#this was just so fucking comforting to write

[eddiemunchem]

📄 what my dreams are made of | time and time again, eddie has seen you cry over guys that aren’t even worth your time; so, when he catches you crying once more, he decides it’s the last time — and he will show you that you’re exactly what his dreams are made of.

⚠️ 3.6k words, fem!reader, reader has a pussy, bestfriend!eddie, friends to lovers, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, kinda dom!eddie, passionate eating out, chubby!coded reader (no extreme graphic depictions but certainly alluded), bullying, some triggering themes, self-doubt that eddie smothers out, 1 thigh pinch, eddie cums in his pants (i was sick while writing this please forgive me if it’s not the best)

💋 i am genuinely so, so sorry for how long this took to get out bby! i always do my best to prioritize comfort reqs, as that’s my purpose for even taking reqs and really writing in the first place, and i wish i could have gotten this out much sooner. i hope this can bring you some comfort sweetheart, you are so so beautiful!! <33

you were so fucking stupid.

so stupid for being so naive. for ever allowing yourself to entertain the fantasy that the christian grosso could ever be attracted to you.

after all, the students of hawkins high dubbed you ‘the elephant amongst tigers’ for a reason.

angry tears slipped down your face as you threw your bag to the floor, uncaring of the loud thump it provoked. your mother was downstairs and likely heard it, and she’d probably even ascend the stairs and try to rib you for information — but you couldn’t find the energy to care.

you couldn’t find the energy to feel anything aside from angry sadness. and if your mom did come check on you, you’d simply tell her you’re feeling sick. yeah, that would work.

with a huff you plopped down on the edge of your bed, upsetting the stuffies strewn along the headboard. you gave them an apologetic wince.

your mind kept replaying the lunchroom disaster. christian’s mocking, mean smirk as he held up a dress two times too small for you was branded into your eyelids.

“oooh, i’m sorry. i thought this was your size. looks like we can’t make it to the dance after all. i’m so sorry.”

fresh tears burst from your eyes and you choked down a sob. it was so mean, so humiliating, so evil… you didn’t understand what you’d ever done to deserve something like that. was simply existing enough of a crime to warrant that kind of punishment?

a soft knock reached your ears. you sucked in a shuddery inhale. you were wondering when she’d amble up to your door.

“i’m fine, mom.” you croaked out. “i just feel sick. please don’t come in.”

you really didn’t want her to see the fat, ugly tears running down your cheeks. didn’t want her to see how blotched your makeup was, especially not when you had spent a literal hour perfecting it in front of your mirror.

so. fucking. stupid.

your door creaked open and you nearly gasped at the familiar clunk of heavy boots across your planked floor. you snapped your head up to find eddie standing just through your doorway, chocolate eyes rounded and soft.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, soothingly, and your heart sunk.

he knew about what happened. he hadn’t been in the lunchroom at the time, but you knew it would reach him; it was all the student body could talk about.

you opened your mouth to reject his sympathy; but what came out was a strangled sob, and eddie was rushing to your side immediately.

warm, thick arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into eddie’s equally warm body. your head was guided to his collarbone, so close to his neck that you could smell his sharp cologne; a familiar, cozy, thick woodsy scent.

he’d been wearing the same aroma since eighth grade, and it never failed to bring you a sense of tranquility and stability. comfort. safety.

you broke.

“eddie.” you choked out, digging your cheek into his chest and slipping your arm around his middle. he was warm; so, so warm. just like always.

“shh, it’s okay.” eddie soothed, ringed hand running through your hair. “it’s okay, sweets.”

your shoulders shook harder as you spilled gallons of salty tears into his shirt — his iron maiden shirt, if you weren’t mistaken.

you barely noticed the way he was rocking your body with his softly, or the weight of his chin hooked atop your head, but you were painfully aware of how good his hand felt skimming through your hair, and how comfortable the weight of it was.

“i-i don’t understand.” you gasped out between heaves. “i don’t k-know w-what i did.”

“you didn’t do anything.” eddie stated, voice firm yet gentle. “you didn’t do anything, angel. they’re just assholes.”

you weren’t sure how long you spent wrapped within eddie’s embrace; his strong arms holding you, soft voice shushing you, gentle hand caressing you — but at some point, your sobs had faded to mere sniffles.

you finally felt secure enough to pry yourself out of his embrace; eddie loosened his hold, but his arm remained over your shoulder — an anchor, should you need the support.

“i’m so tired of it, eddie.” you whispered, voice wet and croaky from all the crying. “i’m so tired of being ugly.”

your heart was breaking into a million pieces, yet also somehow felt as if it was too big to fit comfortably in your chest. every beat was painful, tightly wrapped in a ribbon of sadness.

eddie sucked in air through his teeth and muttered something under his breath; you weren’t quite able to catch it, so you nudged him with your elbow.

“i didn’t hear you, eds. what did you say?”

eddie’s eyes snapped up to yours, and you felt your heart skip in your chest. they were soft, yet had a hard edge to them, one that you couldn’t place.

“i said you’re not ugly.” eddie pushed out, anger detectable in his voice, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. eddie always became incensed when things like this happened.

“that prick just took things too far.” eddie seethed, drawing a ringed hand through his hair. “way too far.”

you swallowed thickly and nodded mutely, though you didn’t know if you fully agreed with eddie. after all, if things weren’t supposed to be this way, then why were they? it’s because everything, every single word and insult, that everyone threw at you was true.

“it wouldn’t happen if i wasn’t so—”

“don’t you fucking dare.” eddie snapped, cutting you off abruptly and shocking you into silence. he’d never taken that kind of tone with you. as if realizing this himself, eddie sucked in a deep breath and started again, much more softly.

“don’t say some shit about how you deserve it, or that it’s somehow your fault. it’s not. you know it’s not.”

fresh tears gathered in your eyes, and you had to look away from eddie quickly so as to not alert him to the swelling.

“but i was stupid. i let myself think he was genuine.” you countered back, wanting — no, needing — eddie to understand that in some way, this was your fault. that was the easiest way to explain it. that it was the only way that it made sense.

“stop that.” eddie ordered, fingers squeezing your shoulder. “you aren’t stupid.”

“eddie, i am.” you exploded, propelling yourself up from the bed and effectively launching eddie’s arm off of your shoulders. you began to pace as you rambled, “i’m stupid to think anyone would want me, let alone christian grosso, and i let myself get tricked into thinking that my crush actually liked me back—”

“i want you.”

the world seemed to screech to a halt right on its axis. eddie hadn’t said the words very loud — as a matter of fact, his statement was barely more than a whisper — and yet, it seemed to reverberate around your room like the boom of a bass speaker.

slowly, you turned your head to train your eyes on him. you searched his face, looking for some sort of deception, lie, fib — anything.

but all you found was pained sincerity.

“what?” you pressed, throat tight and tongue nearly tied. had you heard him right? were you having some sort of fever dream?

eddie sighed deeply and linked his hands together between his knees.

“i said ‘i want you.’ i have for a long time, actually.”

eddie’s words didn’t sound bored, or disingenuous, but they sounded almost… resigned. as if knew what little effect they’d have on you. twice. he’d said twice. yet you still couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“you — you… want me?” you parroted back, gesturing to yourself with a finger.

eddie nodded.

“are you sure?” you pressed.

eddie nodded again, more emphatically this time.

your heart was trembling in your chest — eddie actually wanted you? you? eddie, who was handsome, funny, charming, sweet, and completely and utterly unavailable due to his status as your best friend, wanted you?

no. this couldn’t be right. there must be some sort of mistake.

“but, how do you—”

“oh, jesus h. christ.” eddie suddenly bursted, pushing himself up from the bed and stomping towards you. you barely had any time to react before his hands grasped your elbows and he pulled you forward, and electricity shot through your entire body when he leaned down to press his lips firmly to yours.

the kiss was chaste, more of just a hugging of lips, but that’s how it was intended — eddie was getting a point across, and as hard as it was for you to truly believe it, you could feel it within that kiss.

the truth that eddie munson, your best friend of almost a decade, wanted you.

and that very best friend was kissing you. and it felt amazing.

your hands, as inexperienced as they were, traveled up to grip his shoulders, and you took the first step in deepening the kiss by clumsily lapping your lips over his.

eddie groaned and responded with a similar action; except, his movements were much more fluid and smooth, likely from years of experience in the field.

you hated the way that made jealousy burn in your gut.

eddie’s hands fell from your elbows to come to rest on your hips, where he gripped rather roughly. a sound similar to a moan slipped from his mouth and into yours, the sensation sending heat flooding straight to your gut.

“fuck, you have no idea how much i’ve wanted to do this.” eddie panted, kneading his fingers into your hips. “just grab these beautiful fucking hips of yours.”

your stomach swooped and your skin flushed beneath his words; you felt slightly self conscious of the portion of body eddie was grabbing, but eddie seemed to fall absolutely feral over it.

his lips remained hooked to yours as he stumbled backwards, pulling you with him. you followed blindly along with him, loathe to break the hot, wet embrace between the two of you, and nearly gasped when eddie fell flat to the bed and pulled you down with him.

“eddie!” you exclaimed softly into his mouth when you realized you’d landed on top of him, but when you tried to scramble off, eddie wrapped his arms around your midsection.

“don’t even think about it.” eddie murmured, voice little more than a growl, “stay on top of me, pretty girl.”

you whimpered low in your throat, the sound swallowed by eddie’s fiery lips, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wiggling in his hold. you didn’t feel comfortable like this, not in this position—

eddie rolled his hips up and completely cut off your train of thought; poking into your tummy was something hard, something hard and located between eddie’s legs.

“feel that, angel? feel what you’re doin’ to me?” eddie growled, rolling his hips in lazy thrusts. that heat in your gut intensified, and you couldn’t help it when the smallest whimper fell from your lips.

“god, you sound so fuckin’ pretty.” eddie groaned, hands smoothing down your body until they found purchase on your ass. he squeezed the flesh in his fingers and used the leverage to rock your body into his.

“wanted you for so goddamn long, i almost can’t hold myself back.”

eddie’s kiss was feverish now — not clumsy, but passionate and wet. his lips moved against yours as if he was trying to make up for years of neglect in one kiss, and his tongue and teeth scraped against your lips at intermittent points. your brain felt completely frozen, unsure of how to even match his pace.

“use your tongue, sweetheart.” eddie guided, as if reading your mind. “use your tongue like i am.”

you doubted you could use your tongue the same way eddie could use his, but you wanted to try. slipping your tongue against his felt strange, slimy, but not uncomfortable — and he tasted minty, like peppermint, so it wasn’t gross like you thought it would be.

you were certain your movements were clumsy, but they pulled satisfied groans from eddie regardless. his hips bucked up against you faster and his breathing turned shallow.

“fuck, good girl.” eddie moaned, sliding a hand up your back to tangle in your hair. he pushed you impossibly closer to him and deepened the kiss.

your entire body was buzzing, heated from the inside out, and there was a tingle between your legs. a warm, wet tingle.

“eddie,” you mewled into his mouth, hips shifting on their own, as if they were searching for something. “i feel weird.”

“i know, angel. just hold on.” eddie uttered, hips still careening into yours, hard-on grinding against you through the clothes. what was this weird pull in your stomach?

eddie’s lips remained against yours for a few more seconds, all the while you wiggled, whimpered and mewled into him, until he finally relented and pulled away.

“lay on your back, babygirl. i’m gonna show you something.” eddie prompted, voice deep gravel, eyes swallowed by black.

you swallowed when something kicked in your gut, and the moment eddie released his hold on you you scrambled off of him and fell on your back beside him. eddie was quick to mirror your actions, but rather than lying down, he crawled to the end of the bed and situated himself by your legs.

“open.” he demanded softly, and for the first time since his lips touched yours, you felt legitimate hesitance. you stared at him almost blankly, body quivering subtly in your skin. eddie arched a brow at you and fuck, that was pretty hot.

“angel, spread your legs.” eddie murmured, fingers coming up to caress the bare skin of your thigh. his voice was a rumble, enticing and sweet, but somehow comforting... like you didn't have to be afraid of obeying.

with a shaky breath you finally assented and spread your thighs open, snapping your eyes shut when eddie sucked in a sharp breath.

"fuck, look at these panties. so cute." you nearly jumped from your skin when eddie slid a finger up your mound, a sort of electric feeling throbbing through your hips when his fingertip scraped against your clit.

"they're nearly soaked through, baby." eddie cooed, continuing the stroking motions, pulling small moans and pants from your lips. “did you get this worked up just from kissing me?”

for some reason you couldn’t place, you nodded your head — it was as if you had no real control of some of your motor functions, like part of you was in some sort of trance.

“mmm, sweet baby.” eddie whispered darkly. “you have no idea what i could do to you.”

as if to punctuate his point, eddie pressed his finger to your clothed clit and rubbed, and fuck, it felt so good.

you’d touched yourself before, but never had it felt this intense. the moans that slipped from your mouth were purely lewd and near foreign.

“e-eddie, what’s—?”

“shhh, angel. don’t question anything. just feel.” eddie murmured, effectively silencing your inquiries. eddie continued to rub your clit, picking up pace as your moans grew in volume, as your hips bucked into his hand.

it felt good, so incredibly good, but the pleasure seemed muted — the friction not enough to build you up to that wonderful precipice.

“eddie—”

“yeah, baby, i know. you’re ready f’more.” eddie teased, and even with your eyes closed, you knew he was smirking. your breathing was labored, you felt desperate, it was hot—

“‘m gon’a take care of you, baby.” eddie soothed. “gon’a show you how beautiful you are.” eddie slid his hands up your thighs and dipped them beneath your skirt, fingers grasping the lace of your panties and tugging. you followed the unspoken command and lifted your hips, allowing him to slip you free of the garment.

any prior hesitation you felt had been forcefully shoved out by lust.

cold air blew against your pussy the moment it was no longer shielded, and you gasped at the sensation. you didn’t really have the time to complain about it, however, because before you could it was swallowed by heat once more.

wet heat.

your eyes popped open and you glanced down to find eddie’s head nestled between your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you as he dragged his tongue over your aching clit. he did so slowly, torturously, as if he was merely giving you a taste of what he could truly do.

you opened your mouth but all that fell out was a wanton moan. this was something completely out of your experience, something you’d only thought about fleetingly.

eddie groaned into your cunt when your clit throbbed under his tongue, and he dipped the wet muscle down to prod at your slit before slipping it back up. he was lapping at you like a dog, tongue everywhere, as if he wanted to brand the memory of your shape against it.

“eddie,” you whined, hips shaking against him. eddie let out a strange sound as he gripped at your thighs and squeezed, head shaking side to side subtly and sending shocks up your body from the new sensation.

“fuck, taste so good,” eddie whimpered into you, the sound high and needy. “can’ get ‘nough.”

you gasped and cinched your eyes shut, that tension ramping up in your gut and pulling your muscles tight. it felt so fucking good, you were going to go insane.

“mm-mm, no.” eddie suddenly growled and pinched your thigh. you jumped from the pain and snapped your eyes down to him. “fuckin’ look at me, angel. i wan’a see your face when you cum.”

despite the strong urge to look away and the undercurrent of embarrassment beneath your skin, you simply couldn’t tear your eyes away from eddie’s. satisfied with obtaining your full focus, eddie went right back to devouring you.

his tongue was demonic against your cunt, lapping at your folds and flattening across your clit. soft groans and growls fell from his lips as he munched, hands leaving finger shaped bruises on your thighs from how hard he was gripping them.

how it could feel so damn good, you didn’t know. you’d heard talk, yeah, but so many girls had also said that they’d never cum from head before… you just assumed you’d be the same.

but with the way eddie was working your cunt with his lips and tongue, you were realizing you’d be the exception.

“fuck, shit,” you whispered, eyes locked with eddie’s, staring into twin abysses. his own hips rocked into the mattress as his tongue traced over your clit, stimulating himself against your bed. and that just seemed to make it hotter.

“i’m so close.” you murmured, reverently, rendered breathless from the pleasure eddie was shoving into your system. his eyes darkened even more, if that were possible, and his movements became much more feverish. one hand slipped from your thigh and you gasped when you felt a fingertip prod at your entrance.

“eddie,” you warned, anxiety settling in your stomach. even you hadn’t put anything in there; what if it hurt?

“trust me, angel. i won’t hurt you.” eddie murmured against your cunt, tracing his finger up and down your slit. you swallowed, still hesitant, but you trusted eddie — so you nodded.

eddie groaned low in his throat and focused his tongue against your clit, assaulting it with fast flicks. his finger slipped into your entrance with nearly no resistance, and you gasped when he curled it up against something.

“there it is,” eddie cooed, pumping his finger inside you languidly. “there’s that sweet spot, baby.”

you had no idea what he was talking about — but fuck if it didn’t feel so fucking good. your fingers twisted into the blanket beneath you, lips swollen and wet, throat nearly sore from all the moaning.

eddie fucked his finger into you at a near brutal speed, hitting that spot over and over, and you could feel it building — powerful and intense, nearly rupturing your stomach from how tense your muscles were. you couldn’t help the way you thrusted your hips against his face, against his tongue, shoving his finger deeper inside you.

chasing it. that euphoric high.

“fuck yeah, shit. c’mon angel, bust in my fuckin’ mouth.” eddie growled, and that was it — one final jab to that spot, one more flick of his tongue, and you were absolutely losing it.

your thighs and hips quaked as that coil finally snapped, fluid gushing around eddie’s finger and undoubtedly soaking the bed, walls fluttering and clit throbbing under his tongue.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—” you chanted, eyes rolling back as your muscles continued to tense and release. eddie lapped his tongue around his finger, groaning at your sweet taste.

your orgasm was slow to recede, the aftershocks still wracking your body when eddie slipped his finger out and rose to his knees — if your vision wasn’t so fuzzy you would have noticed the prominent wet spot covering the front of his jeans.

exhaustion crawled into your limbs with frightening speed, your muscles almost like jelly, and when eddie flopped down at your side and gathered you into his arms you were little help with it.

“do you believe me now, angel?” eddie murmured, and all you could do was nod sleepily. the edges of your vision was turning black, sleep well on its way to claiming you.

“good. don’t you ever forget it.” was the last thing you heard before you fell to the abyss, warm, satisfied, and comfortable.

completely and utterly loved.

[famouskoaladetective]

So I'm technically non-binary or demi masculine but I really just want to talk to whoever asked this and said no and just literally ask them: do you think that trans men just appear in a vacuum? Do you think that we don't have lives before we come out? Do you think we aren't treated like women sometimes even after we come out? Do you think we weren't raised to be good girls and expected to grow up to be women? Do you really think that all of us had supportive families that let us actually be ourselves and not pretend to be women for longer than we were comfortable?

Like I came out as non-binary at 16 but was femme presenting and didn't come out as transmasculine until I was 23 or 24 and already had a child. I definitely know what the female experience is I just do not want to live it and I don't enjoy it and I never really felt as though it was right for me. There's a difference between not connecting with something and just being completely ignorant to it.

Like I can talk about how I kind of knew that I wasn't a girl from the time I was 7 or 8 years old but that doesn't change the fact that I didn't have the verbiage or the cultural understanding until I was in my twenties to realize that I was even "actually transgender" and not just non-binary and essentially close to agender. It's impossible without writing an entire novel to explain to people that transgender men and transmasculine people unfortunately were forced to know what it's like to live as their assigned gender at birth because at certain points in our lives we weren't given a fucking choice.

Shit like this reminds me of whenever I run into people who I went to high school with and they go "oh you used to be such a quiet good girl what the fuck happened?" I realized that I didn't have to be a quiet good girl to be a valid human being and that I was happier being myself but that doesn't mean that I don't still remember what it was like to be a teenage girl or to be a young woman in America.

I was forced to know what that experience is like against my will and bitch I will never fucking forget it.

That's part of why I love and respect women so much to this day because I know that they go through shit especially women of color and transgender women and other queer women, because I was raised by black and native women and was raised with the expectation of being a good mixed girl. I'm not and that's okay but I still fucking sympathize because being a woman is hard and women are impressive for the shit that they fucking go through.

Just because I'm not one anymore doesn't mean I don't get it.

i think im going to lose my fucking mind actually.

this little make believe game that yall are playing where ur all pretending that we have always been passing as cis men is honestly just really sickening to read. as if trans men have never been sexually harassed or abused because society perceives us as women. im genuinely of the opinion that u all just do not believe trans men face misogyny and thats so unbelievably fucked up and just not based in reality. its actually disgusting and vile.

[bbydoll18xx]

I Try to Refrain (But You’re Stuck in my Brain)

You have a dream about Paige, and it leads to some shocking revelations.

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Themes: loneliness, reader realizes she's in love with her best friend, paige is a flirt (what's new?)

A/N: hi guys. sorry it's been a hot min. This election has made me miserable and my grandpa just died today so I wrote this to distract myself lol. I wanted to write something that wasn't fluff before coming out with a new part to I've Got a Wand and a Rabbit, so hopefully this will suffice. Please don't let this flop

Also Is There Somewhere is one of most favorite songs of all time you all should check it out if you've never heard it !!

Please enjoy:)

~

There was simply no denying that being a college student was pretty fucking exhausting. Between your on-campus casual job, the extensive list of assignments you had racked up, and the overwhelming need to still have a social life, the circles under your eyes had become much more pronounced in the last few weeks. 

You needed your beauty sleep, or else you’d be well on your way to looking like Shrek by the end of the semester. And because you had been on the hunt to end your single streak, looking like Shrek would be the worst thing to happen. 

You giggle to yourself, the sleep deprivation clearly making you delirious. Checking your watch, you see that you had in fact been up for a whopping 28 hours. It was time for a seriously good nap. You throw your backpack onto the floor of your bedroom, tugging your sweatshirt off of you and flopping down onto your bed. The plushness engulfs you in warmth and comfort, lulling you into a deep, calming sleep, that you so desperately needed.

Or so you thought.

~

You wake up panting. The air around you is suffocatingly hot, and you can feel the sheets twisted uncomfortably around your legs, trapping you in the warmth. Your heart is pounding against your chest, and you slide your hand across your sternum in a futile effort to soothe yourself. 

The dream was quickly fading, and you squeeze your eyes in deep concentration, desperate to hold on to the remnants of it before they fled from your racing thoughts. 

It was hazy. But the pounding of your chest and the fluttering that accompanied made you feel like you were missing a key detail. It was right on the tip of your tongue, inching further and further away the more you search for the answers. 

You were in bed with another person. They were warm, and their laugh was enough to make you want to get down on one knee right then and there. You were cuddled up with them, the feeling of peace washing over you.

It has been a long time since you felt peace, and as you search for more clues to unearth your future love of your life, the wistfulness settles deep inside you. It mocks you, whispering into your ear that you’d never feel so lucky to be at peace with someone. 

The last of the dream fades, and you groan, throwing your arm over your face and vowing to prove your meanest, most vile inner voices wrong. 

Because, goddamn it, you did deserve to be loved. And maybe, just maybe, it would happen for you. 

~

You go to bed that night with a fierce determination to coax your brain into revealing more, and as you settle into bed, you pop two benadryl tablets. 

‘This’ll give me some good dreams,’ you think slyly, before shutting your eyes and waiting for the next clue, sleep quickly overcoming your thoughts.

You sleep soundly, waking the next morning with a crick in your neck and long, blonde hair on your brain. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper, your dream still playing again in your muddled brain. “It’s a girl," you say incredulously.

"Or maybe an Australian surfer dude," you say sarcastically out loud to yourself.

"God, I'm losing it," you mumble, rubbing a hand over your sleepy eyes.

Her face was blank, deluding you of figuring out who it really was, but the familiar, tinkling laughter was playing on a loop. It was making you crazy. 

Your thoughts drift back to being tangled up with lean limbs, the soft hair flowing over slim, strong shoulders and down the girl’s bare back. You recall how you had traced a line down the line of her spine, goosebumps erupting in the wake of your touch. 

She was strong and delicate, a dichotomy of perfection that had your thighs clenching in want and your heart clenching in need.

You sigh. It felt almost real, and now it was being ripped from you every time you woke up. It felt unnecessarily cruel, and tears prick your eyes as reality sets in. You were escaping to a fantasy world in your dreams to avoid the crushing forlornness that was settling deep into your bones. 

Loneliness was certainly the muse, it seemed. 

~

You meet up with your friends later that night, searching for a distraction from the blonde hair that was currently haunting every waking moment. As you cross campus to head to Aubrey’s apartment, you scold yourself as each blonde who passes you makes you glance hopefully in their direction. 

There had to be something to jog your memory, unclouding the face you wanted nothing more to recognize. But each face elicited a disappointed pang in your stomach that spread an uncomfortable coldness through the rest of your body. 

You shake your head as you approach Aubrey’s door, trying to rid yourself of the disheartened aura you were currently giving off. 

You and Aubrey had become friends two years ago, and by extension, the rest of her team and her girlfriend had accepted you with open arms. You were looking forward to Caroline and Azzi’s wisdom and kind smiles. And KK and Ice’s laughter would certainly be a great distraction. 

Your mind gently drifts towards Paige before the door swings open with a large bang, and a loud, joyous cry erupts from the group of girls in the apartment. 

You wave at them, cheeks turning pink from the attention. You scan the room, letting your brain secretly look for Paige, just to check to see if it would trigger the flashes of your dream. 

You move towards the kitchen, joining into a heated discussion KK and Jana were having about Legos, eyes still darting around curiously.

“I’m obviously the best and fastest builder,” KK boasts, sticking her tongue out childishly at her teammate, and you giggle, taking a sip of your drink as Jana voraciously defends herself and her Lego-building abilities.

It was almost subconscious. You step back, as if you were being pulled against your will, and you hit a wall of warmth and muscle. Your heart lurches as your mind registers what was happening. 

“Damn, ma. I gotchu, don’t worry,” Paige mumbles in your ear, chuckling as you turn into a bumbling mess in her firm grasp. 

“Oh, god. I’m sorry, P,” you whisper, not trusting your full voice. You steady yourself, proud that you at least did not spill your drink. 

Her hand slides down your side to rest heavily on your waist, and her touch ignites a fire in your belly. Your breath hitches as you look up at her. Her hair is down for once, flowing across her shoulders, and your head spins as she laughs again. 

You knew that laugh.

“Never gonna complain about having to rescue a pretty girl,” she flirts, and you turn your head, not wanting her to see the way her words sent your face up in a blaze of heat. The realization hits you like a crashing wave.

Your dream was about Paige fucking Bueckers.

Your friend, Paige Bueckers. 

You were so goddamn fucked.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

~

What'd we think?? Please let me know. I might do another part if you guys are up for it.

Thanks so much for reading. I'm hoping I will be writing more frequently from now on

xoxo katy

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[egglain]

Go Ahead & Cry (I’d Wipe Away All Your Tears)

incl.: nanami, choso, toji, gojo, geto, sukuna

summary: for a group of men who kill for a living, they’re awfully sweet… most of the time.

a/n: ngl i’m writing this bc i’m finally processing the US election results & i just… can’t deal. my heart goes out to all of you. pls take care of yourselves & enjoy the drabbles 🫶

Nanami

Nanami would be the first to notice something is off.

Whether you’re both at home and you’re just a bit too quiet, or he hasn’t heard from you by his lunch break while at work, something is distinctly off.

He wouldn’t be the nosy type, or the type to press. He’d bring home a sweet treat and a sentimental good (a potted flower, a stuffed animal, something that reminded him of you) without a word.

He wouldn’t pity you; far from it. And he’d never want to make you feel like that. So he’d leave the gifts on the coffee table and greet you with a kiss to the forehead, like always.

He’d sit in silence with you as if nothing was awry— allow you to feel your emotions. He’d put on a movie you like, something mindless and upbeat, without asking. Drag you to his chest and hold you there, keeping you warm and grounded in his touch.

If the waterworks start up, he’d rub your back with a large hand and press kisses to the part of your hair.

“That’s it. Get it out. I know.”

Choso

Choso is either too emotionally in-tune or completely clueless until the tears start.

But when he knows you’re upset, he feels it too.

He gets it wrong a lot of the time, at the beginning— tries to pry the cause out of you so he can minimize it. In his defence, he does it with good intentions; tries to help you see that the perceived threat is small in the greater scheme of things, that everything will work out.

But when the tears start welling, he knows he’s fucked up.

And god, is he so sweet trying to fix things.

“So sorry—“

He’d kiss the salty tears off your cheeks without hesitation.

“How do I make it stop?”

His bleeding heart is his biggest weakness and his greatest strength.

You wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the day, as he tries to make things up to you. Cooking (though he burns the bottom of the pan), cleaning (though he spills the food and has to clean again), and cuddles would be the itinerary.

Though he loves to be little spoon, he’d let you rest in his arms as long as you need it. And once you find a spot in his arms, he wouldn’t dare move.

Toji

Toji is not great with words. Or gifts. Or quality time, really.

Despite his best intentions, he always manages to fuck it up somehow. Usually by minimizing your feelings with a “what now?” or a “‘s not a big deal.” or a “nothin’ to cry over.”

It’s not his fault you cry over the little things & that you look so cute doing it. Those fat tears and reddened cheeks scratch the sadistic part of his brain so good.

That being said, he’s learned what you like over the years. Even stopped scoffing when he senses you’re feeling down.

No, he’s developed a plan.

At the first signs of distress (he’s gotten really good at recognizing these), he’s got you in his arms. If he’s at work, you better bet he’s speeding things up and hauling his ass back.

He wrestles you into his big clothes; don’t even think about fighting him on this. He wants you comfy and cozy. He’d be setting you up on the couch, dragging the comforter down from the bedroom to wrap you up. He’d sit there with you for hours, massaging your feet or calves and ordering food in. Your favourite fast food— and a whole lotta ice cream.

Don’t take advantage of his kindness though; he’s still Toji. Any snide comments, and he’d be quick to snap back.

“Shut up n’ let me take care of ya.”

Gojo

Gojo’s a little… misguided when cheering people up most of the time. That is, unless you find his goofy antics comforting.

He’s known for draping himself over shoulders obnoxiously, pinching and pulling cheeks, and light jabs that crack (only) him up.

When that doesn’t work, it’s a quick fix— thanks to the seemingly unending pit of his black card.

Gojo Satoru, at his core, is a gift giver.

Nothing pleases him more than sharing things with you that he thinks will bring you joy— whether that’s an expensive physical present or a luxurious vacation abroad.

He’s wrapped around your little fingers and a sniffle would have him buckling at the knees and fumbling for his wallet.

While this might look like a cop out— a way to get out of emotional intelligence duty— it’s just one part of his approach. The man is actually quite sensitive and understanding once you dig beneath the layers of persona. And he can be surprisingly mature— though he’d never want to show that side to most of the world.

He’d always listen to your yapping, validating your feelings— he’d take your side always. And he is a pro at shit-talking. At the end of it, you always come out feeling a little bit better. A little bit stronger.

You are the strongest together, after all.

Geto

Suguru is a problem-solver.

He’d sit and motion for you to lay your head on his thighs. Long elegant fingers would make gentle work of your roots and scalp, and the tension would be melting away. When you’re relaxed enough to breathe, he’d want to hear all the venting.

“Now do you want solutions or just my ear?”

He’s your rock; always puts things into perspective if you ask. He’s always got advice— though sometimes clouded by bias. Still, it’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who actually listens.

Understands.

The flipside, however, is the darkness you find in him. He understands what to do because he’s hurt too. You can see it in the way he carries himself, in the bags under his eyes and the shake of his hands on the bad days.

But you care for him like he cares for you— braid his hair back, let him talk it out, gift whatever advice you can muster.

And as soon as you’re both feeling better, you’d be getting crêpes with the girls.

Sukuna

The King of Curses does not understand human sadness.

Perhaps he had empathy for it, centuries ago, before he became the Two-faced Spectre.

But now, seeing you upset, all he can think of is how pathetic tears look in reddened eyes.

He’d wipe them away with a big thumb, clicking his tongue.

“Unsightly, pathetic little thing.”

Yet, the way he speaks down to you holds a softness. A protective nature he rarely gives voice to.

He’d treat you like a porcelain doll; a prized possession. No measure was inconvenient when it came to appeasing you— though he’d be quick to reprimand entitlement. And vehemently deny any sort of feeling towards you.

When the tears come, he’d be signalling for Uraume to draw a bath and cook your favourite. You’d find your room tidied, trinkets left on the foot of your bed as if dragged in by a wild animal— an ornate dagger, gold jewellery, incense.

He wasn’t one to demonstrate affection— but he’d keep you close on the tough days. Whether it be making a seat for you on one of his hulking thighs or allowing you to sleep in his quarters, he’d allow you to do as you please.

[pinkgy]

hii! if you’re taking requests may i request the kings reaction (+ bael & bimet if its okay) reaction to mc in her sleep pulling them into her grasp and face planting them in her boobs (i think it would be funny like they were just checking on mc and get pulled in😭)

Hi ! Thank you so much for requesting !!

Ahh I love this scenario! And the character choice is 🤌🤌🤌

I had no idea if this request was meant to be smut, fluff, angst, or crack, so I mixed all of them, I hope it's okay, and soooo sorry for the delay :(

"𝙄 𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍"

CW: Reader has boobs but I tried my best to not specify the size, Belphegor's is a bit shorter because let's be real he would fall asleep the moment he touches a bed, Bael's is also shorter because my draft of him got deleted 4 times, somnophilia and by defect Dubcon in Beelzebub's, Satan's got emotional somehow, the only one who actually got a bit smutty was Beel's, the rest (some of them) are just suggestive, kinda OOC Leviathan (?) it's hard to write fluff for someone as dense as him.

𝙎𝘼𝙏𝘼𝙉

Satan loved sleeping with you. Both hands weren't enough to count the reasons why. The main one had to be that when he was lying in your arms (or you were lying on his, depending on his mood), he felt like nothing could go wrong. He felt all his worries disappear, and just that small moment between him and you was simply perfect.

One day, while walking out of a meeting, he felt as if he hadn't seen you for a while, so he made his way to your room. Once there, he found you peacefully sleeping—how cute!

BUT, what if you weren't sleeping? What if you passed out? Maybe an angel attacked you and set up your body so it would seem like you were just asleep, or what if Gabriel kidnapped you and set up a lookalike of you or a doll that looks like you to confuse those who walked into your room.

Overthinking took over Satan so he rushed to your bed to check on you, and once he got in your bed and got close to you he suddenly felt your arms wrapping around his neck and pushing his face.

He just remained there, dumbfounded, still processing what just happened, sure he knew you were quite naughty, but so naughty to a point where your sleeping self yearned for him? That was a surprise, a very satisfactory surprise.

Satan lay down with you and hugged you tightly without caring much if he woke you up or not if you had put him in such a suggestive situation it was because you wanted “Something more” But once he felt both your bodies cuddling, your soft hands tangled in his hair, your arms hugging his face endearingly and the comfortable warmth surrounding his face coming from your soft chest, Satan wanted to stay here forever, fuck the angels and fuck the war, this was all he needed in his life.

He felt Gabriel’s brand on your chest pressing against his forehead, it was mocking him, reminding him that he could take you away from him at any moment if that were to happen, Satan had no idea how could he move on, that’s why he treasured moments like this so much, he’s confident about his power and his abilities at protecting you, but one part of him was genuinely scared about the future.

He just wishes time froze and this moment could last forever.

𝙈𝘼𝙈𝙈𝙊𝙉

Satan arranged a super urgent meeting between the two kings that he described as a “Life or death type of urgency”, but that was the secondary reason he went to Gehenna that day, the main one was to visit you, and since the king of that land refused to let anyone kidnap you, Mammon had to settle for sporadic visits until he had a defined plan to steal you away from Satan.

Once his meeting was over, he went straight to your room, at first he knocked, but once he received no response he just entered, once inside he saw your little body wrapped in the sheets, he began to walk slowly trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake you up, and as soon as he was close to you he brought his face closer to yours to observe you more closely, Mammon thought you couldn't look any cuter until he saw you right now.

He may have let his guard down a little too much, because suddenly one of your hands grabbed his horn and the other grabbed his head, and somehow, you planted his head between your breasts.

He stands proud as an ass guy, but who is he to complain, and if it’s your will to keep him in your arms while you sleep, or more specifically, in your chest, then he must obey his master, so as carefully as possible, he places his heavy body beside yours and places his hands directly on his target, your ass.

He would’ve loved to have let his hands explore your body more, in fact, if he wanted to, he would have done it, but Mammon does not dare to break into his master’s dream, your life in hell is stressful enough, that you deserve to rest, and he’s honored that you’re allowing him to be with you at this time, and as long as he’s here with you, no angel would success in trying to attack you.

Mammon hopes that neither of you wakes up to Satan shouting and attempting to murder him when he sees the scene of both of you sleeping together, however, any punch or kick that he may receive will be worth it as long as he continues to enjoy this moment between the two of you.

𝙇𝙀𝙑𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙉

He's not a huge fan of sleeping with you, or anyone, but as long as you weren't sharing a bed with somebody else, it was fine for him.

It was a peaceful noon at Hades, way too peaceful, unusually peaceful if he had to admit, something must be wrong, where are you by the way? Where were his nobles?

Casually, Leviathan happened to pass in front of your room, that moment, he stood there and he felt uneasy, it was too much of a coincidence that neither you nor his nobles were around, he opened your door with a bang and entered your room, he started looking desperately, he searched in every corner, opened every cabinet and even checked if Foras turned invisible and hid somewhere.

Then he noticed your sleeping self that by miracle didn’t wake up by the bang of your door and the amount of noise he made while rummaging around your room, that’s when he remembered, he hadn’t checked your bed to see if there was anyone’s unpleasant presence.

That's when it happened, when Leviathan got close to you to lift the bedsheets off your body, in an instant and taking him off guard, you grabbed his head with your arms and planted his face in your chest.

In the beginning Leviathan got mad, how you dare treat him with such rudeness, what’s wrong with you? But then he smelled you, no disgusting smell of any other nasty devil was on you aside from his, he sighed in relief, well, now that his job is done he must go, he had lots of things to do anyways and cuddle time with you wasn’t one of them.

Without caring much if you woke up or not he tried to pull away from you, tried, for a human you had a pretty strong grip he thought, and it didn’t help that your sleeping self gently kissed the top of his head as you snuggled up in his hair, that little act caused things in him, maybe Leviathan was completely unaccustomed to receiving this kind of gestures, so he felt quite weird, and if he was honest, maybe even a little bit good.

Hesitantly, Leviathan got comfortable in your bed and awkwardly held your body between his arms, if he stayed with you right now none of his nobles would dare to enter your room, yeah, that was the reason why he was in your room right now, with both your bodies curled in the bed, his face buried in the pillowy surface of your chest and your hearts beating in unison.

How long has it been since he’s been so at ease in his life? Probably never, and for the first time in god knows how many years, he fell asleep out of the comfort of his coffin, but in a newfound comfort, you.

��𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙕𝙀𝘽𝙐𝘽

Beelzebub has been away for some weeks now, and the first thing he wanted to do was to spend time with you, in fact, he only returned because of that, but to his surprise, when he broke into your room in Gehenna from the window, you were passed out in your bed, how cute.

He not so carefully sat at the side of the bed you were facing and stared at you for minutes, you really looked cute when you were asleep, he swears he just wanted to get a little sniff of your natural scent, but with a tight grip around his neck that for a second caught him off-guard you pulled him to the bed with you, or more specifically, to his favorite place on hell right after between your legs, your chest.

Could he easily get away from your embrace? Yes. Was he going to try? Nah.

Beelzebub would die a happy man suffocated in your chest, and also, this was a great way to get away from Bael, he wasn’t going to enter your room without your permission, right? And also, a little nap with you doesn’t sound bad, who knows what can happen once you wake up, or when you're still in your sleep.

And that's how he ended up getting comfortable beside you, with his head still face planted between your boobs, his legs tangled with yours and a firm thigh pressing against your crotch.

Bold of you to assume Beelzebub isn’t going to try to get his hands on you, in those weeks without you he couldn’t get you out of his head, so as soon as he gets settled in your bed, he takes a deep sniff of your delicious skin and slips his hands under your shorts and places them on your butt gripping it roughly and almost waking you up, almost.

Because once he saw that you were still asleep, he left his hands to wander under your shorts, and before you could do something about it you woke up to Beelzebub with two fingers buried deep inside you and your whole chest covered in hickeys and bite marks, and most importantly, Beel’s mouth vigorously sucking on your sore nipples.

A long night awaits you because he’s not getting out of your bed until he gets a taste of you, or until Satan realizes that he broke in.

𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙄𝙁𝙀𝙍

He would rather die than admit it, but Lucifer had a habit of watching you sleep. He would wait for you to fall asleep every night to sneak into your room just to observe you, sometimes he would bring a chair closer to your bed to be more comfortable, and other times he would cover you more with the sheets when he noticed you’re cold, or he would carefully remove some strands of hair from your face, and in some occasions when you’re in a particularly deep sleep, he would sit on the side of your bed to feel you closer to him, situation in which he was in right now.

You were like a beautiful artwork to him, he could gaze at your human self for hours in pure admiration, it didn’t matter if you were in Paradise Lost or in another kingdom of hell, when he had time, he would indulge in this embarrassing habit of him.

You were in such a deep sleep that he felt that if tried to give you a small kiss you wouldn’t wake up at all, but the moment his face approached yours, an unexpected strength that for a second he doubted was yours grabbed his head tightly and smashed it against your warm chest.

Never in his millions of years of age had he been so caught off guard as he is now.

What was he even supposed to do now? Were you asleep? Did you discover him? Lucifer was blank, after a few seconds he realized that your impulsive action was possibly due to an instinct, surely even in your dreams you can recognize him and that’s why you brought him closer to you, which in short means that you want him close to you.

Once his thoughts were organized, careful not to hurt you with his pointed horn, Lucifer lay down on your bed as close to you as possible, in this position he could feel your heart beating more closely, and the fluffy surface of your chest cushioned his face in a comfortable position.

He had to restrain himself from biting your chest or trying to put his hands on your private areas, eventually when he managed to fall asleep he put those thoughts aside, he preferred to be with you in a more personal moment right now, when you both woke up he would have plenty of time to enjoy you in every possible way.

Extra: Gamigin found you two when he was looking for Lucifer, he took a photo for future blackmail material.

𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙋𝙃𝙀𝙂𝙊𝙍

Well, since he's already here, he might as well just sleep with you, what a hassle would it be to go back to his room.

He loves it when things go in his favor, he came to do his great deed of the day by checking on you since it had been a while since he saw you for the last time, and whoops, he's now sleeping with you, what a casualty.

To his surprise, your sleeping self took the initiative and pulled him to the bed first, to the bed, and to somewhere else too, most specifically the best pillow he could ever wish for, your chest.

Belphegor said to himself that he must have been an amazing devil in his past life, because of how wonderful what was happening to him today.

He hates wasting time, so as soon as you planted his face in your boobs, he snuggled there and got comfortable in your bed hugging your body tightly against his.

He would have loved to savor this moment, but his sleepiness won the battle against his horniness, and he passed out, good luck trying to get out of his embrace.

𝘽𝘼𝙀𝙇

He swears he was just trying to cover your sleeping self with a blanket, you pulling him to the bed with you was most definitely not on his plans, not that he complained.

He tried to softly push himself away from you, not because he didn’t like the current scenario of you tightly hugging him, but because Bael thought that even tho you were the one that put him in this situation, you were asleep and weren’t conscious of your actions.

It was a fool's intent, because the moment Bael tried to take your arms and softly put them away from him, you hugged him from the back of his head and squished his face between your beasts.

He was fucked

He was so fucked

Bael had two options, push himself away from you and wake you up, or stay with you in your embrace, in the soft pillowy surface of your chest, surrounded by the aroma of your delicious smell, with your soft arms wrapped around him.

He concluded that he deserved a little rest, and what better chance than this one, cuddled up with you, snuggled up in your chest, what a great life he has, he just wishes that Beelzebub doesn't find him anytime soon.

𝘽𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙏

It was an easy task, you had a headache so Mammon insisted that you should take a nap, he was just supposed to check on you by orders of his king, the current situation he was in was far from the original plan, and turned his quick task into the worst internal debate he’s ever had.

Bimet couldn't even remember how he ended up with his face buried in your chest, for a second he even doubted if you were human because of how fast everything happened.

Should he separate himself from you? You are his king’s property so he would probably feel jealous about this, wait, didn’t Mammon also own him? Then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

You felt extremely warm, but it was a comforting warmth and not a fever type of warmth, maybe this wasn’t so bad, and either way, you were the one who faceplanted his face between your boobs, so in case anyone complained he had an excuse, Bimet could say that you suddenly developed super strength one day and he couldn't escape from your grip, yeah, that was an amazing excuse, what a genius he is.

Now that his mental debate is over, he could enjoy this little (And convenient) moment with you, so he got comfortable and held your body in his arms.

Just thinking about how the amount of money other devis and even the kings would pay just to be in his place got Bimet all excited, but to their disappointment, he had you now, or you had him.

Bimet underestimated how comfortable he was because in a matter of minutes, he had fallen completely asleep in your arms.

Extra: Mammon did notice Bimet’s absence, and when he went to your room to check if he was here he saw both of you sleeping in each other's arms, Mammon just smiled and took a photo of you.

[cuntdevil]

★ TINY LITTLE FIRES.

for two firemen whose jobs are to help civilians, they've managed to spark flames inside you that you wish not to extinguish.

( fic demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, toji fushiguro & sukuna ryomen, sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs : do not interact & 2519 words !

╰┈➤ firefighter!toji fushiguro & sukuna ryomen & afab!reader (she/her), throatfucking, fingering, dirty talk mostly on sukuna's behalf, double penetration, anal & vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

( author's note. ) i thought of this specific prn link when writing this and thought it was tojikuna fucking reader. just a liddol visual while you read 😋

It was overwhelming, the heat of two men looming over you— how they were both so hauntingly handsome as their eyes explored your body. They caged you in with their bodies, tiny little fires sparking inside of the pit of your stomach as they held interest on you all night. Shoko wanted to hold a small celebration dinner after completing her residency, finally becoming an actual doctor. She held it at a small bar and grill, where the food was greasy and the drinks were strong. You hadn’t thought your night wouldn’t be one so special, just have a few drinks and enjoy the time with your friends. However, from afar, two men had their eyes on you the majority of the night. Crimson and hazel following your form in a way that had you constantly looking behind you, eyes never failing to meet theirs. 

You weren’t the only one to take notice of their domineering stares, Shoko watching over your shoulder before saying, “You should go talk to them.”

Eyes widening as your head quickly turns to her. Immediately, you shook your head. “I’m here to celebrate you.”

“You’re here to have fun,” she corrects. “Plus, you need it— them. When was the last time you had a spontaneous hook-up, much less a threesome?”

She was right. You rarely spend your leisure time actually doing any leisure, always finding something to keep you busy or something that came around the corner last minute that you completely forgot about. Your social life went down the drain outside of her, Geto and Gojo. But even the time you spend with them is too short. However, you don’t want to be a bad friend.

“But,” you pout. “Who’s going to drop you home if you get too wasted?”

“That’s for me to worry about,” Shoko says. “I’ll probably have one of the waitresses do it if it comes to that.”

“I don’t feel—” 

“I don’t care how you feel,” Shoko frowns, nudging you from your chair. “Go to them right now, or I’ll disown you as a friend.”

You’re not sure if you’re thankful for Shoko, or if you want to curse her. You feel like a mouse trapped inside of a lion’s den. Outside of the conversation with Shoko, you can’t recall how you even ended up in this situation, just knowing that you walked up to the bar, signaling for a bartender in their close vicinity. You let them watch you, slowly creeping closer towards them. 

Other than their impressive physique that had other men gawking at them in jealousy, they were different. One had dark hair that went over his forehead, black strands that nearly prickled his hazel green eyes. He had a scar on the left corner of his lip that had you curious how it ended up there in the first place. The other man has messy pink hair and piercing red eyes as he scrutinizes you, tattoos travel down his neck that you’re not sure where they travel to because of the hoodie he has on. 

You only remember through short conversation that they were firefighters, but other than that, they were very straightforward with what they wanted from you. And from the many men that have tried approaching you before, you could respect it. You respected it so much that you let them bring you to their shared apartment, their hands roaming your body the moment you were inside. 

Your dress hiked up over your waist as the pink-headed man— Sukuna— has found comfort in your breasts, massaging and kneading the fat as the brunette in front of you plays with the hem of your panties, finding fun in teasing you as your head falls to the chest of the tattooed man behind you. Wedged between them, there’s no room for escape as they pull out soft moans from you. Your braids tickle Sukuna’s skin as he watches you fall apart so easily. “We’ve got you this worked up and we’ve barely done a thing to you. It’s kinda pathetic… and cute.”

Just as he says this, Toji’s fingers dip inside of your panties, running to run two fingers down your clit and in between your folds. It has your chest rising and falling in the anticipation of it all, so needy and desperate to be filled by these two large men. “You should feel how wet she is. It’s like she hasn’t been fucked in forever.”

It’s an epiphany upon both men, a deep hum reverberating off of Sukuna’s chest as one hand leaves from under your dress. Black painted fingernails that reach to grab your face harshly and forcing you to turn, your eyes meeting his daunting red ones. “You poor thing,” he breathes. “Your pussy needs to be well taken care of then, huh?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help but nod. “Yeah, it does.”

“It’s a good thing you got us, huh?” To which you nod again, whispering out a “yes.”

They lead you to the confined space of one of their bedrooms. You still have your back to Sukuna, sitting on his lap as he pulls the dress over your head. Breasts spilling out and leaving you nearly bare in front of them, the only thing left on you are your flimsy pair of panties with a hearty stain right in the center from your arousal. You can feel the hard erection of Sukuna right against your ass. Oh, how he feels so big and thick underneath you that it has your pussy clenching in a desire for something— someone— to be inside of you. 

Sukuna’s hand snakes in between your legs, the gloss of the black shining underneath the dim lighting as he shifts your panties to the side. Your folds glisten and shine, resembling the gloss of a porcelain doll. He spreads your lust over your clit as Toji begins to undo his pants, a sliver of his dark happy trail peaking out as his shirt rises. He’s in a haste, dragging down his pants and underwear, revealing his lengthy cock. Dark and heavy shaft that weighs him down surely as it hits his inner thigh instead of standing up prominently. He surely rivals the few partners you’ve had down the road. It’s intimidating, but your cunt is a curious thing, not caring if it’s the same thing that killed the cat. From its nine lives, you’re sure you can be brought back to life over and over.

Tiny little fires ignited in the pit of your stomach, you’re sure that these men are the only ones able to extinguish them. Toji holds the hose, his length in hand as the tip drips in his precum, sauntering over to you with it in hand. Your head moves involuntarily, moving yourself to the edge of Sukuna’s lap. 

“Look at her,” Sukuna moves a stray braid, pulling it back behind your air. “So eager…”

Toji adores it, reaching to cup your face as you lean closer to him. His cock so dangerously close to your begging mouth that's lolled open and ready. His tip kisses your bottom lip, smearing his pre against it and making your lips shine in the coat of lust-born gloss. Sukuna’s fingers still dance around your clit, teasing at your entrance as he plays with your folds. You moan and mewl, keeping eye contact with Toji while you squirm in the other man’s lap in need. 

“Please…” It comes out in a soft breath, whiny as your voice jumps up a few pitches. With two fingers against your chin, Toji makes you meet his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give ya what you need,” he says before making the head of his cock enter your mouth. It takes your breath away, making you literally speechless as you’re only left to moan and mewl. Your muffled voice goes ignored as a dragged out groan leaves the brunette's lips as he curses. “Yeah, that’s so much better.”

Shallow thrusts in your mouth, it’s a filthy sight to envision as you’re held tightly by Sukuna. Finally does he end his torture against your pussy, the two fingers that swirled around your fat clit now pushing inside of your needy hole. Subconsciously do you clench, making it hard for him to enter before he’s slapping at the sensitive nub, making a squeal spark from your lips as the vibrations run straight through Toji’s cock. 

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing more of his length inside of your poor little mouth, forcing you to open wider to further accommodate him. Sukuna bites at the shell of your ear simultaneously, stretching out your cunt with two of his thick fingers. Your whines of pain are muffled by the cock in your mouth, your legs tensing around the hand in between them as your cheeks hollow around Toji. A deep inhale you take before you momentarily stop breathing altogether, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag.

The choked out cough is only music to their ears as Sukuna bucks his hips upwards in you, fucking your hole with his fingers and Toji stilling inside of you as you struggle to breathe. Tears prickle the corner of your eyes, face pushed into his happy trail. Tangled in this web that you willingly trapped yourself in, it’s starting to frighten you as you feel yourself drowning in the water of their hoses. You cry from the overwhelming sensation, how it feels so good to be used like this, the wet sounds of your pussy being fucked and abused by Sukuna’s fingers and the mess that Toji makes of your face, your makeup being smeared as tears run down and your lip gloss dissipating with each and every thrust of his cock inside you. 

It’s painful how Toji’s hand pulls at your hair, holding it as leverage as he drills his length inside of your mouth. Your mouth being used as a fleshlight for him to obliterate, he’s a selfish man as he can only think of his release. And it’s the sheer amusement of you that spurs on Sukuna, how your pussy salivates around his fingers as they stretch out your tight hole. Your honeyed slick painting the two digits as you clench around him. You continue to rock your hips against him, having him hold restraint as it goes straight to his cock. His free hand wrapped around the expanse of your waist as he batters your cunt until you’re feeling that call deep within. Your eyes squinting shut as you mewl out pathetically before the two men as Sukuna alerts Toji, “She’s gonna cum.”

“Well, she better hold it,” he says, speaking to you as if you weren’t there. As if you’re not the girl with his cock in your mouth. However, you obey, trying to keep it together as Sukuna’s unrelenting, his drilling inside of your pussy only getting worse in an effort to make you fall apart all too soon. Your legs spasm as you can’t hold it any longer, capturing Sukuna’s hand as you cream around his fingers. Fortunately, he doesn’t pry your legs open, only chuckling deviously to himself when your lower body finally relaxes. 

Toji chases his high inside of your mouth, leaving you to gag and choke around his length as he fucks it until he feels himself twitching. “Make sure to swallow all of me. Don’t waste a single drop,” he says before grunting. He spills himself inside of you, forcing you to swallow as he cums deep. You squint your eyes shut as he pushes his hips deeper before finally retracting and his cock falling to his thigh. Your throat’s dry, the absence leaving you gasping for air as you whine out, head hitting Sukuna’s chest. 

You’re made a pretty mess on his lap, your orgasm staining his pants as his fingers finally exit your cunt. He brings the coated digits to his lips, sucking them clean as a deep hum vibrates off his chest. “This starved pussy tastes so good. I think we might want to keep you after this.”

Sukuna pulls you both further on the bed, shedding his pants along the journey as you feel his length in between the crevice of your ass. Toji has your legs pressed against your chest, both holes out and vulnerable for their taking. You can feel Sukuna’s fingers inside your asshole, stretching you with the same two digits that were previously in your pussy while Toji’s got his cock aligned at your entrance. Your heart pangs heavily against your chest, trying to make a get away, but you swallow the anticipation away as you peet at Toji above you. However, it’s Sukuna that you feel first, his girthy length piercing through you as if it was creating a new hole inside of you as you cry out in pain.

“Breathe,” Toji has to remind you, feeling how tense you’ve become as Sukuna has stretched out your poor asshole. With all the prep he’s done, nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. Finally does your body relax when you feel Toji’s length glide against your folds before his tip kisses at your entrance. Both sheathing themselves completely in you, this moment feels like the most gentle they’ve ever been in you, waiting for you to calm down before you’ve given them the okay. 

You’re the sweetest and most salacious thing they’ve ever devoured, cocks plunging inside of your holes greedily as they both thrust inside of you. The heat of their bodies leave you so dizzy as you can’t focus on a thing around you, and certainly not on a word either of them have said. 

“Taking our cocks so greedily,” Toji pants into your ear. “You’re a selfish little thing.”

“But the best one we’ve had yet,” Sukuna rebuttals, thinking of the countless times someone’s had to back down in the past. They thought you were close to it, how in your eyes there were moments of second guessing and terror written all over you. But you pretty little thing, you’ve braved it through, stuffed to the brink by two enormous men. 

Tiny little fires inside of you that they only make bloom even further, creating a wildfire in their paths as they beat and batter both of your holes. They stretch your out deliciously, having you ignore the ache that you feel course through your body as you gnaw on your bottom lip. No amount of water would extinguish the desire that’s now embedded deep within you, their seed spilling inside of you as you cream uncontrollably. 

Bed sheets stained as the pungent smell of sex infiltrates the air as the room grows hot and stuffy, caught within the flames of shared lust. When they’re done with you, cum drips from your cunt and gaping ass as you fall on your face. When you finally head back home, you find both of their numbers saved inside of your phone and a message from Toji:

Sukuna’s right. I wouldn’t mind keeping you. 

And you wouldn’t mind being kept.

( author's note. ) here's my hand at trying to write more plotless porn. :p

[schoenpepper]

Hi teh needing some all time comfort so can I request for Trey, Jade and Floyd where their S/O got injured? Like sprained their ankle or something. Or broke their toe nail from taekwando because they had a miscalculation kick🙂

(Totally did not happen to me haha)

It Hurts, Doesn't It?

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, trey's is suggestive kyahhh idk what i wrote for him

A/N: Sige beh para sayo <3 HAHAHAHAAHAHA unahin ko req mo kasi kawawa ka naman pagbibigyan na kita. My phone died and it ain't charging on any cable so I'm gonna cry haha goodnight good morning good afterevening

Masterlist

Trey's hands are warm and gentle, massaging your ankle with practiced motions. "You uh, do this often?" you wince when he rolls it a bit too much to the left.

"Too much. Children are clumsy."

"I'm not a child."

He shoots you an unimpressed look over the top of his glasses, his fingers slowly pressing on the spots that make you hiss and thrash under his touch. "Stay still or it won't get any better."

"Okay," you pout, "big brother."

There's something dangerous in his honey dipped eyes that makes you attempt to pull back, but there's just no escaping him when he gently tugs on your leg and makes you lose your balance. "You aren't my sibling," he whispers, "and I am not your brother." You get it, you really do. You nod your head and try to pull back again, but suddenly, his lips are on your skin, pressing light kisses over the painful parts.

"What are you—?!"

"I wouldn't do this for my siblings," Trey's kisses slowly continue to climb up your leg, "so don't call me that again."

Floyd thinks the situation is funny, so he pokes and prods at the reddened skin on your ankle while laughing. "Shrimpy, how'd you manage to do that? Did you trip over yourself?" You know better than to regale him of your sad tale, so you purse your lips and pull your leg away from his restless hands.

"Floyd, it hurts. Cut it out please."

He frowns and leans in closer. You lean back against the bench, trying not to move your foot too quickly when he's closing in the distance without leaving you any chance to breathe. "But you promised to spend today with me. You can't back out on your promises."

You shake your head. "Nothing I can do, Floydie. I can't play with you when I can barely even walk."

"You can't walk, shrimpy?" you're suddenly hoisted up into his arms, "I'll carry ya'."

"Floyd! Put me down, please!"

He shakes his head and runs off, forcing you to wrap your arms around him for support.

"Nah, don't feel like it. Let's go play in Azul's office!"

Jade regards your ankle with his typical smile that betrays nothing of his true thoughts, slowly rubbing the area in a rhythm that almost lulls you to sleep. His gloves are tucked on your lap, his hat sloping down on your head almost covering your eyes. "Still," he speaks in a soft, low tone, "it is rather impressive you could injure yourself in such a situation."

Translation: That was dumb. How the fuck did you get hurt like that?

You give him a sheepish smile, pulling up the brim of the hat so that your view of his pretty face, all tense with the slightest tinge of worry, is unimpeded. "Thank you for helping, Jade."

"Of course. It's not as if I'm doing it for free."

Well, you should have expected it already. Octavinelle's brand of benevolence is often expensive. Your hands subconsciously fiddle with the satin of his gloves. "Of course, what do you want?"

His smile turns a little more genuine.

"And I could ask anything of you?"

You grimace. "Within reason."

"Then perhaps," his tone is a bit breathier when he gets closer to you, "a kiss for your knight in shining armor?"

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[randombush3]

que te quiero

alexia putellas x reader

prologue

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 3217

content warnings: just you fucking wait

notes: i slaved away to get this out asap lol

They list your injuries in an awkwardly ascending order: best to worst. You suppose the doctor’s callousness is more professional than malicious – and maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t panicking at the sight of such long, uninteresting words – but he makes it sound clinical (his job) and it’s hard to remember not everyone feels the excruciating pain you are slowly growing accustomed to. 

You wince at your thoughts’ poor choice of words. 

Apparently, you don’t remember much. In the week that you’ve been awake, you’ve been subject to every test, question, and assessment possible, all answers coming out with the same result. 

You know your name and when you were born. You know that you have a degree in Literature, but that you’re now a lawyer with an extensive library instead. You can speak all the languages you’ve ever learnt (that’s a different part of your brain, says the doctor when you ask how). They ask about your parents, your brothers, and names easily roll off your tongue, the childhood fear of hospitals still present (god, there is something that you wish had been forgotten). 

Still, the nurses approach you with sympathetic smiles, replicating the expression when they converse quietly with the worried-looking woman who visits you every day. She’s called Alexia, she tells you, staring at the gap between you as though she is a stranger to being so far apart. 

Although it was blurry when you first woke up, once Alexia reveals her name, you’re certain you recognise her.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” you tell your favourite nurse, chipper that you’ve worked it out. In an attempt to jog your memory, you’ve kept the small TV in the corner of your section of the ward on all afternoon, sort of missing the noise your committed visitor brings with her. “And she’s not here today, Isa, because she’s there.” You point at a figure running around on a football pitch. “Alexia Putellas. She’s famous!” It explains the secrecy and the inexplicable absences. You suppose a slightly different structure of her job allows her to visit at unconventional times, too. 

“Mm,” Isa hums, not quite committed to this conversation. “Let’s save the discoveries for your chat with the doctor, yeah? He should be here any minute now.” 

On cue, the pot-bellied man appears, clipboard in hand, bottom lip between his teeth. His perception leads his gaze to the TV, which, in turn, causes him to watch your reaction to the match. Growing insecure of his scrutiny, you press a button and watch the screen go black. 

“Good afternoon,” comes his greeting, clipped and determined to not waste time. You try to find comfort in that: maybe you aren't in the worst shape in this hospital. “How are your ribs feeling?” 

“Battered.” 

He writes that down. “You’re on the highest dosage of pain medication. We’ll need to start weaning you off soon, too. Especially due to a family history of addiction.” Your eyebrows furrow, and his pen scratches at the paper once again. “Okay, Y/n. Can I have a seat? Are you comfortable?” 

You take a moment to acknowledge the ache in your abdomen and head. He assumes your silence is a ‘yes’ and Isa is dismissed. “You shouldn’t be looking at any screens,” he says calmly, with the faintest hint of disappointment. “It will not aid your recovery.” 

“How am I supposed to remember anything if I can’t use… sources to help me?” you protest. 

“That is exactly what I have come here to discuss. We’ll start bit by bit. The more open you are to this, the quicker you will be released from hospital.” He smirks. “And I know that you are desperate to leave.” 

…

The stands of the stadium echo with jubilation as the final whistle blows. Alexia barely hears it due to the noise, still reeling from her penalty, proud to have scored in front of such a special guest. She’d made an ‘A’ with her fingers as she had celebrated. 

Despite her teammates’ dallying on the pitch, never in a rush after a win like this, Alexia is jumping the barrier and barreling through the crowd to get to the seats she’s been keeping an eye on for the whole match. Her mother is barely offered a ‘hello’ before Alexia is wrapped in a tight embrace. She won’t admit that the force of the impact winds her a little. 

“You played so well!” squeals Amaia, voice muffled in the sweat-soaked jersey. She seems almost giddy, which is a hefty improvement considering your current situation. 

Alexia laughs, bending down to Amaia’s level, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders. Tears prick at her eyes but she hopes it isn’t that obvious. “You saw my penalty, right?” 

She’s met with enthusiastic nodding, Amaia’s eyes widening with excitement. “Vaig veure la A! It was for me, right?” 

“For you,” Alexia confirms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Amaia’s head. Despite her efforts, the softness of the girl’s hair – the way she clings once more to Alexia’s body – is disarming. And Amaia speaking Catalan always gets her emotional. 

She wipes her tears when Amaia pulls away. 

This is difficult. Alexia is trying her hardest, but nothing is the same without you. She finds herself looking at the seat beside Amaia, expecting to see it filled by you, but it’s not; it’s empty. You are still at the hospital. You don’t even remember who Alexia is. 

You don’t remember the past eleven years, they think. Which means no Amaia, no Alexia, no Barcelona. 

It has broken Alexia’s heart. 

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “Go and get changed,” she instructs gently, in the same way she has been since the accident. Eli has become an engine, a guide. “Alba said she’d meet us at the restaurant.” 

Alexia swallows, embracing her mother. In her ear, she whispers, “I think it’s time for Amaia to see her.” Her mother’s touch remains firm, grounding her. She breathes out, and it is only now that her lungs ache that she feels like she can no longer hold it together. But Alexia is determined, and she will not crumble. 

Not in front of your daughter. 

“It’s your decision, Ale,” Eli murmurs back, her tone steady and calm. She’s seen how tirelessly Alexia has navigated these past weeks, juggling her team, her grief, her hope – all while trying to keep Amaia’s life as normal as possible. “You have done everything you can. If you think she’s ready, she’ll be ready.”

Alexia pulls back and nods, a quiet determination settling over her face. The thought of bringing Amaia to the hospital without the stability of a coma to predict her reaction has been weighing on her ever since you woke up. But, even though this step is more of a stumble, it seems to be in the right direction. 

"Now, go and get out of this kit. Amaia and I can only pretend you don’t smell for so long," Eli jokes, hand guiding her toward the locker rooms. Amaia is practically bouncing at Alexia’s side as they make their way down the tunnel, still buzzing with excitement over the game and ten goals scored. 

Not everyone is so plagued by misfortune in their personal lives – a reminder which is stark as Alexia passes the conga line of her teammates, all thrilled with their (superfluous) scoreline and exploiting the night off that Pere has allowed right from the get-go. A few of the girls wave at their captain as she walks past, but most feel uncomfortable shoving their elation in her face, aware of the shitstorm she is going through. 

The girls do keep plaguing her about what you had thought of their ‘Get Well Soon’ card, though. Not that Alexia has found an appropriate time to give it to you yet.

“Will she be awake?” Amaia suddenly asks, her voice breaking Alexia’s thoughts. Her expression is open, hopeful. Her eyes have the same shine as yours do in this light. 

Alexia glances down, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "We’ll see, Amaia," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s face. "We’ll visit, and we’ll see."

Inside the locker room, Alexia changes quickly, her mind already racing ahead to the visit. She imagines you there, perhaps looking out the window or glancing at her with that blank confusion that still cuts her deeper than she’d expected. The nurses have told her that you’re growing more restless with each day, becoming harder to occupy. You sound like a pain in their arses, which is comforting, because at least you are still you. And your questions! Alexia is unsurprised that the doctors rock-paper-scissor for ward duty. 

When she emerges, mood lifted by the thought of you continuing to be a nightmare, Eli and Amaia are waiting by the door, Amaia now clutching a small bouquet of flowers that must have been retrieved from Eli’s car while Alexia was changing. She’s holding them proudly, as if they might be a magic cure, as if a burst of colour is exactly what’s needed to bring you back.

“Ready to go?” Amaia asks, instinctively high-fiving Mapi as she walks out with Alexia. 

“Exciting plans, Capi?” her friend questions. Alexia’s look says it all. Mapi lowers her voice, allowing only Alexia to hear her; “you are strong. You will be strong.” 

“Let’s go,” prompts Amaia. Her impatience was very much inherited. 

After shooting an unconvincing look of confidence to her friend, Alexia nods, holding out her hand for Amaia to take. “Okay, okay. Say goodbye to Eli.” 

Kisses are exchanged. Alexia promises to come for dinner, even if she will be late. 

Amaia plays Taylor Swift in the car. The whiny music gives Alexia a bit of a headache, but at least it’s loud enough to dull the absolute din of her screaming thoughts. And when they arrive, it’s all too familiar for Alexia’s liking. 

She has her route to you memorised. It’s magnetic and intrinsic, and a desperate part of her is clawing at the hope that, somehow, you will have regained everything that has been lost in the day she hasn’t seen you. Before entering the ward, she tries to prepare Amaia, but the girl is as unstoppable as you can be and there is no intervening before she is at your bedside, greeting you like you remember who she is. 

…

A lot of what the doctor tells you are things you struggle to believe. Like, last year, you were made junior partner of the law firm you work at. They’re based in London. You used to live there – you moved after you’d finished your degree, bored of Bilbao and of home and of knowing every person in your world. Another confusing one: your brothers actually visit you, as though you are forgiven. 

Which sparks an aged memory. Two lines in the bathroom at the university. 

“Am I pregnant?” you ask, feeling the colour drain from your face at the idea that you might have lost the baby in the accident. 

The doctor waits patiently for you to remind yourself that eleven years have passed. 

“I was pregnant.” Nothing comes back to you, though this would be an appropriate moment for it to. The rest of the story hangs loosely at the back of your throat, unable to be spoken. You look at the doctor for help. “Did I keep it? I’m not – I wasn’t planning to.” 

“She’s called Amaia.” 

“Amaia…” you repeat. A painful realisation settles in you. How did you feel about becoming a mother? Why did you? When did they forgive you, and was it because of her? 

“Your mother’s name, I believe,” continues the doctor, “although you can remember that.” 

“I barely knew my mother.” She had died when you were very young. She didn’t feel like yours to grieve. To you, it was just time off school, hospital visits, and watching the rest of your world fall apart. You find yourself swallowed up in guilt – anger. How did you let this happen? How could you forget what must have mattered the most? “I want to see her,” you resolve, attempting to sit upright and pretend the movement doesn’t send a searing pain through your chest. “My… I want to know what she looks like.” 

Your patience need not extend for too long, as Alexia and Amaia arrive only two hours after the doctor departs. 

The sterility of the ward is no match for the warmth they exude, and you can almost sense them coming. It’s both comforting and unsettling. You refrain from telling Alexia that you know who she is. 

You have no time to, really, because there is a girl, average height with a bouquet in-hand, barreling towards you the moment you lay your eyes on your visitors. She’s loud enough to make you wince, which, in turn, earns her a sharp warning from Alexia, even further away than usual. She is watching you closely, awaiting your reaction. Her arms are folded across her chest, hair scraped into a damp ponytail, and she is withholding the emotion she wants to express because Alexia, you’ve learnt, isn’t really that kind of person. You often find yourself wondering how she first opened up to you. How long did it take? 

You want to ask, but Amaia – Amaia – begins to speak. Her voice is unfamiliar, her accent failing to reflect any time in Bilbao she might have spent with you. She speaks at first in Spanish. You hardly hear what she is saying, too focused on examining her features. 

She does look like you. Or, rather, pictures of you from years ago. Your father’s eyes, your nose. A smile that you can’t help but reciprocate. You try to remember what her father looked like, but nothing comes to mind and Amaia seems to have been unresponsive to his genes.

“Amaia,” you interrupt, not to cut her off but to test her name on your tongue. It’s foreign to you, but it suits her. She beams. 

“Do you remember me?” 

And what the actual fuck do you say to that? 

Your hesitation is telling. Alexia stiffens from where she had relaxed on the fringes on the section. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You look up at her, unaware that you had bowed your head in the first place. She has kind eyes, you think. And she must be clever, because it is not what she says, but that she says it in Euskera. 

“I missed you,” you say. It slips out, but you mean it. Well, you assume you missed her, and therefore it is a logical thing to come out with. And, also, you are aching inside from seeing the life that you have created standing right in front of you. A life you were not going to pursue. 

Amaia does not cry, but she delicately unfurls your clenched palms and shapes her hands to link with yours. You want her touch to bring it all back. It feels like jumping off a skyscraper when you are met with nothing, still. Instead of the flood of recollection you long for, there is a faint, ungraspable feeling of something you cannot name. 

After a silent pause, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Alexia steps forwards, her arms still crossed, her expression unsure and more than a little guarded. There is a sudden swell of gratitude in your chest, more for her presence than anything specific, and, without thinking, you smile at her. 

“Congratulations,” you say, voice just above a whisper as though Amaia will be unable to hear. “I saw you on the TV. You scored, didn’t you?” 

Alexia’s eyes widen a fraction as she glances at Amaia, who is proudly informing you, “ez behin, baizik eta bitan”. Alexia manages a small, almost bashful smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. For a woman so publicly celebrated, she seems to struggle to handle your praise. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “It… wasn’t a huge match but,” she grimaces at the sound of her voice, “I wanted to play my best for, well, for you guys. Amaia was there, and you… Well, I suppose you were watching it on TV.” She doesn’t feel inclined to show you the band of pre-wrap around her wrist with your name written on it, hiding it under the sleeve of her hoodie, or tell you that you were there with her, like you always are. 

Something tugs at your heart. It’s obvious that she is desperately holding back emotions, likely for Amaia’s sake. She looks away for a moment, regaining her composure, then turns back to you with a steadier expression. Amaia glances between you both, unnervingly perceptive for a girl so young. She squeezes your hands a little tighter. 

In the silence that follows, Alexia finally speaks up again. “I… didn’t want to crowd you, but,” her tone drops into something more serious, “I’ll be back again tomorrow, and, actually… Your doctor and I have been discussing the idea of you coming home soon.” 

The word hits you like a bullet from too close a range; it’s almost too fast to register before the damage is done. 

You don’t even know where you live. In your mind, you have never been to Barcelona, let alone have a home here. And yet there is an inexplicable warmth in Alexia’s voice that makes the idea feel… less absurd. 

She clears her throat. “In three days, if you’re ready,” she softly adds, eyes glimmering with hope in a fearful way. 

Later, Alexia stands just outside the ward, talking quietly with your doctor as Amaia sits nearby, focused on the little bouquet of flowers she brought for you, picking at a petal here and there. Alexia watches your daughter for a moment, the girl’s calm focus oddly grounding. 

“She’ll need a lot of rest and minimal stress,” the doctor says, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “But it’s promising. Her physical recovery is progressing, and though her memory may take longer, familiar environments could help.”

Alexia nods, though the doctor’s words bring only partial relief. “I can make things as calm as possible for her at home,” she says, trying to avoid sounding like a child begging for a present she knows she will not receive. “We have spare rooms, and lots of pictures to look over. And she hates hospitals. You’re lucky to have her disorientated, else she’d be kicking up a big fuss.”

The doctor lets out a tired laugh, but makes no attempt to agree that you haven’t made his life slightly more difficult than it needed to be already. “It will be an adjustment for everyone, but it is important that you are looking after yourself too.” 

Alexia’s gaze drifts back to the door of your room, and she swallows hard, steeling herself. The doctor’s words linger but they do nothing to curb her determination. She would do anything for you, and if you fell for her once, you can fall for her again. 

After another quiet moment, the doctor pats her arm lightly. “Three days, then. We’ll make sure she’s as prepared as she can be.”

[girl4music]

That’s it. Anyone with the “me and my own” ideology will get clapped back.

People that actually care to help people without asking for anything in return will also get their due.

That’s just the way of the Universe.

When you’re already well off, why do you need to be accounted for? Harris specifically was talking about who wasn’t. She was addressing the poor because she knew that’s where things needed to change the most.

The people she didn’t address are not going to be impacted in any negative way. Their lives will stay relatively the same. She didn’t speak to you because she didn’t need to because you’re fine as you are.

On the other hand, Trump is also addressing the poor and minorities. Speaking directly to them. But not with love and care. With hatred and revenge. The opposite.’

He wants to make things worse for them and now he can. So if you voted for him or you didn’t even vote at all - it’s on you why things are going to be much worse from now on. And if you think you won’t be negatively impacted by it because Trump is on your side…

Think again. Because incompetency impacts everyone.

No Harris wasn’t promising the rich and the majorities something. But that didn’t mean she was out to get you. That didn’t mean that she wanted to hurt you.

She simply saw it as you already had what you needed.

There were many others that did not.

She chose to address them.

Look for EVERYONE to live comfortable lives, then everyone has also got to learn to share and to be a community. Giving and getting is a transaction between each other. This is normal. This is natural. This is the way it should be. Greed and hoarding wealth doesn’t really help anyone in the long run and that’s not well understood in America because they’ve lived an entire history through a culture of taking from others. From theft. They never question it not because they’re dumb but because they don’t realize it this is how it’s always been and how it’s always been has always being wrong.

Being afraid of community and socialism. Taught that it’s inherently bad for them and to always look out for themselves and their own first. It’s just not The Way.

Having a black woman as President for the first time would have been revolutionary for them. it would have been a start to setting things right because they’ve never been right. Keeping to tradition doesn’t always mean better because that tradition could be awful. All of this I’m writing right now only sounds so bad because it’s coming from someone that doesn’t live in America but still has lived through a Western culture that’s majorly the same and has never understood it.

See I’m a Westerner but I don’t understand Western culture and I never really have. It’s like I was born with the soul or someone Eastern. Someone whose worldview of philosophy is inherently non-dual because when I look at a person - regardless of what kind of person they are or might be - I don’t see a difference.

We all want to live and thrive and prosper but so many of us have an understanding that goes against that goal just by virtue of “well, what do I get out of it?”

You get what you’ve always had. The means to survive. If you believe that’s not enough then I don’t know what to tell you. It’s more than enough for those that don’t currently have it and are fucking desperate for it.

Bottom line is you’ve got to give a little - to sacrifice or compromise on something - to set the balance right.

Harris was the right person to lead to be able to do this. Or at least make the attempt to. What you have now - with Trump - is a lesson. And I hope you learn it well.

Hatred will never make anything better for anyone. All it does it makes it much much much worse for everyone.

You can call this “virtue-signalling” or being “morally superior” if you want. I don’t care. No, America is not my home. No, I couldn’t vote. It doesn’t matter to me.

But I still very much care about the situation because I am a human being. And I honestly think that’s all that’s needed to do the right thing at the end of the day. If you care about something or somebody other than yourself.

You know politics is whatever but people have forgotten how to be a fucking person and that’s very concerning.

You can play heroes vs villains to your dying day and see how much you’ve “gained” out of doing it then.

Rant over.

White conservative America will vote for whiteness and patriarchy.

White conservative America would rather have Putin in the White House before Kamala Harris.

[greengoblinswifey]

i was the one that asked if you writw dark stuff. and tysm for replying, you are so incredibly sweet💕🎀

So, could you write a dark fanfic with Nicholas or Father Charlie (you choose lol) with noncon and maybe dv? like, reader meets him and one of her family members owns him something and he like? uses her instead? if thats okay, could u do it rlly darkkk?

tysm and ily!!! 💕💞

Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— your father fucked nicholas over and he kidnaps you to get his payback.

warnings— EXPLICIT CONTENT. kidnapping, manipulation, extreme degrading, praise kink, face slapping, male masturbation, crying kink, face fucking, CNC, unprotected sex, knife play, death threats, violence, bondage, mentions of bruises, choking, double penetration with knife handle, anal, breeding kink, stockholm syndrome.

a/n— i think this is quite…dark and thank you🫶🏽hope you guys enjoy, def stepped out of my comfort zone for this, requests are open!

Nicholas had always known your father was a powerful man, a producer and director with the kind of influence that could turn anyone into a Hollywood legend. They had made a deal, Nicholas would land two starring roles that would launch his career to the next level. The first film had given him some visibility, but no real money, thanks to your father’s manipulation of the contract. The second role was supposed to be his ticket to true fame and fortune. But then, it all fell apart. Your father broke his promises, cutting Nicholas out in favor of his own friend, Cooper Koch. Worse yet, he’d seized some of Nicholas' property as “leverage” during the filming, draining him financially and leaving him furious and betrayed.

Your father had underestimated just how deep Nicholas’ anger would run. He wanted what was rightfully his, and if he couldn’t get it through negotiations or agreements, he’d find another way. That’s when he learned about you—the daughter your father doted on, especially since the loss of his only son, your older brother, who was meant to be the family heir. But Nicholas wasn’t here for empathy. He wanted revenge, and he knew exactly how to get it.

You agreed to go on a date with Nicholas, the rising star you had met and grown fond of, without a second thought. But as you sat in his car, something felt off. He was silent, his gaze hard as he gripped the steering wheel, ignoring your attempts at small talk.

“Where are we going?” you asked, noticing that he’d missed the turn toward the restaurant.

He didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally, he murmured, “Change of plans.”

You felt a prickle of unease and glanced around, trying to piece together where he might be headed. The buildings grew sparse, and the trees thickened on either side of the road, casting shadows as the sun dipped lower. “This doesn’t look like the way to any restaurant,” you said, your voice faltering.

He turned to you, eyes cold. “It’s not.”

A chill ran down your spine. Panic set in as he accelerated, the car speeding down a winding road that led into the dense woods. “Nicholas, stop the car,” you demanded, reaching for the door handle, but he locked it before you could react.

He didn’t look at you, but his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “You think your father can cross me and get away with it? That he can just toss me aside like I’m nothing?” His grip on the wheel tightened. “This isn’t a date, sweetheart. This is payback.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled at the door, the lock refusing to budge. “You don’t have to do this! Whatever he did-”

“He took everything from me,” Nicholas snarled, his eyes darkening as he drove deeper into the woods. “Everything I worked for. The fame, the fortune, my properties, my pride. And now? I’m taking something from him.”

In a desperate attempt to escape, you kicked at him, your fists pounding against his arm. He barely flinched, his focus unbreakable as he finally pulled up to a secluded cabin, hidden by towering trees and thick brush. You barely had time to scream before he leaned over, his hand covering your mouth.

“Quiet,” he hissed, his voice cold as he tightened his grip. “You’re going to make this harder on yourself sweetheart.”

With a swift motion, he hit a spot on the side of your head, and darkness began to cloud your vision. The last thing you saw before losing consciousness was his dark gaze.

When you woke, your hands were bound to a bed frame in a dimly lit room, and your head throbbed. The dim light filtered through the cracks in the cabin walls, casting eerie shadows. He was there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you with a look that was almost satisfied.

“Comfortable?” he asked mockingly, tilting his head.

You struggled against the ropes, glaring at him. “You’re fucking insane! My father won’t just let this slide!”

He laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Your father will do exactly what I want, or he’ll never see you again.”

As you struggled against the ropes, glaring at him. “My father won’t stand for this. He’ll ruin you,” you spat, words filled with venom. “You think your career’s over now? It’s nothing compared to what he’ll do when he finds out what you’ve done.”

His smirk faded, his gaze darkening. In a flash, he crossed the room, sending a chill through you. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours as his hand struck yours with force, the impact whipping your head to the side.

“Careful with that fucking attitude,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “If you want to get through this in one piece, you’d better be a good little girl and play along.” His mouth curled into a mocking smile as he added, “Maybe I’ll let you go if you can manage that.”

A spark of hope flickered across your burning face, but his mocking laugh snuffed it out. “Oh, don’t look so hopeful,” he sneered. “I own you now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you.”

The next few days, Nicholas seemed almost amused by your resistance, feeding off your energy as he reminded you just how little control you had. You played along in the way he wanted you to, letting him hold you close as he told you about the disgusting things he wanted to do to you and your father and whatever other sick games he had in mind. Whenever he would see you cry and resist him, your acrylics digging in his back and leaving welts, you noticed the prominent bulge it left in his pants.

One morning, he threw down a newspaper, its headline blaring the news of your disappearance and the national search underway. Your father’s influence had reached every corner of the country, and law enforcement was relentless. Nicholas caught your glance, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Guess Daddy dearest is worried,” he taunted, feigning innocence. “How touching.”

You burst into tears, unable to hold it in any longer, you missed your father and you wanted to be away from the psycho standing in front of you. He laughed in your face, slowly taking out his impressively long and hard cock, pumping it as you cried harder. Disgust filled you as you watched him moan the harder you cried. He was getting off to your pain and somehow—deep inside, watching him get off to you turned you on.

“Keep fucking crying sweetheart, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.” Disgusted, you turned your head away, refusing to look at the sight before you but he just chuckled. You opened your eyes feeling the bed dip and you looked up at him, seeing him with his cock above you.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he growled, his stroking become more frantic.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat. He stopped stroking his dick to slap you in the face with it, earning a soft whimper. Obeying him, you opened your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut at the man before you shoved his length into your mouth, thrusting, before he shot his load down your throat.

“Fucking hell, that’s a good fucking whore, take all my cum,” he groaned, grabbing a fistful of your curls and bucking his hips.

As soon as he let you go, your head snapped to the side, shame filling you.

Nicholas leaned in, his expression cold. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice steady and unyielding. “You’ll make up for every single thing your father took from me. And once I’m done, once I’ve taken back what’s rightfully mine, he’ll be begging for my mercy.”

You glared back, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the fear tightening in your chest. “You’re delusional if you think you can control me or him,” you said, your voice shaking with defiance.

Nicholas laughed, unphased. “We’ll see. By the time I’m finished, you won’t even want to go back to that man.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Because I’n going to break you like a bitch and you’ll be begging to stay with me.”

He watched your expression, almost amused, as you struggled to maintain your composure. “You’ve done well so far, taking my cock down your throat,” he continued, his tone dark but oddly approving. “Maybe it’s time I marked you as mine.”

You swallowed, your mind racing. No matter how much you fought, the lines between fear and something you didn’t want to admit were beginning to blur. He seemed to sense it, a satisfied smirk crossing his face as he leaned back, leaving you to confront the uncertainty.

A gasp left your lips as he gripped your throat, tearing your dress off you. He was a predator and you were his prey. His eyes scanned your almost bare body, licking his lips as you quivered in fear. If your hands weren’t bound to the bed you would’ve tried concealing yourself.

“Please stop,” you whimpered.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, “don’t make me gag you, better yet I won’t, I want to hear you beg me to stop then I want to hear your little moans when you realize I’m making you feel good.”

Your lips quivered as you fought back tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction he wanted.

“Now, I’m going to untie you and you’re going to take off your underwear like a good little bitch. If you try anything stupid, I’ll fucking kill you, understood?” he said, reaching for your wrists.

Slowly, you nodded, the threat rising fear inside you but a sharp smack to the face jolted you. “I said do you fucking understand me?”

“Y-yes Nicholas.”

He untied your wrists, and you looked down to see them black and blue. Slowly, you carried out his request, only having to take off your underwear as you unfortunately went to the ‘date’ not wearing a bra.

“Now spread those legs.”

A soft whimper left your lips and you complied, knowing exactly what the psycho would do to you if you refused. “Good girl.” He reached for the bedside table, taking out a sharp knife from the drawer. “Now, once again, if you think of doing anything stupid, I’ll slit that pretty throat and still fuck it.”

He held the knife lightly against your throat, his fingers dipping between your legs as you trembled. “If you’re so fucking scared and I’m a psycho, why are you soaked? Why the fuck are you wet?”

Shame overtook you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, just wanting it all to be over. You thought about your father, your dead brother, anything to take your mind off what was about to happen.

“It’s gonna be okay princess, I’ll take good care of you if you take good care of me.” He knelt on the bed, making sure you were mouth level with his cock. “It’s time to take good care of me, open up that mouth and I swear to god if you use teeth, I’ll use the knife to knock out every last one of them.”

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth, and he slowly pushed his big cock into it. Your mouth was wide open and you were gagging on it, trying your best to breathe. He began snapping his hips forward, his cock continuously going down your throat and through it all, he kept the knife pressed against your throat.

“Fuck, you really have a mouth on you,” he chuckled, “you’re suck a good cock sleeve, I’m going to enjoy using you like the whore you are.”

His thrusts became rougher and you could hardly breathe and soon, he held you by your curls, pushing your head all the way down until your nose was on his pubes. “I’m gonna cum bitch, swallow my fucking load, don’t let it go to waste.”

You couldn’t even spit it out if you wanted to. He released down your throat, the action making you cough around his dick as he made sure to milk every drop inside your mouth. “You did so good for me baby, I know you’re enjoying this.”

You shivered as he used the cold handle of the knife, rubbing it up and down your folds. Shame bubbled inside you as you heard the unmistakable sound of squelching noises telling you exactly how soaked you were.

“What a disgusting slut, your pussy is practically gushing for me, are you seriously enjoying this?” You looked away embarrassed, heat rising in your cheeks.

A gasp left your lips as you felt the handle sink into your pussy. “Nicholas, please, no,” you begged, disgusted at the sight below you.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Shut the fuck up!” he screamed at you.

Your pussy clenched around the handle as he began fucking you with it faster, the pain soon subsiding and being replaced by pleasure. Trying to hold back your moans seemed futile as he began rubbing your clit and the handle hit a certain spot inside you.

“You’re getting off on this? Fuck, you’re much more of a whore than I thought. If you cum on the knife’s handle I’ll know for sure you were just asking for my cock, you’re fucking asking for it,” he chuckled, darkly.

Hearing his words, you pressed your lips together, containing your moans and trying your hardest not to cum. He only chuckled at your attempts, the handle speeding up inside you and the squelching noises becoming louder and louder. You wished you were deaf in that moment, at least you wouldn’t have to endure the shame of knowing being manhandled by your kidnapper was turning you on.

“Cum for me whore, I know you want to, you won’t be able to stop yourself forever.” Your body betrayed you and as soon as the words left his lips, you soaked his hand and the handle inside you.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re disgusting,” he laughed, looking down at his soaked hand, “did you really just squirt from me fucking you with a knife blade?”

It felt like your world was crumbling as he laughed mockingly and your pussy twitched, slowly gushing.

“Well then, that was easy, I think you’re ready for this big, fat cock to fuck that tight pussy.” He dragged you by your legs, pulling you flat on your back and rubbed the tip up and down your pussy.

“Nicholas, you don’t have to do this, my father will give you back everything he took, I promise. Y-you can let me go, please, I won’t tell.”

“Oh shut up,” he said, slapping you on the mouth, “you don’t get it do you? I own you now. You’re mine. He took everything away from me and I’ll take and use you instead.”

Not giving up, you tried to beg more, “Please don’t, I’m begging you.”

“If you didn’t want me to fuck you, you wouldn’t have squirted for me. You wouldn’t have been soaked like a whore from my touch. Surely you want this, surely your body knows you better than your dumb little brain does. Just lay there and take it, you’ll like it.”

Maybe he was right. If you didn’t want it, why else would you have been wet? Why did you cum? Your body would’ve refused him. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, maybe he just wanted to make you feel good like he did before.

A scream erupted as he pushed his thick cock inside you, giving you no time to adjust. “That’s it bitch, scream for me.”

Your gasps and screams grew louder as he began pounding into you, the bed frame smacking against the wall and your tits bouncing. He took up the knife and traced it along your jaw, admiring how you looked taking him. He brought it down to your tits, increasing his pace and making you moan and scream even louder for him. The intensity of it all was unbearable and you could already feel the impending orgasm.

“I need you to remember you’re nothing but a pussy for me to fuck, a cock slut. You feel so fucking good clenching around my dick.”

He began using the wet handle to rub your clit and you knew it was over for you. Gripping on to his toned biceps, your jaw fell open, loud moans leaving you as you came all over his raw cock inside you. Curse him for not at least using a condom.

“That’s it, let it all out, let out those slutty moans too. You should be a bitch in porn with the way you squirt and moan,” he laughed breathlessly.

He swiftly flipped you onto your back, but instead of pulling your ass up to him, he pressed a bit of his body weight onto you as you lay flat on the bed, slipping his cock inside your pussy once more.

“Spread your pussy for me,” he demanded.

He began pounding into you as you shamefully had your hands on your ass spreading yourself for him. “You should see just how wet you are, but I’m sure hearing it tells you all you need to know.”

You felt so full with him pressing down on you, thrusting roughly, having no regard for the mix of pain that accompanied the pleasure. But, deep down, you were enjoying it. You enjoyed the way he manhandled you, the way he spoke to you like you were nothing, the way he was fucking you like you were just a flesh light.

“Oh god your pussy is just sucking me in, clenching so tightly around me, cum for me again bitch.”

Unable to spread your pussy for him any longer, you gripped the sheets as you came hard around his cock. He continued fucking you through your high, making sure you felt everything. Making sure you knew who was fucking you and who gave you such an intense orgasm.

“My turn. I’m gonna cum inside you, breed this pussy. You’re gonna be all swollen and pregnant, then that baby is gonna be my lucky ticket to yours and your father’s fortune,” he laughed.

“Please, no, I can’t— I’m not on birth control,” you cried out.

“Oh fuck, do you feel my cock throbbing? That’s even better.”

Your protests proved futile and he filled you to the brim. The warm feeling of his load inside you making you moan in content.

“See? You’re just a slutty bitch who likes getting her pussy fucked. You know what else needs to be fucked? That tight little ass.”

Horror spread across your face. No one had ever fucked you in the ass before. He spat on your asshole then used your juices and his cum from your pussy to lubricate it, pushing it in with his fingers. You winced at the unusual intrusion. He continued fingering your ass, shoving the lubricants inside and prepping you for his cock.

“Couldn’t stop looking at that tight asshole when you were spreading for me. I just had to have it. You were practically begging for it.”

Maybe he was right, why else would you have spread yourself? Of course he would’ve seen your tight ass and wanted to fuck it too. How could you be so stupid?

“Get ready bitch.”

“Please—”

Your pleads fell on deaf ears and he pulled your ass up to him, pressing his hand into your back so you could arch for him. Slowly, his big cock began slipping inside your ass, inch by inch. He was more generous with it than your pussy.

“Fuck baby, this ass is so fucking tight, I know for goddamn sure I’m the first to fuck you in it.” He was right.

He began pounding harder as your ass opened up for him. You felt so full, you didn’t know you could feel more full until he pushed the handle of the knife into your pussy.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, the intensity making you see stars. All that was in your head was pleasure and cumming again.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” he beamed, “now bounce that ass back on my cock and this knife.”

Obeying immediately, you bounced your ass back. Your moans were so loud, the whole woods could probably hear. You didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t deny how good he was making you feel, how he was hitting all the right spots inside you. His thrusts met your ass and he rammed the handle inside your pussy over and over.

“Squirt for me baby, squirt and I’ll fill this ass up.”

You nodded frantically, still throwing your ass back to him and you screamed, your orgasm overtaking you like you’ve never felt before.

“Good girl, that’s my bitch, now beg, beg for me to cum inside your ass.”

“Please, fuck— please cum inside my ass, I need you to, please do it,” you begged.

He smirked, throwing the knife on the bed and slapping your ass as he groaned loudly, his load spurting in your ass. He held you in place and soon pulled out, watching as his cum leaked out of both your holes. He ruined you. You were his.

As he pulled out and fell beside you, you instinctively snuggled into his side, a million degrading thoughts running through your head.

[curtins]

DITTO — Gojo Satoru a rewrite of this post.

prologue. → brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. unfulfilled/unresolved love. angst, hurt, comfort, fluff. your usual shenanigans. sfw! implied, minor satosugu (mb because geto is my beautiful sad princess and i love him so he has to be a part of everything). pining, idiots in love. grief, and what you do after you've lost what you treasure the most etc u get it. reader is from an unnamed clan, has a younger brother. reader also wears skirts, dresses sometimes, character death + injury

word count. 11k! 😭 song inspiration. ditto — newjeans / 뉴진스 (2022) a/n. i wrote rough headcanons and posted them yesterday but i woke up thinking dang i should actually write something better about that lmao. update: i thought i'd finish this in a few hours, why did this take me like 2 days? update #2: dawg this is long as fuck...this kinda depressed me to write CROSSPOSTED ON AO3 <3 💙

mp3. do you think about me now, yeah. all the time...

✉️ — 1995. 💬 — gojo.

these meeting rooms were hushed, grand, and the kind of place that simply swallowed up any sound and echo; where the wood-panelled walls were lined with the tapestries and polished symbols of his clan.

and in the hush, gojo had sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, trying to listen to the conversation of the adults, with their low and steady voices that droned on. this was so boring. they were always speaking of things that he just couldn't understand, but his parents said these meetings were important, and so he was dragged along - much to his eternal chagrin. still, he shifted in place, glancing around at the detailed screens painting around the corners of the room, in varying shades of blue.

across the room, there was another kid. one who sat beside her father, fidgeting just as he was. and gojo could tell by the way that you kept glancing towards the door that you, too, longed to escape. your gaze caught his, and there was that flicker of mutual boredom that sparked between you two. you had scrunched up her nose, as if to say 'this is so boring, isn't it?'

gojo grinned, stifling a giggle. he had leaned back, just a little, surveying the adults who paid no heed to him, before letting himself inch across the rough texture of the mat towards the door.

"do you want to see the garden?" he mouthed silently, his words exaggerated and slow, so you would understand.

your eyes had lit up, and you nodded, just as your father (well, he assumed it was her father) leaned down to whisper something in your ear, his voice a low rumble that was far too quiet for gojo to catch. you were nodding obediently, but your eyes were now fixed with the glimmer of excitement, and he quickly held the door open for you as you scrambled out the door, following him quietly as they creaked down the long hallway.

and soon, they reached the back of the estate, where the garden stretched out like a hidden oasis, filled with the flowering bushes, the winding stone paths, and the pond that glistened in the morning light. suddenly, he stopped by the edge of the pond, brushing pale hair out of his stinging eyes, "i'm satoru, by the way."

you had sat down quickly, as though the long walk had winded her (gojo had barely needed to stop to catch is breath), and your robes dipped into the pond, letting the water seep up slowly, "i've heard of you. my parents say you're an only child."

gojo shrugged, trying to think of something important he could tell you, "it's not so bad. one day, i'm going to be the head of my clan," puffing up his chest a little.

you had nodded, "i would like to be too, but my younger brother would get it. because...you know."

gojo didn't quite know but he nodded like he understood, and he tried to think of something smarter to say, "well the job isn't that fun anyway. it's just sitting around reading papers, and telling people what to do."

you had pouted, frowning, "i want to tell people what to do all day. and i would get the nicest robes too as clan head."

and you had looked so unhappy at the prospect that you were being robbed of a stellar wardrobe that gojo made up his mind, right then and there, "tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?"

your face had lit up, holding your little pinky up to his, "promise?"

gojo linked his finger with hers, sealing this silly vow and laughing, "why not?"

✉️ — 1996. 💬 — you.

when you're seven years old, you’ve resigned yourself to trailing behind gojo, watching as your friend takes on the world with the same reckless, eager energy that he seems to pour into everything that he does.

his voice has picked up a confidence that you haven't felt yet, and there's a permanent, flashy grin on his face that says he doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, not his parents, nor his clan.

and today, gojo's decided that the old shrine on the edge of your family estate needs exploring. you're a little less certain, especially since your father had told you that this shrine was haunted, but you find yourself following the boy anyway, and there's that silent agreement in place: he leads, you follow. you're alright with that, that's just the way it's always been.

he's dressed, as usual, in a loose grey hoodie that's two sizes too big for him, and his jeans have a hole in the knee; some small rebellion against his clan's strict sense of tradition. even his hair is awfully emssy, tousled and getting a little too long, and you know he hates it when his mother tries to comb it down, and you easily suspect that gojo just ruffles it on purpose to get a reaction out of those around him. he probably does everything on purpose for a round of reactions, honestly.

you, on the other hand, have your nicest lilac skirt on, and there's a small bow in your hair that the maidservants had pinned themselves (your mother had been too deep in her cups all morning). but you had fluttered around, feeling quite pretty in your skirt; like you were a fairy that would sprout wings and live in the clouds.

gojo glances back at you, and rolls his eyes, "you know, you look like you're going to one of the clan meetings," he mutters, but there's a playful glint in his eye. he's pulled a twig from the ground, and he's waving it around like a sword, slicing through imaginary enemies as he marches forward like an idiot.

you just shrug, quietly watching him cut through the tall grass ahead, "i like looking nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed. you can feel the careful way the sweet, old servant (she turned seventy last week!) had arranged your hair, and the press of the bow keeping it every lock in place.

"well, if you ever decide to look like you're not on your way to sit for a court painting, let me know," gojo says, smirking (he thinks he's funny) as he waves his 'sword' around, battling on the false frontlines.

but despite yourself, you laugh, and quicken your pace to keep up with him, and so, gojo slows just a bit, enough that you're walking side by side now, and his arm brushes against yours.

"did you know that they say that this shrine is spooked?" he asks, his voice falling to a dramatic whisper.

"i live here, satoru. obviously, duh," and the shrine comes into view, and it's small, weathered with age, but to you, it looks grand and mysterious, even magical, "do you believe it's haunted?"

gojo shrugs, unfazed, "nah, probably just an old rock. but it would be cool if it was. maybe, we'll see a ghost."

now you've taken a hesitant step back, but gojo just grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and his hand is warm and steady in yours.

"c'mon, don't be a chicken," he teases, laughing as he drags you closer, and you plant your feet firmly in the ground, watching as clouds begin to roll over the sky, ominous and gloomy.

oh, this place is definitely haunted. your father was right, it's so over for you now. a massive, ugly curse is going to pop out and eat you alive, and steal your pretty hair bow. you mutter a small prayer under your breath. gojo satoru, you will pay for this.

✉️ — 2000. 💬 — you.

you'd always heard whispers about yourself from the other kids, how you were too quiet, or you tried far too hard to be perfect — unwilling to roughhouse the way they did. perhaps they were right, and it was true that you preferred to sit alone. you think it was the feeling of order you enjoyed, of a world you could control, even if it was just through lines on a piece of paper.

but today, their voices were louder than usual. a small group had gathered near the cherry blossom tree where you'd settle yourself, and they circled around like hungry wolves sniffing out something they could tear apart.

one girl wrinkled her nose and called you prissy (well, okay) and another boy had snickered and muttered that you were so boring, and it was a wonder that you even had a friend like gojo.

ouch.

their words felt like small, precise cuts, sharper than expected. you had heard these things before. after all, everyone had reached the age where they were aware of their abilities, their techniques as jujutsu sorcerers.

you didn't mind your own technique, making sure to channel time and energy to learn so you could grow up and be as good as your father one day (a well established sorcerer in his own right, if a bit out of shape).

but you didn't have to be very smart to know that gojo's abilities stood out entirely in a different way, and you heard your parents whisper in hushed tones at how lucky his clan was to have a child like that. with the right training and moulding, he could be the most powerful man to walk the earth.

how silly. gojo was all laughs, and smiles, and stupid jokes and bright, clever eyes. you thought it was dumb how they all spoke about an eleven year old boy like he was a weapon, kept in its sheath until it was ready to be drawn.

but of course, all the kids wanted to be friends with him instead. and today, these barbs hurt more — and you kept your eyes down, clutching your books a bit tighter, willing for these supposed 'friends' of yours to go away.

but before you could say anything, you heard his stomps.

"hey!"

gojo's voice was unmistakable, sharp and sudden as he clamoured over, all brashness and bravado. he had gotten a bad haircut recently (entirely his own fault for thinking he could put scissors to his own hair, but you had laughed so hard as he swore curses) so white tufts stuck out all over his head, making him look like he got stuck in a wall socket, even crazier than usual.

but gojo didn't look at you, just planted himself between you and the group, bruised fists clenched (they trained him too hard), and shoulders set, "what's your problem?"

the other kids stammered, clearly surprised, but that didn't stop him, he who looked like a small, lanky and angry polar bear.

"you think you're so funny? talking like that? say it again, and i'll knock your teeth out."

"ah, satoru -" you ran your tongue behind your teeth, the last thing everyone needed was another fight of bruised pride, and yanked hair, rolling around in the dust.

but one of the boys had muttered something under his breath, taking a half-step back. the others followed, shuffling, rolling their eyes and looking anywhere but at you and gojo.

and your best friend didn't move until they had scattered completely, leaving behind only the faint echos of their derision as they fled. and then he turned to you, his scowl fading into something kinder (good, you didn't like seeing him so upset) as he dropped onto the bench, beside you, pulling his knee up onto the bench so he could rest his chin against it casually.

"they're just idiots," he said, rolling his eyes, and his voice was softer, playful again, "don't listen to them."

you gave him a small smile, nodding, as the knot in chest loosened a little, "i wasn't really listening to them," you murmured, even though you probably knew that was a bold-faced lie.

gojo released a loud laugh, much too loud and forced, as he nudged you with his elbow, and he must have known it too, but he was smiling, "good, that's the spirit."

You managed a small smile, nodding, the knot in your chest loosening a little.

the world was quiet again as you both sat in silence, the soft breeze ruffling the grass and the cherry blossoms overhead. and then, with a shyer glance, you managed to look over at your friend, watching as messy tufts of his snowy hair moved ever so slightly in the breeze.

"thanks, 'toru," you said, quietly, but he just shrugged it off, brushing it away as though it was nothing.

"hey, what am i here for?"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — you.

gojo was sprawled across your wide bed, looking at you as if you were the most ridiculous person in the entire world. his own suitcase sat beside him, already paced with the very few things he needed, and now he watched you with that eager, restless gleam in his blue eyes, like he could barely sit still.

"you're so overthinking this," he said, bright voice full of impatience, "just throw some stuff in a bag, and we're good to go. it's just tokyo, not the end of the world."

you scowled at the boy, holding up two sweaters; one sensible in a shade of pale blue, and the other thick, deep red and woollen, "but what if it gets cold? or rains?"

gojo rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically onto your pillow, hands behind his head as he sprawled around like a snooty prince with all the time in the world.

"it's summer, it's tokyo, and it's not like we're moving to america," he smiled, "besides, if you pack any slower, we'll miss our first year."

you tried to brush it off, and something about his easy confidence made you feel a sharp twinge of nerve. this was really happening, you were truly leaving the bounds of your family estates, stepping out into the world, to attend jujutsu tech, a school in tokyo that you had heard so much about. well, there was another school here, in kyoto, but god, it would just be nice to get out of these ancient walls.

and yet -

gojo simply looked like he couldn't wait to shake the dust of his home off his sneakers, you felt something pull at you, like a sudden-appearing string that tied you to your home city, and it wouldn't let you go.

your best friend had caught the look on your face, and softened — just a bit, as he twiddled with a brand new pair of sunglasses, and he sat up closer, watching you carefully, "you're really going to miss it here, aren't you?"

and you shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red sweater, "i don't know. maybe, i suppose. don't you feel that way at all, satoru?"

he shook his head, resolute, "not even a little," but he saw your uncertainty, "listen, you'll be fine. you'll love tokyo. and hey," he nudged you gently with his knee, "i'll be right there with you anyway."

you appreciated that his confidence felt like a promise, something that you could at least hold onto, even in the big capital, and with a big, exaggerated sigh you tossed both sweaters into the suitcase.

"finally!"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — gojo.

the both of you had arrived, bright-eyed and tired, as he clambered off the tall bus that had parked on the outskirts of tokyo, where jujutsu high was located.

gojo stood beside you, hands stuffed in his denim pockets, plastering a disinterested expression on his face. but he couldn't help how his eyes flittered to the sid,e underneath the dark shades of his glasses, watching you fawn over another new student, another boy who had arrived from some small town, who-knows-where, from a non-sorcerer family.

geto suguru.

well it was no lie that gojo liked him a lot too. there was no denying that he seemed polite, clever, maybe a bit shy. and effortlessly cool.

gojo had grown up in the stifling, grand estates of the big clans, constantly fussed over, and robed in fine silks printed with his clan motifs. all of those stuffy rules would sit, push around and make space in one's head, like a constant mantra from the elders.

he didn't need to look at you too closely to see what was going on, and he could tell right away, just from how you reacted. your smile stretched wider, and your eyes lit up like you were meeting someone who you really wanted to talk to.

geto who hadn't even changed into his uniform yet, with his stray strands of dark hair falling out of the knot on the back of his head, looking politely aloof, but cheerful, in worn black jeans and converse, and some baggy band t-shirt that would get gojo scolded by his mother for even wearing that inside the estate.

gojo noticed everything, especially the way your fingers slipped up to tuck your hair behind your ear when geto grinned at you (all because you’d recognised the band on his t-shirt, so what?) he saw how your eyes brightened, like geto suguru had unlocked some hidden code only you could decipher.

it annoyed him to realise that geto's calm, quiet charm was exactly the kind of thing you’d be drawn to. that’s what you liked, wasn’t it? the understated, thoughtful types who let the world come to them. not the loudmouth who cracked jokes at every opportunity, hoping to pull a laugh from his best friend.

well, fuck, he had to be a part of this too now.

✉️ — 2005. 💬 — both.

gojo's new obsession had a sleek, silver body and an olympus logo stamped on it in black, a camera that he'd been itching to buy; refusing to settle for anything less than the latest model. suddenly, he was determined to capture tokyo through his own eyes, and you and your friends had quickly become his reluctant muses on an impromptu day trip to the ameya-yokocho market.

"stop! stay right there, don't move! fuck, no! a little to the left!"

he waved his hands around, motioning for everyone to gather just as he wanted. you all exchanged amused glances, with shoko huffing around dramatically, as gojo crouched down on his long legs, then stood back up, and then crouched down again, as one of jujutsu high's most powerful sorcerers struggled to bring a camera into focus.

eventually, geto had laughed — raven hair falling over his beautiful face, and had gotten up to help gojo, fiddling with the lens as the rest of you milled around.

and then, suddenly gojo turned the camera directly on you. he pointed his finger your way, wide grin half-hidden but unmistakably earnest, 'c'mon, turn that frown upside down!'

he needn't have said a word, just seeing your best friend there, with his hair tousled and carefree grin, with the camera strap hanging off his neck, was enough to make you laugh, the kind that felt as bright as it sounded.

and so, you found yourself standing in the middle of the bustling market street, surrounded by friends and fellow students, and the lively hum of the weekend crowds, as you looked directly into the lens, with your smile softening under his gaze, as though the rest of the world had blurred into the background.

afterwards, gojo had taken a good look at the photo, and he didn't say much, but the look on his face lingered, almost like he was seeing something that he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold onto. you had shyly asked him later, coming up beside his shoulder, whether he had printed a spare copy of the photo, but he shook his head with the lie rolling off his tongue.

love was a selfish endeavour, to its core. he wasn’t about to tell you that he wanted to keep that photo for himself. and later, when no-one was looking, he slipped the small print into his wallet, right between his train pass and some spare change.

✉️ — 2006. 💬 — you.

your best friend, your dear satoru, had always been resilient; the kind of guy who threw himself at life with reckless energy, shrugging off injuries like they were just a part of the ride. he'd laugh off a scraped knee or a bloodied lip, flashing that cocky grin and a shrug as if pain was something for other people.

life for you went on, with your own routines and small moments. you learnt long ago that you didn't quite possess the natural, raw sheer jujutsu power that gojo had (or geto for that matter) but you could certainly hold your own in a scuffle. regardless, you had chosen to turn to academics, flitting between classes and study sessions, arm in arm with sweet shoko.

there was joy in sneaking off campus with friends, or scrolling through lists of new albums to download onto your mp3 player (you had been partial to the south korean boyband, tvxq!).

and so, life seemed both incredibly mundane and slightly electric, with days marked by shy smiles and inside jokes, with walks home on the streets wet from the spring rain.

but it had been late summer when gojo had returned from that last mission, when the days were still long and hot and the afternoons were bathed in a thick, heavy amber. and he had come back...different.

he moved carefully, as though each step was suspicious and took more effort than he'd let on, and his usual bright glimmer was dimmed, his laughter quiet, and his smiles withheld like a rare currency. he'd sit through the long evenings with you, in silence more often than not, hands stuffed into his wide pockets as he stared at a place that you just couldn't reach.

when you'd catch him alone in the courtyard after class, he'd be training hard, working through his cursed techniques with a relentless focus, perfecting each hand gesture as if he could shake off whatever shadow lingered behind him. and sometimes, he'd stay for hours after school, practicing beneath the dying and dusty light of the last days of summer, as if he could not afford to stop, to rest.

“gojo?” you called, hesitating as he finished a strike to some poor unsuspecting pile of soda cans, leaving them obliterated in the heat. “what's going on with you?”

he paused mid-motion, glancing at you, his face carefully blank. and you hated that, you hated how the flicker of distress would pass from his face before being schooled into that carefully constructed mask of 'the strongest.'

i love you, idiot. i love you, i love you, tell me what's bothering you and i will help, you're my best friend.

but these words never saw the light of day, always curling up and choking up in your throat, and instead being twisted into feigned, casual interest. losing the cloak of deep devotion that you held for a friend of ten years.

"oh - hey! nothing," gojo replied, too quickly, with that half-cocked smile that painted over his pink lips, "nothing that deep."

lately, this repeated lie had been hanging in the air between you, clear as the last streaks of summer sunlight that would soon give way to fall.

you crossed your arms over your uniform, dark fabric crinkling, "you're not fooling anyone, you know. geto told me about the mission, he said that you —," you swallowed, with the words just as heavy as the steadfast beat of your heart that you kept under lock and key, "he said you shouldn't have come back. what does that even mean?"

gojo's face flickered again, just for a second, before he barked out that irritating, false chuckle, "guess it's a good thing you weren't sent on tengen's fuckin' mission then," before reaching out and snatching your strawberry milk carton from your hands with a grin.

after a few punctuated slurps and lip-smacking (just to watch your face redden in fury, gojo would admit) he spoke again, voice strained, "you'd probably be crying about it still."

"hey!" you protested, grabbing for the carton again, prying his slender fingers off your sweet treat, "i don't cry that easily."

"could've fooled me. you cried during that american movie about zoo animals."

"madagascar was a sad movie about displacement and the loss of home! i know animal rights activists hate to see your ass coming to the zoo."

gojo snickered, drawing out the words, "fuck that zebra," but now, he was looking off into the golden haze of a beautiful sunset, with that frayed grin, "seriously, though. it's fine, it's all in the past."

over time, gojo never spoke many a word about what happened to the star plasma vessel, but he just seemed to move forward, like he always had. his resolve somehow sharper, tighter, and his laughter more intense when it finally did return. there were moments when you'd catch him staring into the great expanse of nothing, haunted (but beautiful), though he'd just shrug and smile when you prodded him about.

✉️ — 2007. 💬 — gojo.

gojo thought he was astoundingly self-aware, in his own humble opinion. he never let anything get to him, that was the trick, you see. to take life as it came at you, to carry that fire and stubbornness and throw it back in the face of the trouble.

and so he wanted to be angry, to be furious. why had suguru done this? why?

he had known that geto, one of his dearest friends (one who always been so sure of himself) had fallen into disquiet lately, and even gojo had prodded him on whether he had lost weight through sleepless nights. but suguru would have just turned his head back to his book, lost in thought, with his dark hair loose around his face.

had he been blind? how had suguru's silence been covered by what gojo (privately) considered his own loud, defiant return? no, he knew of ghosts. he knew that some spirits and spectres could not be shaken, and sometimes when gojo himself closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp sting of an assassin's blade ramming through his throat, leaving him for dead.

but to murder over a hundred innocent people...

you had found him alone that evening, where he had sprawled over the stairs as the sunset blazed, painting them aglow in dusky hues. but gojo could barely notice any of this beauty, and so he just stared, lost in his thoughts that wouldn't settle.

(are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)

he didn't hear you approach, until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch, surprised out of his sorrowful reverie.

the warmth of your touch steadied him, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered how you could always seem to know exactly when he needed you most.

but the thought twisted, sharp and bitter, for what if you would follow suguru the same way? had you not often looked at geto with light in your eyes? and you had never looked at him like that.

what if, someday, you left him the same way? what if you turned around and saw someone else worth following? he couldn't help his fists from clenching, tension rippling down his shoulders and painfully gripping his head.

"suguru..." his voice came out quieter than he meant, with a crack that he couldn't quite hide, and he heard you sharply inhale, "i can't believe he's gone. i don't know if...if i'll ever see him again. why would he -?"

you still didn't say anything, just tightening your hand on his shoulder. and satoru hated it. hated that he wanted to lean into the weight of your touch, hated that this is what being the strongest now entailed. that now he was plagued by fear, of losing you, of watching you slip through his fingers into another's orbit.

i'm only seventeen. what happened to my youth?

the thoughts are acidic, cynical and they leave him angry (with the world, with the higher ups, with himself, with his parents) and he can't help himself from blurting out the next question.

"did you like him?"

gojo tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he loathes how he sounds pleading, heavier. he feels the embarrassment of vulnerability shroud him as you meet his eyes, and he hates how your eyes are teary too.

you shouldn't cry. ever.

"like? as in like?"

"as in love," gojo mutters, "shoko said you did."

you sniff, and now your head is leaning on his shoulder and he can inhale the scent of your shampoo (apples? caramel?) and despite the crick in his neck, he lowers his shoulder further down so you are more comfortable.

"shoko talks too much sometimes," you laugh weakly, "but probably. i think i did."

gojo tries to tamper down the acrid lurch in his stomach, but you continue, "i think i did love him. but so did shoko. so did nanami, and haibara back when, -" you sigh, "and so did you. we all loved him. he was our friend."

his fingers had been hovering close to your hand for a while, almost as if he couldn't help himself, the pull. finally, he slid his smallest finger to let it curl around yours, drawing out a memory from over a decade ago.

"tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?" "promise?" "why not?"

how silly that the hardest things in life had once been a bored child, and his new friend who fretted about her future wardrobe.

and when you clasped in hand entirely in its return, gojo's breath caught, his throat tightening. the words that he wanted to say, to spill from his throat, hovered in his mind but there was no infinite word strong enough to bring them out.

he wasn't an idiot, he wasn't daft and unobservant, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, to tell you from his lips to yours. but the way his heart laid itself bare in that moment unsettled him deeply, not the yearning itself, but how fierce it was. it disgusted him, the rawness of his desire, exposed right there in the open, where anyone could see it, including you. especially you.

with a realisation that was long coming, beneath the golden wash of the setting sun, he sighed deeply. if he ever lost you, if you ever looked at him with the same betrayal that he'd seen in suguru's eyes, he didn't know if he could survive it. it would cut deeper than his infinity could bear.

he tried speaking again, "if you ever -" but he doesn't get the chance to speak before you're leaning further into him, a quiet sniffle punctuating the silence.

"i won't."

✉️ — the next decade... 💬 — you.

"sweetheart, honey, my precious pumpkin pie."

you shot gojo a death glare, his attempt at flamboyant charm bouncing right off you, "i hate you. never speak to me again."

and your gaze dropped to what was left of your beautiful hermès scarf, once a beautiful concoction of cream-white silk, now reduced to tatters that fluttered pitifully in your hands, stained with some suspicious green goop.

you had cherished this pricey product, but gojo, in his infinite wisdom had decided to pick it up as a perfect blindfold right before a gnarly mission. and so, it got tangled with a nasty curse, and met its tragic, shredded end.

gojo raised his brows, feigning the innocence of a cherub, blinking his long lashes, "i'm sorry, i'll get you a new one, baby."

he drew out the pet name with exaggerated gusto that made you snarl, "enough with the pet names. you are a grown ass man."

and you gave him a first shove in the ribs that made the strongest sorcerer in the world stagger dramatically, only to catch himself with that easy grin still plastered on his face.

but before you could storm off and mourn whatever was left of your one-million yen possession, gojo darted in front of you, blocking your path with his ridiculously long arms. "come on, let me make it up to you, what if i had died on that mission?" he pleaded, looking at you with mock sincerity.

"i wouldn't have even come to the funeral," you sniffed, sticking your nose in the air, ignoring the fake choking sounds that came from the man as he clutched his chest.

months had turned into years, where you and gojo had grown up and graduated jujutsu tech together, carrying triumphs (you won valedictorian, out of a grand total of eight students), losses (gojo was a notoriously bad driver and almost crashed the car that the two of you were in) and countless moments in between.

the two of you had returned to your alma mater as teachers, and mentors, guiding younger sorcerers who were much like you'd once been; eager, impatient, and a little rough around the edges.

gojo took to teaching like he did most things, with his own reckless charm and devil-may-care attitude. he'd joke about skipping staff meetings, but he'd be there anyway, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled underneath him, mouthing snarky comments that only you could hear.

you'd like to think you'd grown more confident, no longer the uncertain teenager who used to glance at herself twice in the mirror. time had given you the chance to learn your strengths, and exorcising curses had left you all the more enduring.

gojo had noticed, though he'd never say it outright. he'd make some teasing comment about the way you would boss around a room, and you'd roll your eyes as you nudged him telling him that you had learnt from the biggest ego in tokyo. but sometimes, he'd watch you a little longer than he should, with that flicker in his gaze that he thought you hadn't noticed.

some things hadn't changed at all, and he still came back to you after every mission, every right. you'd hear him shuffling in from down the hall, his paper bags of desserts swinging as he tried to balance it along with his jacket, and whatever ridiculous trinket he'd picked up for you that week (you kept every single one).

and there the two of you would be, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, sharing sweets straight out of the boxes. he'd pass you a slice of cheesecake that he insisted that you simply must try, nudging your hand until your fingers enveloped his.

wouldn't it be a lie to claim that you didn't bask in the warmth of your best friend's gaze, even as he feigned interest in some story that he had overhead from the students on his way over from the school, with his low laughter filling the quiet around you.

sometimes, in the silence that would fall after the conversation ebbed, he’d reach over and trace circles absentmindedly on the back of your hand with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. neither of you would move or speak. gojo would be looking anywhere but at you, yet his hand wouldn’t let go, tethering you to him in a way that made the apartment feel smaller — almost as if you’d already crossed some line neither of you dared to talk about.

what a pain to be haunted by someone who was already living and breathing right in front of you. sometimes, it left you nauseous, ill, and even screaming into your pillow after he left, and dialing shoko's number so she could give you an earful.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

your car idled at the curb, the sounds of the city filtering in through the barely open window, with the faint chill of the october night brushing against your skin.

gojo looked up from his phone, tapping his fingers on the screen, and there was a sober look on his face that made your stomach twist. you watched as he ran his head through his white hair, and sighed, his eyes still on the screen.

"apparently i was summoned by name," he said quietly, "to shibuya. whatever curtain's been set up is only allowing sorcerers through."

you kept one hand on the wheel, "ijichi reached out to me too, but he wants me covering the perimeter on the other side, away from the metro. but who would summon you by name?"

"i know. do you think it's...?"

"the traitor everyone's guessing about? who else?"

gojo scoffed a little, "fuckin' surprise," he muttered, casting you a glance that spoke volumes of protectiveness, one that made you lurch ever so slightly. his eyes met yours, an unspoken worry passing between you. you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from blurting out the words that lived in the forefront of your mind.

and so, gojo reached for the door handle, and you saw him hesitate as his fingers drummed against the door, before pulling his blindfold up, "well, stay safe, yeah?"

you swallowed, trying to find some false platitude to offer back, "hey, i will if you will."

he gave a short laugh that must have not fully reached his eyes, but it softened the rest of his beautiful face in that way that you loved, "y'know, we could have been going trick-or-treating. dressed like idiots, stuffing our face with candy."

"tweedledee and tweedledum?"

gojo snorted, "next year then."

you hummed, "i'll keep that idea then, tweedledumb."

the bow of his lips quirked, and he looked away again before pushing himself out of the car, stepping out onto the suddenly cold, quiet sidewalk (too quiet, where was everyone?)

he paused, turning back to you through the window, as he lifted his hand up in a small wave, and you could tell he wanted to say something else — but the moment passed, and he closed his mouth, smiling instead in that way of his that said everything without a single word. and he pushed his hands back into his pocket, strolling away as you sat there, suddenly ever so lonely in your silent car, as chills went down your spine.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

"gojo satoru has been sealed."

what the fuck?

the world has slowed down, every sound muffled as if you'd been submerged underwater. shibuya had left gojo sealed in the prison realm by...no. it couldn't be.

suguru geto was dead. dead, executed. had it not been almost a year? you had mourned, gojo had grieved. and yet, the impossible had clawed its way into reality, leaving you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dark and unknowable.

soon the shock twisted into dread, an icy grip that clenched tight around your chest, left the blood draining from your face. god, your hair must just turn as white as his from the stress alone. your best friend, the one who had been beside you in sickness and health.

it was cruel, you thought, to not even be allowed the time to fall apart, now now. there was little space for it in the chaos that had erupted the next day, when waves of curses crashed through the city like nothing you had ever seen. what fresh hell was this, you wondered as you nursed a nasty set of wounds, trailing after (tormented, sweet, far too young) itadori yuji, and his supposed older brother, some blood manipulation user that had done his fair share of damage throughout the night.

the culling games.

the brutality of it shocked you, and several times during the upcoming days, you had to blink back hot tears as sorcerers were summoned, drafted, and thrown into what was quickly a gladiator spectacle, some devilry concocted from geto's, no, kenjaku's mind. and the stakes were not just your own survival, but the students you had mentored — the young souls who had grown under your watch, and needed you now more than ever.

it quickly cost you an eye. a clash with a fierce, blood-thirsty wayward sorcerer had left you bloody and bruised with a clean gash that ran through your right eye, and you had screamed, taken a life even. only the baritone, dulcet tone of the yuji's half-curse brother (choso? a member of the kamo clan? since when did half-curses even exist?) had pulled you away from launching the contents of your stomach over the pavement, as you stared at the crimson dripping off your hands. were you supposed to be grateful that you had survived this, when so many others had not? yuji's tears had kept you awake in the night, his sobs when he thought that no-one could hear him.

gojo's absence had become a wound, raw, with a side of constant ache that you could feel with every waking heartbeat. and so you tried to fight hard with his voice echoing in your ears, remembering the half-smile he'd flash when you'd land a difficult hit, or the grateful look in his eyes knowing that his students were safe.

days blurred together, and nights bled into ceaseless combat, of the terror of being on the run, and still gojo was with you. the thought of finding him, the thought of him being unsealed from the prison realm almost had you blurting false, desparate promises to the sky that you would tell him exactly what you felt for him, bare your heart out in its entirety for him to hold in his hands.

like it had always been.

✉️ — november, 2018 💬 — you.

it was surreal seeing him again, unsealed and standing there against the burnt umber of the sky, rough around the edges but undeniably gojo. nineteen days of living with the ache of his absence, of waking every morning with a hollow flower blooming in your chest, he was here — alive, breathing, real.

but god, it had been so beautiful to meet his blue gaze once more, and that fleeting smile cross his face before he rushed to pull you into his arms, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms with a new strength that almost lifted you off your feet. and if you closed your eye, you could pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all. that it was just you pressed against the warm, beating heart in gojo's chest, unrestrained and fierce as thick arms pulled you close, filling your senses with smoke, and earth, and long-spilt blood.

"don't you look eye catching?"

you huffed and leaned away from him, slamming your fist on hard muscle in exasperation, but if you hadn't turned your gaze away, you would have seen gojo's eyes twitch as he took in your battle-worn appearance, the scar that ran underneath bandages where an eye would have once been. if you had paid more attention, you would have heard his intake of breath as he ran his tongue behind his teeth, with a vow, a promise.

"guess who's going to kick sukuna's ass so far back to the heian era," gojo murmured, and you let out a shaky laugh that echoes all the way down to the marrows of your bones.

"yeah, i thought you were just all talk."

"i'm still alive, aren't i?" he shot back, cocky and boyish once more, and your eyes traced over him, drinking in every small change, the sharper clench in his jaw, the tautness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed broader, like he had been carved up in the prison realm anew. and it leaves you melancholic.

in another universe, the two of you were still young, hand in hand underneath the blue sky as the cool breeze ran through your hair. but battles had turned to war, and the night had no time for what ifs.

"hey, don't go worrying about me," gojo murmured, almost as though he had caught the shadow in your heart, and he plastered a grin on his face, stretching his toned arms in some show of nonchalance, but his gaze lingered on the ruins too long, on the mottled group of assembled sorcerers who seemed to brim with new-found confidence at his return.

and when he finally looked back at you with a new dullness in your eyes, a heaviness you hadn't seen in a long time. it left a dead weight in your chest, but you forced yourself to return his own bland smile, playing along with the front he was trying to maintain, "well, i guess i'll have to keep you out of trouble from now on."

✉️ — november-december, 2018 💬 — you.

the month began to stretch and pass in a blur on the endless horizon, complete with the aching and unbearable waiting where you knew something was going to happen, and yet you did not know when and where. shoko had forgone her own exhausation to see to the rest of the wounds, the ones that had festered under bandages and grimes, leaving faint trails over your skin but she had shaken her head sadly when it came to the socket on your face, even she could not restore an eye.

gojo had swapped his suits and jackets for loose martial pants, and a tight black top that had clung to the muscular frame that he'd honed over the years, laughing off your concerns like they were nothing more than passing clouds.

"don't fret," he'd say, "how bad could this be? you know i told yuji once that even if sukuna was at his full power, i'd still wipe the floor with him. you believe me right?"

you weren't sure if his question was cocky, or a plea, and the fatigue had caused you to snap, "and now, yuji flinches when he hears loud sounds, and he's just another kid who can't fuckin' stop wringing his hands in blood! look what you've done to him!"

gojo's eyes had twitched afterwards, the corner of his mouth pulling down, but he hadn't gotten angry. and you hated it. you hated it all.

but you had wanted to believe in him, in his optimism. you wanted to let his smooth words settle into your bones like the warm comfort they should have been. but how could you feel at ease when everyone was now playing a role? each sorcerer in this building was feigning whatever mask or persona that they had painted and drawn across their face, just as you had. just as gojo did.

but nothing was the same anymore.

and neither were you.

the loss of your eye, the streaks of scars on your skin haunted you. it felt cowardly to say, but this was not the life you should have lived. you simply just didn't see yourself as strong enough, and your eyes watered thinking about the days when you dallied under a clear sky, skirts swaying along the grass as you trailed after your best friend, catching fireflies, exploring shrines, falling to the earth in child-like innocence.

the hollow space on your face, the empty socket served as a reminder of what you had survived, of the world that had fallen into pieces. was there anyone here who would recognise themselves in the mirror anymore?

some nights, the world felt impossibly still, and you would sit at the window and press your hands to the cold of the glass as you watched a scarred city sprawl ahead of you.

you didn't turn at the sound of footsteps at first, and you sat there, with your fingers still dancing on the edge of the window. you closed your eyes as you felt him approach, close, but not enough — you wished he would sit by you, press his soft head to your own, close enough for you to hold him in your hands, curl into his skin.

"satoru, can you make another promise?"

gojo's steps had paused, just a breath but it was enough to know that you had his attention. but when he spoke, "please tell me we're not doing theatrics right now," his voice was laced with that same dismissive edge that he always used when he was trying to push the truth far away.

"can't you shut up, just once? promise me you won't let sukuna kill you, i can't even imagine -" and how irritating, and how melancholic (fuck, this was like a bad soap opera) that your throat was already tightening, your voice wavering with tears that you had been holding back for weeks.

for a moment, gojo didn't respond, and he just stood there and you needn't have turned around to know that there was no trace of laughter nor joy on his face. no easy smirk to deflect the gravity of your well-founded fears. and the silence left you cold.

for the first time, you were suddenly hoping that he might say something blasé, to tell you to stop worrying, to brush it off and just reassure you. but he didn't, he was quiet.

and so you turned to face him, and you felt almost villainous for verbalising your future grief like this, to one who must already have carried such an eternal, heavy burden.

no longer did the blue of his eyes shine like a spring sky, with feather-like clouds that danced in his iris. now, there was only a fractured storm. and god, you loathed that for the first time in what must have been years, his own face was reddening, his eyes suddenly teary, clouds gathering torrential rain.

you knew he hated being seen like this. over a decade of holding him close to your heart had made you privy to his ways, to the way that he'd furiously rub at his face when upset, as if he could will the distress away and hide his tears.

gojo had outstretched his little finger towards you now, hooking it with your own, and your heart stuttered as he brought your finger to his lips, so quick that a ghost may have brushed your skin, with the seal of a promise.

"i will try. god, i swear, i...i promise, i will try." and you knew that gojo satoru was scared, terrified even of what december 24th would bring.

"i -"

you wanted to say it all, wanted to tell him everything. but the words stuck in your throat, love and want and need and ferocious, capricious grief all sat lodged within your beating heart that was so tightly bound in iron chains.

it was a shameful thing. you should have sat there, and comforted him instead. should have told him that it was alright, and you did not know a more powerful and capable sorcerer than he, that he'd leave sukuna in ashes. should have laid your hand on his brow to soothe the lines away from his pale, streaked face.

but you had always been selfish, held onto your heart like a being of folklore, guarded and self-assuming. you wept heart-aching tears, feeling them pool in your sleeves, and run hot salt trails over your lips. maybe it was a testament to how much gojo satoru loved you too, that he could not bear to see you in such grief, and he hesitated.

then he turned to leave you by the window.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

the turn of the year felt cold, far too chilly, even though the night was still young. the city lights twinkled in solitary clumps outside, but they were just as dim as the heavy weight in your chest. the walls seemed to close in as gojo prepared to leave, to face sukuna — the king of curses. and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, something that you would never be able to grasp again, no matter how tightly you gripped.

everyone had wished him luck, calling your their bravest words of encouragement as he walked past them, their voices echoing through the hall, as they slapped him on the back.

they all cheered the same platitudes.

"go fuck sukuna up!"

"language!"

"sorry, choso."

"show him what you're made of!"

"prove that you're not just a pretty face, gojo!"

and so you had plastered the same smile on your face, hoping that it would reach your eyes as gojo winked at you, "hey, before you start telling me off, now it's your turn to promise me something."

you had cocked your head up at him, ignoring shoko's narrowed, tired eyes, "yeah?"

"mhm," satoru nodded, pulling his arms around you, "after this, after all this bullshit, we get to take a vacation."

a barked laugh escaped you, before it collapsed into a giggle, "you want paid leave? that's all it is?"

your best friend's large hands gripped you, flat against your back, "yeah, that's all there is. we're gonna go take a holiday, sit by the beach, watch the ocean. keep it simple."

"a picnic too, eh?"

gojo nodded, humming, "we'll plan everything. about time we got to take a break. i'll be back before you even know it."

you felt his voice hitch against your ear, and your heart twisted painfully in response, he wasn't saying it but you both knew the cold truth, there was a real chance that he may never come back. before your vision could blur, you pressed his lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment on smooth skin (and you felt his arms tighten around you) and hoped that whatever you hoped to say, whatever spine you lacked, could be expressed so swiftly.

"come back then, please. i'll be ready." you whispered between his skin and your lips, the tremble leaving no space for air in your lungs.

for a moment, he didn't answer, just held you, and you tried to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. then, just as you were about to pull away, he spoke, the words falling from his mouth, so familiar and so effortless.

"of course i will. i always do."

there was a flicker of something raw there in his eyes, and you had seen it both before and after shibuya. his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but whatever it was, it never came. instead, he just nodded, a silent promise — unspoken, but felt deep in your bones.

without another word, he turned toward the door. and just before stepping out, he looked back one last time. that smile, that arrogant, confident smile that always made your heart race —i t was there, but it wasn’t the same. it was stretched thin, fragile. his blue eyes were tired, haunted, and for a moment, you saw the truth — the part of him he always kept hidden. the fear. the doubt.

"i'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it didn’t sound like a joke. it sounded like a prayer. a desperate, half-broken promise from the closest thing that the world had to a god.

you couldn’t speak. your heart was lodged in your throat, and the words that you needed to say just wouldn’t come. you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you always had, that you were scared to lose him, that the world without him in it felt like a hollow echo of what it could be. but you couldn’t.

instead, you just nodded, your face a mask of emotions you couldn’t express.

and then, with one final look, a look that held everything neither of you had the courage to say — he stepped out into the cold, his footsteps fading into the distance.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

gojo satoru was dead.

dead. killed.

for a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway of shoko's office, numbness seeping into your bones with a furious grief as you stared at the cold, unmoving form that was once satoru.

fuck, there was bile in your throat as a once lively boy now lay in four pieces, cleanly sliced by sukuna's unforgiving technique, and the sight was a nightmare made so real, something that you just couldn't reconcile with the man who had once been so vibrantly alive.

the warmth that had always clung to him had vanished, leaving his skin pale in the grasp of rigor mortis, and his lips were still flecked with dried blood that had painted a stark contrast against his stiff skin.

and his eyes, those striking blue eyes that used to glint with love and hope and dreams, were now dull, and still open. you had not the heart to close them, for once your hand pulled his eyelids down, you would never see them again, never look into his eyes until it was your time to pass from the circles of the world.

the last thing you’d seen of him had been that cocky grin, that wink that seemed so unbreakable, that laugh that lingered even as he left your embrace. he’d held you, promised you that he would come back, but now, as you stood there, that promise felt like a cruel lie, something that should’ve warned you but instead gave you nothing but hope.

you choked on a breath, your hand coming up to your mouth as you felt the weight of your unspoken words sink down like lead. i should have told him. you’d wanted to say it all, to let him know how much he meant to you, to tell him that he was your everything. but the words had died in your throat, held back by fear, by the delusion that there’d always be another chance, that he’d always come back.

you’d believed him. you’d believed, with every part of yourself, that he’d make it out alive.

but here he was, torn apart, the last shreds of life stolen from him by the king of curses. you had seen him being cut down, like a sheaf of wheat under a god's sickle, how sudden and gut wrenching it had been, and for the second time in a month, you had been on the edge of hurling onto the stone. but this time, the half-curse beside you, choso, hadn't stopped you from losing the contents of your stomach, as instead he had pressed his younger brother's cries to his broad chest, the grief swallowing the entire room.

gojo hadn’t been given the chance to fight back, hadn’t even been able to draw a breath before he’d been torn apart. and that final thought — that he’d been caught off guard, helpless, alone in his last moments — left you feeling shattered, grief clawing at you with merciless hands.

your knees felt weak as you moved toward him, your trembling fingers reaching out to touch his face, cold and unyielding beneath your hand. you traced the lines of his face, memorising every detail, as if somehow, through touch alone, you could keep a piece of him with you. a tear slipped down your cheek, landing on his lips, lips that had once murmured promises, had brushed against your skin in fleeting, unspoken moments. the tear brought moisture once more to the blood that splattered his face, but quickly, it disappeared, drying and taking away any life.

"i should’ve told you,” you whispered, your voice broken, raw, laced with the pain of regret, "i don't know if you ever knew how much i loved you."

you closed your eyes, the silence thickening around you, pressing down until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. your mind replayed every smile, every laugh, every word he’d ever spoken to you, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into your chest. the emptiness of the room swallowed you whole, and all that was left was the aching, unbearable reality that he was gone — that the man who had been your best friend, your confidant, your everything, was nothing more than a memory now.

you stayed there, your hand resting on his cold cheek, as if the warmth of your touch could somehow reach him, bring him back. but he was gone, and with him, he’d taken the words you’d never been able to say, the love you’d never been able to give.

and as the silence closed in around you, suffocating and absolute, you knew that part of you had died with him.

✉️ — not so long later. 💬 — you. it could only be you now, for you are the only one left.

the sun was beginning to set as you reached the shore, casting an amber glow over the ocean. the waves lapped quietly against the sand, as a gentle roll becoming a reminder that the world was still moving, even when the battles were done.

even though everything within you felt like it had come to a standstill. you clutched a folded piece of glossy card, and a box. two things that shoko said she found on him, things that she thought you should keep, she added quietly.

and so, you sat down on the sand, letting the evening wind sweep over you as you gazed out at the endless stretch of water. the ocean had always been something you had dreamed of seeing together, an endless horizon that was wild and untameable, just like gojo satoru had been. but he was gone, gone, and that promise would forever remain unkept.

you opened the folded glossy card, wincing as you tried not to press the faded creases further, brushing over the faded edges. it was dated to the fall of 2005, and you bit your lip as you saw your own image stare back at you. when the world had felt endless, and you had two wide eyes to see it with. there you were, that day in the market, laughing in the photo with your head thrown back sweetly, and you wetly laughed as you saw geto suguru's confused expression in the background, clearly exasperated with gojo's photography skills.

a choked sob escaped you as you traced your smile in the photo, so oblivious to what would come. you’d been so happy then, wrapped in a moment that had felt simple and whole. gojo had teased you relentlessly that day, snapping photos every chance he got, and you’d thought he was just being his usual, silly self. you’d never realised he’d kept this one one, never knew it meant enough for him to carry it all this time.

with a shaking hand, you opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. fuck.

it was beautiful, impossibly beautiful, as if he’d carefully chosen each detail with you in mind. the diamond glistened in the fading light, flecked with small blue stones that reminded you of his eyes, the eyes that used to light up every time he looked at you. this ring was supposed to be a promise, just as the ones you made when you locked little fingers — a promise he never got the chance to make, a life together that you’d both been too afraid to admit you wanted.

the first tear fell, splashing onto the sand below, followed by another, and then another, until you were trembling, the grief tearing out of you in waves, raw and unstoppable. you held the ring to your chest, clutching it as if somehow, by holding it close, you could feel him, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his arms around you.

you could almost hear his voice on the wind, that playful edge mixed with tenderness as he called you by one of his ridiculous pet names. sweetheart, honey, my pumpkin pie, followed by your irritated huff telling him to drop those names.

but truly, here was nothing. just the sound of the waves, relentless and indifferent, echoing the hollow ache in your chest.

the what-ifs clawed at you, memories replaying over and over in your mind: moments when you’d almost reached for him, almost whispered the words, almost let your heart break free. but each time, you’d held back, too afraid to disrupt the delicate balance between you, too certain there’d be another day. but now, those moments were gone, scattered like dust in the wind, and the weight of those unsaid words felt unbearable.

you pressed the photograph to your lips, closing your eyes as if you could summon him back, if only for a moment. but when you opened your eyes, all that greeted you was the empty horizon, stretching out into nothingness.

"i love you,” you murmured, voice broken, barely more than a whisper. "i love you. i always loved you."

the words hung in the air, unheard, unanswered. it was too late, too late for confessions, too late for promises. the life you’d wanted with him, the life he’d carried in his pocket with a ring and a photograph, was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had taken him from you.

you stayed there on the sand as the sky darkened, the weight of his absence pressing down on you like a storm. the wind whipped around you, cold and biting, and you shivered, clutching his ring, his memory, as if that alone could keep you grounded.

as night fell, the stars began to appear, dotting the sky with fragile points of light, distant and unreachable. and you sat there, letting the grief wash over you, lost in the silent, aching expanse of the ocean and the memories of a love that would remain forever unspoken, forever unfulfilled.

wasn't love the greatest curse of them all?

[misaerabl]

"Take it like a taker, Cause baby I'm a giver"

SHE GETS THE JOB DONE

Farmer!Ellie X F!Reader (from this prompt)

Minors and Men DNI! word count : 2393 words

SUMMARY: after a breakup, you find yourself sulking at a town gathering, trying to dodge the relentless pity of those around you. ellie approaches with a teasing grin that cuts through your gloom. what starts with lighthearted teasing unfolds into an intimate encounter that leaves you realizing ellie makes you feel in ways no man ever has. (Inspired by The Giver by Chappell Roan)

WARNINGS/Contains Adult Language: smut with some plot, smoking weed, fucking outside, bottom r, stone top e, e calling r princess, baby, eating out (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), also idk how to write in a southern accent so pls just imagine lol

A/N: soooo, this is my first smut on this account. I've been working on this for 2 days and I'm publishing this while on the way to a resort lol. I hope you enjoy it, please inform me if I miss any warnings! ALSO THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

You sit alone at the table, the one you’d helped your parents set up earlier, surrounded by the dull hum of voices and clinking glasses. Everyone at the gathering knows about the breakup, and one by one, they stop by to offer their condolences, each making the sting more unbearable.

An older woman pauses beside you, clutching her chest with dramatic flair as if she could feel every ounce of your pain. You force a tight smile, but it's clear she’s milking the moment for all it's worth.

A beer bottle, half-empty, rolls toward your feet, breaking the uncomfortable tension. You nudge it away with a light kick, and it rolls until it stops at someone’s scuffed Converse. You’d recognize those shoes anywhere. You look up and meet the familiar eyes of Ellie Williams, who lives a few farms over with her parents. She’s leaning against a post, the same mischievous grin on her face that she had when you first met at Joel Miller’s farm during a community gathering your parents had dragged you to. Even then, she stood apart, a little defiant, too cool for small talk.

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “So, third time aint the charm, huh? Don’t worry—maybe you’re just warming up for the main event.” She winks, the teasing tone in her voice pulling a real smile from you for the first time that night.

You roll your eyes, smirking back. “What? are you going to suggest I date your brother next? Cause he’s such a ‘nice guy’,” you say, making air quotes.

Ellie laughs, the sound rough and genuine. “Oh, hell no,” she says, shaking her head. “I was thinking more along the lines of gettin out of this circus. What d'ya say?”

The thought of escaping, even for just a little while, tugs at you. You nod, your smile growing.

She holds out her hand. “Come on, before someone else comes over to tell you how ‘brave’ you are.”

You hesitate for a moment, then take her hand. She leads you around the back of the house, past the clinking bottles and the laughter, until you reach the quiet of the horse stables. The night air is crisp, and it smells faintly of hay and earth. You both settle down on the cool ground, a silence stretching between you that feels oddly comforting.

Ellie pulls something from her pocket—a slim joint. She catches your raised eyebrow and grins. “What? You didn’t think I’d come empty-handed, did you? Best remedy for a breakup.”

You snort, half in amusement and half in disbelief. “Is that… weed?”

“Only the best,” she says, smirking as she lights it. She takes a slow drag before holding it out to you, eyes twinkling with challenge.

You glance at the joint, then back at her. “Don’t tell me you’ve never smoked before,” she teases, nudging it toward you.

You haven’t, but tonight feels like a night for firsts. You take it, trying to act casual, and inhale—too deeply, it turns out. You’re soon doubled over, coughing hard enough to make your eyes water.

Ellie bursts into laughter, a sound so infectious you can’t help but join in between coughs. “Okay, not quite like that,” she says, patting your back. “But hey, first time for everything, right?”

“Clearly,” you wheeze, handing it back and shaking your head as you catch your breath.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Ellie flicks the joint away, watching it fizzle out on the ground. The distant stars seem brighter out here, and you find yourself staring at them until she speaks.

“You’re pretty, y’ know that?” Ellie’s voice is softer now, her gaze meeting yours. “He was an asshole, anyway.”

A short laugh escapes you, rough but sincere. “Yeah, I’m not even sad ‘bout him. I don’t know why everyone thinks I am. I hated the guy and didn’t try to hide it. Fuck he was so bad in bed like the rest of ‘em.”

She nods knowingly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “People love a good breakup story. Makes them feel included in the drama.”

You roll your eyes, the last bit of tension slipping away. “Too bad I’m not giving them the heartbreak they want.”

Ellie nudges your shoulder, the touch light but grounding. “But I do meant it,” she says, a serious edge to her tone. “You’re pretty.”

You meet her eyes, and something shifts in the quiet between you. The world around you fades out, leaving just the two of you under the stars. Without thinking, you lean in, your hand lifting to cup her cheek.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, but the moment your lips touch, a rush of warmth spreads through you, making everything else feel distant. When you pull back, the air feels charged, like you’ve stepped into something unfamiliar but right.

Ellie’s eyes widen slightly, then curve with a grin. “You like me that much already, princess?” Her voice is teasing, but there’s a softness to it, a vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

A blush warms your cheeks, and you look away with a laugh. “Maybe I do,” you admit, the words surprising you.

Ellie tilts her head, her grin shifting into something deeper, more genuine. “You know how long I’ve been wantin to make a move on you?” she whispers, her voice low, a secret just for the two of you. 

Before you can respond, she leans in, closing the distance in a heartbeat. The kiss this time isn’t hesitant or testing—it’s sure, carrying the weight of all those moments neither of you spoke of. Her hand finds the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as the world around you blurs out of focus.

There’s a rush, a quickening of everything—your heartbeat, your breath, the feeling of her lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency. It’s like all the time she’d spent holding back is now pouring into this one moment, and you match her, letting yourself fall into it.

“Fuck I can’t take it anymore princess…” Ellie pushes herself back before straddling you on the ground. She lifts your shirt and kisses your collarbone, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

You take off your shirt and toss it aside. Seeing the stupid smile Ellie had on her face when you did made your stomach whirl. She reaches behind and unhooks your bra, fully exposing yourself to her. 

You start to unbutton her shirt, she was wearing a wife beater underneath it which made you frown. 

She notices it and chuckles a bit to herself. She starts to kiss you slowly, getting lower and lower until she reaches your stomach. 

You stare at her as she starts to undo your jeans, growing more impatient, and hungrier for her touch. 

There's no describing what you're feeling right now. Being so responsive to her touch, letting out moans and groans... 

Once she had removed everything you were wearing leaving nothing but your panties, she positioned herself between your legs, staring up at you and then back to the wetness you had underneath. 

"Fuck princess," She glides her fingers over your soaking underwear, making sure to admire your body "So wet f'me already?"  

You moaned and reached for her hand which was still caressing your breasts. “Mhm… Shit” Your response made her smile. She slowly started to remove your panties, two of her fingers sliding into your wet folds. 

Her touch is gentle yet firm, as she slowly slides two fingers inside you, feeling the warmth and wetness that's been building up. She looks up at you, maintaining eye contact as she starts to move her hand, her fingers curling upward to hit that spot that makes your breath hitch.

She continues to watch you intently, her touch unyielding as she works her fingers in and out of you. "You like that, princess?" She asks, voice low. "Tell me how much you want me.”

"I want you so bad..."

Ellie's fingers continue their relentless pace, curling and stroking inside you. Her other hand comes up to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple. She leans in, hot breath ghosting over your ear as she whispers, “That's it, baby, let me hear those pretty moans.”

With no warning, she flips you over onto your stomach with a strong hand on your hip. She straddles your thighs from behind, pressing her clothed body against your bare back. Her fingers never leave your slick heat as she continues to thrust and stroke, now reaching even deeper.

You feel completely overwhelmed as Ellie's fingers continue to pump in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot inside that makes your whole body tremble. Your chest is pressed against the ground, your face buried in your arms as you try to stifle your screams.

“Fuck Ellie!” Your scream muffled, barely being able to talk. 

She chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Grip the dirt, princess. Let it feel your desperation." Her fingers never stop moving, now scissoring inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way. "What's the matter, can't you take it?"

Her voice turns rougher, laced with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine. "No man has ever touched you like this, have they? They couldn't, because this…” She pauses to curl her fingers inside you, chuckling against your ear at your broken cry.

She continues her relentless assault, fingers pumping faster as her palm grinds against your clit. "This is what you needed all along. To be taken, claimed, owned by someone who knows exactly how to make your body sing." Her teeth graze your shoulder. "Say it.”

"Tell me, has a man ever made you feel this good? Made you this desperate? Made you this... needy?" Her fingers curve upwards, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you arch your back and let out a cry to the night sky.

“NO! FUCK NO!” You whimper. 

"And don't you forget it," She says, her voice low and dominating. 

You know that you wouldn't. Right in this very moment, you feel like you're seeing stars. You know that every time you touch yourself remembering this night, you'll be screaming her name.

She grins, her hand working faster "I love seeing you like this princess…" She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper

"So responsive, so vulnerable. And all mine to play with." Her breath is hot on your neck, her voice laced with power and satisfaction. "You're going to come for me now, aren't you? With my fingers inside you, and my voice in your ear, saying you're mine.”

“Ellie- I want to see your face… Please?” 

She pauses for a moment, considering your request before nodding. "Good girl." She slowly removes her fingers from your trembling body, leaving you empty and aching for a moment before she flips you over onto your back. "Look at me, princess.”

You lock eyes with her as she brings her shiny, wet fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean. A smirk plays on her lips as she leans down between your spread thighs, her hands gripping your hips tightly. "Wrap your legs around my neck, baby.”

You do as she says, You wrap your legs tightly around her neck, holding on as she buries her face between your thighs. Her tongue dives inside you, lapping at your sensitive walls with ruthless enthusiasm. She sucks on your clit, her fingers digging into your hips as she eats you out with wild abandon.

As if reading your mind, she slides two fingers inside you once more, pumping them in rhythm with her thrusting tongue. Her mouth is merciless, her tongue flicking against you as her fingers stretch you wide. "Look at me,”

You're forced to keep eye contact with her as she devours you, her gaze burning with intensity. "I want to see the look on your face when you come. I want to see the moment you break." Her fingers curl inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your vision blur.

Your breath hitches, and you dig into her back as your hips buck against her mouth. She growls against your flesh, the vibrations sending you hurtling towards the edge. "Ellie... please..." Your words trail off into a moan as she feels you clamp down around her fingers.

Her expression darkens, eyes locked onto yours as she redoubles her efforts. Her tongue swirls around your throbbing nub while her fingers pump in and out of you, the dual sensation becoming too much to bear. "Come for me, princess,”

Your back arches off the ground, legs shaking violently as you find your release. You scream her name, eyes wide and unblinking as you come undone. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, drowning out everything else. You hope the loud music inside was able to drown out your desperate screams.

As you shake and tremble, Ellie finally releases your hip, using her free hand to spread your pussy open wide. She looks at you with a hungry gaze, admiring the way your juices drip out of you. "Fuck, look at you," 

With a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, she lifts her head and crawls up your body to wrap you in her arms. She strokes your hair and rubs your back soothingly as you catch your breath. "Shh, you're okay, princess. I've got you.”

You nuzzle against her chest, the beating of her heart a soothing rhythm that calms your racing thoughts. The way she holds you now, tender and gentle, is a stark contrast to the intense passion from moments before. You feel cherished, protected.

You let out a content sigh, nestling closer. "I feel... satisfied. Really satisfied." You look up at her, tracing her jawline with your fingertips. "And you were right” 

Her eyes sparkle with a mix of amusement and affection, her voice low and husky. "I told you, princess. I know exactly what y’ need." She presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "And I'm glad I could be the one to give it to you.”

She continues to hold you, the warmth of her body and the security of her embrace making you feel safe and loved in a way you never have before. "You're mine now, princess. Mine to protect, mine to care for, and mine to love.”

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

do not republish any of my works! all rights reserved to me I guess

[ahyperactivehero]

i asked on election night if anyone wanted a little drabble to help with the stress, and unfortunately it has taken me a little longer than i would like to get them out!

@det-agency: please write Edwin getting turned into an orb for the first time pre-canon and Charles freaking out i think itd be so fun

(fun fact, this is my first orb fic! i've wanted to write one for a minute, but this is the first that i've actually sat down and wrote out!)

Drabble 5 (Orb Fic)

London, 1991

Getting chased by a vengeful ghost was not exactly what Charles had planned for when they’d set off to speak to their client, but he supposed that’s what you get being a ghost detective.

Edwin sprinted ahead of him, his long legs easily giving him the speed that he needed to leave their client in the dust. 

“Who woulda thought our client was the guilty one?” Charles yelled out to Edwin, who glanced over his shoulder. 

“It is certainly a twist,” Edwin said. He suddenly veered off to the right, racing towards the bedroom mirror they had come through earlier. If they could get there, they could head back to their newly established office and regroup. They’d certainly need to think of a better plan now that their client had turned on them and absolutely wasted their original suspect.

Edwin reached the mirror, his hand outstretched as he concentrated on getting them back to the office. Charles turned around, his hands immediately finding comfort in his cricket bat. If that bastard even thought about getting close to them he’d smash him.

“Come on,” he heard Edwin mutter under his breath. “Find it, find it, find it.”

Mirror travel was something Charles had yet to master, but Edwin was aces at it. It would probably only take him a second before–

A choked, gasping sound came from behind him, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone stepping through a mirror. He spun around, worried for a moment that Edwin might have fallen through the mirror and been separated from him, when he felt his soul go cold.

Their client, Geoff Mann, stepped from the mirror. His hand was already through, and in his fist was an iron knife.

An iron knife covered in ghostly blood.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled, rushing forward just as Edwin staggered backwards.

His hands were on his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Charles felt panic like he never had before. Iron hurt ghosts, but could it kill them? Was stabbing enough to obliterate a ghost? Maybe not, but what about cutting their throat?

Edwin fell straight into his arms, and Charles would have dropped his cricket bat if it weren’t for the vengeful ghost of their client standing over them. Blood dripped off of the knife and pooled on the carpet and it seemed wrong that it wouldn’t actually stain it. Not that Charles wanted anything to be stained with his best friend’s blood, it just seemed wrong that it wouldn’t.

“Hold on,” he said in what he hoped was his most reassuring voice. Gently, and without looking away from Geoff, he slid Edwin to the floor. He ignored his hand dragging down Charles’s arm, begging him to stay– to not leave him alone.

This would only take a moment. Besides, he needed to take care of the threat before he tended to Edwin.

“You fucked up,” Charles said, twirling his bat. Geoff didn’t even have the decency to look the least bit frightened. 

“You’re gonna make me move on,” Geoff said. “And I ain’t doin’ it.”

They weren’t. That’s not what their Agency did. They couldn’t force someone to move on if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t even what Geoff had originally hired them for!

But none of that mattered now. Not when Edwin was behind him, gasping and potentially dying. 

(He wasn’t even sure what dying would mean for a ghost. Would he go back to Hell? Disappear?)

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. He swung his bat against his arm, almost enjoying the way it cracked and forced him to drop his knife.

Charles wasn’t a violent person, no matter how much he feared being like his father. But the satisfaction he got from seeing that man drop to his knees in pain after what he’d done to Edwin? Well, he might need to reflect on that.

The urge to keep going was strong– after all, what was to stop him from coming after them later? – but he forced himself to stop. 

“If anything happens to him,” Charles warned, holding out his bat against the other man’s head. “I’m comin’ back.”

Quicker than the other man could react, he bent down and picked up his knife and turned back to get Edwin. 

He laid there, air and blood gurgling as he tried to keep his wound closed. At some point his eyes had screwed shut, like that might help block out the pain. They sprang open at the first sign of Charles’s touch, that faint bit of panic he’d seen when something reminded him of Hell shooting across his face before flattening out into something more manageable.

“Let's go,” Charles said. He put his hands under his armpits, intending to haul Edwin up if he had to, but a flash of light overwhelmed his vision and Edwin disappeared.

“Edwin!” he yelled and looked from hand to hand as if he might have somehow been hiding there. 

A small orb, just a bit bigger than a cricket ball, floated there in front of him. There was no trace of Edwin, just the small, pulsing yellow orb.

“Edwin?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The orb bobbed for a moment, as if it were answering. The yellow seemed to glow brighter for a second before dimming until it was a faded, off-white color. 

Forget it. Charles had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t have time for this. He snatched Edwin up and booked it through the mirror,  no destination in mind– only intent on getting them as far away as possible.

It took several tries before he got back to the office, and by then his nonexistent heartbeat had slowed down to something far more bearable. Without even thinking he tossed his bag and bat to the floor and uncovered the ball of light he’d been keeping safe in his hands.

There was an unexpected feeling to it, not quite a weight but certainly a warmth. It reminded him of when he was alive and he’d stick his cold finger next to a heater or run them under warm water once they’d gone numb.

It was the first time he’d felt warmth since he died.

He held the orb closer to his face and chest for inspection. It was perfectly round, the edges of it reminding him of an impossible mix of glass and a cloud. It wasn’t solid, but he also couldn’t put his hand through it, even if he tried.

“Edwin?” he asked again. Could this really be Edwin? What had that ghost done to him?

The orb pulsed, yellow light coming back to it before fading again into that cool, white light.

So it really must be Edwin. 

He glanced over at Edwin’s slowly growing collection of books and wondered if there was something about this in one of them. The subject of orbs had never come up before, but then again, neither one of them had ever been as hurt as Edwin was before. 

Was this what happened when something hurt them? How badly did they need to be hurt in order for it to happen? 

“Hey,” Charles said as he ran his hand over the orb. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

There was another pulse. The orb seemed to hover above his hands for a moment before gravity seemed to take over it and it dropped back down. 

In a sheer panic, Charles caught it. Or not it, he supposed. Because this thing had to be Edwin. If it wasn’t that would mean that either Edwin was gone or he’d left him behind with their insane client. 

The idea that he might have done that nearly sent him into a tailspin. Should he double back and check? What if this was a trick and the real Edwin was somehow still there? Or what if there was something special about his knife that had turned Edwin into an orb?

Gently, he cradled Edwin to his chest as he turned to look for his bag. He’d picked up the knife, hadn’t he? Thankfully, it only took a few tries before he successfully pulled it from his bag. Ha, take that Edwin, he was getting better at using it.

“See, mate,” he said, his voice low and soft as he spoke over the orb. “I told you this bag was worth it. Already earnin’ its keep, hm?”

The handle of the knife was thankfully not iron coated. Charles hadn’t even thought about that earlier when he’d grabbed it. All he’d been thinking about was that Edwin was hurt, and he’d needed to disarm the guy.

Blood covered the blade, but aside from that there seemed to be nothing interesting about it at all. Not strange markings, no traces of magic that he could tell. It looked exactly like every other boring knife out there.

Except this one had hurt his friend.

The orb– Edwin, Charles supposed– pulsed again, the light from it peeking out between his fingers. Had Charles squeezed it by accident? He’d been so focused on the knife, so caught up in thoughts of their client hurting him that he hadn’t really…

Slowly but with more force than Charles anticipated, the orb pulled free from his hand. It bobbed around the room, floating here and there as if it were looking for something. It lingered above Edwin’s chair, the space where the other boy spent most of his time in the office. 

Yet there was nothing for it to do. It’s not like the orb had hands. It couldn’t hold a book or write or do anything that usually interested Edwin. 

As if it had realized this, it lazily floated back over to Charles. That yellow light seemed to be getting even stronger, calming Charles’s nerves just a bit. A strong light had to be a good sign, yeah? Surely that meant that Edwin was fine. 

Except what if he wasn’t fine? What if yellow was bad and he was trying to warn Charles? What if he needed help, and Charles couldn’t understand him? How was he meant to do anything if Edwin couldn’t talk to him anymore?

The orb bumped into his head, the softest, gentlest headbutt Charles had ever experienced. His thoughts slowed down as he lifted his hands up to cup the orb again.

“Well, mate,” Charles said. “What do you think we should do?” 

Edwin didn’t answer. Not that Charles thought he would.

“What if I read to you?” he asked. “I love it when you read to me. Helps me relax, yeah?”

Edwin seemed to warm up in his hands again. Charles took that as a good sign.

He strolled over to Edwin’s bookcase (our bookcase, Charles, the Edwin in his mind reminded him) and browsed their selection. Most of them were detective novels, but Edwin had recently started to collect more on magic and the supernatural.

No, he thought, should really stick to a classic.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? You love him,” he said, as if Charles didn’t also love him.

He grabbed one of their Sherlock Holmes books at random and made his way over to the couch. “Might as well get comfy, eh?” he asked and sprawled out.

For a moment, Charles was sure Edwin was going to float away. Maybe he hadn’t been as interested in reading to him as he’d thought. Instead, Edwin merely rolled down until he was resting on Charles’s chest, that warm, familiar feeling spreading all over him.

So Charles read to him. He read to him until he had finished one book, and then started on another that he could reach. His voice was a low rumble, the sound fading into the background as he split his attention between the words and Edwin. Time passed slowly and hazily, the sort of dream-like quality that only came when it didn’t really matter.

Eventually, when he thought he might go insane from reading so much, he talked. He told Edwin how he was sorry he hadn’t been fast enough to stop him– because really, Charles had been right there after all– and how he hoped that Edwin forgave him. He told him that when Edwin felt better, he would do anything he wanted. He’d even go see that play he’d been talking about that Charles couldn’t remember the name of if he wanted. And there was a show that Charles was interested in going to, but they could stand at the back where it was quieter and they were less likely to get stepped on if Edwin wanted to come.

He told him how much he missed him. How worried he was about him. How he knew that it had only been about a day since he’d gone into this form, but he didn’t think he’d missed anyone this much. Not his mum or dad, not his friends or teachers. No one.

Finally, he fell silent. He was sure that if he dug down deep enough there was more for him to say, but what was the point? Edwin was still stuck looking like the world’s brightest cricket ball, and he had just spilled about everything he had in him.

“I’m just worried,” Charles said. His arms wrapped around the orb so tightly it doubled as a self-hug. “Y’know I worry.”

Then again, maybe Edwin didn’t know. Charles loved to portray himself as this confident, friendly guy. Sure, he could be protective, but did Edwin know he was serious enough that he could worry?

Something shifted. The solid, golden color the orb had been since he’d started reading to him briefly changed. It flashed blue, a color that Charles normally loved but reminded him too much of Death in this instance, before it faded, and the orb was gone.

Before he could worry whether or not Death had actually come for them, he felt a solid weight pressing down on him. And there, in his lap, laid out across him, was Edwin. His feet were tucked up, allowing his long body to fit neatly onto the couch, his head cradled against Charles’s chest.

“Edwin?” he breathlessly asked.

Edwin shifted, his head tilting back just enough to look up at him. Charles had to loosen his death grip on him to allow even that. “Charles?”

Immediately, Charles hugged him closer. He smashed Edwin’s face into his chest and pressed his chin to the top of his head. “Don’t ever do that again, mate,” he said. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Edwin was frozen. Then, he thawed and relaxed himself into Charles’s hug. “I did not mean to worry you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Charles said without any heat to it. Finally, he let his arms slide away from Edwin and allowed himself to get his first real look at his friend.

The first thing he noticed was that he looked tired. Dark bags lined his eyes and blood still smeared his collar, although whatever wound had been made was gone. He seemed paler than normal as well, but Edwin was always so pale it was hard to tell. 

“Alright?” he asked, still looking for any sign that he wasn’t.

Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded stronger than before, and God if it didn’t sound like Heaven to Charles. The idea that he might never have heard his friend speak again hadn’t truly hit him until this moment. “I believe I am unharmed.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “You were stabbed. In the neck,” he said. Or close enough, anyways. “And then you turned into this glowing ball, and… well, I didn’t know what to do.”

Edwin flinched at the mention of his wound before soothing his expression into one of fondness. “Yes, I… seem to remember that,” he said. His hand came up to touch his throat, only to find no wound there. “It would seem I have healed.”

“Maybe that’s what that was?” he asked and made a gesture with his hand to show orb-sized Edwin. “Maybe that was like ‘ghost healing’?” 

Something between annoyance and acceptance flashed across Edwin’s face. “I believe you have it right,” Edwin said. “It would seem that would be the form ghosts take when they heal.”

Charles nodded. “Kinda brills, honestly. Like a turtle goin’ into their shell or something.”

Edwin squinted his eyes at the comparison. “I suppose,” he said. And then almost immediately collapsed when he tried to get up.

“Oi!” Charles said and wrapped his arms around him. “What’re you doing? You wanna be an orb again?” 

Edwin huffed as he settled back down. His face had washed out even more after his ill-advised attempt. “No, I do not,” he said. “But it hardly seems appropriate for me to just… lay all over you.”

Before he had died, Charles might have agreed. There was a certain amount of weirdness to it, he supposed, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Edwin to get up. In fact, he wanted Edwin to stay right where he was until he was strong enough to stand without passing out again.

Edwin rolled his eyes when he said this. “I did not pass out. Ghosts cannot do that,” he said. Yet he laid his head back down against Charles’s chest, his now ruffled hair tickling Charles’s chin. 

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said. Before Edwin could argue, he held a hand up and used it to gently bop him on the arm. “And don’t say ghosts can’t sleep. That’s basically what you were doing before.”

Edwin started to shake his head, but the motion quickly became him snuggling down against Charles. “I am merely resting my eyes.”

Charles grinned, a sudden wave of fondness he’d never felt for anyone else overtaking him. “Yeah, well rest your mouth too.”

Edwin tried to flip him off but failed. “Almost had it,” Charles teased.

“I’ll figure it out one day,” he said before fading back off to sleep. 

At least this time he stayed a ghost.

[tateypots]

Collared

18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: dark!Joel x reader, Tommy is there but not actively involved

Words: 590

A/N: Be warned it’s dark, please heed the warnings, protect yourself! Given the current state of things I wanted to write something light and fluffy and hopeful but unfortunately my brain wouldn’t cooperate and kept veering into darker territory, (can’t imagine why I seem to have this impending sense of doom 🤔). Anyway, hopefully with this now out of my head it will make room for something a bit more positive.

Let me know if I missed any warnings.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, drugging, somnophilia, fingering, unprotected piv, loss of virginity, creampie, mention of restraints.

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Joel moved quickly from the van to the front door of the cabin, carrying you in his arms. He didn’t want you to catch a chill, naked as you were.

Once inside he moved over to the bed placed in one corner of the large main room. You didn’t stir as he placed you gently down on the faded comforter, the sleeping pills he’d slipped you working better than he could have hoped for.

His pants and boxers were pushed down his thighs with gusto, his aching cock desperate for relief. Tommy entered the cabin with the first box of supplies from the van just as Joel was climbing on top of you, settling himself between your thighs. He lined himself up with your pussy as Tommy busied himself unloading the box.

Joel had prepped you well in the van on the way here, fondling your breasts and pinching your nipples before shoving two of his fat fingers inside you again and again and playing with your little clit until you writhed and moaned in your drug induced sleep.

“Fuck Tommy she’s so fuckin’ tight. Think we might have found ourselves a virgin,” he’d exclaimed with a grin.

So now, eased by your unwitting arousal Joel shoved himself inside you with a loud grunt, one powerful thrust burying him to the hilt.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

He slowly began to retract his hips, basking in the feeling of your little pussy gripping onto him as he tried to retreat. The blood on his cock as it slid free of you set his heart racing.

“Fucking knew it Tommy, she was a virgin, so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned as he slammed himself back inside you.

The pace he set was vicious, taking advantage of your pliant state, his hips punching into yours with reckless abandon. He’d be more careful with you when you were awake but it’d been too long since he’d fucked anything but his hand. He needed this and he wasn’t going to last long.

Tommy kept unloading the van while Joel pounded your pussy, his cock jumping with every whimper Joel drew from you or every time he stopped to admire the bounce of your tits as Joel pummelled into you. He was looking forward to his turn.

Gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, with one final ruthless plunge of his cock into you Joel’s hips stilled and he let go, pumping you full of his seed with a loud moan. He slumped on top of you, grinning at the huff of air you released at his weight falling on top of you. He kissed and nuzzled your temple.

“Good job baby, did so well for me. We’re gona have so much fun together I can tell.”

Joel slowly pulled himself out of you, pushing up onto his knees to watch his cum leaking out of your battered cunt before gathering it up and pushing it back inside you. He reached down and pulled his boots, pants and boxers off fully before getting up and heading to the bathroom, his now flaccid cock swinging between his legs still coated in your combined juices.

“She’s all yours Tommy.”

“I’m gona wait a bit, give her chance to tighten back up. No way I’m going in there straight after you’ve stretched her out like that. How long before the pills wear off?”

“Probably a few hours yet. Make yourself useful while you’re waiting, dig out the collar and chains, should get her secured before she wakes up. I’m going for a shower.”

[newtkelly]

i truly needed that deadline lfj interview. closure is coming, i’m having my cathartic cry, and just knowing the intimidation never defeated him is so fucking comforting. lou is so emotionally intelligent and has such a warmth to him and i truly, truly wish him the best. i can’t wait to shower him in birthday love on sunday.

i became invested in 9-1-1 because of GOOD WRITING (hah). though i had seen the show before because of my sister, the poseidon adventure homage sucked me in good. i watched the entire series before 7x04 and fell deeply in love with buck. and then 7x04 happened and i was smacked in the face with the prospect of solid bisexual rep and queer romance and i got hooked in and in and in, even when it felt too good to be true, even when i worried that the vitriol and the hate would turn the tide against us.

i’m never going to be upset at what we got because it’s actually more than i ever expected. i’m used to this sort of thing happening, which isn’t great, but it’s unfortunately just my reality. i will never look back on this era with disdain, because i have never been more creatively motivated in my life. i wrote a story that i honestly could not be prouder of. my art has improved drastically. i’m grateful. i’m heart broken and grateful.

loving tommy and lou was always sort of a bonus for me. my first love, aside from the show’s wit and film homages, is buck and happiness. i hope we get to see him happy again, and i’ll be watching to see if he’s able to make it happen. or maybe he won’t—either way, i will watch, and hopefully i will be wiser about protecting myself.

tldr; i’ll be okay and i love lou

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

adding the 3rd interview from that day here, the one where Harry says Louis is a good boyfriend and treats him really well.

the tag here from 2015 was "and they haven't done an interview together in the last 3 1/2 years" and now it's almost 13 years later and they have never ever been allowed to do another interview together.

clown ass Syco & Modest! behaviour

like, i need to rant for a second. my memory is awful, so i basically watched these interviews with fresh eyes. they're obviously super comfortable (dare i say: domestic) with each other. the flirting, the banter and the mirroring, and how it sounds like they already knew every single answer the other one is gonna give.. everything is so lovely. it's so obvious how how they sometimes get lost looking at each other and how freely and easily they touch each other. but watching these also got me thinking if you think about interviews where Harry actually said to Zayn, about Louis: "Don't say that.. that he's gay!" (x) "Lou, can I give you a blowjob?" (x) "Louis'.. Louis' boyfriend!" / "Can't choose boyfriend." (x) "And I'd marry you, Harry." (x) "I'd take Harry for the night." (x) (For my a dinner date I'd choose) Harry: "You, Louis." (x) "My first real crush was Louis Tomlinson." (x) "Are you and Louis dating?" Harry: *nods & blushes* (x) "She looks like Harry". Then, Louis: "Marriage. Sex, everything." (x) "Female." - Harry: "Not that important." (x) (re: sleeping with a man) Harry: "Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it!" (x) "Now kiss me, you fool!" (x) "What does Harry taste like?" - Louis: "Salt and vinegar." (x) and their million domestic tweets at and about each other (extensive tweets tag by the wonderful @skepticalarrie)

(and these are only the ones that quickly came to me off the top of me tired brain), then that decision truly baffles and angers me even more. There's like dozens and dozens more instances like the mentioned+linked ones, oftentimes where words weren't even said and they just touched or looked at each other.. and oh my god.. the FRISCO interview just a month after Paris, where Louis declared "some people genuinely think.. they GeNuiNeLy think that we're together!" and Liam says "You are, though, aren't ya!" and Harry just nods, all dazed and still wearing his cock-appointment-blush and then Zayn moves the topic towards him and Harry and curiously, nobody ever says "so it's not true!". and then the air kisses and sign language love declarations and their at least 7 matching tattoos (that we know of). the absolutely besotted way they looked at each other from day one. the way they verbally supported each other; defended each other and got obviously jealous over someone else touching either of them. and the rings Harry was gifted by Louis that he's still wearing almost 12 years later... like--

all of this still happened despite them never again being interviewed just the two of them or even getting a fucking segment just the two of them during things like 1D Day! which is so telling.

and all of this compared to how they behaved with each other during those Paris interviews -the ones that were -to Modest! obviously too much? let's be SO fr.. in my personal opinion, those interviews are very tame compared to everything else. they're rather sweet and polite and they didn't even touch each other nearly as much as they did in group interviews, because obviously that is safer, because you've got a lot more distraction for the eye with five guys instead of two. In one of the 3 interviews, Louis is even pretty quiet and calm; just seems very peaceful (or thoughtful). (which is just my personal interpretation, there could be lots of reasons for it)

And they were the same age in Paris as they were for a lot of the things they let slip in other group interviews then. sometimes when they didn't know it was being picked up by a mic or camera, but oftentimes they knew and still couldn't / didn't want to stop themselves :')

I could write a lot more about the hypocrisy of it all or how devastating it still feels and how angry it still makes me -almost 15 years later-, how swiftly and deeply they were shoved into the closet, when every other very private detail of their personal lives was being dragged into the public, twisted and turned and "marketed" to death. (and the latter was obviously fucking damaging to all of them) I shudder to imagine how much homophobia they were exposed to by the people who were supposed to nurture and guide them when their families and friends couldn't be with them. Obviously, the fact that they -so early on- were tried to be kept separated like that portrays just how desperate Clowndest! tried to do "damage control". And of course they failed, but not for lack of squeezing these two into such a sinister iron closet for so many years; piling up contracted lies upon contracted lies that added to all the pressure of two young people who were giving their love a try.. the more lies they piled up, the harder would it be for them later on.

and now look where we are now. they persisted, but at what cost?

Louis & Harry Paris Interviews

How many interviews are there of just Louis and Harry? I’m talking video interviews of L + H, sans Niall, Liam or Zayn to babysit them. There seem to only be a grand total of 2. And both took place on the same day. (February 14, 2012…Was it really on Valentine’s Day??) The Teemix interview below is broken up into 4 parts, but it’s all one interview.

This post actually took me longer than you might think because I tried so hard to find other video interviews of H + L. There aren’t any. Shocking, right?

L’Interview Paris - Fan2Fr

Highlights include: 

At 4:30 Louis reading Harry’s Hot and Dangerous on the fan-art: “Of course he’s hot” 

4:51 Harry says of Louis, “I would describe it more as funny and handsome and rugged…A bit more manly” and Louis gives the brightest most amused smile to the camera.

The looks they give each other at the end of the video with the whole ‘dangerous dave(?)’ thing. Many people hear Harry say ‘I’ll get you for that tonight’ in response. I suck at deciphering these things, but it would make sense given  Louis’ laughing reaction to it.

Teemix Interview 1 of 4

Louis’ face at 3:24 when waiting for Harry to describe Niall’s characteristics.

Louis softly pushing Harry’s hair back at 3:40 when describing him as ‘curly.’ He just..keeps..going..oh my god it’s adorable.

Teemix Interview 2 of 4

The way they finish each others’ sentences, talking about being normal lads. They seem so in sync and sound so relaxed about it.

At 0:38 – L: We still pop down to the shop every now and again– H: Bread and milk. L: Yep, the standard.

Teemix Interview 3 of 4

At 0:20 when describing their ideal girl, Harry corrects Louis’ ‘good sense of humour’ comment with ‘GREAT sense of humour’ and Louis nods ‘yeah’ with the most earnest, serious agreement I’ve ever seen from a person in a boyband answering a generic question. They’re clearly describing each other.

This entire segment is a ridiculous display of how calm and in sync these two are. Telling the story of Liam’s chat up lines, agreeing on their favourite date spots (1:35), Louis proudly suggesting ‘cook them their favourite meal’ (2:12), they’re so at ease with each other and so willing to agree on every little thing.

At 2:42 Louis tries to figure out how long he’s been with Eleanor and Harry suggests ‘a year?’. Harry’s just straight-up laughing at this point and again, clearly talking about him and Louis.

‘I would definitely say Harry is the most confident with girls’ and then he GRINS.

The way they’re smiling at each other at the end is too much. Louis tells Harry, ‘you’re on a whole new level of charm, man’ and can’t stop grinning.

Here’s a slow-mo gif of Louis’ cute head roll, when faced with having to choose his favourite love song. 

Teemix Interview 4 of 4

They cut off Louis at 1:52 here and it makes me realise I can’t even imagine what the unedited version of these L + H interviews is like…