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i-loved-silly · 2 days ago

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Hii~ This is a bit specific so feel free to tweak around for your liking but, can I request a hurt/ comfort of Mud with a reader that also has the black blood?

Took a week break without writing and now I am SO back. So glad to see a bunch of Mud enjoyers in my inbox, keep them coming ❤️

Warnings maybe? Mentions of blood and injuries, Mud lowkeu yelling at you but he behaves at the end <3

MUD X READER | BLACK BLOOD!

He saw it on a mission.

Like Mel, it was your first time going out with the family. You’d been with Mud for a while now, close enough that Ken finally caved—more out of exhaustion than trust—and let you tag along. However, you were Mud’s responsibility. Not before you proved yourself, though. You handled your weapons well and seemed trustworthy enough. It was a one time thing, Ken threatened.

But fuck, you didn’t think Mud would see. He wasn’t supposed to.

He used to tease you about how careful you were. How your pretty little limbs stayed untouched while his were always knicked and scraped and skinned.

“C’mon, dollface, ain’t love if we ain’t got matching battle scars,” he’d snort. You always brushed it off and refused to bleed. Now he knew why.

The bullet didn’t hit you, just skimmed past your shoulder—but it was enough to slice the skin open. You clutched at it fast, hunching over like you were gonna throw up. Mud didn’t notice at first. He was too busy laughing, reloading his gun, blood still warm and purple on his coat.

“That’ll teach ‘em—fuckin’ amateurs,” he huffed, turning toward you with a smirk. “Y’get scratched up or what?”

You flinched. Just barely. But he caught it.

“Hey, relax,” he said, stepping forward. “That scar’s nothin’. It’ll heal up all pretty—”

“W-wait, Mud!” you cut in fast, hand out. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing.

You were shaking.

He’s seen you kill with a clean shot, narrowed eyes, not even a breath out of place. But now you looked like your spine might give out. You looked damn horrified. He wiped his chin.

“What’s goin’ on…?” he asked, voice low.

And then he saw it.

The black blood.

Dripping down your wrist in thick, oily streaks. As dark as ink, something wasn’t right. Then his eyes averted to your bloody shoulder. Black blood.

“Jesus,” Mud muttered, eyes wide. “That’s… that’s not rotling blood.”

You froze, quickly hiding your bloody hand. Still trying to cover the gash, but the damage was done. He’d seen it.

“That’s what you were hidin’ from me,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Shit.” Your breath hitched as he took a step back.

You opened your mouth, closed it again. Useless.

“I’m so sorry,” you breathed.

What would he think of you now? A liar? Untrustworthy? He had more of a reason to kill you now, for fucks sake.

He glanced around. Nobody else was looking. The family was too busy celebrating their kills and making sure no one was left over. They had to get out of here, no one—especially Ken—could see you.

Mud took you by the elbow—surprisingly gentle—and steered you behind the car, shielding you from view. His nervousness was evident on his face, he almost hesitated staying with you in this spot. He kept looking back.

“Hey, dollface… we’re gonna talk about this later, alright? But I don’t want the rest of ‘em seein’ you like this.”

He gestured at the blood streaking your skin, your clothes. You nodded, still too shaken to speak.

He didn’t ask if you were cursed, or blessed. Didn’t start yelling, or ask if you were one of them. It was no use, you were one of them. He lit another cigarette, coming from who knows where. He chewed on it anxiously as he thought about what to do.

“Black blood,” he said, shaking his head. “I oughta be pissed you didn’t tell me… but mostly I’m just wonderin’ how the hell you’re still standin’.”

You looked at him. You weren’t sure what you expected—anger, rejection, fear—but what you got was a half-assed plan. He grabbed a handful of dried gore from the pavement and smeared it across your shirt, rough but deliberate. It was thick enough to cover the black stains. You ignored the burning sensation and instead just stared at him.

“There. Now you look like the rest of us,” he muttered, standing up. “Let’s get back to the shop.”

The ride back was stiff and heavy with silence in the back seat, Mud didn’t let you out of his sight. His thigh stayed pressed against yours in the backseat, lanky palm resting across your knee. He continued his commentary along the ride, bragging about how good his shots were, messing with his brother. He seemed a bit quiet, cold to you during the ride though, maybe you were making it up. Maybe not.

He had his arm around your shoulder by the time you got through the doors of The Whale Belly Butcher Shop, guiding you in. You could smell the iron of the place again, all cut meat and tile cleaner, sawdust thick underfoot, the faint scent of blood. The front was empty, the usual stink of raw fat hanging low over the meat counter. Someone must’ve distracted Ken in the back. You didn’t hear Breadhead either. Mel was already chatting up some customer.

“C’mon, c’mon, this way,” Mud muttered under his breath. You weren’t sure where he was taking you until he took you to the freezer, where he used to sleep before you two were together. You felt goosebumps along your skin as you entered, whether from the cold or your own fear.

He shut the door behind you and locked it.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck that was!?” he exclaimed, pacing once before stopping in front of you. His hands were fidgeting, twitchy, like he didn’t know whether to shake you or hug you.

You swallowed. Your voice cracked. “It’s not—it’s not what you think. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“That you’re a fuckin’ black blood? That you’re not even—not even a rotling? Ya haven’t died once? That you’re the damn reason that prophecy exis—“

“Mud,” you interrupted, barely a whisper. Your throat felt tight and you wanted to run away.

He stopped.

You took a shaky breath, glancing down at your shoulder. The purple blood still mixed in with your dried black blood.

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I didn’t even know what it meant until recently. I just—” your voice caught. That was an exaggeration, you had known you were doomed. “I just wanted to stay. With you. And them. I thought if I told you, you’d kick me out. Or worse! Someone would come after us. Fuck, I thought you’d kill me. You’d have every reason to but…I didn’t mean to lie to you. I promise.”

Mud stared at you for a long time, something unreadable passing over his face.

Then finally he stepped forward.

“You think I care about that black sludge in your veins?” he said, voice low and rough. “You think I truly give a shit if you’re human? I should, I really should.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He leaned in, roughly wrapping an arm around your shoulders, your side hitting his. His grip loosened once he had you close.

“You’re mine,” he said, so sure of himself. “I ain’t gonna leave ya because of what’s in your veins. I ain’t gonna tell anyone either. Just…tell me next time. Any secret of yours. Besides,” he leaned in, the smell of smoke hitting your face. “I like ya too much to let ol’ Kenny-boy cut you up into little meat slabs.”

That was supposed to be comforting.

He sat you down on a crate of sealed ice cubes, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands moved gentle now—peeling away your gore-covered jacket, undoing the shredded sleeve beneath. You winced when the cold hit the wound. The blood had slowed, drying like crust.

Mud hissed softly. “Looks rough. Forgot what it’s like to not heal up instantly. Does it hurt?.”

You nodded. You hadn’t realized how much until now.

He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Let me fix it.”

His fingers were surprisingly careful, fumbling with a stained rag, dousing it in liquor from the flask in his coat pocket. You hissed when the rag touched your skin

“It burns?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Good,” he muttered. “Means yer’ not losing your arm.”

At this you snorted. “It was just a scrape, I didn’t even get shot.”

He said nothing as he wrapped another rag around your arm, but the corner or his mouth twitched. It was good to hear your laughter again. He stayed kneeling when it was done. And for a moment, neither of you spoke. You just watched him. His gaze looked uncharacteristically concerned as he eyes your arm.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he finally said.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

He reached up then, ruffling your hair as he stood up

“Don’t keep this shit to yourself, alright? You tell me, and me only. No one else.” He said it in a warning, gesturing a bony finger at you.

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Yeah yeah, I got it.” A moment of silence went by. You stood up, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. You heard him groan above you as you smiled against his jacket.

“Thanks for not being an asshole.”

He grunted, but placed his arms around you as well.

“Whatever makes ya’ happy.”

#x reader #tgd #tgd x reader #tgd mud #mud x reader #tgd mud x reader #the gaslight district #mud gaslight district #gender neutral reader

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defectivevillain · 2 days ago

Text

a spider's day off

pairing: Wade Wilson/Reader

The reader is transmasculine (he/him pronouns). Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. (The reader is spider-man, because I said so.)

summary: You hate to admit it, but Wade was right. You’d rather die than utter those words aloud, but here in the comfort of your own apartment, you’re willing to acknowledge that internally. It’s a good thing you took the day off, because your headache is persistent and your cramps are returning. Coupled with the mood swings and just general irritability, you figure it was wise to follow his suggestion. Again, you will never admit that to him. Never.

word count: 2.6k | ao3 version

author's notes: Guys this is sooooo fluffy. It’s very uncharacteristic of me. I kept second-guessing myself lmao.

This is a period comfort fic, because I’m on my period and I want to be with Wade Wilson. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. So here’s this.

Warnings: Expect mentions of menstruation, cramps, medications, heat pads, etc. Nothing too crazy—no mentions of blood or hygienic/care products.

Deadpool is… an interesting guy, to say the least. He’s loudmouthed, rude, and endlessly energetic. He isn’t a hero, but he also isn’t a villain. He’s almost constantly poking fun at you or tailing you on your patrols, but you can rely on him if there’s genuine trouble. You’re somewhat forced to collaborate with him these days—he seems to keep popping up everywhere. It’s annoying, especially on days like today, when he just can’t stop chattering.

“Just… stop talking,” you eventually hiss, bringing a hand to your temple as it practically pulses in pain. Deadpool’s constant talking is certainly not helping your headache. He’s not actually saying anything of consequence—he’s been detailing the past few episodes of a TV series he’s watching. You’d been tolerant of it for the first five minutes, but you eventually snapped, of course.

Now Deadpool’s staring at you and whistling exaggeratedly. “Wow, I guess spiders can be cranky,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Are you on your period or something?” he huffs. It’s clearly meant to be a throwaway comment, but you hear yourself respond before you can think better of it.

“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath.

Wade is, unfortunately, observant when he wants to be—and he notices the comment. “Really?” he blinks, tilting his head at you curiously.

“...Yeah.”

“Oh shit!” the vigilante exclaims, suddenly seeming excited. “No way. No wayyyyyy! That’s perfect!”

Well. That’s not necessarily the first reaction you were expecting. “Why is it perfect?” you squint at him skeptically. Being on your period isn’t exactly… fun. So why is his reaction so positive?

Deadpool ignores the remark. “Congrats, I’m giving you the day off from hero-ing!” he says instead, looping an arm around your shoulders.

“What?” you ask incredulously. You’re too tired to push him off of you, instead just valiantly pretending not to notice. “That’s not how it works—”

“You can go home now,” Deadpool responds, making a shooing motion with his free hand. “The city can survive without Spider-Man for a day.”

“Wade…” you sigh exasperatedly.

Wade turns to face you. “Seriously, you look like you’re about to fall over, Webs,” he observes, poking your shoulder.

It’s somewhat true—you’re pretty exhausted. How Deadpool noticed that while you’re wearing your mask, though… you’re not quite sure. You decide not to think about it any longer, because it’ll only make your head spin. “Fine, fine,” you eventually acquiesce. “You win, I’ll go. Just don’t wreck anything, okay?”

“Psh, please,” Wade makes a show of shaking his head. He’s rolling his eyes under his mask, you just know it. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You said that last time,” you feel the need to remind him, “and then you nearly blew up the bank.”

“Hey!” he exclaims. “That doesn’t count. That was the robbers—I was just trying to stop them.”

“And then take the money they stole,” you interject.

“Well, duh,” Deadpool scoffs.

You just take a deep breath. “Never mind,” you say with a shake of your head. You’re not going to deny the opportunity you’ve been given. “I’m going now. Bye.”

“Byeeeee!” Deadpool says with a childish wave. “¡Adios! Au revoir! Sayonara!”

You send a half-hearted wave over your shoulder as you leave. You suspect Wade’s still reciting goodbyes in various languages even as his voice falls out of earshot.

You hate to admit it, but Wade was right. You’d rather die than utter those words aloud, but here in the comfort of your own apartment, you’re willing to acknowledge that internally. It’s a good thing you took the day off, because your headache is persistent and your cramps are returning. Coupled with the mood swings and just general irritability, you figure it was wise to follow his suggestion.

Again, you will never admit that to him. Never.

You’re settled on your couch now, wearing a comfortable shirt and sweatpants. Even changing out of your suit felt like a tedious task today. Everything is just requiring too much effort for your liking. You’re both hungry and nauseous, craving sweet but savory foods. And a lot of minor inconveniences are setting you off.

A blur of motion reaches your peripheral vision and you pause, wondering if you’re imagining things. A few moments pass and you decide to pay a haphazard glance over at the adjacent hall, expecting it to be empty.

You’re very surprised by what you see. “Wade!” you exclaim, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden appearance. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Oops,” he says sheepishly. Since your interaction earlier, he’s changed out of his typical uniform—instead wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. “Your window was unlocked…?” Wade grimaces unconvincingly.

“No, it wasn’t,” you frown, looking over to the window he came in from. The glass is gone—it’s clear he broke it. You must’ve been pretty distracted not to hear that. Then again, you had the TV on at a decent volume—not to mention, your thoughts have been elsewhere today. You suppose you’re lucky the intruder was only Wade.

“It wasn’t unlocked,” Wade concedes, casually stepping around a jagged chunk of glass from the window. He senses your staring and rolls his eyes, picking up the glass and casually tossing it out. “I’ll blackmail your landlord into fixing that, don’t worry.” His response is so nonchalant that it almost makes you think you’re the one being unreasonable.

“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to question.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment, dude,” Wade responds with a mischievous grin. Your heart instinctively sinks at the sight. That smirk always means trouble. Sure enough, Wade heads into your living room and props his head up on the back of the couch, looking down at you while batting his eyes. “I’ll be your sexy nurse. Now I just need a slutty costume…”

“Wait, what?” you sputter. “Why? I don’t need a nurse.” And certainly not one in a shitty Halloween costume. You decide to keep that part to yourself, though. A remark like that is just asking for an argument with Wade, and you don’t quite have the energy for that now.

“You’ve saved my ass way too many times now,” Wade answers easily. “I gotta return the favor sometime. Besides, y’know, hurt/comfort, reader-insert, all the good shit.”

…You don’t know what that last part means.

“You’re acting like I’m going to die or something,” you huff, getting off the couch and heading into your kitchen. Wade follows at your heels, idly poking around in your fridge before grabbing a soda. (Secretly, you only buy that soda for him—but he doesn’t need to know that.) Meanwhile, you open one of the cabinets and grab your heating pad, placing it in the microwave and setting it for less than a minute.

“What are you doing?” Wade asks, tilting his head to glance at you as you start the microwave.

“Using the microwave,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“Hey, no, no, no,” Wade chides you, putting his soda down to place his hands on your shoulders. “I’m the nurse here; you’re supposed to sit down.”

“Wade, I’m fine,” you sigh in exasperation, secretly touched by his concern but also embarrassed by the fuss he’s making. “This happens every month, it’s nothing crazy. Relax.”

“Relax?” he says dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. There’s a slight quirk to his lips that tells you he isn’t genuinely offended by the statement. “Me? I could never.”

“But seriously,” Wade continues, looking at you imploringly, “just lemme take care of you, okay?” He sounds strangely earnest—and uncharacteristically sincere. You’re not sure why this is such a sticking point for him. You’re about to argue again, but he keeps speaking before you can. “Come on, Spidey, pleaseeeeee? I’ll be so helpful, I promise.”

You just sigh and head back to the couch, sensing this is an argument you won’t win. Wade lets out a victorious sound at your unspoken surrender. He remains by the microwave until it beeps, before grabbing your heating pad and handing it to you on the couch.

“…Thanks,” you mumble, still feeling a bit awkward about the situation. Then again, Wade quickly literally forced himself into your apartment and took on the role as nurse. He didn’t have to do that. (The question remains, though: why would he do it?) You hold it to your lower abdomen before attempting to get more comfortable.

And then you realize: you haven’t taken any medication to help the cramps. Damn it. You glance over at Wade, who seems otherwise occupied with studying your apartment. You shift and start to get up, only for him to turn around.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides you, stopping in front of you with his hands on your shoulders. “What do you need? I’ll get it for ya.” This attitude of his is almost endearing. It feels weirdly… intimate. You’re not usually this vulnerable with anyone. And while Wade kind of forced his way into your apartment, you have to admit: it’s nice to be cared for.

Plus, you’ve known Wade for long enough to know he’s the most stubborn person on the planet. If he’s committed to do something, nothing will sway his decision. With that in mind, you sigh and consider his question. “Water… and ibuprofen,” you relent. “…Please.”

“Anything for you, baby boy,” Wade responds, sounding far more sincere than you expect him to. He heads back to the kitchen.

“Wanna sit?” you offer when he returns, making sure to thank him once more before downing the pills. You feel incredibly awkward having him around while you rest on the couch.

“Hell yes,” Wade responds enthusiastically, moving to sit on the cushion next to you. You watch the movement for a second, raising a brow.

“I don’t bite,” you huff, watching as he sits a good distance away from you. The remark comes out before you can realize the implications of it.

“Aw, are you touch-starved, Spidey?” Wade grins, looking over to meet your eyes. Damn it, he saw straight through that. “That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, immediately regretting every single action that led to this moment: Wade on the couch next to you, you willingly inviting him to come closer. What is wrong with you?!

Wade isn’t making fun of you for it—not really. He’s the teasing type, of course. But he isn’t genuinely judging you. In fact, since you pointed it out, he’s been slowly migrating across the couch towards you. “Come on, you know you wanna cuddle with me,” Wade continues, leaning closer with a smile. “Besides, you’re all hunched up over there.”

You choke on an annoyed groan, struggling to decide your next move. Eventually, you abandon the rest of your dignity and sidle up to his side. To his credit, Wade doesn’t stiffen or flinch—he only pulls you closer and wraps an arm around your waist.

You lean your head on his shoulder and keep silent for a moment, before coming to a realization. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?” you ask.

“Nope,” Wade responds shamelessly, a smirk on his face. “The big bad spider gets all cuddly when he’s tired. So cute.”

“Shut up.” Your default response in this situation is just to brush off his teasing. It’s a defense you’re both familiar with. Wade seems to be expecting you to say something along those lines, because he just laughs.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks sometime later, mercifully letting the subject drop. For a moment, you can almost convince yourself that this is normal. It’s a bit difficult to get over the inexplicable conviction that you should be embarrassed, though.

You forget about Wade’s question until he’s gently nudging you. “Eh,” you say noncommittally. “Tired, mostly.” Emotional too, but it’s usually better not to talk about that. It’s a somewhat unfounded feeling, not necessarily triggered by anything specific. Usually this melancholy comes and goes, eventually fading within a few days. If you keep yourself distracted, you can usually forget about it.

As time passes, you can’t help but relax and lay on his chest. If Wade is bothered by your sudden clinginess, he doesn’t say anything. You’re sure you’ll be super embarrassed by this clingy behavior in the next few days, but right now, it feels nice to have someone next to you. Besides, as much as Wade likes to tease you, he’s still a good guy. He wouldn’t actively try to torment you about this.

Plus, it certainly doesn’t seem like he minds. You suspect, idly, that he likely needs this human contact as much as you do. The two of you don’t get close to very many people, on account of your secret identities. It’s too dangerous. But times like this make you remember the friends you used to have, the people you used to love.

At some point, Wade’s other hand cradles your face, his thumb dancing across your cheekbone before stopping at the scar running down the side of your face. It’s relatively faded now, but from a close distance like this, you’re sure he can see it.

“How’d ya get this?” he asks, his finger tracing the mark back and forth.

“Dr. Octavius,” you answer.

“The octopus guy?” Wade blinks.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Huh,” he remarks, studying the scar for another minute. “Thought it’d be a little more… scandalous.”

You blink in confusion, still very much aware of his hand on your cheek. It’s making you feel weirdly nervous. You try to refocus on the conversation. “What, like a suction mark or something?” you huff. “His tentacles are robotic,” you remind him.

“Yeah, a lil’ robo hickey!” Wade exclaims, sounding a bit too excited at the thought. At your disbelieving look, he says defensively, “Come on, that’d be sick.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

The two of you talk about harmless things for a while longer, before you feel your eyelids begin to burn from fatigue. You’re rather comfortable, your muscles slowly relaxing as you start to lean on Wade. It’s growing more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. The ibuprofen finally seems to be kicking in, which is fighting off the cramps you were feeling earlier. Now, the pain is ebbing away—leaving exhaustion to take its place.

Sensing your tiredness, Wade trails off mid-sentence. Or, at least, you think he does—it’s kind of hard to tell. It’s been weirdly difficult to focus your attention throughout the past few minutes.

“Sorry,” you blink, trying to remember where he left off. “What were you saying?”

“Don’t worry about it, Snorlax,” Wade hums, his hand starting to rub your back.

“You’re not helping me stay awake, you know,” you mumble.

“I know,” Wade responds smugly. Then the smirk on his face softens. “You shouldn’t fight it; you need to rest.”

That’s true, but… “I don’t want to trap you here,” you remark, moving back slightly to glance at him.

“Oh, I really don’t mind, sweetheart,” Wade reassures you, gently tugging you back towards him. “It’s not everyday I get a cuddly, cooperative Spider-Man. Gotta take advantage of it.”

You can’t exactly find fault with that, and you’re too tired to argue the point further. Instead, you just lean into him again and close your eyes. Wade’s hand falls still on your back, a steady reassurance of his presence.

“Night night,” he says quietly. (Or, at least, as quietly as Wade Wilson can manage.) “I’ll be here to watch over ya, fight off those birds in your nightmares.” He punctuates this remark with a squeeze to your shoulder. “Birds? Wasps? What are the enemies of spiders? Humans and their shoes…?”

You would roll your eyes at him if you weren’t already falling asleep. Wade shifts, grabbing the blanket and ensuring that it’s fully draped over you. You fade too quickly to notice the fond expression that rises on his face.

endnotes: GAWDDDDDD i need this man biblically. *viscerally,* even.

Did Wade change out of his suit so that he could cuddle with you? Methinks yes… Mwahahhaa…

also, huge shoutout to my bestie @connorhasabigtip for calling me yesterday and helping me write this. we were silent on call for a full hour, with me writing and her reading 😭 we'll find you your brown cowboy one day, bitch. looking forward to being badasses in fortnite again today. (she's the Sith and I'm the Jedi, in case y'all were wondering.)

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

#defectivevillain #male reader #transmasc reader #deadpool #deadpool x reader #deadpool x male reader #deadpool x transmasc reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x male reader #wade wilson x transmasc reader #sobs #why do I ALWAYS HAVE A HEADACHE WHEN IM WRITING FOR HIM

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art-by-jas · 8 hours ago

Note

if you're taking john carter prompts maybe the "dancing together in the kitchen, in the refrigerator light" or back massage ones 🥹 moments where they can be soft and not in the chaos of the hospital

Backrubs Summary: Carter and you are hanging out, and you notice his back is giving him pain. WC: 1171 A/N: Thank you for submitting this :) I hope you like it <3

It’s that time of late summer again when you have the windows open and the fan whirring. You have the TV on, enjoying one of your favorite movies. You glance over at Carter, sprawled on the other side of the bed, reading some medical book he picked up at the library this morning. Since he's returned home from work, you've noticed him wincing as he moves or turns. He stretches his arms as he settles back into the bed beside you. You hear his back crack as he lets a long breath out, but then he winces slightly. He closes his book and sets it on the bedside table. A slight grimace crosses his face as another twinge of pain hits his lower back when he rolls onto his side. He mumbles something under his breath while rubbing that sore spot.

With a furrowed brow and concerned look, you turn to him, your voice softening as you ask, "Are you okay? Your back seems to be giving you some trouble."

He exhales deeply, a sigh escaping his lips as he meets your gaze. "Yeah, I’m alright," he replies, though a hint of strain lingers in his tone. "It’s just a bit sore. I had to assist in lifting a patient onto the OR table earlier."

John stretches a little more, attempting to alleviate the pain, but it doesn't help too much. He shifts on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but the nagging ache persists.

You continue to look at him, noticing that he seems pretty uncomfortable despite his downplayed reply.

With a gentle, concerned tone, you break the silence, asking, "Would you like a back rub or something? It could help ease the pain you seem to be feeling."

Carter meets your gaze, and a small smile flickers across his lips. "Yeah, that actually sounds really good," he replies, the tension in his expression lessening ever so slightly. "Thanks." You can tell that he appreciates your support in this moment.

Eagerly anticipating the chance to pamper him with a soothing back massage, you spring off the bed, your hands coming together in a delighted clap. The thrill of the moment courses through you, filling the air with electric excitement.

Turning back to Carter, you flash him a smile and say, "Alright, go ahead and take off your shirt and lie face down. I'll get the oils and all the good stuff from the bathroom."

As Carter begins to peel off his shirt, a curious expression crosses his face.

"Wait, you just have oil and stuff like that lying around in your bathroom?"

You give him a playful smirk as you head towards the bathroom. "Of course I do. My friend gifted me a whole set of massage stuff a little bit ago; I might as well put it to use." As you rummage through your cabinet, you find the bottle of massage oil nestled amongst various other hair products and other random items. You grab it and return to the bedroom.

As you enter the room, Carter is now lying face down on the bed, shirtless. You sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, setting all of your materials on the bedside table.

He feels your weight shift as you straddle his lower back, your legs resting on either side of him. He inhales deeply, the pressure of your body causing the tension in his muscles to release slightly. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his skin warm under your touch as you begin to pour a generous amount of oil into your hands.

As you work your hands in circular motions across his shoulders, the oil makes your touch glide effortlessly over his skin. You press deeper, feeling the tension and knots beneath your fingertips. You focus on the area between his shoulder blades, applying just the right amount of pressure to loosen the tight muscles.

Carter let out a low moan of relief as you skillfully work out the tension. "That feels amazing," he murmurs, his voice muffled slightly by the pillow. You continue to massage his back, moving lower, gently exploring every inch of tension. Carter feels your hands moving lower, the pressure increasing. You pay close attention to the specific areas where he seems to be wincing or experiencing pain, working your fingers and knuckles deeper into the taut muscles.

He clenches his hands into fists, gripping the sheets as you work on a particularly stubborn knot. "Ah... right there," he gasps, the soreness mixing with a hint of pleasure. Encouraged by his response, you continue to work on that knot, applying a bit more pressure. After a few moments, the knot finally gives way, and Carter lets out a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh, god... you're a godsend," he breathes, the tension releasing from his body. You move your hands down his spine, working on other areas. You smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction as you continue working on his back. As you lean down to press a quick, tender kiss to the side of his neck, you hear a soft exhale escape Carter's lips. He turns his head slightly towards you and opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with a flicker of affection.

"Thanks again," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation. "You're really good at this." Your heart warms at his words, and you respond with a soft chuckle.

"No problem. I'm glad I could help," you reply, returning your focus to his back.

You spend a few more minutes working on his back, making sure to tend to any remaining knots or tension. Carter continues to lie there, his body slowly melting into the mattress under your skilled touch. The tension that was once there has now been replaced by a sense of relaxation.

"Mmm... I could get used to this," he teases, his voice groggy with satisfaction.

You chuckle at his teasing comment, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction in being able to make him feel better. As you bring the massage to a close, you run your hands along his spine one final time, savoring the feel of his smooth skin.

"All done," you announce, moving off his back and sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. "Hopefully, your back feels a bit better now."

He turns his head to look at you, a small smile on his lips. "It feels so much better," he says gratefully. "You're an actual miracle worker." He pushes himself up into a sitting position, stretching his arms above his head to test out his back. It feels looser, freer, and the pain he was feeling earlier has significantly diminished.

"I'm glad I could help," you reply, a smile on your lips.

As you both lie down on the bed, the rain outside begins to pick up, the sound of droplets hitting the windows creating a cozy atmosphere. The TV continues to play in the background, providing a pleasant distraction. MASTERLIST

#John Carter #Asks #requests #asks answered #fanfiction #John Carter x Reader #Reader Insert #Noah Wyle

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tgmsunmontue · 2 days ago

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Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 12/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN

PART TWELVE

Javy isn’t sure if Jake understands just how badly Bradshaw fucked him up, but he also doesn’t want to throw his toolbox of spanners into whatever this new thing is they have. Bradshaw is looking at Jake like he’s his sun, moon and stars and it reminds him of how Bradshaw used to look at Jake. Clearly the feelings never stopped and he just got better at hiding what he was feeling. He’s going to be cautious as fuck though, because Jake surely isn’t going to be.

However, Jake has given him a handful of letters to read, and he turns them over in his hands. He hasn’t read them yet; they’re addressed to Jake, dated years ago, but he doesn’t know how Bradshaw will feel if he finds out that he’s read them. He snorts then, decides he doesn’t fucking care how Bradshaw feels, he’s Jake’s best friend, and Jake wants him to read them. And it’s not like he doesn’t have the time right now, Jake in Bradshaw’s room and probably holding his fucking hand or something equally sappy. Of course, he’s only just opened the first one, the oldest, when someone drops into the seat beside him, and he looks to the side; jerks his head in greeting as Trace makes herself comfortable.

“Coyote.”

“Phoenix…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Course. Just…” he waves a hand in the vague direction of Bradshaw’s hospital room. “Dealing.” He’s Jake’s ride, and potentially Bradshaw’s as well although now Phoenix is here so maybe he’s off the hook. Although they’ll all be going back to Bradshaw’s place anyway, he can’t imagine Jake wanting to go anywhere else.

“With…?”

“Jake and Bradshaw being a couple again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. Jake gave me some letters to read…”

“Are those… oh. They are…”

“They’re what?”

Phoenix’s face makes a complicated expression Javy isn’t quite sure how to parse.

“I called them his therapy letters. Offloading his feelings and thoughts until he went and got some therapy. Not enough. But… some. He’s…” she pulls a face again and Javy isn’t a stranger to having a best friend who is also a bit of an idiot, or asshole, or both in the case of Bradshaw. “He gave them to you?”

“No. Jake did. He’s read them all. There were… a lot. Apparently.”

“Yeah. Hundreds. He’s…” she sighs then and scrubs at her face. “All he’s ever wanted is for Jake to be happy and he didn’t think he was the best person for that. But he’s…”

Javy slaps the letters against his knee.

“He called Jake a noose around his neck.”

“More like his heart,” Trace mutters darkly and Javy’s eyes widen slightly, wonders if she’s been trying to get Bradshaw to get over Jake as much as he’s been trying to get Jake to get over Bradshaw.

“So, we just, what, let them get back together?”

“We don’t let them do anything. They’re adults. We just have to be there and pick up the pieces. But…”

“But?” Javy prompts.

“I don’t think Bradley believes that Jake deserves someone better than him now. He’s not as…”

“Dumb?”

She snorts then, shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But he’s matured. A little. He won’t just end things, not without talking about it. So, if there’s a fallout it should be less.”

“We can only hope.”

“We can hope that there isn’t a fallout at all.”

“That’s pretty fucking optimistic. This is Jake and Bradshaw. They were ready to rip each other’s throats out two weeks ago.”

“And yet they’ve been playing house and happily married… Any sign that Hangman’s memory has come back?”

“Nope. And that’s fucking weird as well. Jake knows they broke up now. And that they aren’t married. But he’s… you remember right?”

“Yeah.”

Because it had been the four of them against the world, and they’d just been beginning to test the waters with each other for something more than friendship when Bradshaw went and imploded that as well. He’s never resented her though, although she’s been as staunchly loyal to Bradshaw as he has been to Jake. He glances up in time to see a doctor open the door to Bradshaw’s room, and then Jake is coming out, and he grins widely at both of them.

“Hay Natasha…”

“Oh… that is weird. Uh. Bag- Hang- Ser- Jake… good to see you.”

“Huh. He got you in the breakup huh?”

Javy feels Phoenix startle a little, and he knows better than to ask if Jake’s got his memory back, because he’s pretty sure he’ll be the first to know. But the fact that Jake knows now, that he and Bradshaw did break up and that being together would be a new thing… well. He glances at her and she’s nodding slowly.

“He did…”

“Ouch. We used to be tight.”

“We all did.”

“Huh. Well. I don’t remember us not being tight. So.”

He watches as Jake hugs Phoenix, and he knows one of his eyebrows is so close to his hairline it probably looks like it’s trying to migrate. What the actual fuck? Yeah they used to be tight, but Jake wasn’t ever overly affectionate other than with Bradshaw when he thought no one was watching and even then it was still only in the safety of their own accommodations and behind closed doors.

“Just… thank you for being there for him.”

“Oh. Oh fuck. Yeah. Of course. Always.”

Jake turns to him then, jerks his chin in the direction of the letters clasped in his hand.

“Read them.”

… … …

As he expected he ends up giving both Bradshaw and Jake a ride back to Bradshaw’s house. Before they leave the hospital Maverick comes and gives him a clap on the shoulder, tells him he’ll see him shortly and Javy has no idea if that’s a promise or threat. Jake is grinning at him though, and Bradshaw looks just as happy, if not also a little loopy on pain meds. When they get to Bradshaw’s little house he watches Jake move around with ease, clearly comfortable and at home there. Bradshaw is tired, and he lets Jake bully him into bed and Javy watches with amusement in the role reversal of about ten days ago. Then he’s alone with Jake in the kitchen and Jake is studying him, head tilted and eyes narrowed and Javy knows the expression well.

“What?”

“I’ve got to ask. Why did you lie?”

“Why did I lie?” Javy asks, taken aback by the question.

“You were the one there when I woke up… you think I couldn’t have handled it?”

Javy scoffs at that, wonder’s if Jake can actually remember when he woke up, what he said, because even with all his memories all Javy remembers himself is Jake’s excitement about DADT being repealed… Oh. That’ll do as a starting point, because he’s going to be honest.

“You were… you were so happy about the repeal. I was just glad to have you alive. Then all you wanted was Bradshaw and I didn’t want to be the one breaking your heart and telling you that you guys had broken up… So I made it his problem.”

Saying it out loud makes him feel a little cowardly, but he wonders if Jake would have believed him if he had told him the truth then. Thought that maybe he was joking. He doesn’t need to go into how Bradshaw is really fucking weird about Jake. The fact that he’d rocked up with wedding rings and some of Jake’s old clothes had worked out, but also speaks to someone not completely okay.

“Javy… did I ever get over him?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Didn’t think so. He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”

“Definitely appears that way,” Javy agrees dryly.

… … …

He takes the letters back to his assignment, opens a beer and decides he might as well read them. Bradshaw had seen them in his hand, met his eye and just nodded, so even if he had felt like it was an invasion of Bradshaw’s privacy somehow he feels like he now has his implicit permission to read them. So he does, settles down and opens the first one and starts. He finishes the first one, the oldest. Dated not even a week after Bradshaw dumped Jake so unceremoniously with no explanation. Now he’s got the other side of the story, knows why Jake had clung to Phoenix and thanked her for looking after him. Holy shit. How did they all miss the signs of whatever dark place Bradshaw had been dwelling?

He reads the rest in quick succession, knows Jake has only passed on a selection, however that’s plenty to paint a picture that is crystal clear.

Bradshaw has been grieving.

Grieving Jake.

Grieving his relationship with Jake.

And now Bradshaw has him back.

In a way so does Javy.

#Wild fields of forget-me-nots #Hangster #top gun maverick #Top Gun Maverick AU #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

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taeswifeisikram · 3 days ago

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Chapter 2 - We meet again

Y/N POV

What does he mean by ‘handle it..?’ whatever he’s probably just joking with me. “No sir please let me take you out to coffee someday!” He responds “We’ll see about that. I have to go see you soon pretty girl.” I feel my heart skip a beat when the compliment leaves his mouth. He quickly shuffles past my body, leaving me with widened eyes and an open mouth. “Wait I didn’t get your name or number!!”and just like that he’s gone.

I finally make it home after a long day of running around doing countless errands. The smell of freshly baked pasta enters my nostrils as I travel past my living room straight to the kitchen. My mother’s voice speaks out to me “Y/N, come say hello to our guest!” A guest? No one told me we would have company. I would’ve dressed better for the occasion as I’m still in my blue washed jeans, and a black tight fitting long sleeve.

I slowly step over to the dining room. My eyes lurking until they finally meet with the familiar dark seductive eyes from earlier. He had beautiful unmarked tan skin. He wore a wore a black full suit with the first two buttons of his white button up undone, exposing a gold chain laid onto his neck.

His body turns to me scanning me up and down with a smirk placed on his face. The same man from earlier was now sitting right next to my sister, and directly across from both my parents. Okay now what the hell was going on. With a small smile I slowly step over and take a seat at the head of the dining table. “Y/N don’t be rude greet him.” my mother says as she gestures to the handsome man.

I flash my best fake smile “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

That same familiar raspy voices calls back out to me, “Likewise, my names Kim Taehyung.” He reaches his hand out to me, indicating a hand shake. His hands are warm, soft, calloused as I can tell he works. He shakes my hand but then keeps it there for almost 10 seconds just staring into my eyes. I clench my thighs as his stare intimidates me.

Unfortunately, our eye contact is cut short as my father lets out a cough breaking the silence. “You see Y/N, Mr. Kim here will be marrying your sister Melissa. He’s 29, owns his own business and is perfect for your sister.” This cannot be real. This breathtaking man is marrying MY SISTER? My older sister Melissa who is now 27, used to be my best friend, we were inseparable. That was until she started seeing everything as a competition. This included grades, sports, praise, even our parents love. The more approval I got the more and more she resented me.

I never thought badly of her though she was my sister how could I. She never tells me anything including that she was planning on getting MARRIED. Melissa finally speaks out “Yes, the weddings in July and me and Tae-bear are just thrilled!” My face immediately cringes at the pet name. Seriously Tae-bear?

“That’s great, how did you and Mr. Kim meet?” I can’t help but question out of curiosity. I mean seriously where did this all come from. My father remarks “Taehyung is a business partner of mine and he was already looking for a wife, I recommend Melissa and they already look like a great couple.”

“Yes, they do,” I lie straight through my teeth. Of course I wanted to be happy for my sister but the thought of her marrying a guy she first, barley even knows. Second he doesn’t even look too pleased to be marrying her. My mind blocks out all the chatter in the background as I zone out on Taehyung. His side profile so sharp, high defined cheekbones, and damn that chiseled jaw.

He was devishly handsome.

I zone out of my thoughts when a voice calls out to me. “So how old are you Ms. Y/N?” That same deep voice questions me. “You can just call me Y/N, and im 19.” I say confidently. “I’m surprised.” he says calmly with a sense of hidden meaning behind his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I respond with sass. “Well, you seem more mature for your age, that’s all.” I nod and return back to eating the pasta sitting in front of me. Suddenly a strong knee brushes against mine. The friction of the clothes rubbing against each other, made me think about how it would feel without the layers blocking our bodies. This causes me to choke on the pasta and cough visiciously. I try to call out for some water but it causes me to choke even more. Immediately Taehyung rushes to my side wrapping his muscular arms around my small waist, slightly above my belly button. His chest pressed against my back. “Stay calm, let me help.” He demands. He presses into me, thrusting upward into my stomach. In one swift motion I manage to cough out the pasta. He loosens his arms around me, but he stays pressed against me. His tall build almost hovering over me, his thighs meeting my behind, I can almost feel his imprint through his pants. I look over my shoulder, “T-Thank you so much.” He saved my life. “No need glad I could help.” “Oh my goodness honey are you okay?” My mother questions in worry. “Yeah I’m fine mom, thanks to Mr. Kim.” “She was probably faking it, that attention seeker.” My clearly jealous sister rolls her eyes. “You can let go now.” I ask of the tall man. He leans down meeting his lips to my ear, “You sure you want that sweetheart.” Before I can respond he lets go and takes his seat next to my sister with a stank look on her face. “Well I’m heading back up to my room,” I announce. My parents dismiss me with goodbyes and I turn to Taehyung and Melissa. “I guess I’ll see you soon Mr. Kim” “Yes, very soon,” he reprimands with that same darn smirk. Exiting myself from the room I go up the stairs to my only happy place. My room. I change into a sleep set of silk pajama shorts and a silk tank top. I chill on my bed for about an hour until I hav ego get up and use the bathroom. I quietly step out of my room as the house sounds awfully silent. I guess Mr. Kim went home. I travel down the corridor until ONCE AGAIN I bump into something or should I say someone. Seriously how could a girl be so clumsy. I look up and apologize, “I am so sorry I was not watching where I was— oh Mr. Kim its you again.” “This gives me deja vu of earlier don’t you think.” His places his hand against the wall right by my head almost leaning on top of me. “Yeah, haha you’ve saved me quite a lot today.” I lean closer into his bodies as we fit like a puzzle piece. “I can think of some ways on how you can repay me.” He grins. “Yeah l-like what?” He places his hand under my chin lifting my head to be at level with his. He whispers out,“You’ll find out soon Gongjunim.” (Princess) Hearing him speak a language foreign to me gave me butterflies as I felt a heat washing over my body. His face comes closer to mine remaining intense eye contact. I don’t even think to look away from his gaze. Just as our noses are about to touch the sound of footsteps coming our way interrupt. He lets go leaning back acting like nothing was going on. “I guess we’ll continue this another time Gongjunim.” He brushes past against me starting to walk towards the oncoming footsteps. I turn around facing his back “Wait! What does that mean?” “Once again you’ll find out soon.” He disappears into the dark hallway. I finally make my way to the bathroom. “God did he have to be so mysterious all the time” I say to myself. I’m now left hot, aroused, and bothered with no one to fulfill my desires with. If only Mr. kim- what am I thinking he’s 10 years older than you, not to mention ENGAGED to your sister.

2 hours later, 11 pm

Taehyung POv She looked so vulnerable under my touch. I will have her and I’ll make sure of it. No matter what, no one will get it my way. I walk past a slightly ajar room, I peek in and see her perfect body in that sleep set. The silk cloth clings to her body. Tan skin unmarked and flawless. I can’t wait to for her to be under me screaming my name…

#fanfic #taehyung #bts #steamy stories #spicy books #orginal story #viralpost #trending #forbidden love #agegap

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puck-luck · 2 days ago

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Hello Andy!! May I please get a cappuccino with peppermint* and cold foam** for Matt Boldy?

*Friends with benefits

**“Oh, you’re such a tease!” or something similar I'm not picky

will do, buddy! hope you enjoy! sorry for your loss. i'm pretty sure your bracket is still at the top of our league though (which i am not jealous of... at all...)

“Okay, I’ve only got an hour, so we’ve gotta be quick,” Matt tells you as he lets himself into your apartment with his key. “I’ve got some stuff to do at the rink for the end of the season, but I wanted to swing by first.”

“Wow, lucky me,” you reply. Though he hadn’t texted you that he was coming over, you’re not surprised to see him. Matt used to come over all the time when you were just friends, enough to warrant the printing of an extra key just for him. He had complained about driving over here for nothing one too many times when you weren’t home, and though you reminded him that he could just check your location before coming over, he got the key anyway. It was just easier to hand it off and expect to have company in your apartment when you get home.

Matt probably spends more time in your apartment than he does his own, especially during hockey season. His apartment might be nicer, but yours has a better route to the rink than his does. It’s basically a straight shot, whereas he has to take turns. It’s a silly reason, but you’ve made peace with the fact that Matt actually wants to spend time with you and he’s making excuses.

“Don’t be difficult, this is the ‘benefits’ part of friends with benefits,” Matt says. He’s kicking off his shoes messily and striding towards your couch, which is where you’d been sitting before Matt rushed into your apartment like a tornado.

You’ve sat up to meet him when he reaches the couch, ready to swing a leg over his lap and straddle him, but Matt crashes into you and pushes you flat against the cushions. His tongue finds its way into your mouth almost immediately, body weaseling its way between your legs so that he can grind against your core. He swallows your retort with enthusiastic kiss after enthusiastic kiss.

The benefits thing is still pretty new for you both, just to the point that you’re both still very into it and neither of you have developed further feelings, as friends with benefits relationships often do. You hang out, you hook up, and everything is fine.

He undresses you quickly, his bare fingertips feeling like licks of fire against your body. The physical sensations haven’t faded or dimmed at all since you’ve been hooking up with Matt. In fact, you feel like they’ve only intensified.

Once you’re both naked, Matt licks over your body at an unhurried pace. For a man who burst into your living room and declared that he only had an hour, he’s acting like he has all the time in the world. He sucks on your nipples, lavishing them with attention. His eyelashes flutter as his eyelids fall shut, pleasured hums emanating quietly from his body. If not for the way your body reacts to the vibrations, you would think you were hearing things.

He makes his way down between your legs, tongue tracing your folds and teasing your clit. He has no urgency, like you’d acknowledged before, and it’s bothering you. Matt has been traveling extra because of the playoffs, super focused on that and performing very well you might add, but you haven’t gotten laid in the meantime. So now, with him saying he’s only got so long but dilly-dallying, you feel justified in berating him.

“Are you going to get down and dirty with it or are you going to keep teasing me?” you demand, running your fingers through Matt’s hair and pushing it out of his face.

He looks up at you and mocks your tone, not saying any actual words but choosing to make “womp-womp” noises like the parents in Charlie Brown. He then puts his attention back on your cunt, licking a stripe up your slit before he answers you. “Don’t know,” he says conversationally, as if his mouth isn’t poised right before your entrance. “Time’s it?”

You look at the clock on your bookshelf. “Almost noon.”

Matt freezes. “Oh, shit, I gotta go.” He scrambles back onto his heels, then leaves the couch entirely. Your legs are still spread and your pussy is wet, yet neglected due to the way Matt has launched himself from your living room. His departure perfectly reflects his entrance into your apartment.

You push yourself up on your elbows and stare at him, jaw dropped. “Matthew,” you demand. “You are not being serious right now. You’re not leaving in the middle of this.”

“Gotta,” he says with a shrug, pulling his shirt over his head. “We’re doing a lunch for Flower and then cleaning out lockers. Exit interviews. You know, that sort of thing. It’s mandatory.”

“You fucking tease,” you accuse in an affronted voice. When he turns to find his shoes, you repeat his name, more serious and louder than before. You throw in his middle name for good measure. “Matthew Edward Boldy.”

He looks at you, an expression full of apologetic ‘no-room-for-argument’ on his face. He holds his shoes in one hand, pointing at you with the other. “I’ll be back later.”

“I’m going to change the locks.”

“No you’re not. I’ll be back later.” He backs out of the apartment and locks the door behind him, still shoeless as he exits, and you’re left sexually frustrated on your own damn couch.

#1 year of puck-luck!#andy writes anything🍄#matt boldy #matt boldy smut #matt boldy x reader #matt boldy fanfiction #matt boldy blurb #mb blurb #mb12

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 16 hours ago

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So I have been down the rabbit whole that is doom scrolling and I came across a bunch of booktok bf trends and girls asking there man to try them. Backwards hat lean in the door way growl those kinds of things.

Does Honey ever ask Curtis to recreate an innocent scene from a book like that? Does she ask for a not so innocent scene like the mask from read your book?

It has me curious… How would Curtis respond and how flustered does it leave Honey not only to ask but then have him do it?

I love this couple so much thank you for sharing them with us! They are such a Comfort!!!

Curtis x Honey Drabble

Warnings- Suggestive. This is an 18+ Only Blog.

Your fingers thrummed against your book, the cover a tantalizing display of danger and desire. And that was just the damn cover, the rest of the inside...

If you weren't a seasoned pro at reading smut in public, this would have made you blush. But instead, it made you think of other things, things that made you feel a bit heated, squirming in your seat on the couch while you studied, Curtis sitting in his reading chair not too far away.

His reading glasses on meant that his focus was currently on his own book, the heavy hardcover easily held in his hand as if it weighed nothing.

Curtis's comfy grey sweats and a tank that showed off his muscled shoulders and upper arms, offering peeks of his tattoos while also letting his chain hang free where he normally confined it in his shirt, were thoroughly distracting, though. As well as the vibration of your phone next to you.

You knew what it was. You, Claude, Yona and Ella had been in a four way group chat sending each other reels and tiktoks all week. Booktok was becoming the highlight dominating the conversation lately.

Maybe it's just been to long for me since I've been laid, but this does something to me. Ella wrote with an attached video. You were sure to keep the volume down, but watched it a couple of times. "The ladies sending you wholesome ideas again?" The sudden sound of Curtis's voice made you glance up at him over the phone, a knowing look with a grin making you bite your bottom lip, smirking a bit. You've shown him a few, the two of you testing the idea of maybe playing one of them out together.

"Nope..." You flung the phone aside without elaborating and pushed yourself to a stand, hand outstretched for his. "But I can teach you what they have sent me." Your fingers wiggled enticingly, and he grasped your hand and pulled you instead into his lap, wrapping you in his arms while he nuzzled your neck with his beard.

"You gonna give me a lesson, Miss Y/L/N? I always had a thing for the teacher." He nipped the little sensitive spot that had you feeling flushed before he eased you up, easily keeping you wrapped in his arms while letting you lead him where you want him to go, right to the floor to celeing bookcase lining the livingroom wall.

"Then you are going to love this Curtis." You placed your back to the bookcase and tugged him to stand in front of you. "Okay so-" You grasped his wrist and lifted it just over your head and made him lean his forearm against the shelf. "So... normally this is done in the doorway, like you leaning in against it and pinning me in place, but... I like the bookshelf better." You tilted your head to look up at him, biting your lip again at the position it had you two in. "And that's all there really is to it."

"Hmm, seems simple enough." His other hand skimmed up the side of your thigh to rest against your waist, where he squeezed assuredly. "But I feel like we can do better, Pretty Girl." His mouth ghosted against yours before stepping away.

"Can I record it? Just for us?" You flashed your phone, and Curtis held out his hand for it, which you didn't hesitate to let slide into his palm.

"Of course, Pretty Girl, you know I wanna watch it later." He got it angled just right and before you knew it Curtis was stalking towards you, suddenly feeling bigger and slightly intimidating in a way that made you feel hot and bothered, your steps slightly staggered back, your head tilting back to look up at him till he was in your space, his hand quickly snaking around to your back to keep you from bumping to hard against the shelves but his other one leaning over your head, bringing him over you and leaning in closer.

With his hand at the small of your back, he could pull your lower body in against his while he continued to lean in closer, his forehead leaning to yours. Lips finding yours, his kiss turned addictive as you fell into it, letting him give as much as he wanted before pulling away. "So something like this, Pretty Girl?"

"Y-yeah." You blinked up at him and let your hands run up his firm chest before exhaling with a grin. "Just like that." He stepped away again, and you moved past him for your phone when a hand grasped the back of your neck, swinging you back into place. Once more, your back hit the bookshelf, a bit harder this time with a surprised oof sound, and he once more leaned his arm over your head, claiming the space with his presence. This time his hand against the back of your neck lifted your head up, tilting your face till he could place a truly breathtaking kiss on you. His tongue claimed yours, and a sultry moan escaped, that he inhaled. His taunt body was pressed against yours, hot and solid against your soft curves.

Your hands fisted into his shirt for something to hold onto, completely forgetting the game you two were playing. You arched into him for more till his fingers delved into the hair close to your scalp, tugging enough to break you apart from him, both of you panting.

You knew you must have looked disheveled, totally caught by surprise. Wide-eyed, you looked up at him, seeing a sense of accomplishment flashing in his blue eyes, the tips of his ears a bright red, and you knew if you were to see the back of his neck, a blush would be creeping up it. "That was an A-plus effort, Curtis." You whispered, giggling as you let your grip loosen, but damned it he was done, cause his hands fit on the back of your thighs, lifting you so your legs immediately wrapped around his waist and his chest pressed against yours to pin you to the book shelf, both of you eye level.

You could also feel how hard he was pressing against your core, which you couldn't resist rocking yourself against him. A deep rumbling groan escaped him, his gaze turning dark and wanting. "I feel like extra credit is needed. How about I make you come like this Pretty Girl?"

*************************************************************

I love these videos and have often pictured them recording themselves doing the challenges. Curtis is always happy to get his Honey all flustered for him, plus seeing you happy is such a turn-on for him.

And as far as masked games, oh, absolutely. A game of cat and mouse might be in order for them, chase through the house, or maybe through the woods? Curtis can bring a mask on a camping trip Im gonna send them on.

Oof, what kind of mask do you see Curtis wearing?

I think that Honey would be so much more open to asking for these kinds of moments with Curtis, as he encourages them. I have mentioned before that Curtis makes a point to read Honey's books as well. Not all of them, but if he sees her taking a special interest in one, he is sure to check it out for himself.

It will always make her flustered, but it will get easier to ask for it. The results? Either giggling at the silliness or turned on and unable to keep their hands off one another. The best times is when it's both those reactions at once.

Thank you so much for your ask! It makes me so happy to see other people want them to have these moments for Curtis and Honey as much as I do.

#amber answers #Curtis and honey #drabble #amber writes #sweater writes #life is short so make it sweet

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lemotmo · 2 days ago

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Hi!!!

So about the dead baby, the show was directing us to believe that the mother was right, that her baby was alive. The mother made her case make sense to Athena and the audience, to the point where the obvious assumption was that she was right. But then the show threw us all for a loop and said that her baby is actually dead, that he died in that fire 8 years ago. I think the show is doing the reverse for Bobby - the show is constantly showing that he's dead. Nothing the show has done hints to Bobby being alive at all to the characters.* No cryptic messages over the phone, no doubt from the characters, none of them are in the denial stage of grief, etc. Bobby is truly dead in the show to the characters, which is when I think the show will throw us for a loop again and tell us that Bobby is alive.

It's a direct parallel in that the baby and Bobby are theoretically exact opposites - the mother thought that her son was alive and taken, but in reality was buried in an empty grave. Bobby on the other hand is thought of as dead and is buried in an empty grave, but in reality is actually alive and taken. It's clever in that it keeps the audience on its toes - it's not an obvious parallel to Bobby, so they can keep the illusion of death for another episode.

The plot itself was well executed, I just hate how it was in the Funeral Episode because that should have focused on everyone's grief. I agree that we got a good look at Athena and Chimney's grief and anger, but everyone else's kinda fell to the side, because this episode was trying to do too much in too little time. (Still have hope for 8x17 and 8x18 to cover that though!) Had they done the baby plot in 8x17, and focused a bit more on the characters in 8x16, I could see it having a much more positive take.

*Now the audience is a different story - the fact that we didn't see a body, that his body was held by the government for 2 weeks, and only let it go so early because Chim was calling over and over again, the funeral being held in the Hall of Resurrection, the bridge jumper in 8x08...it's all very suspicious in my eyes, but not everyone's.*

Hope you have a Great Day!! (Now, that the synopsis is out for 8x17, I have a better idea of the episode and have new speculation, and I will send that in an ask later, because this one is already really long and it is late here!)

Yep. It's all a little too much to not mean anything. I agree.

It was indeed a bad move to put all of this in the funeral episode, but I think they were short on time. They still have so many other loose ends I'm pretty sure they want to neatly tie up by the end of the season. So they decided to put all of the baby story in the funeral episode and it just didn't work. Bobby and his connection with everyone on the 118 was almost treated as an afterthought, except for Chimney. That was not the right move for an important send off like that.

I do think we shouldn't underestimate the GA. Most people are quite good at picking up when something is 'not quite right' or 'not adding up'.

I had a great day! Hope you are having a wonderful day as well!

#honeysmoons #answered asks #911 8x16 #911 spoilers #911 abc #bobby nash #dead or alive?

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plainsviemenace · 2 days ago

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She was his angel, look at her. There was definitely an angelic vibe to her but his angel had a dirty side to her that she loved to explore and found hard to tame. Not tame in the sense she was unable to have a relationship and be faithful, no she had no problems being faithful to her partner. It was more she loved sex and couldn't get enough of it. Max loved being the man that she craved and allowed to open her up to new kinks she had. "I love both sides of you, you know just when to be the one I need. You're so sexy when you're a boss, I know you'll be a great dominatrix and I'll be your slave boy that takes all his mistress gives him." He was getting hard just thinking about it. "You don't have to be a certain body type, baby doll. It's all smoke and mirrors. I can sell like a million dollars and make you look like a powerhouse. All you have to do is hit me, kick me and cover me for a pin. I can reverse it and pin you or let you pin me and me lose my cool and decide you need to be punished for it. There's lots of ways to do it so whatever you want to do, we'll do." He smirked and kissed her as he thought of how jealous all his friends were that he was dating her. "Yeah, they always ask questions about how hot it is to fuck you and if you give good head. I blow them off because I never want to betray your trust in me but if we're fucking in front of them then they're going to see my pound you till you can't take anymore." He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "None of them, babe. You're the best and I never want to lose you."

"Do you like when daddy gets rough with you, and grabs your chin and makes you look at him as he admonishes or lectures you? Bratty girls get punished and can't have what they want. I would hate to not get to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours. You keep it so nice for daddy so he can fuck and eat you." It was going to be interesting when she got bratty. "That's my good girl, that's what daddy wanted to hear." Her family would die if they ever knew the things they did together and he wasn't sure her image would ever be the same. She had to totally rebrand herself after things with Josh as well as Shawn. The public always made her the villain when she was just a woman that fell in love. At least with Barry, he was the villain in the public eye and her the one wronged, which she was.

He loved her confirming that her ass was all his and enjoyed spanking her. God she was perfect and he loved to watch her go from angel to slut for him. Max could tell her body was so wrecked from their antics all night and was giving her time to recuperate and see if she could continue or if she wanted to cuddle and let her body rest. He was sure it was a curveball to her as she expected him to pounce on her with something else but this was the aftercare she needed right now and he liked being unpredictable to keep her wanting more and on her toes. He loved when she cupped his cheek, kissed him and pulled him to her, just the two of them making out, being tender again and letting her body come down from all the abuse it had taken. "Do you want to continue or would you prefer to cuddle, me make you some herbal tea and us go over what you liked or disliked? I'm proud of you and how well you handled everything. It's important to let your body and mind recover after sessions like this." It was the same for him even though he was controlling it, it still took a lot out mentally when you didn't know how your little would react. His hands caressed her face and neck gently before making light feathery strokes along her breasts just giving light loving touches as he let her decide.

Sabrina smiled against his lips as he called her his angel. “I love being your angel as much as much as I love being your dirty girl. You somehow manage to bring both sides out of me.” She smirked, nodding in agreement. “it is going to be hot. we’re both going to be so turned on by the time i’m done with you. we’ll be cumming so hard.” she was planning on having a few orgasms before she would even let him have one. She was looking forward to getting home so they could do that test. She laughed softly, “you’d have to teach me a few moves. or i could go to Tiff, i’m sure she would happily teach me how to take you down.” she said teasingly “But honestly, I don’t know if I’d want to actually wrestle you. I don’t think I have the muscle tone for anything like that.” She knew Max would take it easy on her… at least for the most part. But she didn’t have the body type or the muscle tone. All it was, was big talk. She could probably at the most push him around in the ring to get him going until he decided to pin her down. “Of course you couldn’t go easy on me, you have to prove how good you fuck me in front of your friends. Not like I’d want you to take it easy on me in the ring. Doesn’t seem like the place to make love in.” She joked. And it didn’t, she wouldn’t expect less of him in the ring. “Out of all the woman you’ve slept with, none of them has satisfied you like me? Guess that’s an ego booster.” She smirked. She assumed he had been with a few, and knowing how he was in bed, she couldn’t imagine how other woman couldn’t satisfied him the way that she had. That he couldn’t find someone else who would be willing to do everything that she had done with him and If not even more than what she had done so far.

His words sent chills down her spine, a soft whimper escaping from her lips as he talked about what he’d have to do if she didn’t listen to him. The blonde shook her head, “I wouldn’t ever want him to deny me his cock or love.” She kissed him back, as his lips met hers. But it ended with a gasp as he grabbed her chin roughly. “I understand, I’ll be daddy’s good girl. I’ll obey and listen to him.” She murmured softly, knowing that was exactly what he wanted to hear in that moment and she wouldn’t ever deny him the submissive side to her. Tonight was about him, and what he wanted. What she wanted was on the back burner for the night, and she was completely content with that. “I’ll always trust you.” She knew that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt or do something that would completely risk her reputation. “Yes, it’s your ass. You’re the only one allowed to fuck it.” She screamed as he spanked her again. Once she came down from her high and Max crawled back up her body, she let out a breath as his breath hit her ear. Sabrina was surprised he was asking and not just doing something to her. She didn’t even know, her body was still hot. Her pussy was throbbing and she wasn’t sure if it could take anymore right that minute.. She turned her head, her a hand cupping his cheek as her other arm went around his neck and she brought his head down so she kissed him. She moved her legs so they were wrapped around his waist, and she pulled him so his body was pushing against hers as they made out. She loved feeling his weight on her when they weren’t fucking. She never felt like she was gonna get crushed by him, but it just put pressure on her that she enjoyed.

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gojosconsort · 29 days ago

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AAAAA OMGGG

Plsss more of feral/freak Nanami and innocent/oblivious wife! I beg you 🙏🙏🙏

“did i gain weight or something?” you muse, voice chipper and light, twisting around to peer at yourself in the reflection of the glass cabinet. you’re holding a pair of jeans—those tight ones he secretly prays you’ll wear every damn day—yanking them up over your hips. they snag, too tight, and you hop, tugging. your ass jiggles, soft and full, straining against the denim and rippling with every bounce, and HUSBAND!KENTO’S coffee mug freezes midair. his jaw locks, teeth grinding so loud he swears you should hear it.

“these used to fit,” you pout, frowning as you shimmy them higher, bending slightly to wrestle the fabric. the jeans inch up, but barely, hugging every curve too tight, and that bounce—fuck, that bounce—sends a jolt straight through him. his eyes lock on it, feral and unblinking and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping the sting will snap him back but he can only imagine sinking his teeth into that ass, marking you, claiming you, pounding you into the counter ‘til you’re a drooling mess.

“they look fine,” he grits out, voice like gravel, low enough that you don’t catch the edge. you turn to face him, still wrestling the zipper, and the way your tits bounces with the effort makes his slacks tighten painfully and a faint dampness begins to prick at the fabric. he shifts in his seat, the chair groaning under him, and sets the mug down with a hard thud, splintering the handle, and he doesn’t blink.

“fine?” you laugh, oblivious, spinning to give him a view of the back. “kento, they’re literally cutting me in half!” you wiggle again, testing the fit, and he swears he sees every ripple of your ass in slow motion. his control frays, thread by thread, and he’s picturing it: hands sinking into that plump ass, fucking you right there, ramming into you from behind ‘til the cabinets rattle and you’re dripping with his cum.

“you look… good,” he manages, the words clipped, barely civil. suddenly his tie feels like a noose, and he yanks at it, loosening the knot as he fights the urge to tie you up with it, wrap it around your wrists, arms pinned behind you while he knots it into your skin, leaving red marks he’d lick later. he shifts his weight again, thighs flexing, trying to will it down, but the sight of you in those jeans already has heat pooling low, threatening to spill over if he doesn’t get a grip.

you beam at him, all sweet. “good? well, that’s a relief,” you say, finally getting the jeans zipped, though they hug you like a second skin. you smooth your hands over your hips, turning side to side, and he tracks every movement. “i was worried i’d have to toss these. they’re my favorite.” and his too.

“keep them,” he says, too fast, too rough, standing abruptly. the chair scrapes back, loud, and he stalks toward the sink, dumping the rest of his coffee to give his hands something other to do than to pin you down and fuck into you like an animal. he’s losing it—really losing it—and you don’t even notice, chattering on about your day like he’s not two seconds from gagging you with his cock, stuffing you ‘til your throat’s full.

“—and then i’ve got that meeting at noon, but i’ll be home early,” you’re saying, stepping closer to grab an apple from the bowl. you brush past him, hip grazing his thigh, and he exhales hard through his nose, gripping the sink’s edge until his fingers ache. your scent hits him, floral and clean, and he’s feral, imagining fisting your hair, yanking your head back, fucking you hard and fast.

“kento?” you pause, apple halfway to your mouth, tilting your head up at him. “you okay? you’re all… tense.” your eyes are wide, soft, and he wants to ruin you—mark that pretty throat, choke you with his fingers, fuck you ‘til those pretty lips can’t form words anymore.

“just—” he clears his throat, stepping back, forcing distance. “long night.” a lie, weak, but you nod, accepting it like always. he adjusts his glasses, hands shaking slightly, and turns away, pretending to rinse the mug. his slacks cling to him, the wet spot dark against his thigh, precum soaking through the fabric as his cock throbs, painfully hard, leaking with every jiggle of your ass he can’t unsee.

he shifts, trying to hide it, but the friction only makes it worse—his balls ache, tight and heavy, and he bites back a groan, imagining unloading inside you, painting your insides until you’re dripping with him. the sink’s cold edge digs into his palms as he grips it, desperate to keep from yanking his pants down and fucking you right there.

“finish getting ready,” he says, voice tight, controlled by a thread. “i’ll drive you.” he doesn’t trust himself to stay here, not with you prancing around like that, all innocent and ripe for the taking. you smile, oblivious, and bounce off toward the bedroom, ass jiggling one last time as you go. he watches, jaw flexing, and knows—he’s not making it through the day.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ part one ♡ masterlist

#—amy writes : kento nanami ★#nanami kento smut #nanami smut #kento smut #nanami x reader smut #kento nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x reader #divider by cafekitsune

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alygator77 · 4 months ago

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just a little drabble for my current wip. arranged marriage with clanhead gojo.

warnings: mdni, smut, breeding kink, lots of breeding, praise, creampie, bit of angst.

arranged clanhead! satoru who still isn’t used to sharing his space, even after months of marriage. the grand Gojo estate, once his sanctuary, feels smaller with you in it—your scent lingering on the furniture, your soft hums echoing in the halls—not unpleasant, but… unfamiliar.

arranged clanhead! satoru who notices how your shampoo smells so sweet, clinging to his pillow. how your hair clogs his drain and it drives him fucking insane, yet he still finds himself instinctively reaching for your favorite brand of conditioner while he’s out, tucking it into his basket without a second thought. he doesn’t know why—it’s not like he cares… right?

arranged clanhead! satoru who steps into the kitchen late one evening to find you leaning against the counter. your hair falls in loose strands around your face, messy but still maddeningly pretty, and you sip tea from a mug—his favorite mug. you’re draped in one of his shirts, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh—your bare legs illuminated by the dim glow of the overhead light.

for a fleeting second, he freezes. you look… almost at home. he doesn’t want you to look at home. or does he? he shakes the thought away.

“couldn’t sleep?” he drawls, his eyes lingering on the curve of your legs. “or… were you waiting up for me? ‘cause I could really blow off some steam.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who emerges from the bathroom later that night, his snowy hair damp and tousled, a towel slung lazily over his broad shoulders. he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, the defined lines of his abdomen on full display as he rubs the towel through his hair, his gaze sliding over to you lying on the bed.

“ready for tonight?” he asks, tilting his head with that signature nonchalance, as though he isn’t about to fuck the hell out of you, as though his sole intention isn’t to fill you so full of his cum that there’s no question the Gojo Clan will get their heir.

arranged clanhead! satoru who pushes you into a mating press the moment he’s on top of you, his large hands gripping your thighs as he folds your legs back against your chest, pinning you beneath him. his cock slides against your slick folds before splitting you apart, and his breath shudders as your cunt swallows him greedily.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, panting through thrusts. “always so good f’me. always takin’ me so fucking well.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who hates himself for the shameful thrill that bubbles up within him, the sick satisfaction of watching you come undone beneath him. the way your pussy clenches around his dick, the way your gasps and moans echo in his ears, drives him to thrust harder, deeper, as though his very existence depends on filling you—which it does.

arranged clanhead! satoru who’s pace is merciless, hips slamming into you with an almost feral hunger. he tells himself it’s just biology, but deep down he knows better.

“good fucking girl…” he smirks, pushing your legs higher as you squirm beneath him—your nails digging into his arms, but the sting only spurs him on. “don’t worry sweetheart—haaa—this time, for sure, m'gonna breed that pretty pussy. gonna make you drip with my cum ‘til you can’t hold it all…”

arranged clanhead! satoru who watches your eyes roll back as his cock slams into you, the bed shaking beneath you as his focus narrows on the way your breasts bounce with every forceful thrust.

“you’re mine,” he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. his body trembles against yours as he buries himself to the hilt.

“fuuuck, take it…” he rasps, his forehead dropping to press against yours. “so fucking good f’me.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest pressed to yours, his weight pinning you to the mattress. your breath mingles, warm and uneven, and for a fleeting second, he almost forgets why he’s here. why you’re here. but then reality creeps in, sharp and cold, and he pulls out slowly, watching as the mix of his cum and your slick drips onto the sheets.

arranged clanhead! satoru who remembers his duty as clanhead, as the leader of the Gojo Clan. like a good husband—like a good leader—he doesn’t waste a single drop. he shifts, his fingers dipping between your legs to scoop up the cum leaking from you.

“can’t let this go to waste, sweetheart,” he mutters as he pushes the thick mess back into you. his thumb presses against your clit, and he smirks when it earns a soft gasp from you—his fingers sliding deeper. he watches, transfixed, as his cum disappears inside you again, his cock giving a weak twitch at the sight.

arranged clanhead! satoru who rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaves with the effort of catching his breath. he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t hold you, and you don’t reach for him. the silence afterward is louder than any moan you could make. he tries to ignore the ache in his chest, something he refuses to name.

arranged clanhead! satoru who lies awake long after you’ve drifted off, his arm slung over his eyes as he tries to ignore the ache in his chest. he won’t admit it—not to you, not to himself—but he’s starting to crave more than your body. he craves the softness in your voice when you call his name, the quiet way you laugh when you think he’s not listening.

but this is just obligation. just duty. just… fucking. right?

full fic in the works 🫶🏻 lmk if you wanna be tagged. update: it's out! read it HERE!

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tonycries · 10 months ago

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The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school.

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt.

Never mess with you. Anyone but you.

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second.

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team.

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile.

Everything.

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else.

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all.

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss.

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you.

Everything.

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio.

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you.

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries.

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments.

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew.

You’d kissed him back.

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister.

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good.

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up.

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by.

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling.

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.”

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine.

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics.

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked.

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss.

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door.

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that.

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for.

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth.

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours.

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes.

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship.

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious.

What did he have that Satoru didn’t?

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his.

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.”

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom.

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye.

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn.

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh.

Shit.

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank.

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck.

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.”

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now.

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?”

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.”

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused.

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today.

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway.

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there.

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru.

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms.

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life.

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned.

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.”

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you.

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt.

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist.

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?”

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?”

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you.

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so.

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots.

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually.

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit.

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene.

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?”

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully.

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out.

Like you were about to snap. Any second now.

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…” Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt.

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours.

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection.

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous.

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.”

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.”

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch.

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag.

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

��Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.”

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact.

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps.

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling.

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-”

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-”

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll.

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt.

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.”

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white.

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family.

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

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