. “Satoru Gojo is.”

The words sank into your soul as you slowly looked back up at the name etched onto the grave. It was the name of the man you were sure you had been betraying your lover with for a month. Yuta— his former body rested here, but no one mourned for him here. No, this is where they came to mourn Satoru Gojo. You were the only one who had ever mourned for Yuta.

“Satoru Gojo is dead, and the man waiting for you at home loves you— no matter the flesh that wraps his soul.”

You cried the whole way home, but, this time, your tears weren’t being shed in mourning. Rather, they fell down your face in hot streams of guilt. Yuta had been so understanding, so patient with you. He had gone through so much, lost his body, lost his mentor, his friend. The only thing he asked in return was to live the rest of his life with you once again— and you couldn’t look past the flesh attached to his kind heart.

Slowly creaking open the door of your apartment, there was music flowing softly through the air of your shared apartment. Over the rhythm, you could hear the clashing of pots and the clinking of utensils. There was a faint smell of smoke filling the room as well. Shutting the door behind you, you cautiously made your way to the kitchen, gaze melting at the scene before you.

There was an apron tied haphazardly around Yuta’s waist. It was too small on him— straining against his broad, muscular chest. The smell of smoke seemed to be coming from the large pot that was practically vibrating on the stovetop, angrily hissing at the chef, who was too distracted trying to set a pair of plates and cutlery neatly on the small dining table. He was cursing under his breath, white eyebrows pulled up and together in a concerned, puppy-dog like stare. You giggled from behind your hand. His head shot up at the sound.

“No, babe— gah!” Your lover was cut off as he tried to grab the lid off the top of the smoking pot before abruptly dropping it, seemingly burned from its hot surface. It clattered against the stove noisily. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet— shit!”

He paced the length of the kitchen, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet as he ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. The mannerisms— they were so undeniably Yuta Okkotsu. Smiling fondly, you stepped forward to turn the stove off, making him grumble in disapproval.

“I-I was trying to make us pilau.” He pouted, those wide, puppy dog eyes taking in the sight of you. Despite the commotion you had walked into, he was relieved that you came back to him.

“Yeah?” You questioned with an amused smile, reaching behind him to untie the apron from his back and pulling it over his head. Your hands replaced the ties around his neck, pulling him down toward you. It was gonna take you a while to adjust to this sudden, more exaggerated height difference. “What happened to you not burning it this time?”

The pale skin of his neck and cheeks flushed under your intense gaze, making him chuckle nervously. It was evident in the tentative manner he slid his hands around your waist that he was unsure of what you’d be comfortable with.

“Are you gonna come down here, or are you gonna make you climb all six feet of you?”

His Adam’s Apple bobbed against his taut neck, a boyish grin spreading across his lips as he shook his head.

“I have a better idea.”

In one quick motion, he squatted down to grab the backs of your thighs and toss them high around his waist. You gasped at the abrupt motion, clinging around his chest like a spider monkey. He wasn’t even holding onto you as he began walking the both of you to your room. No, his hands were instead grasped on the sides of your head, pulling you into him for a desperate kiss. Shutting the door behind him with his foot, he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, your comparably smaller frame still attached to him.

You fell slowly into his lap, biting at his lips with an unanticipated fervor. Your hands grazed under the hem of his shirt, palms freely exploring the planes of his chest and shoulders. He whimpered under your delicate touch, breaking away from you only to allow you to pull the fabric off of him. Pushing back on his firm shoulders, he fell back against the bed with a huff, watching with bated breath as you kissed each inch of new skin you were presented with. You wanted to commit him to memory— learn the new ways to make him gasp and whimper in that way only Yuta could pull off. As you traversed down his abdomen, he reached down and yanked the hem of your loose shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of your bare chest that he’d missed so much.

Just as your lips grazed the hem of his sweatpants, he sat up abruptly to stop you.

“No, I can’t— I just need you right now.” He rasped, grasping at your waist to toss you down onto the bed.

“Jesus, Yu!” You gasped as your body bounced with the impact. He grinned sheepishly at you as he stumbled out of his sweats before crawling over your body.

“I’m sorry… not used to it yet.” He apologized before grazing his hand over your clothed core, sighing pathetically at the wetness that met his digits. Your teeth were clashing together as the two of you sloppily kissed each other— a bundle of gasps and moans. He molded himself against you as he dragged your soiled panties down your legs before standing up to remove his boxers. You tried not to stare— you really did. The last thing you wanted him to think was that you found his previous parts insufficient. Lord help you though, because— now? Yuta was massive. Watching your apprehensive expression as you took in his new, bare body, he grabbed your hips.

“Come here.” He commanded gently, easily lifting you up to sit on his lap. You both gasped as your core bumped against his painfully hard length. It was a bit embarrassing— the way he was able to wrap one arm around your waist to hold you up as the other gripped his length. The thought of all the different ways he could use this newfound strength sent bubbling excitement straight down to your core. “Take what you can, pretty girl.”

His compassionate words, even as he had you hovered over his desperately touch deprived cock warmed your heart. You nodded wordlessly, mouth falling open as he slowly lowered you onto him. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cope with the slow burning sensation that filled your core as he unconsciously bucked up into you. Before long, you were fully sheathed over his weeping member.

A long whine fell from his lips as your ass met his thighs. The sound was deeper than his usual, pitchy moans that you’d come to love, and it made a heat spread through your chest. You shifted to adjust your thighs in order to begin moving against him, desperate for any sort of friction after the long period of waiting for you to adjust to his new size, but he stopped you. Large hands came up to grip under your ass, lifting you up with ease to grind you against his already twitching length.

“Allow me, my love.”

Okay, maybe you could get used to this Yuta.

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blank-slate-jay · 7 days ago

Text

Be My Guest

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Male!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: The opening of the Junk Joint a week prior, while being the talk of the town, has you invested in finally attending. The big question was where Stack wanted to take the night with you as a guest.

Tags: Black!Reader, SMUT (18+), Oral (reader receiving) Riding (reader receiving), Kissing, Praising, Teasing, Drinking/Alcohol, Established Relationship(s), Subtle Flirting, Hints at Interalized Homophobia, reader is 20+, n word used

A/N: Was not expecting the other one to well, thank you’ll for the support. Here’s another one that’s a bit more lengthy and has smut, with a narrative. This was supposed to be short, but hey, here’s a long one for ya’ll. Can be read as a follow-up to my last fic or as one shot! Enjoy!

Dusk falls, and the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon moments before your arrival.

A group of co-workers, a few acquaintances, were generous enough to provide a ride, perhaps equally as interested to see the whole Juke Joint excitement was all about. You knew where you were, you’d be holding out hope you’d get an opportunity to visit after work. However, you were either exhausted or had other important matters relating to family or future plans.

You felt awful not being there, especially since the twins paid your boss a visit a week back, talking about renovations. The twins directly informed you that you were more than welcome to come; moreso insisting. Smoke had come by to grab additional materials two days prior; you of course aiding him in filling up his vehicle. He didn’t say it then, or even hint at it, but you felt his questions regarding your absence during opening night were more than likely on Stack’s accord over himself.

It wasn’t that you and Stack were on bad terms, but your relationship was definitely up in the air. You felt that they believed you were mad at them, Stack specifically. If Smoke was asking, then you wondered how much intel the older twin had in your relationship. It’d be impossible to decipher but you gave him the same answer, ‘I’ll be there, when I’m free.’

Well, better late than ever.

Upon arrival, you fix up your shirt as you exit the ford, tucking them into your jeans neatly. The perimeter was littered with parked vehicles, more than you were expecting at the hour.

An acquaintance of yours patted your back, making his way to the entrance much like your whole crew of co-workers. You follow after a moment to ponder the exterior; a warehouse. It was quite a building to host a special place, but you weren’t complaining. Upon the doorframe, you greet a tall man who happily welcomed you joyfully.

Entering, the music from outside became clear, the bright lights from red to yellow, and the number of guests caught you quite off guard. You might’ve even considered yourself in awe by how thoughtfully well put together everything was, even with so many people dancing and maneuvering about along the walls, in rooms, some thought was put into the layout.

Your critical brain stirs coming to a halt when you notice a second to late the tap on your shoulder; Sammie.

“You made it,”

“Sam”, you embrace him in a quick hug. “Damn I was not expecting ya here. Over church?”

He huffs, “Yeah, not supposed to but…the people here love me. So..”

You hum, looking to his guitar’s headstock by his shoulder, comfortably strapped to his back, “Is it because you play now?”. He nods with a sheepish grin. “Look at ya! I’m tellin’ ya that talent will take you places.”

“Tryin’, you know.”

You nod, eyes drawn to the crowd. It was quite busy, overwhelmingly so, which you should’ve expected by the cars, very capable of carrying more than two people. “I'm gonna grab a drink, eh, where’s the…?”

“Counter’s this way, come” he informs you, leading the way.

You follow him, subconsciously looking out for a red hat, “You know where the twins are?”

“No, but Smoke’s usually up there,” he points up, and your eyes trace to the short upper floor above. “As for Stack, I ain’ sure. Saw them both earlier.”

You follow, still looking out for either one of them as you scoot by an occupied poker room, and dining space. Sammie leads you to a fairly large counter, he places down two dimes, “Mrs. Chow, one please for my hard-working brother.”

She nods, getting to work on her mixing. You scuff, sliding into a stool, watching her effortlessly prepare your drink in under ten seconds. “Thank you.” You take a sip, muffling to yourself. “You want a drink?”

“No. Gotta keep myself sober.”

“Ah, don’ wanna lose that spark, I get you” you tease, taking a long sip. “I’ll be sure to owe you, Sam. Keep me to it.”

He shook his head, snickering, “Just don’t get fried, could get you thrown out.”

You nod, partially taking in his consideration. He brings up, how he’s been thinking about traveling, which piques your interest. The conversation was quite engaging, Sam’s passion clearly yearning to break from the constraints of his father’s church. Soon you both were interrupted, an arm slinging over your shoulder; similarly for Sammie.

The man, Slack, leans in between the two of you, “How are we doing today? Sam?”

“Well enough,” the boy replied. Stack tilts to you, “And you?”

“Doin’ much better.”

“Stack, them boys back there are causing trouble earlier”, Mrs.Chow points across the open hall.

“Don’t you worry Mrs. Chow,” Stack whistles toward his brother, where you finally see Smoke just across the room, “We’ll keep the peace, no ruckus goes unheard.” He circles you, leaning against the counter and inquiring for a drink of his own. Stack states your last name, “So decided to show up, no excuse this time?”

“Yeah. I actually have time.”

“So you ain’ got other plans?”

“Nope. Not today, Stack.”

The twin takes a quick spit, looking at Sammie who was glancing between the two of you as if he’s intruding. Sammie stands, “Remember”, he reinforces to you, heading off elsewhere. Right, don't get too drunk. If you’d take that to heart, it’d be a smart move to follow Sammie; far away from Stack. You couldn’t, Stack was staring at you, expecting something more than a short response.

“You know, Stack, if I'd make you feel better, I plan to stay as long as I’m allowed.” Slack nods, “Or until one of my co-workers is ready to leave, they drop me here.”

“Nah, I got you on that,” your eyebrows raise by a slim, “Of course if you’re stayin’, I could drive you back. Free of charge.”

Your lips parted, “Free, I’m honored.”

“So what’ll be? Three hours and I’ll take you back.”

Oh boy, here comes the talking business. It always slithers its way into conversations, somehow. That fact that he was using it against you of all people was comical, you play along. “Two hours and thirty minutes”

“Two hours and fifty.”

“Drop it to forty.”

Stack bites his lip, “Two hours and forty five. Strike a deal now you get yourself a free drink.”

You take a last sip of your drink, looking about momentarily, shaking your head. He’s good at that.

His smirk grew, “Deal?”

You stare into his eyes, seeing if he’d give you some leeway. Who were you kidding, you were playing within his ballpark, his speciality; there was no winning or upholding Sammie’s remark. You turn, placing the glass down, “Deal.”

Stack queues Mrs.Chow for your second glass. You take it with exaggerated eagerness. He sips his glass as you do, sealing your agreement. Staring back at him you wonder how on earth someone like himself could even manage to retain the glint in his eyes after spending time in the army. He was likely good at hiding it under his formal attire and talkative persona. You couldn’t believe he of all people would have you in a fix.

—

The two of you spent the night fairly close, as close as what gave no clear hints, dancing fairly close but nothing beyond what close friends would do; some occasional hand grabs came that you wished lasted longer. You just really didn’t want trouble, nor hard stares, just a calm night is all you could ask for. With any commotion, you were sure it would result in Smoke, Stack, or the big guy by the entry chucking them out. But you didn’t want to be the one responsible for stirring up the night. This notion became difficult with every performance, the singers bringing out the energy you needed to last the night.

You and the crowd give a huge ‘whoraw’ as another song comes to a conclusion, raising your third glass head high. By that point, you were through with drinking. With one hand on Stack’s back, you release, whereas his arms over your shoulder stay put. “Phew, I’m done. No more for me. I don’ wanna lose myself.”

Stack chuckles, “Good,” he takes the cup from your hand finishing it for you. “I most certainly don’ want to see you any other way. So many fine folk in here, but you-?”

You felt your cheeks get warm at the implication. You playfully push him off, flattered and a tad bit embarrassed. He follows you where you lean up against a pole, hands in your pockets. “You're talkin' drunk”.

“Now, that very well may be, but I assure you, it ain' a lie”.

"Speak for yourself." you whisper, drawn back to the stage, people cheering as the performance, two ladies, took everyone's attention. You weren't familiar with the song, but the startup had a low rhythm, perfect for dancing in groove with someone.

Watching pairs get together, swarming in front of the stage as the singers began, "Come on folks, get on in, don' be a stinker!" Her long dragged out hum was definitely the beginning to a groovy song that someone who wasn't into dancing could get involved.

Your eyes draw to Stack, who was glancing over at his brother, seemingly urging him and his significant other, who you believed was Annie, to jump in. Smoke almost looked as if he was about to do the same thing, but Annie was already dragging the cigar out his mouth and the two were off to join the main crowd.

Stack and you dancing, in a pair, you were sure that wasn't gonna happen. Noted was his silence as well, both sharing a mutual understanding of your relationship. Even then, he slowly tilts toward you.

With your lips pursed to the side, you change your attitude, keeping your tone upbeat, "I'mma go wash up." Stack nods, watching you walk off.

You spent a little too much time in the restroom, cleansing your fingers. Some part of you certainly wanted a break from the noise, as well as the unfortunate circumstances.

It wouldn’t be long, five minutes, a guest comes knocking as expected. You dry up and come out rather quickly, to appease him.

Returning to where Stack was stationed, surprisingly he was missing. You look around, shifting through the crowd coming up short. By surprise, a hand, Stack's hand grips your shoulders, leading you forward.

You curse, which gets a snarky laugh out of him. "Tried to scare me?"

His grin grew, pushing you ahead, "Come on, now. Takin’ your sweet time in there, we’re gonna miss it." Miss it? You let him lead you with no further inquiry about the Joint, stopping at a door, he checks to make sure no one's inside before nudging you to step in first.

You do so, entering the room filled with nothing but a few crates, bags, and cabinets. A click has you turning to face the most devious shit eating grin you've seen out of him before.

Almost immediately he’s pulling you into him. One hand intertwined with yours, the other slipping behind your pits. Not once did your brows return to level.

“Stack. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply, he just casually sways in sync with the music, muffled but still very much audible. You huff, his quietness unusual. You sync up with his slow movement, keeping your gaze between his eyes and his shirt’s collar.

Although he wasn’t speaking, his eyes were doing all the talking. For once, you could say a silent moment with Stack no less, was very much appreciated, just getting to share a moment as one freely in peace. You wish you could’ve gotten more moments like it, but his endeavors in Chicago and you being you, prevented any quality time.

“You like slow music, or do you like some groove,” he jokes, shaking his hips.

“Either or. Whichever one gets you doin’ what that old man was doin’.”, you mention.

Stack brows rose, “You talkin’ bout that old crook? He’s been flauntin’ about like that ever since the Grand Opening.”

You bite your tongue, “He was havin’ fun.”

“You sure he was? Cause I thought a nigga was about to run our joint dry.”

You snort, leaning into him, “He wasn’t that bad.”

“I can assure you. That you haven’ seen the worst of him.”

You peel back, chuckling with him for a moment. Your eyes fell to Stack’s curved lips. Of course, he tries playing you up, voice lowering, “It’s quiet in here”.

You acknowledge that fact, a sign to let yourself lose, pulling him into your lips. You both spent the first couple of kisses, hovering inches from each other's lips, as if some force was stopping you both. It wasn't until Stack pulls you in further and kept the gap between the two of you closed.

Tingles shoot up your back as you lean back ever so slightly; only giving Stack a chase to keep you from pulling far from him. You didn't think you've kissed anyone is good as Stack, pinpointing how or why seemed fairly intuitive, his more sensual pecks were far beyond any of the other men who were practically trying to ravage your face. With him, it felt he had planned each kiss that was now moving up the side of your face.

Stack weight, had the you backing into a wall. Trapped and pinned, your neediness took over, lips going for his neck. Stack's head shooting back, "God yes," he growls, his fingers slipping in his collar to loosen it. His weight didn't let up, his hands stuck against the wall on either side of you. "Right there," he hums, "Yeah, baby...keep going."

You feel yourself getting flushed, licking the same spot, followed up by groans that made it harder to keep your groin from feeling any less tighter. Your fingers slither down his back, scraping the vest's fabric, pulling his pelvis against yours; getting a groan out of you as well.

Stack’s hips grind, your face buried deep in his neck, his scent palpable; familiar. The distant music, muffled, ends with cheers from beyond the walls, bringing your senses back.

It was a mistake, with Stack tilting your head up, and going right for your throat; your Adam’s apple stinging. A yelp escaped you, too loud for comfort, you grip his wrist tightly, attempting to calm yourself. “Damn…”, Stack’s soft bites were asphyxiating; both in a good and bad way.

The walls were thick, enough, and the music was loud along with the people. But no-one would hear, right?

“What do you want, handsome,” he asked with a low hum that tickles your skin.

“I want…?”, you huff, a stronger bite tainting you. “I want ya to get in me.”

“You clean?” You nod, with a dubious smile, “Attaboy,” his accent ran sharp, “Oh, I knew you had it in you.”

Stack backs up, undoing his red vest, looking over you yet again as you unveil your flannel. Your black tank stayed on, but your jeans and underwear were pushed aside. He loses his tie, his undergarments thrown off, as he sits atop of a sturdy crate.

You were hard, but his was ready for you. He motions for you, and shifts it around. You happily oblige. One knee on the wooden floor, you knelt down enough for you to take in the tip. He seems to like that, how you swirl around his tip. His hand flew to your head, gently pushing it down.

Up and down, rinse and repeat. You bob your head constantly, taking in his shaky breaths as queues to either speed up or slow down. He tasted just so natural.

“More spit baby,” he says stroking your cheek. You apply a good string or two, spreading it from his tip to his balls. You weren’t even going to question if he could fit into you, all that mattered was ensuring it’d be easy. Stack knew what he was doing, allegedly, no, he likely does know. All the sweet talking he does, you were certain he’s fucked around more than enough.

He tilts your head up, wiping up any remnants of saliva from the corner of your lips. His pupils pull you in, more than his strong hands, until you're hovering over his lap; standing with your legs on either side of his thighs.

"'m goin' slow..." you pant.

Stack licks his lips, straightens his shaft, "As slow as you need."

Huffing, you line up on him, and ease your way down, using one hand gripped tight to his shoulder. You curse to yourself for finding it difficult to get past his tip. It wasn't long before you felt more of him go into you, a quick exhale coming through your pursed lips. Shocked, you couldn't help a, "Wow..." leaving your mouth.

Stack was snickering and humming simultaneously, "A little more," he urges, his hands helping your hips settle all the way into his lap.

You let out a heavy breath, eyes closed tightly, feeling all of Stack inside of you was way more overwhelming then you initially thought, definitely not the ecstasy you believed would occur. A very different sensation, no doubt, something you focus on a little too intently. The nibble on your chin has you locking gazes with Stack, his crimson amber was unbelievably something you could stare out for awhile, with his current starry eye expression; you'd like to extend it long term.

To stay put, wasn't optional, you move in an irregular rhythm. You lift yourself up and down, at a rate you'd compare to a slug, but it was comfortable. You weren't sure if you were doing it right, and Slack picks up on this quickly offering comfort by wrapping his arms around you.

"Slow n steady", he repeats mockingly, his hips rocking up.

You shake, "Fuckin' hell." Another thrust up, and you groan. "Shit-!"

A shift of the door came, sadly that didn't stop the moan from slipping through you. Quickly he leans up, keeping your lips locked with his. He didn't let go, his teeth keeping you from escaping. His thrusting didn't let up either. You thought Stack would come to a halt, however he didn't seem to care, his gitty breath told you more than enough.

"Shh. A little louder they might hear us."

"Hope not," you grunt, taking into account the music that you unknowingly filtered out. Taking up the challenge, the silence from the door helps in feeling secure enough to pick up your pace ever so slowly, You bit back the need to howl from your discomfort.

Stack enjoyed the additional pressure by his shaft, his teeth sinking deeper into your bottom lip. "I've been wantin' you like this for a while," he thrust up into you. "You know something about them pants? You look way too fine in those pants," he says gripping your ass.

You go faster.

"Was so close to just-" he smacks you, "But I held back."

“Elias-.” Then, spontaneously, you don't know what hit you. A flash, or surge of sorts causing your legs to give out. The spasm from your knees followed by you finishing all over the both of you, was completely unexpected.

Stack whistles, peeking down at the continuous mess staining his shirt.

“Was not expectin’ that,” you infer.

“No harm done. Now-.”, he continues fucking you, which now more than ever, felt overstimulating, your stomach bubbling with all too many tingles. You honestly questioned whether you were more drunk than you initially thought since, no orgasm has ever been as good as that.

Moreover, Stack’s tip was hitting you just right that the blues outside might have to be the second best thing to exist.

His grunts grew stiff until his voice hitches. He too blew his load, only noticing such when his pace slowed down; completely stopping. Both of you sat silently for a moment, heavy breathes filling the subtle change of the room's tempo. The hum of music was therapeutic, relaxing, just as much as Stack's fingers drawing circles on your back.

Neither of you said anything for a bit. Simply, you both just enjoy another moment of peace.

After gaining some of your strength, you pull Stack from your neck, his gaze visibly daze-like.

“You alright,” you inquire, as if Stack couldn’t handle you.

He hums in acknowledgement. “You’re good,” he pulls out and the two of you breathe heavily. "Would you look at that?"

You chuckle, "Get dressed, people are gonna get suspicious."

"Suspicious? It'll be just business to them. Remember, you needed a ride is all," he emphasizes.

You mouth, 'god' to yourself, dressing up in a timely manner as did he. Luckily for either of you, all the evidence could be concealed, Stack most notably, but he had his vest to cover the mess you made on his pink shirt.

After he straightens his tie up, you take a sec to ensure your garb wasn't disheveled. Stack was fairly well put back, nothing anyone could infer, no dripping shaft nor the his cum still inside of you. It was no bother. Treading to the door, he stops you from reaching for the handle.

"Hold up-". His closeness has you wondering if he might've wanted seconds already, his softer gaze said otherwise. “You are gonna come around often, yeah?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Yes? Don’t live no further from town.”

He hums, pulling out a toothpick to jam in between his teeth, “I know you're busy, and my brother and I are…gettin’ things settled here again but-,” he pauses shortly. “I do wanna see you, even though you know I ain’ been around. But, I don’ want any of that shit in between us. Not Chicago, not no money-.”

“Stack. It’s fine,” you swallow. “All of whatever you two got into, it’s over I presume? So then let’s just do it right this time," you finish caressing his vest. You snatch his toothpick from his mouth to lighten the mood.

His typical glance resurfaces, and before he could start charming you, you unlock the door and casually push him out; following suit back out into the party. Whether it was shown or not, your affection for him had remained unshaken that not even 7 years could dampen the two of you.

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