#ya ya it will take some time but it is what it is

[tonycries]

DDD

Synopsis. What’s destroyed on Destroy D!ck December? Him.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, MARATHONS, heavy overstím, creampíes, BRÉEDING, cúmplay, pússydrunk men, ínnapropríate use of jujutsu, powers going haywire, matíng press, making them cry, bondagé (Nanami), GOJO’S POWERS, mánhandling, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s mouths, p talking, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 6.1k

A/N. Hope you all have a lovely December <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 23rd Dec. 5:46AM

It’s around this time that Toji Fushiguro loses count - loses his damn mind. 

Gasping- heaving back every tiny whimper when his ruby red tip plants sopping wet smacks right down your tender folds. Gushing out generous helpings of pearly white that slip and slide all the way down.

And it hasn’t been once. Oh, it hasn’t even been twice. 

Dozens upon dozens of times - for hours now - Toji was collapsing his big, beefy limbs down into yours in the messiest mating press. With a dragged-out groan, he’s smearing his thumb down the edges of your treacling slit, popping it into his mouth eagerly. 

“Heh- jus’ look at her all overflowin’ f’me.” Toji’s rasping - voice so shot he could barely even breathe. And you wonder if he even realizes he’s babbling this way. “S’that oh- s’that twenty-three, yet?” 

It better not be.

Toji refuses to let it be. 

“C-can feel it coming again-” he’s choking out a ragged whine. How embarrassing. Thick fingers curling around your throat to squeeze, “-can hah- can I- inside again…please, doll.”

It’s as if on some slutty autopilot that you let his massive, calloused palms glide down your thighs and push. The way his bulging biceps flex with strain makes your mouth water - all bulging and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that smears against yours. 

He was out of control. Out of his sanity.

And just one peak down at the creamy ring your cunt was coating around his hefty hilt was enough for Toji to throw his head back with a moan of your name.

Destroyed. 

With a fatigued shiver, he’s spearheading his fat head into you until you see white, dragging a drippingly wet swipe of steaming hot precum all over your cushiony sweet spots.. 

Whispering, “Shit- what ya do to me- s-squeeze me- squeeze me with that pretty pussy jus’ once.” Racking out a bout of violent shivers down the entirety of his hulking body when your sloppy walls give his girth a tight little clench. 

And that’s all it takes for Toji to cum.

All it takes for his sensitive cock to bawl out in stringy wads of seed that splatter right into the bottom of your pussy, pumping you full. Toji falls tiredly onto his elbows with a sudden hiss at the stinging thwack! of his twitchy balls sticking to your skin. 

“O-oh yeah- that’s twenty-two- milk me- milk me, doll.” And it feels so good that it’s almost painful, stars bursting over and over behind his teary lids when his own seed sloshes a white gloss down every delicate ridge and vein of his. “Heheh- takin’ m-me so well-  jus’ one more right? We’re almost there-”

But he’s already lost count.

And Toji doesn’t care - he doesn’t even give a shit.

The way your puffy pussy lips were sucking up his cock was like a sheer miracle after the long, treacherous task of November. Tch- who even came up with such a thing as no nutting? Though, he couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t like the idea of December…

Yeah, he was going to fill his girl’s needy lil’ pussy with his cum again and again until he reaches his mark of twenty-three even if it kills him. And he could die a happy death right between these jittery legs of yours. 

You whine, grappling towards the thudding headboard that was now indenting your poor wall. You didn’t know how the hell he was still going. “B-but are you sure you can, baby? Don’t know if it’ll f-fit-”

“Oh- don’t speak so f-filthy ta me with that sweet mouth, ma.” 

“But Toji—”

Toji juts his scarred lips out in what you swear was almost a pout. He’s squeezing your delicate neck warningly, other hand pushing down on your tummy to make your sloppy entrance gush out in milky white dredges. Strangling out, “See? A-all you hafta ta do is shut up and take my fuckin’ cock- take my cum.” And he’s so lazy, all dripping with sweat and sheer sex when Toji slides his cheek down your own like an animal. “My pretty girl can ngh- d-do that f’me, right?”

It was so rare that you get to see the great Toji Fushiguro like this. 

So drunk on the power and the way he was kissing up French peck after peck against your g-spot that it makes you smile. “O-only if you hngh- beg.”

“Doll…”

“Beg.”

Truly, you imagined that Toji would roll his greedy green eyes- shit, were those tears in them? at you and simply snicker. 

What you didn’t expect was for him to grunt, before dragging you with the vice-like grip on your neck to meet his smacking sharp hips. Down, down, down- 

“Tch.” he’s grumbling, condensed breath feverish on your face. Sharp jaw clenching almost painfully - but not as painfully as the way his thick cock was swollen so rock-hard. Needy. Desperate. “M’begging you, ma- please l-let me cum- inside this cute cunt.”

You can only nod - nod and nod when his weepy tip plants pound after pound on your thoroughly bruised cervix. 

“Atta girl.”

And with a slight swat! from the rounded edges of his fat digits down onto your pulsing clit - you don’t know who’s cumming first. 

So hot and blissful. It’s like you were floating in heaven when Toji wrangles your body down flat onto the sheets and cums. Cumming and cumming yet- his utterly dazed eyes snap open, nothing was coming out.

“Shit-” Toji guides his free hand to wrap around his fat reddened base. Pumping up and down up and down up and- he half blacks out. “Fuck…c-completely ruined me, ma.” And the only thing that Toji can let loose is a few thick beads of his seed that dot your precious sweet spots. 

But he wasn’t having that.

In an instant, you’re being jostled with every ounce of strength in his large body. Straddling Toji’s slender hips, you’re collapsing to rub down his washboard abs. And he only grins, he only lolls his head drunkenly into the plush pillows. 

Overstimulated cock twitching ferally against your elastic walls as he still keeps cumming dry, he didn’t know if he could make it…“That- ngh- doesn’t count. So why dontcha ride me to t-twenty-three, doll?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 16th Dec. 7:30PM

“Don’t run.” Nanami keens brokenly at the back of his throat. More. He needs more. “Please d-don’t run don’t run, my love-” 

And if it wasn’t for that velvety yellow tie binding his strong arms behind his back, they would be wrapping around your arched body so tight until you were sure your husband never wanted to let go. It’s all that Nanami can do to jump his thighs up higher to glissade your pretty pussy down his girthy shaft.

You’re whining out a little, “C-can’t help it, Kento- you’re jus’ filling me up so much-”

God, the ever-sensible Nanami Kento was so ruined by now. 

So utterly pussydrunk that even the mere sound of your honeyed tone complimenting him is enough to have him rutting his flushed cockhead to nudge deeper and deeper into your gooey walls. You were riding him so languidly, spreading open your insides on just the curve. 

More more more more-

“D-don’t say that—” he all but cries in a deep whine over the syrupy squelch after smooching squelch. Sweat-slicked face pushing into the tender crook of your neck, “-I m-might cum from jus’ that, darling. S’wasted- n-need to fuck a baby into ya, remember?”

With a drunkenly smug daze smeared across your face, you’re cushioning your hands all over his heaving chest. Muscled. Rugged. Peaking your trembly fingers across his bulging pecs, “That would be the ngh- sixteenth time, right, Ken? And in your office, too- so dirty~”

It was so fun to tease your dear Nanami.

To watch his drooping glasses fog up with heady condensation, to watch his high cheekbones blush into something innocently rosy. Stern mouth slack with awe when you glide the fat of your thumb across its corner to swipe away his translucent trail of overstimulated drool. 

Sensitive. Shit, so sensitive.

And you’re hearing miniscule rips! when he pulls against the tie - the only thing keeping Nanami from tattering it into a million pieces was your wish to tie your handsome husband up.

“B-but how could I not?” he hisses, genuinely floored. You feel yourself be bounced through the sheer strength in his toned core. Atoms stand on end with jujutsu - his technique. Your g-spot is battered. Up and down up and down up and- “Y-you’re just so perfect n’ pretty ngh- a-and oh I can’t stay away from this pretty cunt–”

Nanami’s head lolls pussydrunkenly with every squelching shove into your tight channel. He’s opening up every sweet nook and cranny inside you, mashing into that magical spot. 

“My pretty girl- gonna make such a pretty momma. Y-you just feel so oh-” Words are failing him. And with a shuddering gulp he dares look down at the way your cunt was drenching him in milky wave after wave of cum. Breeding you. Breathing out, “-this might jus’ be heaven.”

And heaven it was.

“Aw, you’re so ngh- sweet, Ken– s’this from how long ya had to wait in November?” He’s so pretty. Your fingers caress over the big, fat tears welling their way up in his half-lidded eyes. Planting a salty peck against his wobbly lips, “Love you–”

“I love you, too-” Nanami breathes - he whimpers. “Love you love you love you- ngh- m’never participating in that goddamn No Nut November again. S-sixteen’s not ‘nough- s’never gonna e-enough-”

And Nanami didn’t even know if he could make it to sixteen.

Because his hefty balls were jostling against your ass so harshly, every press of your ass down his tight, cum-filled sack making him spurt out a few wispy sputters of cum. Sloshing your cozy insides- But it didn’t count - no, it didn’t count unless he had you overspilling. 

“O-overspilling?” you giggle- shit, did he say that out loud? “Ken- are you ser-”

SLAM!

Desperation bleeds into his movement. Into his breaths. Into every single stroke of his sloppy cock when Nanami wrenches his hands free from the restraint in a split-second. 

A single split-second is all it takes for him to bully your pliant body down on his desk in one, fluid motion.

In control now.

Well, as in control as he could be when he was fucking losing it.

The desk rattles with every pound he’s gifting your poor, battered g-spot. Over and over- shit, it was so scarily accurate that it left you reeling about whether Nanami was using his ratio technique - did he even realize. 

Slam! 

Nanami’s arm shudders down onto the rustling papers that he definitely should’ve been working on instead. And you bolt at the sudden cinch of atoms - yeah, definitely his technique. “M’serious- ngh oh- I’ve never been more serious in m’life, my love-” Hunching over now, you could admire the way his back muscles popped and flexed with every rough jackhammer. 

“So pretty and-” Words choking into tiny moans at the back of his throat, “-and mine.”

As soon as Nanami’s thick digits pop into his mouth, you feel his overwhelmed cock strike up a few electric jolts before cumming. Hot shaft swelling and throbbing with his pumping pulse, fucking your snug cunt full of syrupy oozes of cum. Your poor sweet spots - over and over, powers out of control. 

And so was Nanami.

Eyeing the creamy globs spittling down the side of your slit, he’s smearing open your swollen pussy folds with a few thick fingers, making you flinch at the cool touch of his wedding ring.  Greedily scooping them up into his mouth to spit. Right onto your very tastebuds, before dragging you into a filthy, filthy mess of a kiss. 

“Ngh- gonna marry ya- have all round and glowing.” he’s panting against your open mouth. “Gonna- sh-shit gonna make you my wife-”

You’re letting off a few sweet moans every time he’s clashing wetly against your-spot. “I am your wife, Kento-”

Five words. 

Only five words does it take for Nanami to halt in his tracks. For him to strain out a crazed, “E-even better…”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 11th Dec. 2:28AM

“What was that?”

“Suguru-”

He’s shutting you up promptly with a swift smack! right onto the edge of your plump clit, fingers lingering to smear over those excess dredges of cum from just before. 

They have you weakening on all fours. 

They have you making such a fucking mess. 

And you hear Geto shudder in a shrill breath at the sight of your drooling cunt dripping all down his wrist, you hear him clear his rasping throat of a few traitorous whimpers. Oh, it takes everything in him to pretend he wasn’t as fucking ruined as he was. “Letting it drip a-all out of your slutty pussy, d-didn’t I tell ya to ngh- take all eleven, gorgeous?” 

It’s a trick question.. 

And Geto isn’t waiting for an answer, Geto can barely even hear you through the thundering of his own furious pulse in his ears. Ringing and making him so dizzy- 

With one hand kneading down on the arch of your back, his hips pummel into you thoroughly, shoving your squirming hips back down onto the silken sheets. Rotund, pinkish head feeding into all your sweetest spots without even trying.

“Mhmmm–” he’s letting his head loll back to swipe a few greedy digits over the creamy ring at his hilt - plugging them easily back into your overly stuffed pussy. Slender and swirling all around the outer edges of his fat cock. With the other he pretends to count, “-nine, ten eleven- sure did. S-so that ah- eleventh one didn’t count, riiiight?”

And you just about only have the strength to gasp, “D-doesn’t count?”

“Nuh uh, doesn’t count.”

Thwacking a stinging smack! right onto the jiggling flesh of your ass, Geto only pushes and pushes and reels out peak after peak of white-hot pleasure with every pound. Grinning when your slack-jawed lips gasp in lewd awe to mewl, “Th-then- ah! I w-want it all in this time. No teasing, Sugu–”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit - he really underestimated how much a lil’ minx his girl was.

Because that makes Geto let out a heavy gasp, it makes his dewey deep eyes pop out almost dramatically. Sweeping one hand through his long, curtaining bangs to get a better scope of your jittery body. All splayed out and so prettily fucked underneath him.

Beautiful. So, so beautiful and- oh, he was more drunk on your pussy than he thought. 

“Oh, p-pretty girl–” His lips smear up your sweat-glistening spine in a trail of kisses. Up, up, up to press a saccharine sweet peck onto your cheek. “Heh, how could I not?”

And you swear Geto’s melodic voice cracked into something desperate at the end -almost as if it was…a whine.

But you don’t get to confirm, not before with a rippling thud! you’re feeling something heavy rest itself on your head. Whirling your bleary eyes as much as you could to take in what was Geto’s foot - so rudely positioned upon your body to shovel himself even deeper into your plushy cunt.

It felt too damn good.

And, fuck, Geto was angry at himself for the way he was letting big, overstimulated tears well up in his eyes with every pretty peck into your sopping wet cervix. Fucking you like an animal. With every wet swipe right at the bottom of your cunt- 

“S-Sugu-” you’re babbling out, heart stuttering at the feeling of something wet drizzling down heatedly onto your shoulder. “Are you cry-”

“No.”

Yes.

Because Geto was so sensitive. So stimulated. Every sodden crash into your tight pussy had stars bursting behind Geto’s eyes, throat ragged raw with a sudden keen. “M-m’not cryin’ s’just- fuuuck- yer a real troublemaker, aren’t ya?” 

It takes a few sloppy seconds before you realize with a jolt that Geto isn’t talking to you - no, he had his flaming eyes downturned to look at your bulging cunt. To salivate over the way your puffy folds were greedily drenching all his staggering inches. 

And he’s talking to her, nodding all to every honeyed squelch! that makes your ears burn.

“Right right–” Geto cups one of you jiggling tits with his massive palms. Kneading. Squeezing. “-sh-she is gorgeous-” Pressing a too-sweet smooch by your sweat-dampened forehead, “-my gorgeous girl…hehh- you knew what would oh- h-happen when you told me about this challenge, right?”

“Know what, Suguru?” you’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes him grit through a shudder. Evil, evil tricks you had. 

But whatever you could do - Geto Suguru could, too, ten times worse. 

Which is why he’s slamming into you so fast that you’re finding yourself almost thrown into the jittering headboard. Bolting fast. Hard. 

Curling a few fingers around your neck to bounce you back into his sharp hipbones, “Where do you think you’re r-running away? Don’t run away–”

You weren’t. 

But Geto sounded so genuinely upset, so genuinely in disbelief. His cheeks hollowing when he sucks in a sudden breath and rummages at your melty insides so good. Planting tiny pinches to your clit like it was going to make you forget the pearly, splattering tears into your shoulder. Yet, with the way that Geto was fucking you positively stupid then you think you just might. 

Geto’s curling his deft fingers inside to sneak across your sweetened spots, around and around before swiping the remnant dredges of cum across his pre-glossed lips. 

“K-kiss me, gorgeous.” He tastes like honey. Hot. Voice practically a roughened growl at this point. “G-gonna take it all, aren’t ya? Gonna fill this pretty p-pussy up with my cum- ngh- gonna have it s-so everyone knows what I did- ah- so they know-”

And no matter how composed Geto pretended to be - you could hear the tiny whimpers curling at the back of his throat, the grumbling ah! ah! ah! at every thrust. 

He’s babbling, drunken and you don’t even think he remembers a thing about the challenge anymore. “M’gonna get ya pregnant, doll…”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 8th Dec. 6:45PM

“B-baby-” Choso’s voice is so warm - so broken. Sobbing. He’s gifting your ankle with an innocent peck, “Baby let me s-see your pretty face- p-please look my way–”

“M’already here…” With a slightly syrupy giggle you press a gentle kiss against Choso’s sweat-streaked forehead. “Let it out- let it alll out, Cho-”

That forgotten movie plays over and over in the background when with a flinching shudder, Choso cums. Wrangling your limp body to him so tight that you’re feeling every tiny flex of his washboard abs, every sweaty glissade of his muscular thighs kneeing apart yours. 

“O-oh–” Choso hisses out the tiniest of whimpers against your skin with every splat! of cozy rivers of cum down your snug cunt. “M-move that pretty hand- move it for me-”

Gently shoving away the overwhelmed hand on your bulging cunt, he’s pulling out his achy cock from your entrance. Making such a mess on your poor couch. “Oh.”

And Choso doesn’t say anything more - not a word. 

He can’t.

Not even a peep while he’s fixating his widened eyes down on the way your inner thighs were drooling all over with waves of his own cum. So full. And he gulps. 

You’re running your fingers through his silky soft strands, “All done, baby?”

And Choso only jolts his entire muscular body on top of you as if the thought never even crossed his mind. Sheer panic bleeding into those pussy drunken eyes of his when they widen and bore down into yours, “A-actually that’s not- ngh- that’s-”

Shit, he couldn’t even explain himself right now. Because Choso didn’t have to say anything - he was already moving.

Head throwing back when his hips push back downwards in a wet little grind - experimental. Just the singular clench of your elastic walls around his length in a perfectly cozy hug makes him throw his head back with a whimper. So sensitive. “I’m sorry, baby I- I can’t stop.”

It didn’t matter what day it was today. It didn’t matter exactly how many times Choso had pumped your pretty pussy full of his voluminous cum. Because it was never enough. 

Never will be enough.

He was too addicted to the way his own warm cum was sloshing around your gooey insides, making such a filthy slurping gloss that practically speaks to him. Your pussy was extra talkative today, slurring out the most saturated squelches! whenever he’s diving his fat cockhead past your entrance. 

“Wh-what is it? The ngh- eight?” Meshing a wet kiss over and over that magical g-spot - just the way he was with your pouty mouth. Lips wobbling as he begs, “I-I can c-cum inside again, right, baby? P-please–? Look I’ll even make room-”

And before you can utter a word, your dear, sweet boyfriend was plunging out. Accompanied by a few sopping wet slurps of his seed that waterfall freely and drizzle down his furiously reddened length. 

Choso bites his lip at the heavenly sight, holding back a grin that curls down the sides of his rosy red mouth. Oh, this was so not just about “making room.”

Something that makes you hum, “Well then-” And as soon as you’re smearing your legs open even wider, Choso gapes. Urgently pressing a thumb over his weepy divot to keep himself from cumming all over again. “-wontcha be a hngh good boy f’me, then?”

Choso nods - nods over and over when he fucks back through your gummy hole. Nods with every drawling babble that leaves his mouth, “G-gonna be your good boy, baby- gonna cum inside- gonna let me, right? Promise I’ll m-make it to eight-”

Not to mind the fact that he already had. 

But he doesn’t care. Not a single ounce when your inflated walls were molding around him this way - like you were made for him.

“R-right here–” He’s trailing up the rounded curve of one thick index about halfway down your tummy, pressing down on the slight swollen nudge of where he could feel himself absolutely wrecking you. Wrecking himself. “-gonna be f-finishing the challenge riiiight here.”

“Yes yes yes-” you whine, hips bucking up to catch onto his sloppy cadence. It almost hurts just how hard he was fucking into you - dragging rawly all over your cunt, no sweetened spot left unbruised. “-cum inside- cum in me, Cho–”

“F-fuck-”

It’s a tiny whimper - broken. So utterly fucked-out when Choso crashes his lips onto your battered ones and sucks. 

And you think Choso is cumming - you feel Choso cumming. His hulking boy hunches, his strong arms bend you to his lewd will so hard you think you hear your joint creak. Positioning in the perfect angle to flood your insides with heap after sloshing heap of cum.

Once. Twice. 

Multiple orgasms clashing into each other before it tapers out into nothing and you’re feeling Choso’s bawling divot at the very ends of his tip cum dry. 

Only a few seconds later do you realize that those wet speckles crashing heatedly onto your cheeks are tears. And even later do you realize that Choso’s latched his rough fingers onto your overwhelmed clit to pinch. Rolling it so harshly that your fatigued body has no choice but to crash headfirst into your own orgasm.

Your nails draw red, red lines all the way down his pale, sculpted back. Honestly, Choso was so mean when he wanted to be. 

“Y-yeah? K-kiss gimme a kiss, baby–” He’s peeking up at you with practically gleaming eyes - and the syrupy sweet love swirling around was palpable. “Am I a good boy- ngh- d-does it feel good, baby–?”

And you can only nod right about now. Feeling so full inside that it was like his sickly sweet cum was barging into your womb. You gasp when his thickened cock slips out ever-so-slightly from your entrance, gumming out a wet trail of cum. Making Choso snap his head down and-

“Oh.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 28th Dec. 12:01AM

“Sooo…” Sukuna grumbles his hot breath to condense in a feverish puff against the side of your ear in such a mean full nelson. He’s practically laughing at you - chuckling in a drunkenly delirious way. “Think that lil’ human body of yours can give me a hah- twenty-eighth today?”

Hell, you didn’t think it was even possible to withstand such a stretch of his doubly swollen girths jostling around your snug channel. You didn’t think it was possible to last this long-

You’re baring him with a pretty, pretty pout that makes him tunnel his long hard cocks into you even harder. Faster. “O-of course I can-”

Heh…cute. Sukuna didn’t bother telling your proud self that it’d been the reversed curse technique that still kept your drooling cunt so needy without breaking a few bones. Yet. 

“Well, that mouth of yours says ya can- but this pretty pussy…” Trailing off, sharpened black nails trace over your cunt and make you shiver. As if that wasn’t enough - as if the squelching slurps emanating from where your cunt was being so tightly split-apart wasn’t enough - Sukuna manifests his second mouth on a smaller scale to give your pretty clit a long French kiss. “-she’s fuckin’ bratty, isn’t she?”

And he’s planting a staggering smack right onto the neglected bud of your clit. Swiping his heated tongue around and around in such a way that makes you buck-

Swat!

“Oi- keep that cunt still f’me or else…” Now, Sukuna didn’t have to try to ever sound threatening - but then again he never had to bite back such pathetic whimpers from the back of his throat. He never had to hold in his tired whines when your gummy walls stretch so rawly around his cocks. So unfairly good. “O-or else…fuuuck.”

You whirl your dazed eyes around with a sudden gasp - did Ryomen Sukuna stutter? It has you babbling out a stupid, “Kuna, d-did you just-”

Like hell he would let his pretty queen see him like that. 

And without warning - without even a single symptom that he heard your question - Sukuna stands up right onto his muscular feet. 

You’re being slapped with a heavy crash of his dripping wet heads against your bulbous g-spot. Gravity taking its lewd advantage to slide you down, down, down his throbbing lengths until you were scratching up against the wild tufts of pink under Sukuna’s toned abs. Massaged up and down by his muscles - such an obvious show of strength for the king. 

He has you splayed out shamefully - with your legs hooked underneath two of his strong forearms, completely weightless. The other two interlocking on top of your head to have you swallowing every single one of his solid inches. Filthy. 

Sukuna smirks at the translucent rivulets of slick that gloss down his disappearing lengths, “Wh-what- ahem- what were you sayin’, woman? Sorry- ya got a little-” Pounding up even harder. “-loud.”

“I-I don’t-” you’re mewling out, wincing at the rough drag of his second - much larger - tongue craning across your forgotten clit. “-don’ remember, Kuna–”

Of course. 

“Don’t remember?” Sukuna seethes - deep baritone a few octaves higher than usual, words dripping with such utter mocking. “Now h-how will we get to twenty-eight if you can’t even ah- think, brat?”

Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t either. Couldn’t even breathe if he didn’t want to drag out rasping ahs! from his throat. So fucking stimulated that he feels his lips tremble, and can hear his other fucking mouth snicker. Snicker. 

“Tch- open that pretty mouth f’me.”

You barely have a second thought as you do - all so perfect for Sukuna to bless your tongue with a thick wad of his saliva. Honeyed and dripping down your throat.

You’re looking right into his devilishly red eyes as you swallow. “Wan’ more, Kuna–”

“More…” Sukuna breathes out. Small. Broken. More to himself than anything. And he can’t believe it - can’t even compute how the hell he ever got so lucky. Not before chuckling in such a dark and humorless way that makes your sopping pussy even more drenched. “More more more more- hah! I’ll give ya more- She wants more- ya hear that?”

Sukuna’s leering his sleazy gaze allll the way down to your headily dribbling cunt and talking. In utter disbelief - he’s seeing stars right behind his eyes with every raw rub your gripping walls onto his cocks, with every glissading massage against each other. It was such a tight fit. 

“Y-you’re so ngh- gone-” you’re bumbling out boldly. 

“So fuckin’ what-” he’s sneering. “H-honestly- fuckin- let that pretty cunt of yours speak, woman- she’s nicer.”

Syrupy wet slurps following with every crash of his wet tip against your sweet spots. Every languid lick down your presoaked slit, his mouth was everywhere now. Out of control. 

And like he was urging your pussy louder, whispering out a rasping c’mon c’mon c’mon every time he’s pummeling you like he hates you. Twenty eight? Twenty eight Sukuna’s ass, he was going to make your poor pussy cum hard enough for the entire month combined. 

So when you do - that’s exactly how you feel.

Your entire body thrashes in Sukuna’s unforgiving hold. Whining. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes, it just felt too good. In the thundering distance somewhere, you hear someone whimper - not you. Sukuna.

His mouth parting into a barely-lucid oh! when his rummaging cocks suddenly burst out in such honeyed trickles of cum. And Sukuna came a lot - he always did - but this was ridiculous. 

You could feel the hefty weight of his lengths double as he floods your bruised and battered insides with swirling swivels of cum. Sloshing around to stick to your inner walls like a second skin with every fuck up deeper and deeper-

“B-brat.” Sukuna whines. Whines. You don’t know what’s more shocking - that or the glassy tears collecting in his eyes. “Such a merciless queen you’d be…”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 31st Dec. 4:44AM

“Please-” And no one can ever say they’ve had the privilege of hearing the great Gojo Satoru beg before. No one can ever say they’ve known the feeling of his hot tears splat! splat! splat! against your shoulder like a slight drizzle. Whimpering, “-please we’re almost- almost there…”

He has you splayed out on your side on that decadent king-sized bed of his, massive palms sliding up and down your shaky thighs to perk them up for him to feed his cock right between them. Over and over and-

“I-I think I c-can feel it coming-” Gojo’s sputtering out, and at this point his rugged thrusts are barely even that. Slow, slurring grinds of his toned hips that make you squeal. “Think I can- ohhh fuck- I think m’gonna cum again, s-sweetheart.”

It’s just about all you can do to clear your shot throat, rasping out a whiny. “C-cum inside, Toru– wan’ it all oh-” 

And of course when Gojo cums, he’s not going to cum alone. Of course, when he’s nearing his dangerous peak - tipping over practically - he’s giving your plump clit a sudden thwack! with his fingertips. Long, and coated in buzzing cursed energy to make you see stars. 

“Heheh- yer cummin’ again–” he’s crooning in a feverish pitch into your ear. “Such a naughty cunt- h-how are you still creaming all over my hah- cock, darlin’?” Fucking giggling - oh, and for all Gojo’s big mouth he doesn’t even realize that he’s cumming too. 

Bolts of tiny blue lightning peaking at the corners of his eyes, fingertips flashing with the pressure of atoms - and you’re sure that if the bedroom lights hadn’t already shattered many, many orgasms ago then they would have right now.

It takes you a few seconds to regain the feeling in your legs - it takes Gojo a few seconds to realize that he’s cumming dry. Slowly swirling around his fat head in little swipes down your tenderized sweet spots, hips picking up the tempo more. And more. And more and more like he was furious - like he was fuming at the lack of sloshing wads of cum that stream into your gooey depths. 

Fuck.

“O-oh- you’ve broken me-” he’s whining, running those electrified hands up and down your body. Before finally resting on your hardened nipples and pinching. “-look what you’ve- shit- I can’t- I need to. Honey, I need it-”

Shit, he sounded so desperate.

And his movements were just as needy. Teleporting - yeah, not even pulling out for a mere millisecond, he couldn’t even stand the thought - to loom above your body. Flipping you onto your back, his biceps bulge at the fatigue when Gojo’s veering your legs to dangle around his neck.

“A mating press?” you mewl, the burn so merciless. 

But Gojo doesn’t answer- shit, can he even hear you right now? Only gruffing out a rough, “Lock your ankles.” 

You’ve barely even moved to do as your thoroughly pussydrunken husband had said before he’s plugging every spare inch into your cunt so full. Starting off with tiny, lazy gyrations before building up and up and-

“T-Toru–” you sputter out, syrupy voice so sweet that it makes Gojo kiss away your pout in a sodden drag of his rosy lip. And his eyes droop dangerously closed when your clingy walls clutch around him so tight. “Wh-what’s gotten into you- what has you like…”

This.

So feral.

Barely even human at this point.

After pathetically failing at No Nut November, the strongest was determined to complete this month’s challenge. Even it kills him.

Gojo was fucking you so hard into the bed that you’re noticing one side of it had utterly splintered and sagged. And a particularly hard mash of his swollen, red tip into your bouncy cervix makes him slam! one overwhelmed palm down beside your head. In your peripheral vision, you notice that your silky bedsheets had a palm print burnt into it.

“What h-has me like this?” he’s echoing your words like he’s just now heard them. “What has me like this- hahah! What else do you think…” Pressing down onto your inflationary bulge hard so that all voluminous dumps of his cum seeps right through your leaky slit. Gojo’s running a thumb down your teary cunt and plugging it right into your mouth. “Suck. Wh-what do you oh-”

You don’t even give him the sanity to finish his sentence, wrapping those pretty kiss-bitten lips of yours to give his thick thumb a thorough French kiss. You’re tasting him - tasting yourself. 

And the sight is enough for Gojo to let his head fall into your neck and cum. 

“This time-” Gojo’s rasping under his breath, muscular hips jamming into yours again. Fucking his furiously twitchy cock up into your forbidden areas. “This time.” And again. And again and again until the pale, sweat-slicked skin at his abs were rubbed red. “This time- this time- this time this time- fuck no–”

But it’s no use.

No matter how much Gojo’s ramming his weepy length down your snug walls, he was simply cumming dry. Keening at the familiar gloss of oozy cum that dredge their way down his coral pink shaft.

You brush away the drenched locks of snowy white from his pretty features - scrunched and on the verge of sobbing when you’re rutting your hips up tiredly to bounce against his. The mating press was so sloppy that it had your joints popping - ones that your husband immediately rubs over with reversed curse technique. Mumbling, “S’okay, Toru- you lasted this whole ah- month. You don’t need to-”

“-no no no but I need it.” he’s cutting you off. Swirling a few greedy fingers over your clit, “I need it- need it so bad b-because this Christmas…” Momentarily in awe at the way you were so sweetly holding him, so sweetly gulping up every one of his staggering inches. ”-I want a baby.”

Maybe you’re cumming - maybe Gojo is cumming. Maybe both.

You’re not even sure at this point, because despite being broken into a million different shards, the overhead lights flicker on and off. And what you feel is a wisping splatter of his seed drenching the very gooey bottom of yout cunt. Finally. 

Gojo’s orgasm coming out in waves up and down - your own nothing but a tight tingle. He’s dragging his cock to fuck out pearly beads of something delicious. More. More and more- “O-oh no…was that thirty one- hngh- were you keeping count, sweetheart?”

“...”

He has the audacity to grin - all pearly white teeth and glistening trail of drool on display. Big, fat tears rolling down his pretty eyes, “O-one more to make sure?”

A/N. I love making men cry.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

home for the holidays (part one) - r.c.

❄️ a frat!rafe cameron holiday mini series ❄️

summary a simple favor for a friend ends with you reluctantly bringing Rafe Cameron, resident campus fuckboy, home for the holidays. It’s gonna take more than a little mistletoe for him to win you over…

content “enemies” to lovers, copious amounts of flirting, eventual smut, a dash of familial angst, parental illness and mentions of parental death, 18+ mdni

Brodyyy <3: hey thanks again for offering to give me a ride back to nc for break!

You: ofc! anything for u after u gave me those o chem notes bestie

Brodyyy <3: i’m glad to hear ya say that…bc i have one more favor to ask

You: what’s up?

Brodyyy <3: one of my frat bros needs a ride back too, can he join?

You: does he live near us?

Brodyyy <3: he’s from obx but if you get us to my house I can take him the rest of the way in my mom’s car, so no extra driving for you!

You: yeah then i guess that’s cool!!

You: as long as i’m home before 6pm on the 21st i’m good

Brodyyy <3: cookie day?

You: exactly, u get me

Brodyyy <3: dw we’ll get you home in time for cookies! Tysm!

You: np!

You: what’s his name btw?

Brodyyy <3: …

You: *questioned* “what’s his name btw?”

Brodyyy <3: rafe

You: be so fr rn

You: as in cameron???

You: Brody, did u seriously invite rafe cameron to drive home with us??

Hour one

You could see your breath, fog filling the air with each shivering exhale as you pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. Even after three-and-a-half years, you’d never gotten used to these North Eastern winters. The plan was to be well on your way towards a milder climate by now, but here you were, leaning against the open hatchback trunk of your car, desperately clutching your hot coffee as you waited for your friend to show up. With his friend. You rolled your eyes as you checked the time on your phone for the hundredth time, none of your many texts to Brody returned.

“Brody, I swear to god,” you mumbled under your breath, “five more minutes and I’m leaving your ass.”

Time ticked on without any sight of him. With a resigned sigh, you reached up to close the trunk.

“Hey wait up!” a voice called from behind you. You whipped around to find its owner.

Standing a few feet back on the sidewalk, sherpa lined corduroy jacket, backpack slung over his shoulder and obnoxiously handsome smirk painted on his face, was Rafe Cameron. Notorious playboy, frat president, and hands down your least favorite person on this campus. 

It wasn’t a big school, everyone knew Rafe Cameron. All of your friends had crushes on him, some of them even managed to hook up with him or have stories of making out with him at frat parties. Every Friday night, he popped up on every Insta story on campus, somehow everywhere at once, and yet your paths had never crossed directly. You were okay with that. You knew his type well enough.

“I’m Rafe,” he interjected when you didn’t greet him.

“I know,” you said dryly.

“My reputation precedes me?” He grinned, his slight southern drawl reminding you of home with a pang of nostalgia, until you remembered that this guy was from a completely different world than you.

“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” you shot back, slamming the trunk closed. “Where’s Brody?”

Rafe usually gave people about ten seconds before he decided if he liked them or not. A lethal combination of impatience and general distrust that he disguised seamlessly under cocky confidence. Your arms were crossed in hostility as you frowned at him, even though he’d barely said two words to you. 

Ah yes, he knew exactly your type. You were that irritating brand of stuck up smart girl who always saw right through him. Sure, you were surprisingly really pretty, a fact Brody had forgotten to mention, but annoying nonetheless. He decided right then not to like you, since you so clearly had already decided not to like him. 

“He’s not coming,” Rafe informed you. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he didn’t,” you huffed, “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he got a gig with a professor to be a research assistant, but he’s gotta stay on campus to do it,” he explained.

“He could’ve told me,” you rolled your eyes, checking the time again to calculate how far behind his no-show had made you. “I’m gonna have to adjust the schedule.”

“The schedule?” He cocked his head, picking up on the tightly wrinkled knot in your forehead as you pulled a folded piece of graph paper from your pocket.

It was color coded and intricate, every mile, every meal, every gas stop accounted for, down to the minute. You had a pencil in your hair, tucked neatly into your messy bun so you could pull it out quickly and make necessary changes, as you were doing now. You held the paper up against the side of your car, erasing and scribbling intensely as you recalculated the trip. 

“I need to be home by six at the latest, it’s nine now, that leaves only an hour for stops and traffic, we were supposed to leave at eight…” you looked up to eye him pointedly as you said the last part, silently blaming him for the delay as you did your mental math.

“Sorry to make you wait, I needed my beauty sleep,” he raised his hands in defense, lips curling back to display his shiny white smile. “You don’t think this all just happens naturally do you?” He gestured to his face.

You tucked the paper back into your pocket as you eyed him up and down, unimpressed and yet simultaneously beginning to understand why all your girlfriends had fallen so easily for this douchebag. He was handsome, sharp features permanently set in an arrogant smirk. His body was tall and lean yet built, enough that you could tell he was muscular even under all those layers. His dirty blonde hair sat messy over his forehead, sticking out at all angles in a way that made it clear he’d just woken up. 

But you were smart, life and your high IQ made you an expert in reading people. You could see right through him.

“I wasn’t waiting for you, I was waiting for Brody,” you shut him down. “And since he’s apparently not coming, I’m gonna hit the road,” you slammed the trunk closed, pulling your keys from your pocket and making your way to the driver’s side door.

You opened the door, fully intending to climb in and drive off on your own, but Rafe appeared quickly by your side, closing the door before you could climb in.

“Woah, woah, wait,” he said, his arm out next to your head to hold the door closed.

You scoffed at his boldness and stepped back, “uhm excuse me!”

“You’re excused,” he smirked down at you. “How am I gonna get home?”

“Greyhound station is that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, trying to push him out of the way of your door, but he was too sturdy to be moved. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms, planting himself.

“I’d rather ride with you,” he flashed you a devilish grin you just knew he was used to throwing around like currency.

“Dude, can you just let me into my car?” You shut him down.

“What’s the magic word?” God, did this guy have a punchable face.

“Please,” you reluctantly let out through gritted teeth.

“Hmm, no,” he turned it back on you, planting his feet firmly on the ground, both of you knowing there was no way you were gonna be able to overpower his large frame.

“Okay seriously? I know you’re used to using your body to get what you want, but it’s not gonna work this time,” you were done fucking around, an invisible clock ticking in your mind while your trip was delayed even further by this jackass. “Get away from my car.”

“I will when you agree to give me a ride,” his lips twisted and his voice dropped, aimed down at you, “or we can keep standing here and talking about my body.”

You couldn’t help but blush, and he couldn’t help but like it. The embarrassment at the involuntary response only fueled your anger.

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know you,” it wasn’t entirely true, you knew more than you cared to know about him. Or at least, in this moment, you thought you did.

“Brody said you owe him a favor right? Do it for him,” he suggested.

“If he wanted to cash in on his favor, he should’ve been here himself.”

“Okay then, what if I paid for gas? What was Brody gonna do, go 50/50 with you? I’ll cover the whole trip,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick leather wallet, opening it to flash you his black card. 

You couldn’t help but also notice the polaroids tucked in the see-through pockets. On one side, what appeared to be a family photo; Rafe, an older man and two young girls smiling on a giant boat. On the other side, some sorority girls in bikinis, flashing the camera at a charity car wash. Who the fuck was this guy? 

“Brody was also gonna take you the rest of the way to the Outer Banks. I’m going west and there’s no way I’m getting on a ferry, how are you gonna get home?” You reasoned, though he could hear in your tone that you were starting to actually consider saying yes. 

Time to bring it home, he thought.

“I’ll figure it out. Just get me to the ferry and I’ll be fine. I’ll be eternally grateful, I’ll owe you a big favor. And I never do people favors.”

“The more you talk, the less I want to be stuck in a car with you for eight hours,” you said. 

Dammit, his plan backfired. But he hadn’t missed the way you eyed the picture of him with his dad, Sarah and Wheezie in his wallet. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

“Please? All flights are sold out and I’d really like to see my little sisters for Christmas,” he blinked his wide blue eyes, mustering up all the sincerity he could find.

Family was your weak spot, you wondered if Brody had told him that. As much as you truly did not want to get in this cramped, two-door car with him, you felt bad picturing the two little girls waiting patiently for their big brother to come home for Christmas. Ugh.

With a deep sigh, you finally said, “fine.” 

Rafe slapped his hand on the car’s roof in celebration, reveling in his victory as he finally stepped away from your door.

“I’ll get you to the ferry and that’s it,” you qualified, trying to dampen his enthusiasm. “I need to be home by six, if I’m late you’re gonna owe me a lot more than a favor.”

He crossed his fingers over his heart solemnly, “scout’s honor!”

“You can throw your stuff in the backseat,” you instructed, your trunk already full to the brim with presents for your family.

“What, you got too much junk in your trunk?” He chuckled at his own joke as he jogged around to the passenger’s side.

You rolled your eyes hard as you climbed in the driver’s seat. This was gonna be the longest eight hours of your life.

Hour two

The heat in your car was cranked at full blast, but you were still shivering as you drove. This car was a hand-me-down from your dad, it got you back and forth to school, but left plenty to be desired in the way of amenities.

Based on the designer watch he was wearing and his Gatsby-esque reputation, you were pretty confident this was the least fancy car Rafe had ever been in.

“Sorry about the rattling,” you said, needlessly gesturing toward the dash, which shook steadily with the hum of the engine. “She’s a good car, but she’s got creaky bones.”

“It’s cool,” he shrugged, pulling a pack of gum out of his coat pocket.

“I’m sure the G-wagons you’re used to don’t shake when you accelerate.”

Rafe popped a piece of gum in his mouth, snapping it obnoxiously between his teeth as he looked over at you, head cocked in observation.

“You don’t like me,” he surmised simply.

Your mouth fell open slightly, startled by how directly he clocked you, “I- I barely know you.”

“Then why do you roll your eyes everytime I open my mouth?”

“Maybe I just don’t like what you have to say.”

His eyes narrowed, considering this for a moment before deciding, “nah, I think it’s something else. Did we have a class together or something?”

“No, just a couple mutual friends,” you smiled the fakest of smiles.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Girls you’ve ghosted mainly,” you said.

“Whaaat, me? Ghost someone? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he smirked.

“Yeah right,” you shook your head with an incredulous laugh that only widened his grin. “You know exactly what I mean, you ghost them and then you gaslight them that you were never a thing to begin with. We call it the Rafe Cameron special.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve never done that,” he said.

“That’s such bullshit, this girl in my hall freshman year showed me all your texts, you totally gaslit her.” 

“Gaslit? Me? You’re crazy…” he said.

You almost took the bait, mouth opened indignantly to argue again before you finally caught onto his game and the growing prideful smirk on his face. He was fucking with you.

You turned the music up, blocking him out as he chuckled under his breath in the seat next to you, ever so pleased with himself.

“Oh, c’mon, lighten up,” he tilted his body toward you, his long legs cramped in the small space of your front seat. 

He placed his hand on the back of your headrest, his arm easily reaching the distance between you. 

“It’s college, it’s not that serious. Everybody’s hooking up and breaking up. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of flings,” his eyes ran up and down your body with that final remark.

You stumbled over your response. You weren’t necessarily a shy person, but you didn’t walk around discussing your personal life as openly as he apparently does. 

“I…can you stop looking at me like that please?”

“Looking at you like what?” He grinned, feigning innocence.

“Like you know me at all.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he nodded. “Though I think I’ve pretty much figured you out.”

“Oh have you?” Your eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, I mean, I have my guesses at least…”

“Please, share with the class,” you turned the radio down to better hear his absurdity, sure that he was full of shit.

“You were top of your class in high school, graduating with a…3.97 GPA,” he began. “You got in automatic acceptance to a bunch of state schools but you insisted on going to your reach, which thrilled your parents I’m sure. College isn’t as easy as high school, but you’ve settled around an A minus average final grade. You’re not in a sorority, I would’ve seen you at a mixer, but you’re definitely in some organized groups. Not sports, that’s not practical enough, it’s gotta be something where you can do some networking. Brody said you’re what, pre-med? So you’re probably in some kind of medical honors society. I bet you’ve had only one serious boyfriend, maybe a long distance high school sweetheart, but you’re too focused on school to make that work so you dumped his ass. A few hook ups since then, but nothing real. How am I doing?”

Your eyes were glued to the road, face gone ashen as he continued to nail correct guess after correct guess.

“My high school GPA was 3.98 actually,” you said weakly. “And I don’t like this game.”

Rafe had never been more smug, beaming triumphantly at your confirmation of all his assumptions.

“Don’t worry, I’m done playing,” he leaned forward to take off his coat, balling it up to use as a pillow so he could lean his head on the window. “Wake me up when at the next scheduled stop, will ya?”

“No promises,” you grumbled, making him smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Hour three

Bright red brake lights glowed in a line stretched out in front of you for a mile. You sighed deeply, your foot sore from holding down the brake for a full ten minutes. Resigned, you finally gave in and put the car in park, eyeing the clock on the dash anxiously.

Rafe snored. Loudly.

You shot him a bitter glare as he sat passed out in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the stop-and-go traffic jam you had gotten stuck in, enjoying his free ride and interrupting your music with his loud snores. Out of spite, you leaned forward and turned up the radio until your music was practically blaring through the speakers.

Somehow, like even in his sleep he knew how to push your buttons, he started snoring louder. You turned the music up as high as it would go, singing along at the top of your lungs until he finally started stirring, eyes blinking open. You quickly turned down the music, stifling a laugh at the confused, grumpy look on his face.

“We’re not moving,” he mumbled, groggily taking in your surroundings.

“You have great observational skills,” you teased him.

“You didn’t think to account for traffic on your little itinerary?” He said smugly.

“I did,” you defended yourself, “just not until we passed through DC. This part of I-95 isn’t usually so packed.”

Rafe sat up in his seat, not having much room to stretch out his legs but trying anyway. He watched the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, nervously tapping your hands on the steering wheel.

“So what’s happening at six o’clock?” He asked, trying to pull you from your anxious thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Before we left, you said you had to be home at six. What’s at six?” 

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of silly actually, you wouldn’t get it,” you sat back in your seat, finally accepting that the car in front of you wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“Try me,” he said.

You looked at him, trying to decide if you wanted to share and risk his getting his rude opinion on something so special to you. But you were hungry, and tired, and stressed, and honestly, after a few too many hours in his charismatic orbit, you were looking for more reasons not to like him.

“It’s because of cookies,” you admitted.

“Cookies?” He cocked his eyebrow, trying to maintain his non-judgemental stance.

“My mom makes these gingerbread cookies that are literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted. They’re so good, she makes them every christmas, but she only makes one batch. It’s an old family recipe her mom left her when she passed away and my mom said she isn’t supposed to give it to me until she’s…gone…”

You paused to swallow hard, like there were more words fighting their way out. Feeling a little too vulnerable with Rafe’s eyes on you, you pushed them back down. 

“…anyway, I have three younger brothers, and they get home from their practices at six. The second they walk in the door, they’ll attack those cookies and there won’t be any left for me. So I need to get home before them or I’ll have to wait a whole year for more cookies.”

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he decided whether or not he was gonna tease you.

Finally he landed on, “gingerbread, really? They can’t possibly be that good.”

“Oh no, believe me they really are. I’m not usually into gingerbread either but these are seriously the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up, smirking at you from his side of the car. It took a second for you to hear your own double entenadre. 

“Oh shut up,” you laughed, reaching over to swat his arm.

“I didn’t say anything!” He pretended to wince, rubbing the spot on his arm you’d hit dramatically. You flexed your hand, surprised that it stung a little, his arm firmer than you were expecting. 

“You question the cookies and then you mock me,” you shook your head. “I should make you get out and walk the rest of the way.”

“No, no!” He chuckled. “I would never question the cookies. I’m sure they’re delicious. Don’t make me walk.”

You zeroed your eyes in on him, “fine. You're safe. For now.”

He wiped his forehead playfully, mouthing a silent ‘phew!’

After a few minutes, traffic started moving again, though painfully slowly. Rafe was drumming along to the radio on the dashboard, growing more impatient by the second. His fidgeting reminded you of a bored toddler.

“Why can’t you mom just make more cookies?” He blurted out.

Your grip tightened on the wheel as sudden brake lights ahead of you forced you to slam on your own brake yet again. This was the direction you were hoping the conversation wouldn’t head in.

“She, uh…she just makes the one batch,” you tried to shrug the question off, but he was too busy tapping away and shifting in his seat to notice your growing discomfort.

“I mean how long can it take? A couple hours maybe? I bet she could just -”

“She just can’t, okay?” You snapped, your growing irritation with the traffic jam making the words come out a little sharper than you’d intended. You took a deep breath when his eyes snapped toward you, “sorry. She just…she can only make one.”

Rafe nodded, his bottom lip sticking out as he returned his attention to his phone, typing rapidly.

“Alright then, take the next exit,” he said.

“What?”

“In a half mile on the right, take that exit,” he repeated.

“Why?” you asked.

“I found a faster route,” he explained. “Let’s get you those cookies.”

Hour four

Rafe was right, the alternate route he found for you had caught you up to schedule, even putting you about twenty miles ahead of where you expected to be by this point.

With the made up time, Rafe finally convinced you to stop for food, and, after several minutes of arguing, to let him drive the next stretch.

It was amazing how much your mood improved with some food in your system. Now that you weren’t the one behind the wheel, it was you shuffling restlessly in the seat, unfolding and refolding your schedule and refreshing the GPS on your phone every couple of minutes. 

“In one hundred and twenty two miles, veer left…” refresh “in one hundred and twenty miles, veer left…” refresh “in one hundred and nineteen miles-“

“Veer left! It’s gonna keep saying the same thing every time, you really don’t need to keep refreshing it,” Rafe grunted.

You shot him a glare, making a show of turning your phone off and tucking it in your pocket. 

“Remind me why you couldn’t just drive yourself?” You snarled. “What, is the Beamer in the shop?”

“It’s a Range Rover, actually,” he corrected you, pulling forth yet another eye roll from you as you mumbled ‘of course it is.’ “And yes, actually, it is.”

“Ah, you pimping your ride?”

He snorted, “what is it 2005? No, I, uh, totaled it, actually.”

“I knew I shouldn’t let you drive,” you winced, grabbing the handle above the passenger door theatrically.

“Relax, it wasn’t my fault,” he assured you.

“Let me guess, the other driver was so blinded by your dazzling smile that they crashed right into you?” 

“There was no other driver,” he said, smirking with a sidelong glance in your direction. “Glad to know you think my smile is that powerful though.”

You regretted your word choice immediately, your brain was working so fast to deflect his charm you had lost the plot a bit. You scrambled to put the focus back on him so he wouldn’t see the way you were blushing.

“Okay so what’s the story then?” You asked.

“It’s really not that interesting. I was driving around campus and there was something in the street, I swerved and hit a tree, that’s it,” he reached to turn the radio a little louder, your eyes narrowing at the avoidant tone he’d adopted.

“You saw ‘something?’ What ‘something’ did you see?” You pressed, amused by his discomfort.

“Just, uhm, an animal in the road,” he said dismissively.

You nodded, a little “ah” leaving your lips as you returned your gaze to the window. You tapped your fingers on your thigh to the beat of the song. You wanted to know more, he knew you wanted to know more. The tension broke quick.

“What kind of animal was -”

“Ohhh my god, you’re so nosy, it was-“ he cut himself off momentarily to lower his voice, “it was a bunny alright?”

Your laugh was immediate and loud, head falling back at the image he’d conjured for you.

“Alright, it’s not that funny but whatever,” he rolled his eyes, unable to suppress the little curve of his lips at the pretty sound of your unguarded giggles. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said between laughs, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, “it’s not funny. It’s nice. You crashed your Range Rover trying to save a little rabbit. I just didn’t expect Rafe Cameron to break for bunnies, it’s very cute.”

Rafe never got flustered, he practically majored in flirting, it never phased him. So why the fuck was he blushing like a little kid right now?

Get your shit together, Cameron, he thought, she’s just some girl.

“So you and Brody, y’all sleeping together or...?”

Your laughter stopped dead in its tracks, head snapping towards him as your jaw slammed shut.

Pointedly not answering him, you grabbed your Coke from the cupholder and took a long sip.

“Is that a yes?” he continued. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” you cut him off, fiddling with the straw, “but no, we’re just old friends.”

Long gone was the playful air of the bunny story. Unable to recover and get a positive reaction from you, he figured he might as well dig himself deeper. In for a penny…

“But, c’mon, you’re saying you two have seriously never…”

“Ew no, he’s literally like my brother,” you shut him down. “Why do you care so much? You jealous?”

Fuck, he hadn’t meant to give you the upper ground, he needed to level the field. 

“You just seemed pretty upset when you found out he wasn’t coming is all. Like, I dunno, a woman scorned and all that…”

“Have you considered it’s because I realized I was gonna be stuck in a car alone with you for eight hours?”

Thoroughly pissed off, you sank down in your seat and continued sipping your Coke, avoiding looking at him by counting the mile markers on the side of the highway. 

Rafe looked over at you, taking in the flex of your jaw as you stewed. He usually didn’t give a fuck if his words offended people. He preferred it, actually. But something about the shape of your smile and the sound of your laughter made him wish you were always happy. He felt like shit for making it go away, then he felt like shit for feeling like shit given his decision not to like you.

His eyes stayed on you for longer than they should, studying the shape of your silhouette in the soft light of the December sun. 

“Watch out!” You shrieked suddenly.

Rafe’s eyes shot forward and he realized with panic that he’d been veering off the road, the front of the car dangerously skewed in the direction of the metal guard rail. 

“Fuck!” 

He cut the wheel hard, overshooting his correction and causing the car to jerk sharply to the left. In your concern, you gripped your drink so hard the lid came off, your ice cold diet coke splashing out of the cup and all over you.

Rafe redirected the car until it was back in the correct lane, but you were already covered in diet soda. Coke dripped from your hair onto your face, your mouth hung wide open in shock and fury.

“Shit, my bad,” Rafe said, reaching in the fast food bag for some napkins.

He started dabbing it completely unhelpfully at your shoulder and you ripped the napkin from his hands.

“This is my favorite shirt, ugh what the fuck Rafe!” You scolded him, trying to use the napkins with very little luck, the shirt was definitely ruined.

“I said I’m sorry! Jesus calm down, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” he huffed at you, hating that he liked how you said his name, even when you were yelling at him.

“No of course not, you never do anything on purpose,” you quipped.

It took everything in him not to snap back with a “you don’t even fucking know me,” but he remained silent. Biting his tongue was a new taste to him, he didn’t like it, but he didn’t like the feeling of you being pissed at him either. Today was a day of firsts.

“We’re gonna have to stop so I can get a new shirt from the trunk,” you said.

Eager to return to familiar territory, he jumped at the opportunity to antagonize you, shaking his head and tsking condescendingly, “no can do, there’s no stops on the schedule for an hour.”

“Okay well this is obviously an extenuating circumstance,” you argued.

“So was me wanting to stop at that outlet mall to get presents for my family, but we didn’t stop then,” he countered.

“Right, because those things are comparable,” you scoffed. “It’s not my fault you waited until the last second to do your Christmas shopping.”

You were right, but he still resented the know-it-all tone in your accusation.

“Well I’m the driver and I say we’re sticking to the schedule,” he doubled down.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here covered in soft drink for the rest of the trip?”

“I have an old sweatshirt in my bag you can borrow,” he offered.

The urge to continue fighting with him until he agreed to pull over was strong, but the urge to get out of the cold, sticky shirt was stronger. With a sigh, you climbed into the backseat and dug through Rafe’s bag until you found a soft, worn out hoodie with a logo on the front that said “Kildare Academy Lacrosse” and on the back “Cameron #44.”

You reached down to peel off your shirt, looking up first to catch Rafe watching you through the rear view mirror. Your hands paused on the hem, giving him a steely look.

“Uh, a little privacy please?” 

His eyes continued flicking between you and the road, “I just wanna see if you found the right sweatshirt,” he claimed.

You let out an indignant tsk, mouth open in disbelief when he gave you a little wink through the mirror. You reached forward and smushed your hand into his cheek, pushing his head back toward the road. He bit his bottom lip, trying to play nonchalant as you stripped off your shirt just inches behind him. He might act like a playboy, but he did actually have enough respect not to look at you while you changed.

Still, keeping his eyes on the road meant seeing the fuzzy form of you in his peripheral vision. The general hue of your skin tone and the swift movement of you pulling your shirt over your head sucked some of the air from his usually puffed-out chest. He felt like he was twelve years old, the way just the thought of you shirtless in the backseat made his hands clammy and his heart pick up speed. He needed to get a grip.

The sweatshirt was about two sizes too big but so warm and comfortable you didn’t care. You expected it to smell like some cheap cologne or boy sweat, but instead it smelled like something sweet and inviting - fabric softener, you realized with a grin. You’d tease him for that later.

Hour five

Somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia, your gas light came on. You agreed to let him drive for another fifty miles after a quick gas station pit stop, planning to take the allotted thirty minute nap you’d mapped out on your schedule before driving the rest of the way.

Rafe paid for the gas, as promised, and stood by the car as he filled your tank. You never did get to finish your Diet Coke, so you ran inside to grab another while he pumped.

“That’ll be $2.79, dear,” the cashier told you, her southern accent and charm a tell-tale sign that you were nearing home.

With a smile, you pulled out your debit card and held it out for her to swipe.

“Sorry sweetheart, there’s a five dollar minimum for cards,” she informed you politely.

“Oh, okay,” you looked around the counter for something to add, swiping some knick-knacks from their display to round up your bill.

----❄----

The car door slammed as Rafe climbed back in next to you, balling up the receipt for the gas and tossing it into the backseat.

“How much was it?” You asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, turning the key as the engine sputtered to life. 

You shouldn’t feel bad, he offered to pay, and you were technically the one doing him a favor. Still, you were raised by blue collar parents, ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be’ and elbow grease was gospel in your home. You felt like you needed to give him something.

“Here,” you passed him the bag of trinkets you’d bought inside.

Rafe looked in the bag with a confused grin.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” He laughed as he pulled the items out of the bag.

“You could…give them to your sisters,” you suggested.

“What are they gonna do with a Thomas Jefferson snow globe and a bumper sticker that says ‘Virginia is for Lovers’?”

“Well it’s better than a slip of paper that says ‘IOU one christmas present,’” You teased him.

“Y’know what? Very true,” he nodded, tucking the bag of goodies in the backseat and pulling out of the gas station. 

The drive was silent for a few minutes. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the dash as you watched the emerging silhouette of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the far horizon. It was all getting so close; a crackling fire, drinking hot cocoa while watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas with your brothers, decorating the tree, those gingerbread cookies…

“What are you smiling about?” Rafe’s voice interrupted your revelry.

“I’m just excited to get home and see my family,” you said with a happy smile. “Aren’t you?”

It was such a foreign concept to him he almost laughed. He was still playing the angle that he was desperate to get home to his family so you’d give him a ride. He couldn’t tell you the truth; that he wasn’t sure anyone at his house even remembered he was coming, that Christmases in the Cameron house for the last decade were more about the pictures his father could put on the cards he sent to clients than they were about celebrating, or love. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course,” he said, hoping you’d drop it. 

You didn’t.

“Does your family have any traditions?” 

“Like what?” He knew what you meant, but his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with a lie, the truth sitting on his chest in the uncomfortable way he spent his life trying to avoid.

“Like, okay,” you started. “Me and my brothers always sleep in the living room on Christmas Eve. We get all the pillows and blankets in the house and make a big pile in front of the fireplace and keep the fire going all night so we can stay up to try and catch Santa.” 

“How’s he gonna come down the chimney if you keep the fire going?” Rafe questioned logically.

“Oh Rafe, I’m so sorry I have to be the one to tell you this…but Santa isn’t real,” you placed your hand on his arm like you were trying to console him. 

He let it linger for a minute before shaking you off, “you know what I meant!” he grumbled, making you laugh. The sound was so sweet it made him dizzy.

“What else do you do?” He asked impulsively, surprising both you and himself with his desire to hear you keep talking.

“Well, you know about my mom’s cookies, and we always drink cocoa with peppermint sticks, and oh! Me and my dad used to cut down a real tree together the day after Thanksgiving- I’m sure they’ve already gotten it this year since I wasn’t home- but we’d always decorate it together, just the two of us, while listening to his old Bing Crosby vinyl.”

It sounded so nice, so idyllic and comforting, like a Hallmark card. Jealousy roared in his chest, hoping you couldn’t see it on his face as he pictured the much colder, tension filled holiday that was awaiting him.

“Didn’t Bing Crosby used to hit his kids?” He blurted out coldly, the holly jolly joy in the car becoming a little too much for him to handle.

Your face soured, lips twisted as he burst your bubble. 

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” you mumbled. Even when he was being an ass, you were being cute. It was killing him. “Not a Christmas guy, huh?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be napping right now?” He brushed off your question.

“I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t drive so grumpy.”

“I’ll be fine. Your thirty minutes is slipping away, though.”

“Okay fine, but don’t forget to wake me up when we cross the state line,” you reminded him.

“I know, I know. Are you always this bossy?” He snipped, his sudden coldness making you wish you’d never opened up to him about your family to begin with.

With a final, pointed look at him, you pulled the strings of his sweatshirt to cover your eyes and sank down into the seat. 

“Bah humbug,” you threw at him before drifting off to sleep.

Almost immediately, he missed the sound of your voice. 

Hour six

In your dream, you sat alone at your kitchen table, your dad’s Bing Crosby vinyl skipped on the record player as you cried over an empty plate, not a single crumb of gingerbread left…

Hour seven

The world was moving outside the windows, the early darkness of winter making the scene blurry, but you could tell the car was definitely still moving.

And Rafe was out cold in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my god!!” 

You shot up in your seat and grabbed the wheel, sure that you were about to go flying off the road any second. But the wheel was locked, and there was no engine’s rumble shaking the dash. The car was off. 

You blinked, your groggy mind finally catching up with reality. You weren’t driving, you were floating. The choppy ocean crashing against the side of the ship spraying little droplets of water on your windshield.

“Oh my god,” you repeated with a groan, this time less panicked and more pissed.

Rafe woke up with your body stretched across his lap, gripping the wheel as you groaned.

“Hi,” he mumbled with a sleepy smile, completely misreading the situation.

You sat back in your own seat and hit him on the shoulder, hard. 

���Oww, what the hell?” He sat up, rubbing his arm.

“Where the fuck are we?” You barked at him.

“We’re in your car on the way home,” he avoided the true answer. 

“I said I’d get you to the ferry…”

“And would ya look at that? You did!” He smiled sheepishly.

With scarily accurate comedic timing, the ship’s horn blared loudly, leaving no doubt.

“Rafe, we’re on the ferry!” You yelled, smacking him again.

“Would you stop hitting me please?! We were making good time and you looked so peaceful sleeping so I figured we’d just hop the ferry real quick and you’ll still make it home by six.”

You checked the time on your phone, eyes widening with realization.

“Just barely! At this rate I’ll be walking in the door at 5:58,” you argued.

“And just think of how many cookies you can eat in two minutes if you really put your mind to it,” he grinned at you. You were having none of his boyish charm this time, back to being a card carrying member of the “I Hate Rafe Cameron” club.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you mumbled.

“Okay, well can it wait until we’re on dry land? I get seasick and I want it to be a fair fight.”

He wasn’t letting up on the flirting, and you weren’t giving in. The rest of the boat ride was painfully quiet.

----❄----

“It’s just up here on the right, that metal gate,” he assured you as he approached his home, still trying to convince you that you had plenty of time.

Headlights bounced off the high white walls of his estate as the car pulled up. Your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“What is it?” He questioned.

“I knew you were probably rich, y’know based on your whole…” you gestured vaguely to him, “...thing. But holy shit.”

He grinned, “yeah it’s alright I guess.”

“Oh whatever,” you laughed. “It’s like a fucking castle!”

With a final left turn, he pulled into Tannyhill, the giant house completely dark at the end of the long drive. Rafe’s face fell slightly as he drove up, but he pushed the disappointment down when he felt your eyes on him.

“Home sweet home,” he said, feigning holiday cheer.

He put the car in park and grabbed his stuff from the backseat. You both got out, stopping in front of the car so he could hand you the keys.

“I should change so you can have your sweatshirt back,” you said.

“Nah you can give it back to me at school, I’ve delayed your schedule long enough.”

You smiled softly, giving him a grateful nod.

It was strange, you felt like you’d known him much longer than eight hours and yet you weren’t quite friends…you weren’t enemies either, but definitely not friends. How is one supposed to say goodbye to a non-enemy/non-friend? You settled on holding out your hand to shake. Rafe just looked down at your palm, huffing a laugh at the gesture.

“Well,” you shrugged, smiling back, “Merry Christmas I guess?”

He took your hand, giving it a firm shake and a squeeze, “yeah, Merry Christmas I guess.”

With a nod, you stepped around him and got back into your car, pulling up your GPS and entering your home address. So long as the ferry was still running on schedule and there wasn’t too much traffic, you’d get home with about five minutes to spare.

You put the car in reverse and got ready to back out of the driveway. You tried to keep your eyes fixed on the rearview, but you couldn’t help but steal one last look at Rafe as he walked through his front door.

Only, he wasn’t going inside. Or maybe he couldn’t go inside? He stood at the front door shaking the handle and having a very animated conversation with someone on his phone. Something wasn’t right.

Even though you knew you shouldn’t, you cracked your window slightly to hear the phone call. His back still turned to you, Rafe didn’t notice you could hear him and kept talking, loudly…

“The Bahamas? Are you kidding me?...I can’t believe you guys just left without me...well I wasn’t and then I got a ride…this could’ve been avoided if you’d just sent the jet like I asked…since when are you concerned about that?...well what the hell am I supposed to do now?!” 

The last question was said with a raised voice, aggression seeping into his tone. He made like he was about to say something else, but was cut-off, his shoulders falling as the voice on the other end got so loud that it carried all the way to your car. You couldn’t make out the words, but whoever he was talking to was clearly shouting even louder than Rafe had just been.

“Y-yes sir…I’m sorry…yes sir…no sir…okay I will…I lo-”

The phone beeped three times and the screen went black. Rafe stared down at it for a second before slipping it in his pocket and lifting a rock close to the door, retrieving a small silver key. As he raised it to the doorknob, his eyes caught yours in the reflection of the glass.

“You should get going,” he said, turning and noticing your window cracked. “You’re gonna miss your cookies.”

Fully busted for eavesdropping, you rolled the window the rest of the way down, “did they…are they not home?”

“Nah, they decided to spend Christmas in the Bahamas,” he explained.

“Oh. So you’re just gonna be here, like, alone?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not a Christmas guy anyway, remember?” He gave you a tight lipped smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Are-are you sure? You could…” You couldn’t quite bring yourself to say it. Were you really gonna offer for him to come home with you? You barely knew him, surely you couldn’t bring him home for Christmas. 

The offer fell dead on your lips, but Rafe knew where you were going with it, the pity in your voice a little too much for his pride.

“I’m really fine,” he said, nodding his head toward the road, “you should get back on the road. You’ve got a schedule to keep”

You gave him a soft smile as you put the car back into reverse, feeling guilty the whole way out of the driveway.

----❄----

Turning the Christmas radio station up, you tried to focus on gingerbread cookies as you waited in the long car line to get back on the ferry. 

He wasn’t your friend, in fact, he was kind of an asshole to you all day. You didn’t owe him anything. Plus, he surely wouldn’t be comfortable at your little house in the country. Not when he was used to all the flash of this island, the one his family seemingly owned based on all the signs with their name on it you passed on your short drive. No, he’d be fine. You’d get your cookies and he’d be fine.

“Ma’am,” the Ferry ticketing attendant tapped on your window to get your attention. 

You sighed deeply as you looked at the big ship, then down to your GPS, telling you there was only a minute to spare if you were gonna get home on time. 

Home. Yours, warm and full of love. His, empty and dark.

“We’ve got a schedule to keep,” the attendant urged. “Are you boarding or not?”

----❄----

The house was still dark but for one light glowing through an upstairs window.

You knocked three times, Rafe’s confused face finally appearing behind the glass. He opened the door with a questioning furrow of his brow. His bag was still packed, sitting right inside the door. You reached down to grab it, throwing it over your shoulder as you said, 

“You owe me a cookie.”

a/n: merry everything! I had so much fun writing this! There will be 3 more parts, just a lil present from me to you <3 there will be some hurt, but mostly comfort and a stocking full of fluff!

for updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs. to be tagged, just ask in the replies or send me an ask!

taglist: @itneverendshere @rafediaries @promiscuousg1rl @eolsens @inlovewrafe

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[zephyrchama]

MC chipping their tooth in the Devildom.

At first there's panic, because nobody wants to see their favorite human in pain. MC expects them to go crazy over the injury and braces for a whole ordeal. Though, once they see what it is, the demons are weirdly calm about it.

"It must have shocked you, happening so suddenly like that," Satan says.

Belphegor says, "Beel chips a tooth at least once every couple of weeks." Beelzebub nods.

"You'll have to smile with your mouth shut for a few days," Asmodeus sighs.

You hold your jaw and try to deal with the pain as Leviathan passes you a napkin out of pity. Lucifer pats you on the back. You're trying to remember how ice magic is conjured to get some relief.

You can't understand why they're acting so nonchalant until Mammon pipes up. "You'll get a pretty new tooth in no time. Put the old one under a pillow an' maybe it'll bring ya some cash!"

"I don't have baby teeth anymore," you groan through the tissue in your mouth. "My teeth don't grow back."

Perhaps the words are muffled and hard to understand. Perhaps your statement is the first time they've heard such a thing. The demons take a moment to process it. Lucifer's comfort slows as realization dawns on everybody. Human teeth, and any injuries sustained to them, are permanent.

That's when all hell breaks loose.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

2025 book bingo time 📚

want a completely arbitrary set of reading goals for 2025? want to try something new in your literary diet but don't know where to start? just like a challenge for the sake of a challenge? just love a good game of bingo?

boy do I have something for you!

for anyone planning to participate, please know that I LOVE attention and talking about books, so I would be STOKED to be tagged on any and all updates about what you're reading or planning to read. I'm so, so excited to see all the different ways these prompts get filled, especially if and when they bring people away from the kinds of things they normally read. not to mention snag some new reading recs myself, hopefully!

and of course, I want to know whenever somebody gets a bingo - and ESPECIALLY if somebody fills the whole board! I don't have any prizes for you, but I can offer a sense of accomplishment :)

note that this is designed to be played as 1 book = 1 space, so even if you read, say, a fantasy graphic novel published in 1923 from an indie publisher that has a bat on the cover, you'd only cross off one space. I'm not a cop and I'm not in charge of what you read, so if it sparks more joy to check off multiple spaces per book then go nuts, but I am throwing that disclaimer out there.

EDIT: the 2025 book bingo challenge is now also on storygraph, thanks to @obi-wann-cannoli!

wondering what some of these spaces mean? seeking a couple recommendations to get you started? no idea what a zine even is, let alone how to make one? worry not! I have a guide to all 25 prompts, including recommendations + an example of what I'll be reading throughout the year to fulfill each space. read on beneath the cut!

Literary Fiction: I find that a lot of people are reluctant to check out literary fiction, as it’s often written off as not being about anything but adultery and divorce. If this is you, I implore you to take a chance, acknowledge that adultery and divorce are compelling sometimes, and also remember that lit fic has a lot more to offer than that. At Writer’s Digest, Michael Woodson describes literary fiction as “less of a genre than a category,” which “focuses on style, character, and theme over plot.” My recommendations include Raven Leilani’s Luster, Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, and Melissa Broder’s Milk Fed. 

I’ll be reading: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

2. Short Story Collection: You know, a bunch of short stories together in one book? It doesn’t get much more self-explanatory than that. Could be a collection of stories by a single author or an anthology—it’s up to you! I recommend checking out Mariana Enríquez’s The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (translated by Megan McDowell), Nalo Hopkinson’s Falling in Love With Hominids, and Kim Fu’s Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century. 

I’ll be reading: Your Utopia by Bora Chung and translated by Anton Hur 

3. A Sequel: It could be one that you’ve been meaning to get around to, one that’s not releasing in 2025, or the sequel to something you read to cross off another space on this very bingo sheet!

I’ll be reading: Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao, sequel to 2021’s Iron Widow 

4. Childhood Favorite: Go back and read a book you loved as a child, tween, or teen! There’s no wrong answer here; anything from a YA novel to a picture book would be just lovely, and I can’t wait to see what people pick for this option! I’m not sure which of my old favorites I’ll be revisiting yet—should I go for the warm and fuzzy Casson Family series, or straight towards the mindfucky sci-fi of Interstellar Piggy? Or maybe I’ll go see how Artemis Fowl holds up...

5. 20th Century Speculative Fiction: For those not familiar with the term, speculative fiction can encapsulate science fiction, fantasy, and anything else that falls into the unreal. You’re spoiled for iconic choices here: the 20th century gave us Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness, Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, Butler’s Parable of the Sower and Kindred, L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, the beginning of Pratchett’s Discworld series, Diana Wynne Jones’ Howls’ Moving Castle, and countless others.

I’ll be reading: Dawn by Octavia E. Butler, love of my literary life 💜

6. Fantasy: Fantasy comes in a thousand different shades, from contemporary urban wizards with day jobs at the office to high fantasy spellslingers chasing dragons away from castles. Some examples I’ve adored are N.K. Jemisin’s The Killing Moon, C.L. Polk’s Witchmark, Fonda Lee’s Jade City, and Nghi Vo’s Empress of Salt and Fortune.

I’ll be reading: The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty  

7. Published Before 1950: This one could not be more straightforward if I tried. You have all of human history (or at least, all the parts that have surviving literature), just not the last 75 years. Dig deep! 

I’ll be reading: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, published in 1938 

8. Independent Publisher: Did you guys know that just five publishing companies (Penguin Random House, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan Publishers, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette Book Group) are responsible for 80% of books published in the US each year, and 25% of books globally? Break away from the big five and see what some small presses are putting out! If you need some ideas about where to start, check out this list of nearly 300 independent publishers with notes on what kind of books they put out!

I’ll be reading: Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ and translated by Lin King, from Graywolf Press

9. Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: Despite my personal obsession with Batman, the world of comic books is sooo much wider than Gotham City—or anything else that DC and Marvel have to offer. If superheroes aren’t your speed, check out the Southern gothic of Carmen Maria Machado and Dani Strips’ comic The Low, Low Woods, splash around in Kat Leyh’s graphic novel Thirsty Mermaids, or stop waiting for a new season of Dungeon Meshi and go read Ryoko Kui’s manga, translated to English by Taylor Engel. 

I’ll be reading: The Fade, by Aabria Iyengar and Mari Costa

10. Animal on the Cover: Yes, yes, don’t judge a book by its cover—but do go find one with a critter on the cover and give it a read! Absolutely no other requirements here, get silly with it.

I’ll be reading: Shark Heart by Emily Habeck

11. Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: Fiction or nonfiction, doesn’t matter so long as it gives you a little glimpse of a country you’ve never visited in real life. If you’ve somehow visited every country currently recognized in the world, then I guess you get to go read something set in space.

I’ll be reading: A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon and Kim Sanho, translated by Anton Hur 

12. Science Fiction: A genre just as diverse as fantasy, with a little something for everybody! I recommend Becky Chambers’ Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet for those who want to kiss an alien in the stars and Jessamine Chan’s The School for Good Mothers for those who want a surveillance state dystopia that hits much closer to home.  

I’ll be reading: Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

13. 2025 Debut Author: Read a book by someone who’s releasing their first book in 2025. Fic or nonfic, any genre, no further requirements. Not quite a free space, but pretty close!

I’ll be reading: Liquid: A Love Story by Mariam Rahmani, coming out March 11

14. Memoir: Per Wikipedia, a memoir is “any nonfiction narrative writing based on the author’s personal memories.” Some are funny, some are heartbreaking, some are both! I recommend Carman Maria Machado’s In the Dream House and Roxane Gay’s Hunger, because I tend to lean heartbreaking! 

I’ll be reading: Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. Again, I like heartbreaking!

15. Read a Zine, Make a Zine: Not familiar with zines? No problem! Check out some of these digital archives for inspiration, and then craft your own zine with this simple guide (or do it your own way, I’m not in charge of you). 

Internet Archives: https://archive.org/details/zines

Gay Zine Archive Project: https://gittings.qzap.org/ 

POC Zine Project: https://poczineproject.tumblr.com/ 

Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/collections/zine-web-archive/ 

16. Essay Collection: Like a short story collection, but it’s nonfiction now. Some of my favorites include Samantha Irby’s We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, Elaine Castillo’s How to Read Now, Aimee Nezhukhumatathil’s World of Wonders, and Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings.

I’ll be reading: A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib 

17. 2024 Award Winner: What award? Any award you like! And boy, there are tons to pick from. Any book that won any award in the year 2024 is free game. If you need some places to start looking, check out some of these:

Lambda Literary Awards, for excellence in LGBT literature: https://lambdaliterary.org/awards__trashed/2024-winners/ 

The Alex Awards, for adult books with crossover appeal for teen readers: https://www.ala.org/yalsa/alex-awards 

Ignyte Awards, celebrating diversity in speculative fiction: https://ignyteawards.fiyahlitmag.com/2024-results/  

Women's Prize for Fiction (self explanatory) https://womensprize.com/prizes/womens-prize-for-fiction/

Others: https://www.bookbrowse.com/awards/ 

I’ll be reading: Biography of X by Catherine Lacey, winner of the 2024 Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Fiction

18. Nonfiction: Learn Something New: I know very little about archaeology, anthropology, or any other fields that involve studying ancient cities, but Annalee Newitz’s Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age was some of the most fun I had with nonfiction in 2024, because every page brought a brand new discovery. For 2025, find a nonfiction book about a topic you don’t know ANYTHING about, and learn something new!

I’ll be reading: Cooling the Tropics: Ice, Indigeneity, and Hawaiian Refreshment by Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart

19. Social Justice & Activism: Read a book about a social issue, the history of an activist movement, or brush up on a guiding philosophy or ideology. Arm yourself with knowledge, besties, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it! if you need a good place to start, why not try Angela Davis' Race, Women & Class, Mariame Kaba's We Do This 'Til We Free Us, or Molly Smith and Juno Mac's Revolting Prostitutes?

I’ll be reading: White Feminism: From Suffragettes to Influencers and Who They Leave Behind by Koa Beck

20. Romance Novel: Listen to me. Fucking listen to me. I mean a ROMANCE. NOVEL. Not a novel that incidentally has a romance in it. Romance novel, motherfucker. Go check out the romance section and have some whimsy as two people fall in love through the most contrived series of events ever conceived. If you really need a romance that makes you feel smart (that’s still sexy and messy as hell), try Akwaeke Emezi’s You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty.

I’ll be reading: Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasche  

21. Read and Make a Recipe: Could be a cookbook, could be a recipe you yoinked from the New York Times, could be something your grandparents lovingly wrote down by hand. Could be as complex or as simple as you like, just make something tasty! Some cookbooks I’ve enjoyed are Sohla El-Waylly’s Start Here, Dan Pashman’s Mission Impastable, and John Wang and Storm Garner’s The World Eats Here.

22. Horror: Slashers, zombies, haunted houses, creeping paranoia, you name it! It’s time to get spooky and scary with all kinds of things going bump in the night. Maybe this is the year to finally keep up with Dracula Daily? Not for me, I'm not doing that, but you could!

I’ll be reading: I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

23. Published in the Aughts: A throwback, but not too far back. Read something published between 2000 and 2009. Maybe it’s time to finally get into Twilight? (For legal reasons, that’s a joke.)

I’ll be reading: The Sluts by Dennis Cooper, published in 2004

24. Historical Fiction: You know, fiction that takes place in a bygone era! Please remember, this isn’t just about reading a book that’s old; we have a separate prompt for that! This is about reading something that takes place in the past relative to the time it was written. Pride and Prejudice is historical to us, but was contemporary when Austen wrote it. Think of Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half, Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, or history + a bit of fantasy in book's like R.F. Kuang's Babel.

I’ll be reading: The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon

Bookseller or Librarian Recommendation: This one is fun, and something I always like to do when I’m travelling and visiting a new bookstore. Ask a bookseller or librarian to recommend something they’ve liked, and check it out! If going in person isn’t feasible, many bookstores and libraries have staff picks on their websites, and the Indie Next List is a monthly list of independent booksellers’ favorite new releases. 

I’ll be reading: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich, which I bought at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books, this summer :)

lastly: tagging people who asked to be tagged to make sure they didn't miss this! @thebisexualwreckoning @perfunctoryperfusions @reallyinkyhands come get your bingo sheet!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

[loremonster]

"Maybe it didn't fit?" You posit, after watching them try in a panic to take on their usual human shape only for their liquid flesh to shiver, shudder, and then resolve into a sea otter squeaking and squealing with fustration on the floor whilst razor sharp claws shredded the carpet fibers down to the underlying mesh.

Big black eyes snap to you, a snarling whine showing their needle teeth as you recovered your balance from slamming the door shut with your back.

"I dunno, it looked to me like someone trying to force themselves into a toddler's sweater."

There was always some expression infused with their shapeshifting. Slow and reluctant, quick and reactive, eager, playful, angry, sorrowful... each showed in the moment of change.

It also helped that you picked up on nonverbal cues in general, always mistifying folks who thought they had mean cats.

Your friend rolled back and forth on the shredded rug a few times. On the fourth rock away from you, their body twisted and crested until they were a python draped upon the bench in the entryway for folks to take their shoes off.

"Heh, not quite like shedding skin... just growing out of your old look." You gently smiled while taking the invitation to get comfy and stay awhile. "Honestly, I'm surprised you only take one human shape. You can turn any color ya want, right? Why not go wild?"

Maybe not in public, for fear of discovery, but at home? You two were safe here. You'd make sure they stayed safe until they figured it out.

"... want me to order pizza? Then we can sketch out some ideas."

They slithered up your back and around your ribs, heavily looping over the back of your neck before coming to relax. You could feel it in their muscles; they were exhausted.

"Don't worry about it. Carrying you while you're too messed up to do stuff is what friends do, right? Remember that time you carried me home on your back cause I fucked up my ankle?"

Horseback, specifically. Your mom had nearly seen the two of you along the road, forcing a panicked route change along the brooke that ran through the neighborhood so you didn't have to explain where you'd found one with no saddle nor bridal that was still cool with being ridden. Or how you'd even managed to climb up with a torn tendon.

Their yellow head appeared in your periphiral vision, bobbing their puppy-like snoot in agreement as you tucked your shoes and slipped off the strap of your bag.

"We got this."

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[peachsukii]

In an attempt to swing back into writing...

For softie Sunday, I'm thinking about Bakugo and reader dating casually in their mid 20s - they both have been through past relationship bullshit and are hoping that this time, it would be different with one another.

It's been a few months, nothing crazy, but he's been working nonstop. Like, three to four days of back to back rescues, emergencies, and normal patrols that have him exhausted beyond belief. You two haven't had a lot of time to spend together recently, and he hates it. Running out the door in the middle of dinner dates or movie nights at your apartment, it ate away at him that his relationship was taking a backseat in his life. That’s how his last one ended, and he was goddamn determined to not let it happen again.

You had tried to tell him to go home and rest, but his stubborn nature kicks in and refuses. He tells you he'll be at your place by seven and that he'll just shower at your place to save time. Bakugo arrives at your apartment and the exhaustion is evident in his demeanor. He greets you with a gruff "hey" before coming inside, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before unloading all of his stuff to the floor. Your apartment is cozy as always, feeling like a second home to him in such a short amount of time. As you ask him about his day, he just grumbles something under his breath and shakes his head. “Be done in 15. Go pick a movie.”

Bakugo’s walking down the hall to your bathroom with his bag over his shoulder, and the way his body looks too heavy for him weighs on your heart. He works so hard, and yet, refuses to have anyone help him in return. It’s a bit impulsive, but you follow behind him. He hears your footsteps and shoots a glance over his shoulder at you.

“What’re ya doin’?” He asks curiously.

You take another step toward him and smile, a hand resting on his back. “Let me help you.”

He’s too tired to protest, to sleep deprived to use any of his default defensive mechanisms to shoo you away. He thinks for a second and sighs. “Alright.”

And it’s not like you two haven’t seen each other naked before — hell no. You do that any chance you get. But this? It’s different. It’s a new kind of intimacy being explored. The two of you strip down and jump in the shower together, and you can tell immediately that Bakugo’s unsure what exactly you’re doing in there with him. That is, until you reach around him and grab some of your vanilla scented body wash, lathering it in your hands and start to rub his shoulders. The emotion hits him like a truck in his exhausted state, fight or flight kicking in to run from this…but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets you massage the soap all over his body for him, eyes closed and the tension melting away as your hands explore every aching muscle.

Just when he thinks you’re done, you start washing his hair for him, too. A wave of unfamiliar affection drowns out his urge to swat your hands away as he focuses on the softness of your hands, how gently you scratch at his scalp and that it feels goddamn fantastic to be taken care of like this. It flips a switch in him, finally relaxing under your touch. Bakugo doesn’t even realize when you’re done until you’re titling his head back under the stream of hot water to rinse it out for him.

He’s not sure what good deed he’s done to deserve you, but he’s not letting it slip through his fingers this time. And who knows? Maybe he is learning how to love, and be loved, again.

[the-californicationist]

What would your fave position to be in with the 141, either individually or together... asking for a friend... <3

Mmm. Well. If it were me, personally?

(NSFW/MDNI under cut)

For Gaz, it’s gonna have to be big spoon little spoon. He’d be making us both late for work every morning, turning my hips just right so that he could slip his heavy morning wood inside. He’d start off so soft and gentle, but by the time he was stuffing himself down to the root of his huge cock, I’d wake up, feeling the wetness he’d been busy creating, nearly choking from how full I feel. My body would be rocking back and forth as he had his way with me. And when I chastise him for making me miss the train? Just placating little excuses murmured between kisses — “I’m already workin’, babes. Can’t ya feel your man? Hard at work…”

For Ghost, it’s the cowgirl to lotus to missionary pipeline. He’d start off flat on his back, demanding some face sitting or a sixty-nine situation. Then, he’d stick me right on top, egging me on — “Lemme see those fuckin’ tits bounce, love. Good girl.” Then, he’d get too bothered, unable to hold back, too hungry, too much of a control freak. So he’d sit up, wrapping his legs behind me, moving my hips with his hands and grinding me into a shaking trembling mess. Finally, when I could barely remember my own name, he’d press forward, pinning me on my back, arching over me like a shield, telling me — “Shh, shh. Tha’s alright, love. You don’t need to fuckin’ talk. Suck on my fingers like it’s my prick, yeah? Tha’s it… all the way in, there ya go.”

For Soap, it has to be legs-over-shoulders. That big Scottish cock is curved and I will be taking no notes! None. It’s bent at a cruel angle and perfectly shaped to drag his ruddy head right across my g-spot with every stroke. He’d love to press my thighs to my chest, going deeper or harder, his hands staying busy with my clit or my nipples or my mouth, always finding new buttons to push. He’d especially enjoy ripping mind-breaking orgasms from me, shoving my vibrator against my clit as he fucked me, teasing me with it and saying shit like — “Is she gonnae come again for me, bonnie? I ken there’s one more in her, and I willnae stop until I have it…”

And for my darling captain, John Price, it’s nothing but straight-up, bone-shaking, soul-rattling doggy. After a long hard day of dealing with unimaginable bullshit? I’m on all fours in the fucking foyer, face pressed into the hardwood, pussy spread open like a cheap whore, stuffed full of cock. When he sees me in that tight pair of jeans that he likes a little too much? There I am, shirt raked down below my breasts, back arching as I’m bent over the kitchen counter, his meaty palm wrapped around my neck, bruising my hips with how hard he’s rutting into me from behind. In the middle of the night, his fat prick drooling and heavy, swaying between his huge thighs? He’ll fist my hair in one hand and grope my ass with the other as he breeds me, snarling into my ear, “Filthy fuckin’ slag. Whose cunt is this? Hmm? Nuh-uh. Say my real name…” And he won’t come until I call him Daddy.

But all together? Preferably a perfect seal: Price and Soap fighting to fit inside my pussy, Gaz stuffing himself deep in my ass, and Ghost filling up my throat!

What about you, anon?? Got any favorites?

[loverafey]

first time on his bike ! bf!rafe x reader.

          ꕀ warnings - reader's afraid of bikes, soft rafe ugh he's so :(, fluff! wc - 629.

“you’re what?”

“scared of bikes…” the way you spoke so meekly just added onto rafe’s initial shock. he didn’t know why something as simple as you having never ridden a bike before was so surprising for him. perhaps his own bike had become such a norm, a permanent mark on his life that he’d genuinely forgotten some preferred cards or just walking around.

“baby… why didn’t you tell me earlier?” his tone took a more softer tone, hands gently cupping your face as he felt you lean into him, avoiding his eyes. he’d planned on taking you for a late night drive on his bike, all the way to the beach so you both could sit down on wooden dock and stare up at the stars. talk about anything, everything. of course he was not aware of this fact before, that you were scared of bikes.

“didn’t wanna disappoint you… i know how much you love your bike.” you tried to reason, earning a scoff from him that held no sort of malice whatsoever.

“fuck this bike. you’re more important.” he grumbled, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with a loose strand. “would you like to spend the night at home instead? or take the truck?���

“no!” you blurted out louder than you’d intended to, ears heating up as you stared up at him insistently. “i still want to go on your bike.”

rafe stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. he didn’t want you doing anything you disliked, but seeing you being so sweetly stubborn made him smile. his baby. he nodded after a while, holding onto your hand as he led you to his sleek bike. “fine, i’ll help ya, ‘kay?” his hands carefully held onto your hips as you clumsily climbed up the bike, scared that it’d wobble and collapse, causing you to fall down.

“relax, it’s locked.” he reassured you, making sure that you were nicely seated before grabbing a spare helmet and putting it onto your head, chuckling as your eyes peered at him through the glass. “gonna buy you a special helmet of your own tomorrow, alright? this one’s boring.”

“alright!” the excitement in your voice was undeniable, your eyes following his moves as he sat in front of you on the bike and put his own helmet, unable to help but bite your bottom lip at the sight of his arms bulging slightly beneath his shirt as he held onto the handles, the engine of the bike roaring once he started it.

“hold onto me, alright? i promise you’ll be alright.” your arms cautiously wrapped around his waist at his words, head resting against his shoulder as he started driving out of tannyhill, the cool air whipping around you both calming you down. your arms stayed tight around him, your body getting more relaxed as you both drove on the road.

his hand twisted the handle, causing the bike to go a bit faster, earning a startled squeak from you. “rafe!” you gasped at the sudden rush of adrenaline, rafe laughing in front of you, wild and carefree. this was his speciality after all.

“it’s fun, isn’t it?” he spoke loudly over the loud wind.

“yes!” you yelled back happily, fingers bunched up into the front of his shirt as he continued to drive over to the nearby dock, stopping by it. pulling off his helmet, he hopped off and gently took off your helmet, watching the way you were panting softly.

“was it too much?” he pressed a kiss onto the back of your hand as you shook your head, unable to hold back a big smile. he helped you off, holding you securely in his arms as you hugged onto him.

“it wasn’t so bad.” you mumbled into his chest, sighing in contentment.

[paperclip-skz]

The Secret Nap Room

fem*Reader x Bang Chan

*WARNING*

contains: p n v, sex, unprotected sex, kissing, TENSION, straight up delulu, grinding, oral (fem receiving), I'm sure I missed something; let me know in the comments.

WC: 2.9k

****

“Well…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I’m just worried that these late nights are starting to take a toll on you.”

You looked up at him, your brow slightly furrowed in thought. “Chan, it’s okay. Honestly, I could say the exact same thing about you,” You replied, your voice steady yet tinged with concern.

He scratched the back of his head, a habit he had when he felt uneasy. “Still,” he murmured, glancing away as if the weight of his words was too much to bear.

You sighed, recognizing his persistent worry. “Fine, fine. The next time you think I should head home,” You said, rolling your eyes playfully, “I promise I’ll listen.”

*********

You yawed for the nth time today, the late night really taking its toll. “That’s it; you're going home,” Chan barged into your office. 

“But-“ you protested, but he was already shutting your laptop and spinning your chair. 

“No buts. Home,” he insists. 

“Just this one last thing. “You attempt to turn your chair, but he’s already had enough. 

He sighs, “If you want things done, ya gotta do it yourself.” 

Suddenly, you feel the air under your feet, and Chan’s arms swing you over his shoulder. “CHAN!” your arms thrash over his back. “Put me down now or else!” but your threats are coated with laughter, having no effect on him. 

You realize that thrashing won't help anymore, so you allow Chan to carry you wherever he takes you. Eventually, he sets you on your feet and turns you around to face a door.

It's the room. His secret room.

The secret nap room. 

When he noticed how many late nights he was logging into the studio, he transformed this room into a personal sanctuary. Now, it is his secret lair, a hidden retreat filled with food, comfy chairs, and even a bed. He ensured everyone knew NOT to enter his secret room, and he kept that up… until now.

When you don’t take the hit to walk in, Chan reaches over your shoulder to open the door for you. 

It's so…cozy, you think. To say the least, it wasn’t what you were expecting. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, creating a sense of immediate comfort. Plush pillows in a delightful mix of colors—rich reds, deep blues, and sunny yellows—are scattered across the floor and piled high against the headboard of the already pulled-out bed, which is draped with a soft, inviting comforter that promises restful nights.

Directly opposite the bed, a sleek, flat-screen television is mounted on the wall, its surface glinting softly in the light. In the far corner, a charming wooden shelf stands stacked with an eclectic assortment of books and notebooks, their spines varying in color and texture. Some are well-loved, their pages dog-eared from repeated readings, while others are fresh. 

You diligently walk into the room, your eyes searching every little object that decorates the room. You are so distracted by all the little things around every corner that you don’t think you will find Chan walking beside you, folding back the comforter. “Wha-”

“Get in,” he insists. 

A chuckle leaves your lips. " You must really like me,” your hands beckon to the room. “I mean, first you're worried about me, then you take me to YOUR secret nap room, now you're making sure I’m tucked in? What's next? You're gonna kiss me goodnight,” You throw out a lighthearted joke, expecting to see Chan’s face scrunch up in that familiar way, but instead, he remains stone-faced. There’s an intensity in his gaze as if he is bracing himself for something. It feels as if he’s not just listening; he’s determined. 

His head nods to the bed again, and all you can do is sigh. “I’m not getting into bed; I’m not getting into YOUR bed.” you emphasize each “your,” you say because it is HIS bed, this is HIS safe space, and your HIS manager. You should be worried about him, not the other way around. 

“Are you really gonna make me carry you again?” he sighs, and that's when you notice his stance. He stands like he stands for Stay, his shoulder stretched broad to show off his defined chest. His legs are slightly spread, giving that dominating look he loves so much. His tongue pokes out his cheek, a habit that both you and Stay have come to love. 

He makes you swallow thickly. All of a sudden, your clothes become like fire to your skin. You don’t even notice when you lick your lips until Chan catches you, “Unless you want more than just a kiss goodnight,” his voice grows two actives lower. 

Your eyes snap to his “I- I’m sor- I wasn’t.” 

“It's okay. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I couldn't take a few people staring at me.” 

“Ha! Yea,” you laugh lightheadedly.

“But! Back to the task at hand,” he pauses, stepping closer to you. “What will it take to get you into bed?” he asks. 

“You should hear yourself,” you laugh. 

“Oh, I’m listening,” he saunters even closer. Your breath hitches again. You take a better look into his eyes. How dark they are, and how many secrets could be hidden inside them. “I’m hearing every word. So I’ll ask again, what will it take to get you into my bed?” 

This is wrong. Your head is screaming at you that you shouldn’t be here, that you shouldn’t be entertaining this idea. But your bodies are like magnets being pulled together. 

He’s too close now, close enough where you can feel the heat of his breath against you. All it would take is for his head to lean down slightly, and then your lips would connect with his.

As if he can sense your every thought, he draws closer, his playful demeanor captivating you. He tilts his head slightly, the movement subtle yet charged with intention, making it impossible for you to look away. You find yourself mirroring his actions, the world around you fading into the background. Your lips draw nearer, pulled together by an invisible force, like magnets yearning to connect, only for him to pull away before you can get a taste. 

You hear a low laugh admit from his chest, it makes you bite your lip. “Get into bed princess” 

You know what he wants to hear. You know he wants you to compile with a pretty smile on your face, but thats not how you play. “Only if you join me, Christopher.” 

He shivers at the mention of his full name, and a big cheesy smile appears on his face. Before you could protest or even react, he pulled you by the waist and fell onto the bed, setting to to lay under him. He comes so close to you, and the anticipation you can feel between your legs is almost painful, so when Chan is finally on top of you, silently begging for permission with his eyes to kiss you, you take full control and capture your lips with his. 

Your lips find a hidden rhythm with each other, dancing to an unforgettable song. His hands explore your curves, pulling at the fabric that separates you two. Soft moans and gentle sighs slip from your lips as you relax into his touch; you’ve never felt so relaxed, so carefully taken care of; it makes your insides melt. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, princess. Will you let me? Let me make you feel good.” he traces kisses from the corner of your mouth to the spot behind your ear. Words are trapped on the tip of your tongue; the only sounds escaping are moans of approval and the subtle motion of your hips attempting to grind against his. 

He growls into your ear, making your teeth sink into your lip. “Keep your hands above your head,” he instructs, his voice becoming demanding yet cautious. If you don’t, there will be consequences.” He presses his forehead to yours as his hands guide your arms above your head. 

The anticipation is killing you, and your slik is making it impossible for you to concentrate. You try your hardest to keep your arms above your head, but it is a lot harder than it seems when he trails kisses against your clothed skin all the way down to the button of your pants. He unbuttons your pants, keeping eye contact with you. He searches for any signs to stop, but you just bite your lip while maintaining eye contact with him. He peels the fabric from your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. Now it's his time to gawk and bite his lip at you, he stares at your panties and at the small wet spot thats gathered there. “Fuck” he breathes. He looks at you one last time for confirmation, and when you nod he rips the fabric off of you, huffing out an “I’ll buy you a new pair” and attaching his mouth to your cunt. 

You scream his name and grab a fistful of his hair holding him close to your clit, your back arches into a perfect C as he attacks your clit with an unforgiving force, but you whine when his lips are removed, “keep your hands above your head princess” he hisses. 

You groan, but you can’t deny the zing that rushes through your body. You’ve never been bossed around in bed, you’ve never had the opportunity to be submissive to someone so eager to be in control. 

Hesitantly you bring your arms back above your head, and Chan resumes his position, attaching his lips to your clit. Your shattered moans are muffled when you scream into the comforter, your teeth sink into the blankets, and your arms pull at the covers; you’ve never experienced so much pleasure, so much attention drawn to your clit, it makes your head spin. 

His tongue swirled expiry around your clit, sucking and tugging with his teeth. You can feel the knot expanding in your lower belly. You know you're about to break. “Yes yes yes” you chant, spurring him on.

He plunges his tongue past your walls, and your hands instinctively come down to curl into his locks, he growls into your pussy which sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He teases a finger against your opening only slipping the tip in, your hips grinding against his face, begging for the intrusion. 

Your orgasm is so close, all the teasing, his expert tongue, and now his mocking finger, you’re so close, but before your body can tumble over, he removes his lips and finger to watch your body crumble at the stolen orgasm. 

“Nooo” you whine pathetically, but Chan is quick to press his body down onto you, kissing your exposed neck.

His hands diligently sneak under your shirt, squeezing the flesh, “told you there’d be consequences,” he rumbles. 

Your chest heaves with heavy breath, and your eyes threaten to shut, “please” You beg.

“Mmm” he hums, you can feel the smile against your skin, his hands still climbing their way to your breasts. “I like it when you beg” 

“Please,” you strain, curling your fingers into his hair once again. 

He nods his head against your neck before sucking on the skin, creating a pretty red spot you not gonna be able to cover up in the morning. 

He lifts his head. His hands rake your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in only your bra. He stares at you for a moment before taking his hands and squeezing your breasts over your bra. It's like his hands are his claim to you, like he has to touch every bit of you so he can fully claim you as his. 

You take it upon yourself to stretch your arms above your head so your whole body is fully displayed for him in the best way possible. He leans back, eyes your body, he sits back on top of you, his thighs trapping you below him, “Fucking Christ,” he whispers under his breath. 

“Your turn, hot shot.” You eye his plain black T-shirt sticking to his body. 

He chuckles and pokes his cheek with his tongue, as he always does, before lifting his shirt over his head. Your eyes widen at how defined his chest is. You knew he was fit, and you saw the edits Stay made, but the fact that his abs were mere inches from your eyes was a completely different story. 

You lift your hand to trace a single finger down the middle of his abs. His whole body tenses under your touch, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. You bite your lip at the sight of him. 

“Turn over for me, baby” he says through gritted teeth. 

You twist your body around so your face is pressed against the blankets. Chan’s hands lift your hips up so your ass are in his hands. You feel one of his pillows being shoved under you, so you're more comfortable. 

You can feel his erection pressed against your ass, the rugged fabric of his pants making every movement he makes more exhilarating. You close your eyes as you feel his chest press against your back so he can whisper in your ear, “I’m gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to look me in the eyes for a week without blushing.”

A small whimper escapes you. “Please,” you beg. 

“Please, what, baby? Use your words,” he whispers again, his hands messaging the flesh of your hips. 

“Please fuck me,” you call in a breath. 

You can feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle. “Where are your manners baby girl” 

You whine, “please.” 

“Please fuck me what” he coats your ear, and your chest fills with need. You don’t care how desperate you sound or how pathetic of a position he has you in, he is in complete control and he knows it. He has your pleasure in the palm of his hands, and you couldn’t be more turned on. 

“Please fuck me, Christopher,” you finally moan out. 

“Good girl,” he kisses your shoulder before lifting himself off of your back. You hear some slight shuffling and then the pressure of his member lining himself up at your entrance. 

You press your forehead into the mattress, preparing for the stretch. The feeling of his thick tip alone sends both a thrill and a slight panic through your body. 

He slips the tip barely past your walls, and your eyes squeeze tight, “I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.” Chan's words guide you as he pushes the rest of the way past your lips. 

Once you finally feel him bottom out inside you, he stills, letting you adjust to the sheer length of him. His ministration from earlier left you so wet it made it so easy for him to slip in, but the stretch left you gasping for breath. 

You can’t see the way his face contorts into pleasure, the way his nose scrunches up at the way you're clenching around him or the way his skin shines with a sheer coat of sweat. But you can feel the way his dick twitches inside you, wanting so desperately to plunge into you. 

Instinctively, you push yourself harder against him, wanting him more. He can tell you're desperate; you can tell by the way his breath catches in his throat at your action.

“Fuck” He says with a shaky breath, his hisp start to slowly thrust, dragging against your walls deliciously. 

You moan out as you try to match his thrusts, but he quick to grab hold of you restricting your movements. “Your gonna take what I give you like a good fucking girl” he ruts out. 

The next thing you know the only sounds that fill the room are your screams and the sound of skin slapping against skin. 

****

You wake up, legs throbbing, pussy throbbing, throat dry as the desert, and hot. Oh my god, why am I so hot? You glance to your side, drawn in by the comforting warmth. There, nestled peacefully, is Chan, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. His eyelids flutter softly, betraying the delightful dreams dancing behind them, while a hint of a smile plays at the corners of his slightly parted lips. 

In this moment, the reasons for your earlier wakefulness and the discomfort that had stirred you from sleep fade away like wisps of fog in the morning light. Instead, you feel an overwhelming urge to draw closer to him, to wrap yourself in his warmth and forget about the worries of the outside world. You snuggle up against him, relishing the softness of the blankets and the steady rhythm of his breathing, finding solace in his presence as you drift back into a peaceful slumber.

He was spot on about what he whispered in the dim light of the bedroom, a truth that resonated with you not just in that fleeting week but stretching into the weeks that followed your intimate encounter. Each time you caught sight of Chan across the bustling office, a wave of warmth washed over you, flushing your cheeks with a deep crimson hue. It was as if the memory of your shared moment lingered in the air, a secret connection that electrified even the briefest of glances. Now, whenever Chan senses even a hint of restlessness or fatigue in you, a possessiveness takes control of him, knowing precisely how to bring you back to that comforting place where you both belong.

[nymphoniah]

can I request old man Logan where he’s looking for his glasses and he finds the reader sitting in his seat wearing them & teasing him how can he see without them. Then something primal inside him overcomes him to put her in her place

I hope that’s not too silly of a request I just drool over old man Logan especially with his glasses

i love this old man… i need him like air!!! ackkkk </3. tysm for sending this request in, we all need a grumpy logan in our lives :3 also i just read the old man logan comics and lord!!! i absolutely need to write more of himmmm

pairing: old man!logan x younger!reader

content/tags: NSFW minors dni, 18+ only, implied age gap (reader is in their 20’s), soft dom!logan, afab!reader, boot riding, smut, daddy kink, swearing, pet names (princess, doll, etc), a little bit of dacryphilia, logan refers to himself as an old man, porn w a lil bit of plot if you squint, crybaby!reader

you absolutely love the way logan’s glasses hang off of his nose bridge—always making sure when you’re peppering his face in kisses, you kiss the little bump that accentuates his features.

logan was a little embarrassed at first, wearing his glasses around you. thought it made him look older, already felt senile just taking them out of the case.

“c’mon!” you tease, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “i like the way you look in them,” you push him further, toying with the frames of his glasses.

“i look older in ‘em,” he says, playing off your kind words, “never was a fan of wearing them in the first place,” logan continues to drone on.

“charles says otherwise,” you snap back, your fingers playing where his glasses sit on his ears, flipping the glasses slightly up and down off his nose bridge.

logan chuckles, allowing you to continue playing with his glasses. “fine, i’ll wear ‘em,” he obliges much quicker than you thought he would—god knows the man loves to put on a fight.

but for you? he’d fold instantly. that’s what you do to him, you’re his little soft spot.

“only ‘cause you like it, princess.”

so when time passes, and you start to see him wear his glasses less and less, you decide to mess around with him a bit—give him a little surprise!

now here you are, sat in his armchair with a small smirk forming at the corner of your lips. your legs crossed, eyes peering up at him, but this time—his glasses perched on your nose.

logan approaches you slowly, his footsteps heavy, his figure towering over yours. he’s just come home from work, dressed up in his black and white suit, his tie slightly undone. he looks especially tired, like he’s had a long day.

“you broke your promise,” you trail off quietly, losing your smugness as logan looks down at you, his eyes sullen. “forgot these at home,” you continue, pointing at the glasses.

you try to ease the tension in the air by cracking a joke. “bet you couldn’t even drive straight without these.”

your words draw no reaction from logan. it’s painfully obvious that he’s drained from the day, and has no patience for whatever you have planned.

“i don’t have time for this,” he shrugs you off, pulling at your arm to get you up on your feet, “get ‘outta my spot, need to have some fuckin’ peace for once”.

you hate when logan gets like this, refusing to let you know what’s occupying his thoughts, keeping you in the dark—pushing you away.

so being the stubborn girl you are, you stay limp, refusing to move from the armchair. “no.” you retort, voice low and quiet.

logan can obviously lift you out of the chair with no issues, no tugging on your wrists or anything of the sort. but he sees that you’re at least trying to ease him up, make him feel the tiniest bit better. so he bites.

“can’t hear ‘ya, princess” logan says, the timbre of his voice gravelly, his eyebrow now raised, watching for your next move.

“no.” you respond sternly, shifting your weight further into the leather, tugging your arm away from his grasp.

something inside logan snaps. maybe it’s just ‘cause he had a bad day at work, or perhaps he just got riled up, seeing you get all bratty with him. knowing him, it was probably a combination of the two.

“no?” he mocks, sounding bitter as he lets out a tsk. “wrong fuckin’ answer, sweetheart.”

and that’s when the mood changes. the tension is still there, but there’s a shift. you feel your stomach turn, in a weird, twisted way—aroused by the way logan looks down at you with displeasure.

“need me to put you in your place, huh?” logan spits out, grabbing you by the wrist, finally pulling you out of the armchair.

taking little effort, he makes you stumble to your knees, your palms hitting the ground of the hardwood floor. you’re kneeled in front of logan, feeling foolish, stupid for trying to pester him after a long day.

“m’sorry,” you mutter, eyes glued to the floor, his glasses sliding low on your nose.

logan perches down to your height, bending down so that he’s level to your ears. “it’s a bit too late for apologies now, doll,” he coos, cupping your face with one of his hands.

he squishes your cheeks together, making it so that you’re looking up at him now. his eyes are sullen, facial features stern, the bags under his eyes a bit darker than usual.

streams of sorry, sorry, sorry is all you can manage let out of your pretty little mouth. you feel so guilty, upsetting him. sure, you had no ill intentions, but you know you pushed him—you should’ve just gotten out of the stupid chair, could’ve avoided this stupid mess.

the thoughts continue to drill into your brain, the regret. your eyes start to get teary, you just can’t help it. after everything that logan’s done, all the shit he’s been through, you didn’t wanna add onto his problems, cause any unnecessary stress in his life.

“don’t cry, princess” he consoles you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. logan steadies himself back up, seating himself into the leather armchair where you once sat.

you shift around, slotting yourself between his legs, your pink, teary eyes looking up at him. “m’sorry still, didn’t wanna make you mad,” you sniffled out, taking off his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

you leaned your head against his leg, your cheek nuzzling into the fabric of his slacks, your tears staining the pants a darker shade of black.

logan looked down at you, his tired eyes admiring the way you sat below him, practically worshiping him. “you’re just needy for your old man, hm?” he says, patting your head gently as you continue to weep.

“can’t help it, lo,” you murmur, tears becoming less frequent as he continues to tangle his fingers in your hair. “you’ve been gone a lot.”

your eyes fall down to his black leather dress shoes, the stitching of the shoes frayed, the material slightly worn at the edges. your fingertips play with the toe of his boots, trying to ground yourself.

“i know, i know, doll,” he replies, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek, his eyes catching the way you were staring intently at his shoes. “show me how much you missed me.”

your mind is still racing, trying to find a way to ease the pain you felt on your heart, the residing guilt you felt from earlier.

that’s ‘till you let your body think for itself, mindlessly hovering your clothed cunt on top of his boot. your breath stutters, trying to make sense of your actions, but it’s the last thing you wanna do.

all you want to do is turn your brain off—make sure that the pain goes away, that all your troubles could be temporarily solved.

“need this, need you,” you whine, placing yourself firmly on his boot, slowly grinding against him, pressing the temple of your head onto logan’s knee.

logan feels himself hardening at the sight of you getting off on him, his cock twitching as you paw at his slacks, your roaming hands finding their way to his crotch.

“fuck…” he hisses out, tilting his heels slightly upwards, making it so that the toe of his shoes angles right against your cunt. “my filthy girl just needed her old man to comfort her, yeah?”

you moan out in pleasure, your eyes shutting tight as you pace yourself, rutting against the rugged leather rhythmically. your cunt was leaking with your arousal, the excess slowly dripping down the sides of his shoes.

“missed you… so bad… d-daddy,” you cried out in between pants, your breath quivering, feeling the pressure in your core building up. “don’t know what i’d do… without ’ya…”

“you don’t need to worry about that, princess,” logan coos, “daddy’s right here,” he punctuates by nestling the toe of his shoe deeper inside your messy cunt.

“shut your pretty little brain off and keep riding me like that.”

[jujuscrolled]

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus?!

satoru, toji, kento and suguru decide to surprise their kids with a visit from Santa - unfortunately for said kids, it seems their dad’s have lost their spouses to the jolly, old, adulterous man.

Suggestive content, not proof read, fluff and just crack lol , gn! reader (i’m pretty sure but if i messed up pls lmk know !!)

a/n: ah! this is my first attempt at this kind of writing - pls be kind to me :,)

Satoru

“It’s itchy.” He muttered, tugging at the fake beard he’d voluntarily put on. You giggled at him as you adjusted it, reaching over to fix the Santa hat that had shifted when he moved his beard.

“Toru, you have to be quiet - you’ll wake the twins.” You whispered when he had moved to quickly causing the bells on the black boots he wore to jingle loudly.

“Sorry, yknow this thing is awfully uncomfortable. There’s no way he’s wearing this thing the entire night as shimmying through chimneys.” He scoffed in a hushed whisper.

You bit back a laugh, adjusting his shirt over the ridiculous fake belly he had put on. (“it’ll really sell it!” he’d justified) “Well, his belly and beard are real so I doubt it’d be that uncomfortable for h-ouch! Toru!” You hissed as he accidentally shoved your back into the counter.

“Sorry! Sorry! It’s been a while since something has gotten in my way when I try to kiss you.” He huffed, adjusting the fake belly to the side so he could kiss your nose. “We should get you a matching outfit. Have a real special visit from the Clauses.” He winked before placing a kiss to your lips.

“Ugh! The beard feels so gross, babe.” You said pushing his face back slightly. “I told you!” He hissed, pulling it down and rubbing the tender skin under it.

“Well thank you for your efforts Santa.” You grinned leaning over to place a kiss onto his now bare mouth.

“Mmmm, what a nice thank you.” He winked causing you to laugh, immediately placing your hand over your mouth as you looked over towards your children’s rooms - the door still closed.

“Hurry up and get your suit on right so I can get the pictures of you eating the cookies.” You said patting his chest so he’d back away from you.

“Cookies you say?” He asked as he fixed himself up. “Mmmhmm, kids made ‘em for you.” You said, grabbing your camera.

“How sweet.”

After taking some pictures, Satoru walked over to you placing his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer to him. “Now that that’s done, I think I have a craving for another cookie. One with extra frosting.” He grinned causing you to snort and pushing his face away from you. “You’re sick, Mr. Claus. I’m married, you know?” You teased causing him to arch a brow at you. “Married, you say?” You nodded and gasped when he dipped you sideways and placed a kiss to your lips again.

“Mm, tasty.” He whispered before kissing you again and again, both to lost in each other to notice that your children were staring completely horrorstruck as Santa kissed you.

Toji

“Toji can you be still for a sec?” You huffed as you tried to button his shirt.

“D’ya get this from the kids section? Things cutting off my circulation.” He grumbled causing you to roll your eyes, “it’s Shiu’s actually. He did this for his kids the other day.”

“Told ya to stop spending time with that loser. Now I have to deal with the consequences.” He said, pinching your hip and earning a smack to his hand.

“It’s for the kids, Toji, I even had em make you some cookies!” You grinned, placing a soft kiss to his collarbone.

“What kind?” He asked, arching a brow and looking behind you at the cute plate filled with the cookies that the kids had decorated.

“Chocolate chip.” You nodded, turning around to hand him the hideous fake beard.

“I’m not putting that shit on, doll.” He said, grabbing it from you and tossing it behind him. “Hey! That’s kinda an important part, y’know?” You huffed starting to make your way to it but being stopped by the large mass that was your husband.

His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him before he placed a kiss to your mouth. “Who cares? Kids ain’t even gonna see me in this thing.” He muttered into the kiss, hands snaking down to your ass. You smacked his hand away, “I want to take pictures.” You explained making him roll his eyes.

“No way. Bet you the brats don’t even believe in this guy anymore. Especially that Megumi, little brat said he knew the Easter bunny wasn’t real because his shinkigami couldn’t help him carry anything so there’s no way a random rabbit could hide eggs.”

“Well, maybe they’ll believe in Santa if you let me take a picture of you!” You bargained, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“You jus’ want the picture for yourself, don’t you?” He asked, eyes narrowing as you grinned up at him.

“Please?” You begged causing him to huff before he sent you a wolfish grin, “it’ll cost ya, you know?” He said, lifting you up and sitting you on the counter.

“Mm, that’s why we made you some cookies.” You offered, reaching over and grabbing on for him.

“Oh, i’m eating those too but I was thinking something a lil sweeter.” His lips found yours in a surprisingly soft kiss, hands resting on the dip of your waist before giving you a soft squeeze.

“Good enough?” You asked, smiling down at him as he licked his lips before he shook his head, “One more kiss and i’ll think about it.”

“Kiss?!” A voice yelled from behind Toji causing you to jump and for him to squeeze your side.

“Megs!” You gasped.

Kento

After putting the kids to bed you found yourself downstairs setting up the plate of cookies that your daughter had left for Santa.

“My love, will you come help me with something real quick?” Your husband asked, peeking into the kitchen.

You nodded and made your way over only to cover your mouth to conceal a laugh at the sight before you. Kento was wearing a ridiculously oversized red shirt and matching pants. Large black boots lined with white fur and red hat completing the look.

“Oh? Mr. Claus, you’re here quite early.” You mused, almost cooing at the soft blush that adorned your husband’s cheeks.

“Please don’t tease, my love. I thought it would be a nice idea but the collar on this thing is giving me some trouble.”

You nodded, reaching over to adjust the furry lapels for him. “It is a nice idea, dear. Just a bit caught me off guard is all.” You grinned at him, placing a hand on his warm cheek.

“I just have to get the beard on and then if you would be so kind as to take some pictures of me eating the cookies she made?” You nodded at his request, your eyes practically forming into hearts as you melted.

“I’d do anything for you, this is light work.” You said, placing a kiss to his cheek.

His hands found your waist as he leaned closer to you to place a kiss to your lips. “And I, for you.”

“You know, you doing this for our babygirl is making me want to give you another child.” You whispered, pulling him closer by the lapels of his Santa suit.

“Yeah?” He asked, hazel eyes widening slightly as he looked at you - searching for any sign of insincerity.

“I mean we’ve been talking about it, haven’t we?” You said, tracing a finger down from his cheek to his lips before smiling.

“I love you.” He murmured leaning in for a kiss, one that you returned with fervor. His hands squeezed your waist gently, pulling you closer to him as the two of you completely missed the soft gasp your daughter let out as she watched you kiss Santa instead of your devoted husband.

Suguru

“Be honest. Do I look stupid?” Suguru asked as he gave you a little spin in his Santa outfit.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, “you look real handsome.” You giggled softly, causing him to groan.

“So I do look stupid.”

“No… Well, maybe a little bit? But it’s definitely not you. I don’t think anyone could pull this outfit off.” You said, breathing out a laugh as you reached for him. He let you wrap your arms around his neck, arching a brow as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“This is real cute, Sugu.” You said, glancing up at him through your lashes. He had come home extremely excited, raving about how Suguru had had the genius idea of surprising his kids with a visit from Santa. Now that he had the outfit on, his confidence had been reduced significantly.

“Really? Cause I feel more silly than cute right now.” He laughed, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your nose.

“Silly but very cute. So cute you might even earn yourself a nice treat.” You nodded to yourself, eyes closed and lips pursed coaxing a laugh out of him.

“Oh yeah? And what kind of treat am I looking at?” He asked, amusement lining his features.

“Homemade cookies, decorated by two of the cutest twins ever.” You said matter-of-factly.

“Tempting. Really tempting, but I was thinking of something else that would really make this worth the embarrassment.” He hummed, pulling you closer to him.

“Oh? What were you thinking then, Mr. Claus?” You asked, playing into his little game.

“A kiss, under the mistletoe, and if you throw in my favorite cookie, i’ll even throw in a song and dance for ya.” He grinned causing you to laugh.

“Deal. I’ll pay half right now and the rest after you visit the girls.” You said, walking backwards and leading him under the mistletoe you’d hung up the other day as a joke.

You shivered as he moved his hand up from your waist to the nape your neck, pulling you close so he could place a passionate kiss to your lips. You melted into his embrace as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing your bottom lip, but before you could grant him entrance two soft gasps made you break apart quickly.

Nanako and Mimiko stared at the two of you, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Uhm… Ho… Ho… Ho?” Suguru said awkwardly in attempts to ease the tension.

“I’m telling dad Santa kissed you!” Nanako yelled before running past the two of you, dragging her sister by the hand to your bedroom.

“Crap.”

[aerynwrites]

Sacrifices

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

A/N: sorry for posting a day late. Been busy with holiday things, work and school. Hope you enjoy! and if you do please consider leaving a comment or reblog! even if you just scream into the tags i really really do love reading your all's thoughts - incoherent or not haha. Word Count: 3k Warnings: Canon typical Violence, (attempted) self sacrifice, mentions of grenade based injuries, description of gore/injury, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, soft/fluff towards the end. Summary: The team is on a mission and quickly becoming overwhelmed. In the middle of a push through enemy lines, reader is the only one who notices the grenade that was thrown. She acts to save the men she loves.

The firefight has been constant it seems like, your entire group pinned down between sandbags and barricades and royally pissed off Russian soldiers. infiltration has been slow - almost nonexistent, your group moving forward only a few feet at a time, rushing from one barely there cover to the next. 

Your comms erupt with staticky calls of enemy movement before abruptly clicking off as gunfire takes its place.  Shouts from Price and Ghost trying to get air support and medical and god knows what else, just anything to help you all.

The mission has gone to shit. Gone from infiltrate and extract to a fight for your lives.

“Sunny, you with me?” 

Gaz’s voice fills your ears, your callsign pulling you from your own mind as you move to click the button to respond. 

“Repeat.”

“I see an opening,” Gaz says again, and you look over at him from where he sits several feet away from you, behind a concrete barrier matching your own. 

He gestures with his hands towards some cover a few yards up, and after a quick glance and no small calculations of your own, you think it might work.  Ghost and Soap are already there, having made the move ages ago but leaving you and Gaz unable to join them.  

If you can all get together, you might stand a chance at rushing the remaining enemies, pushing your way into the base and…

You nod.

“I’ll cover you,” Gaz says, “Then you three will cover me.”

“Got it,” you say, voice buzzing in your own ears. “As good a plan as any, at this rate.”

An all to familiar rough baritone fills your ears, and you have to fight back the smile twitching at your lips. 

“If ya quit your yapping,” Ghost says, voice firm, “You’d both be ‘ere by now.”

“On my mark…” Gaz says.

And then he’s calling out, a storm of bullets raining down as you sprint towards your team mates. the noise is deafening yet despite it all, it’s like you can hear everything. 

The beat of your heart in your chest. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The blood rushing in your ears, the sounds of your rubber soled boots hitting the cracked concrete. 

Thump, thump

The rush of air in and out of your lungs.

Thump, thump.

The all too familiar gentle jingle of a grenade pin. 

Thump, thump,

Two more breaths. Too long, you think. 

Thump, thump.

The sound of metal clattering against concrete. 

Thump. Thump.

No one’s seen it, the rattle of gunfire too loud, their focus too drawn in by the enemy. 

Thump, Thump.

It’s close to Soap and Ghost, just behind them - too close-

“Grenade!”

Your voice is barely audible over the chaos, the sound that your heartbeat was drowning out crashing over you all at once as you throw the entirety of your body weight forward. Soap had heard you just as your fingers dig their way under the straps of his tac vest, shoving him forward and down, right on top of your startled lieutenant who sees what you’re doing much to late to change the course of events. 

“Sunny, no-!”

Soap collides with Ghost - bodies toppling onto crumbling concrete, unable to keep their feet underneath them as you fall on top of them. You wrap your arms around Soap as the grenade explodes, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you try your damndest to shield him and Ghost from it. 

It happens fast - faster than you’d ever imagined something like this happening - faster than your sprint over here. There’s a flash of light, burning heat, shouts cut off by a deafening blast as searing pain shoot through you.

Metal on your tongue.

More gunfire. 

You think your comms are going off but your head feels like its spitting open, ears ringing and you feel like your burning and freezing all at once. Teeth chattering and adding to that blasted ringing in your ears-

“-get out of there now!”

That you hear, along with the warnings of in coming air support. 

Instinctively you go to move, but pain blinds you, ripping a scream from your throat as pain shoots from your side up to your arm and down to your very toes. 

Soap is above you then, eyes panicked as he looks from you down your body then back up at Ghost.

“Lt! What the bleedin’ hell are we doin’!” He yells, fighting to be heard over the gunfire. 

You take this moment to look around, chest heaving as you struggle to breath, mind desperately searching for context. 

Ghost is up again, gun pointed over the concrete barrier as he continues to lay cover fire. You’re vaguely aware of Gaz just behind you, yelling into his comms about a man down and needing medical immediately and ‘we have to move!’

Your eyes then fall down to assess yourself, only to feel complete and utter fear pin you to the ground beneath you. Your side - the little exposed below your tac vest, your hip and your leg-

You have to look away to fight the vomit fighting its way up your throat. It’s a bloody mess - literally.nSoaps hands are covered in the viscous liquid as he put pressure on the gaping wounds, trying to stem the blood pouring from your leg.  You think you saw bone-

Black seeps in at the corners of your vision and you are only kept from the creeping darkness by a warm hand on your face as Soap’s own appears above you, and - why is it wet?

“Hey! Hey lass, none of tha’ now-” he gently taps your cheek. “Now why did you go ‘an do something right stupid like that?” He asks, trying to force that teasing lilt into his words but failing as the panic overrides it. 

Your mind is turning to mush, tongue heavy in your mouth as that coldness from earlier starts to slowly creep forward, starting at your fingers and moving ever upwards. 

“Do…do what?” You ask, fighting against chattering teeth.

Ghost turns then, speaking between breaks of gunfire as the telltale sounds of jets appear in the distance. 

“Use yourself as a fucking human shield is what!” He bellows, and even in your delirious state you can see the wrath in his eyes as he shoulders his gun once again, pointing at Soap. “Get her up, we have to move now!  Or whatever heroic bloody deed she was trying to commit will be for nothing-”

Gaz speaks now, glancing from you to Ghost.

“Lt. I don’t think she’ll-”

Ghost lunges forward then, gripping Gaz’s vest in his hands so tight you’re worried. 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Garrick,” Ghost bites. “No man left behind. Ever. Now move!”

Soap barely has time to mutter an apology before he tying something around your leg and yanking you up from the ground. 

The pain is all consuming. You think you scream but can feel it being cut off as something wet comes up on a cough. That all too familiar metal taste flooding your tongue.

It hits you then, with the taste of blood in your mouth and the tunnel vision closing in..

You’re dying. 

The world shudders around you as Soap runs full speed with your team, trying in vain to keep you as steady as possible as Ghost and Gaz lay cover fire for your retreat. 

Your head lolls backward, knocking against Johnny’s arm with every step, and you just manage to see the vapor trails of fighter jets above you, the white wispy clouds left behind giving you an odd sense of comfort in this moment. 

Johnny looks down at you as the earth shakes beneath his boots and he barely even stumbles. 

He always was the most agile of you all, Ghost the strongest - both of them protective. Even now you can feel Johnny’s arms tighten around you, can hear Ghost’s commanding shouts- although you can’t make out what he says. 

You’re too far gone for that.

Your fingers grip weakly at the various pockets and straps of Johnny’s tac vest as he starts to slow to a stop. You’re in the forest now, the towering tops of the trees creating a vast circle in your ever narrowing vision. A clearing? 

Wow...the sky is pretty too. A very faint pinkish hue dusting the sky behind the fluffy clouds. It must be approaching evening, the sun moving to sink below the horizon…

Night time…sleep sounds really good right about now. You’ve been fighting it -  the pain being your main focus, but now it’s all you want to do. Even the pain is starting to fade-

“No, no - “ another tap to your cheek and your eyes flutter open weakly. 

Johnny’s face is above you again, and you realize he’s kneeled down on the ground again, your legs outstretched in front of you as Gaz works quickly to try and do something about your injuries. 

Ghost is there too, and he’s no longer shouting, just breathing hard into his mask as he gazes down at you - that earlier anger replaced by…is that worry? Concern…fear?

“I must…” you trail off,breathing a herculean task. “I must be pretty…pretty bad if you’re scared, Simon.”

Ghost flinches at the use of his real name. It was an unspoken rule to never use it in the field. Never use it outside of you and him and Johnny together. Never use it unless if was just you three or in more intimate moments. 

Yeah. Simon is fucking terrified. Feels like his heart is about to plummet into the dirt. Feels like his whole world is crumbling down around him-

“Why did you do that?” He finally asks, voice losing its rough edge as he reaches up to wipe at something on your cheek. Probably blood. “Why?”

You smile then. Despite everything, you smile. 

“Couldn’t…” another wheezing breath in, “Couldn’t let them get…my boys.”

Soap breaks then, a broken sound ripping from his chest as he reaches up with his free hand to grip onto one of your own, bringing it up to press chapped lips to bloodied knuckles. 

You can’t feel the tears when they fall onto your skin, but you see the tracks they leave in the crimson stains. Follow them as they slide from the valley of your fingers over the back of your hand before disappearing beneath the sleeves of your uniform. 

“Don’t cry,” you whisper, before choking on another cough. 

The wind picks up now, and you can see the tree branches quiver violently. 

“Evac’s here!” Gaz calls, and you can see the hope that sparks in their eyes as the blades of the helicopter come into view. 

Soap looks down again, another kiss to you knuckles before he’s moving taking you into his arms as he stands. 

It doesn’t hurt at all this time. 

“They’re ‘ere, bonnie,” he says, voice cracking. “Gonna fix you right up-”

You don’t hear the rest.

The thrum of helicopter blades drown him out and then, just as you see a team of medics jump from the interior, darkness finally consumes you. 

At least they’re safe.

It was all worth it. Just for that.

———

Waking up is like trying to wade through knee deep snow. It takes all of your energy, and every moment feels like an eternity with little to no progress. But you keep pushing, snippets of voices and small sounds urging you forward. 

Two voices in particular. Familiar. Warm. Scared. 

“I never thought I’d be the one by your bedside.” Ghost. “A bloody idiot you are. But our idiot, so don’t,” is he crying? “Don’t you fucking die on me.”

You hear Johnny next, it’s the only other voice your brain seems to register in this thick fog of unconsciousness. Along with the feather light brush of fingers in your own.

“Still cannae believe ya did it,” you can’t find it in you to be sorry. “Please, wake up lass…please.”

You eventually do - Wake up that is. 

And what a bloody nightmare it is. Blinding lights, the deafening beeping of a monitor in your ear, people shouting but only two of them are familiar, fighting to stay in the chaotic room as Doctors rush about an shine lights in your eyes and ask you all kinds of questions and then-

It’s over. 

It’s over and you have a flimsy plastic cup of water being shoved into your hands and fingers carding through your hair and lips pressed against your temple before two sets of eyes fix on you. One chocolate brown and the other a piercing blue as they look at you expectantly.

It’s a stand off for longer than you anticipated. Neither Johnny nor Simon speaking and you trying to catch up with how fast your brain is moving. Eventually you move to speak after taking another sip of water, a few drops slipping past your lips as your hands shake slightly. 

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Simon throws his hands up, a scoff slipping passed his masked lips, the sound muffled by the black surgical mask adorning his face. 

“Of course that’s the first bloody thing you say-”

“Well I’m not!” You argue, frustration bubbling up in your chest as the heart monitor slowly speeds up. 

Johnny tries to step in. “Lass, we dinnae expect an apology-”

Simon cuts him off.

“Speak for yourself,” he steps closer to the side of the bed, gripping the side-rail in a white knuckled grip. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? Throwing yourself in front of us like that?”

You have to fight back the tears you feel burning at the back of your eyes. Anger, frustration, guilt all bubbling together in your chest in a confusing mix of emotions. 

Why is he giving you the third degree? 

“It’s not like I planned it Simon, I didn’t think-”

“You’re fucking right you didn’t think!” Simon roars, voice reverberating off the walls of the small hospital room. 

Johnny reaches out then, hand firm on Simon’s shoulder as he tries to pull him away from you. “Simon, that’s enough-!”

He shoves his hand away, turning to pin the sergeant with a fiery gaze before turning his attention back to you. 

“No Johnny,” he bites before addressing you again. “Did you know you died?” 

The words shock you, making you physically flinch back into the bed as Simons stares you down. And it’s in this suffocating silence that his statement brought on that you finally see it. The fear in his eyes. The fear that wavers just beneath the watery lash line of the eyes you’ve come to find solace in. 

You shake your head softly. 

“I…I died?”

Johnny nods, sniffling softly before swiping a hand down his face. 

“For five minutes,” He says softly, finally moving to sink into one of the chairs by your bed. 

“You died,” Simon repeats, voice having lost its angry edge. “And you could’ve stayed dead. Then you would’ve been six feet under with nothin’ but a fucking medal an’ a picture on the wall and-” he chokes. “And where would we be? Where would we be without you?”

Johnny takes your hand in his own - the familiar calloused warmth soothing to your battered mind and body. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out in measured beats as you try to digest this information. You’re only brought out of it when another hand takes your free one - this one also familiar in a slightly different way. 

It reminds you of why you did it in the first place. You love them. Both of them in their own unique way. Johnny is big and all consuming and loud and boisterous but gentile and just slightly soft around the edges when he needs to be. His hands are calloused and warm but smoother on the palms. 

Simon is…he’s somewhat opposite. He’s quiet and reserved and frankly quite intimidating on the outside. His words are few but meaningful. He’s large and imposing and can scare the living daylights out of someone when he wants but when he’s with you and Johnny…he’s different. He’s all gentle words and soft touches - as if you’re made of fine porcelain and he’s the bull in the china shop. His hands are cooler than Johnny’s but still soft in places and still just as comforting. 

“I love you,” you finally whisper, eyes peeling open to look at the men by your sides. 

“I…I can’t apologize because I love you,” you explain. “And if I had to do it all over again, I would. It was just…instinct.”

They’re both silent for a moment, your words sinking in until Simon lets out a rather uncharacteristic sniffle. He tugs down his mask, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes before bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a feather light kiss to your knuckles. 

“Yeah, well…” his voice is thick with emotion. “Leave the sacrificin’ to us in the future, okay love?”

He doesn’t say much more, never being one to talk much about how he feels, but you understand what was left unsaid. And so does Johnny, apparently voicing what your shared partner can’t.

“He’s right, lass,” he agrees, lips tugging up in the smile you’ve come to adore. “We just got somethin’ good. Too good for the likes of us. Cannae go losin’ it now.”

You send both of them a smile of your own, but it’s damped by the tears that finally spill over. Not sad ones necessarily, but tears created out of love and pure adoration for the men before you. 

The tears don’t make it far before Simon is reaching out, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs wiping them away before pulling his mask down just enough to press his lips to your own. You return the gesture, squeezing his hand when he pulls away. 

You then tug Johnny towards you, sniffling before giving him a quick kiss as well when he leans in. Then before you can move two sets of arms are wrapped around you, careful of your wounds but holding onto you fiercely. Whispered ‘I love you’s’ are murmured into your skin, fingers carding through you hair as you all finally relish in each other’s presence. 

For now you were all alive - alive and able to hold one another. 

And that would just have to be good enough. 

[coffee-and-cake]

Adding onto the Orion Snatched AU

Predaking route: The group does end up captured by the high guard but before D16 can cause a fight Starscream tells the high guard to ready them for Predaking.

Before anyone can ask what a Predaking is they are taken to the outskirts of the high guard base

Starscream gives the group a once over before pointing at Orion. “The Predaking has a thing for cute red and blue bots.”

Again before anyone can ask what the hell is going on Orion is shoved forward and knocked to the ground. A loud booming roar echos and the high guard scramble to get back to the base. Starscream is laughing now and shouts “good luck!” Before joining the high guard.

The group barely get a chance to process what’s happening before a large shadow darkens the sky. Looking up they see a giant winged lizard circling them.

“Uhh I think we just found out what a Predaking is!” B shouts before bolting in the direction of the high guard base.

With their hands bound they can’t properly transform and are forced to run. But Orion had struggled to stand up. D16 almost didn’t realize that Orion wasn’t with the group. Turning back back he’s horrified to see Orion had lagged far behind.

D16 turned on his heel ready to run back and help despite his arms still being tied. But before he can run back the Predaking lands separating Orion from the group.

The predaking takes a moment to inspect Orion before churning happily and taking Orion into his claws and into the air. Leaving the remaining trio to watch in horror as their friend is taken by some beast.

Starscream lets out a whistle as he watches them leave. “Told ya, he has a thing for red and blue. Oh don’t look so sad he’s not gonna kill him. He just wants a mate im sure he will return you friend in a day or two once he realizes that he doesn’t want to mate with the fool. Trust me it’s happened way too many times for us.”

D16 turned on Starscream breaking free from his bonds instantly. “THAT THING WANTS A WHAT!?”

[ominium]

farewell

character : gojo s. (i only say his name once, so if you wanna insert anyone else...won't blame ya) context : your husband forgets who you were (amnesia) and hangs out with his high school fling more than you :( pov : first person (reader) content : angst no comfort (letter no response) note(s) : yeah idk, had this thought at 5:00 am and, after a few days, decided to finally write it out

also gojo likes his eggs scrambled here with reader. yea idk if u think he'd prefer runny yolk then oops

—

In another universe, we would have grown old together.

As promised, we would have woken up in each other's arms, go on morning walks, share a sandwich, watch the birds fly by...

As promised, we would have grown a flower bed out in the countryside, have chats with our elderly neighbors every now and then, watch the sunset together...

When we first got back to our home after the accident, I had hope. I know it was hard for you to live with me, as you saw me as nothing more than a stranger, but I believed you could remember me. I had strength that our love would prevail, as cheesy as it sounds...I believed that you could remember me.

Every little aspect of our little life was still there. The way I still had to try extra hard to wake you up in the mornings, how you still enjoyed noodles that were a little overcooked and soaked with the broth, and even the way you sat on "your spot" of the couch. Everything was so endearing, and I wanted to believe that you hadn't changed.

The way you still greeted your old friends was all the same. Sure, you missed out on some memories, but for the most part, they didn't have to endure the pain of being asked, "who are you?"

It was nice to see some of your memories come back, too. When you had that nagging feeling that you just had to go to the local park, even though it was raining...all because it felt right. And it did. We used to take a walk on weekends to wind down and relax. Our hands intertwined, and just simply people watching. It re-lit what little faith I had left, and had me craving for more...more of you remembering our memories.

How you started going out every other evening to get some drinks. It seemed so...painfully absent in the home, but at least you were putting in the effort to remember.

So how...how is it that you seem to start remembering everything but me? How can you remember the way I liked my eggs scrambled, but not me? How could you remember how I liked the way I folded my clothes, but not me? How was my spot replaced with her?

Was it not strange that she would make you sunny-side up eggs, even though you said you didn't like the yolk runny? How she didn't walk the path you wanted to walk in the park? You brought her a beautiful bouquet wrapped in purple, yet the colors she surrounds herself with are yellow.

Why is it that I hear from Shoko that you were with her again? Why do I get messages from Megumi that you had to buy two bouquets, because you accidentally bought purple flowers again? Why is it that it seems you never come home to me? Why did I have to see your wedding ring on the bathroom floor. Forgotten.

Why do I wake up to an empty home, and go to bed alone now....

...You know, yesterday was our anniversary. I had bought a cake and even asked Yuuji to help me decorate the living room for us. It was...pretty awkward, to say the least, when he calls me and says you're at the bar with "that girl again."

To be honest, Satoru, I don't blame you. How could I? You experienced trauma, you have amnesia...you still see me as a stranger that just happens to live in the same home as you, and just happens to have a bunch of pictures with you, and even a wedding photo plastered in the bedroom wall. Right.

But it would've been nice if you had just...tried. Tried to come home to me. Try to spend time with me. Given me the bouquets because I love purple.

Tried to be the husband you promised you would be to me.

So here. I'm sure you've already seen them, but the divorce papers are under the letter. I've signed everything, and again I'm sure you've seen, but I grabbed all my essentials and left. You don't have to see me again. I placed our rings in the box they came in...thank goodness I saved it, despite you wanting me not to. You can do what you will with them...you did buy them anyways.

And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't give more time to you. I'm sorry if I didn't try hard enough. But, I'm sure you'd understand...you've got holes in your memories that everyone wants to fill.

and I've got whole memories that I can't share anymore.