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supercutszns · 4 months

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a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #this is far longer than i wanted it to be so sorry.#don’t usually write in 2nd person or present tense so i’m just trying not to look at it #the evil men with curly hair have won again

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toastnotonfire · 2 months

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Couch Crasher

pairing: Daryl Dixon x (Fem!)reader

summary: Daryl carried you to bed, because you fell asleep on the couch... again. (SLIGHT! mention of Daryl's scars nothing big just reader thinking)

You obviously don't mean to fall asleep on the couch, just whenever you come home to the warm sanctuary that is your house in Alexandria the couch seems an inviting space to rest your feet... and maybe sometimes rest your eyes too.

Daryl comes home from the hunt, toeing off his boots in the hallway and strolling into the living room where he is confronted with the sight of you.

your curled up on the edge of the couch, in your sweatpants and stained worn hoodie. Your hair is covering part of your face as you sleep peacefully in the middle of the room, soft breaths leaving your parted lips.

Daryl falters for a second in the doorway, scanning over your sleeping form, allthough you look tranquil enough he wouldn't nessacarly describe the way your lying as comfortable in the long term.

He thinks for a momment, of the last few times he's found you like this, allways too tired to make the extra trek to your bed, he thinks of the way you've never got rid of the dark circles which took up stubborn residence below your sparkling eyes a few years ago.

He shakes his head, a little frown finds its way onto his lips as he stalks closer to your side while you sleep, trying not to wake you. As carefully as he possibly can he reaches out, grabbing your legs with one arm and using the other to support your torso, carrying you bridal style, close to his chest.

A small groan leaves your lips in protest as you turn hiding your face in his chest.

"yeah I know, I know..." Daryl muses, carrying you steadily towards your room, knocking the door open with his shoulder to avoid lessening his grip on you.

He gently lays you down on your bed, pulling the blanets over you and stroking your hair back from your face as you scrunch your nose in annoyance at being disturbed.

"don't give me tha' look" Daryl tilts his head to the side, amusement flickers in his face then he turns away, rummaging through his chest of drawers. He carefully shrugs out of his treasured leather vest, hanging it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his flannel shirt.

You watch intently, blinking heavily from your place in the warm bed as he shrugs out of yet another layer, revealing his back to you. Your eyes scan over the long scars that litter his back, some thin and some thick and suddenly your ribcage is tightening around your lungs.

You wonder how in the face of all the awfull things against him, he still turned out good... so so truly good.

You take this thought, mulling it, turning it over in your head as you watch him slide into a worn grey t-shirt.

But then he's turning around and every worry, every concern and every bit of anxiety that riddles your worn and exhausted bones is washed away, painted instead in the warm, comforting glow of his little smile. The soft one he reserves for your eyes only in these quiet moments.

You adjust a little as the mattress sinks to his weight, pushing yourself closer to him slightly and wrapping one arm tightly around him, and the other arm across yourself. He holds you closely, running one of his large hands gently through your hair, soothing you softly.

"better than the couch huh?" Daryl jokes, his voice just as soft as his soothing hands are.

"mhm..." you mumble back a tired response, smiling at Daryl, who just shakes his head in fake dissaproval then places a small peck on your forhead.

"back to sleep hun'" he murmurs back, closing his own eyes slowly.

You both lay like that, curled up in one another's embrace, without a single care for the cruel world outside the door of your bedroom. The two of you find refuge in one another's arms, like a safe harbour to a sailor who had been lost in a storm.

Your very last thought before joining Daryl in the realm of peacefull sleep is that, yeah... this is WAY better than couch crashing.

A/N: hope you guys like it! been sitting in my drafts for fucking ages so I just thought I'd post it and see what ppls thoughts are, IF U SEE ANY SPELLING MISTAKES OR GRAMMAR ERRORS OR JUST ANY CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM ID LOVE TO HEAR IT!!! and if you have any prompts or ideas for little drabbles then my requests will be open, I'll try my best ❤️

#Spotify #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon fluff #twd daryl

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niki-phoria · 15 days

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Hello! It's one of my first times asking for something, so forgive me if it seems strange or if I spell something wrong! Feel free to ignore this too!

I was looking at your Jjk list and realized that our beautiful boy Yuuji doesn't have a story there yet, so I had an idea!

something like Itadori and Reader (gn or male) were in a fight together, and Sukuna ends up appering to deal with the whole situation, and as a result, he ends up hurting the reader on purpose to bother Yuuji, so he is left feeling very bad and guilty , so ends up “ignoring” reader, because he keep blaming himself

I only thought until this part (srry), I would like an ending with something cute and fluff ig? 👉👈 (i like angst with a happy ending)

WEREN'T WE THE STARS IN HEAVEN?

pairing: itadori yuuji x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 758

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, poorly written fight scene

notes: thank you so much !! i hope you like it :)) split this into two parts to make it easier to write lol, possibly ooc sukuna but i did my best, title from adrianne lenker - anything

part 02 here !!

shibuya is empty. desolate, even. eerily so. even after spending only a few months in tokyo, ITADORI YUUJI had grown accustomed to the noise. the bustling crowds and noisy tourists had become commonplace - almost a comfort at the end of a long night. if nothing else, at least the people were safe.

until they weren’t.

your lungs burn as you race through the remains of shibuya station. the walls are splattered with a mixture of blood and curse remains. there are no longer complaints from people about being trapped inside of the station. there are no longer stray groans from mahito’s transformed humans. there are no longer screams of terror.

you feel sick.

you force yourself to run faster when you see a figure standing in the distance, near what remains of the bathrooms. water seeps across the tiles from nearby, probably damaged in the midst of a fight. “yuuji!”

he doesn’t have a visible reaction. your footsteps slow to a stop as you take in the sight of him. his clothes are ripped and tattered but there are no visible injuries on his body. beneath the flickering lights above, you can just barely make out the blood stains littering his clothing.

“yuuji?”

he turns to face you, smirking over his shoulder. you take a step backwards, shoes slipping on a puddle of water on the floor. there’s a dark glint in his eyes - one that you’ve never seen before. “not anymore.”

“sukuna,” your breath hitches.

he frowns, mockingly pouting as he begins walking towards you. “that’s not how you should address your lord.”

anger flares in your chest. your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. you grit your teeth, aiming towards sukuna’s jaw as you swing.

he evades it easily, languidly pushing his hands into his pockets. “i’m hurt, y/n,” he mocks. “i can’t believe you would hit your own boyfriend.”

“shut up!” another swing. another miss.

sukuna laughs. he watches you with amusement; like you’re an ant beneath his foot he’s pushing around just for the sake of his own entertainment.

he’s fast. almost faster than your own reflexes. your punches only ever meet air as he dances around you. “does it bother you?” sukuna asks. his breath ghosts against your ear as he leans in. “knowing that yuuji’s power comes from a curse. does it scare you?”

you swallow your insults, instead focusing your attention on aiming your punches at the right time. he frowns. “ignoring me now? that won’t do.”

sukuna raises his leg, swiftly landing a hit against your side. you’re barely given time to react before your body slams into the wall.

the pain comes hard and fast. it’s agonizing. it feels like you’re on fire. every part of your body begs you to give up; to lay down and crumble into a ball on the ground. but you can’t. you won’t.

blood pools in your mouth, dripping down the corners of your lips. debris surrounds you. you can feel pieces of rock and concrete digging into your hands as you push yourself up onto your hands and knees.

your attempts are quickly ripped away when sukuna kicks your side once again. you land on your back this time, staring up at the ceiling through blurry vision. your head aches.

“pathetic human.” sukuna smirks over you. the heel of his boot digs into your chest, pushing your body down further into the rubble. your eyes flutter shut. if you’re going to die, you’re not going to give sukuna ryomen the satisfaction of being the last thing you see.

the force of sukuna’s weight forces a weak cough out of your lungs. he raises his foot once again before he pauses, humming to himself. “i wonder what the brat would think of this.”

time seems to still as your consciousness begins to slip. you can feel yourself growing weaker. your breaths are shallower. it’s harder to get air into your lungs. your racing heartbeat has also slowed. it no longer pounds loudly in your ears. instead, a dull ringing has replaced the noise.

nothing feels real. yuuji is yelling your name. he’s on his knees; his face hovers over you.

yuuji looks different. the black marks across his skin have disappeared, leaving only pale skin behind. hands that have the power to snap bones and destroy buildings are gentle as they cup your cheeks. he wipes away blood and dust and tears.

“yuuji,” you whisper. at least, you try to. and then-

the world goes black.

shibuya is empty.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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silkscream · 2 months

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CHAPTER 8: TERMINAL PARADISE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He likes to braid your hair while you braid Suguru’s. He thinks of bringing the bed from his room into yours, pushing the two twins together to fit the three of you. Looks at you both with puppy eyes.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high/drunk sex, dubcon, somnophilia, oral sex, threesome, the boys being........ evil?

ੈ✩ wc: 7.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: what's upppPP i'm a little tipsy rn but. here is chapter eight. title from the adrianne lenker song. anyways this chapter is very self-indulgent but as i read it back it makes me like. sad. i shan't elaborate. it's very stupid olympic sex i'll tell u that. belligerent fucking if u will

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

June, 2009

Heat sticks onto you like a leech. You’ve started to think you’ve become one, what with the dark side of your technique. You walked the halls feeling like a white deer that failed to blend into a thicket.

You latch onto your boys like a leech, too. Fighting for space in the same sky in between the sun and the moon. Suguru likes to tell you you’re the stars in small ways, always a gleam in your eye despite mostly feeling dim. There isn’t much time for moping anymore, Satoru tells you. It’s the summer, after all.

It’s quiet on Onjuku Beach. Well, quiet enough, save for the occasional splashing and the sound of Satoru’s cackles as he swims underwater and pulls Utahime’s ankle. You hold back laughter, watching her lash out like she usually does, Satoru running away like a little kid.

You take a bite of watermelon, the juice dripping out of the corner of your mouth. When you feel Suguru’s weight on the blanket next to you, you give him a slice. He wipes your mouth with the pad of his finger and tastes it on his tongue. He’d gotten accustomed to grooming you like that. Braiding your hair and sticking petals in it in the spring. Rubbing your shoulders with suntan lotion.

You glance at him afterward, when he’s not looking, grappling with the urge to bite him on the shoulder. You think that maybe Satoru would. You aren’t sure if you have the same privilege.

The afternoon drags on, barely changing the summer sky as the tide stays consistent between you and the moon. Shoko and Utahime had headed back an hour before, leaving Satoru’s head in your lap and Suguru seemingly napping underneath a Murakami novel.

You’d scrunched your nose up at the sight of it—Norwegian Wood. You’d teased Suguru about it, accusing him of being pretentious with a secret love for hollow female characters. He’d rolled his eyes, tipping back a beer, teasing you for bringing No Longer Human.

“Talk about dysfunctional and sad,” he sneered.

Satoru’s damp hair isn’t helping the shiver of your thighs, the sheen of your smooth skin now riddled with goosebumps. He’d teased you for taking the time to shave every part of your body before the mission, something you never did. Keeping up your appearance when you didn’t need to for him. Suguru likes a bush, too, you know.

You flushed when he said that, like your face was on fire.

Being day drunk is fun, you decide. Haziness suits the three of you.

You’re sweltering, to say the least, considering the late afternoon sun is setting in a place that hits you directly. Suguru stirs. You feel his warm breath on the side of your thigh as he rises, rubbing his eyes.

“You think I tanned unevenly?” he asks, squinting at you.

You shake your head, smiling. He smiles back, yawning just before he snaps the side of your bikini bottom without warning. You wince in surprise, blushing.

“Wanna wake up the prince?”

“But he looks so sweet when he’s asleep,” you sigh. “And so quiet.”

“Real fuckin’ quiet,” Suguru laughs. He pauses as he looks at Satoru, as if skimming his face for something. He flicks his nose with his finger, making Satoru flinch and whine.

“C’mon, Satoru. Up.”

He mumbles something in between a whimper and a slurred mutter, nuzzling his nose into your lap until you feel his hot breath fanning your cunt. He whines even more when you shift, attempting to get to your feet and put on your cover-up when he latches onto your wrists with his hands.

“We gotta go,” you coo softly.

He obliges with a pout. Satoru had rented a house with an ocean view for the three of you to stay in, much too luxurious for a mission that would only last a few days. But he had the expendable funds, and he refused to stay in a hostel like you had suggested.

He continues his petulant attitude, his stride like that of a child on vacation. It did feel like a vacation, if you had to be honest. The curses you’d exorcised the day before were hardly exhausting.

It’s only been three days in Onjuku, but you think that the boys are plotting against you.

It’d started the first day, Thursday, after a few exorcisms and one Special Grade made of tongues that they were able to kill in record time. Satoru had insisted on showing as much skin as possible, citing the heat. He was wearing your favorite shirt of his, unbuttoned to show off his alabaster skin, unblemished by anything at all, not even the hot sun.

He’d also insisted on dessert for breakfast, pointing out the novelty shops along the coast of the local town with the titillation of a real tourist, as if he hadn’t spent weekends there as a child. That’s how the three of you ended up eating popsicles for breakfast.

He was being annoyingly sly, pinching and prodding at you all morning like a little boy. He’d insisted on mimosas before noon, Suguru oddly going along with his antics at your expense. You’d had popsicles at the beach after. Satoru wouldn’t stop staring at you, blinking through the brain freeze as his mouth went to work on something strawberry-flavored. He was obscene with it, his tongue moving in languid movements, disgusting you but burning your skin at the same time.

His lips were stained bright red for the rest of the afternoon, but it looked so beguiling that it had you distracted for the rest of the day. You knew you could have him — he had never played hard to get — but something would gnaw at you telling you the opposite. Made him like forbidden fruit, deluding you.

For one, he was either missing your signals or feigning oblivion, a game that you willingly became a pawn to. He had always taken up too much space, but now he was tugging at your hair like you were twelve again despite your protests.

And then, when you were brave enough to sneak a hand on his thigh underneath the dinner table or cuddled a bit closer to him in bed, he did nothing.

Suguru was less obvious about teasing, which made you feel like you were crazy.

It started with small grocery runs. Suguru accompanied you after Satoru refused to go on the principle of having enough money to dine out for every meal. It felt domestic to pick vegetables with him. Both times, he’d thrown in a treat or a drink that he knew you would like without asking. He’d praise you after the day’s work in ways that set your guts on fire.

He had also, it seemed, picked up the same habit as Satoru of tugging your hair to get your attention. There had been fleeting touches to your waist, too, when he would simply be passing by you after you were done showering. Absent-mindedly, as light as an apparition. Shifting bodies as casually as two people passing in a crowded bar, yet it felt like a car crash to you.

He’d continue that for the second day. Even yesterday, when you had been using the outdoor shower to rinse off after the beach, Suguru had walked in with a drink to offer. Despite still being in your bathing suit, you had felt scandalized by his gaze alone.

Now, on Saturday evening, you’re alone with him in the beach house while Satoru attends a meeting in Shinjuku against his will.

Suguru lays on the couch lazily, his tongue jutting out to lick the side of a joint in between tea-flavored papers. You walk into the living room with a yawn, having just woken up from a short nap after reading on the porch. At twilight, the sky flushes pink and purple above the horizon.

You think about what to eat for dinner, thinking about the prospect of cooking with Suguru alone, which should come as a wholesome, harmless daydream, but truthfully makes your face warm. There are plenty of restaurants down the street, some that even delivered, you recall from a brochure left on the counter. You were intrigued by a seafood restaurant that Satoru had promised to take you to—

“Want a hit?” Suguru’s voice interrupts your ruminating.

“Oh,” you blink. “Um, sure.”

He chuckles as you join him on the couch as if he can read your mind. “It’s like Shoko’s cigarettes, I promise.”

“I know,” you frown, pouting. “I’ve smoked weed before.”

“Last time we passed a blunt around, you kept talking about how it’s against the law.”

“It is!” you mumble, shrugging.

“Yes,” Suguru grins. “And we’re sorcerers that wield magic and kill monsters.”

You roll your eyes, taking the joint from his fingers. He hands you a Zippo, the very one that you had gifted to Shoko months before. You’d have to remember to pocket it afterward to give back to her.

Suguru chuckles when you take a hit and inevitably cough. When he takes it back, he huffs and exhales a cloud towards your face, grinning with ivory teeth as his Adam’s apple rolls back. You can’t help but fixate your gaze on it.

He taps your knees in a rhythmic pattern with his fingers when you take the next hit. Already, your vision is vignetted with hazy white, but every movement between the two of you feels incredibly sharp, as if you’re wielding the Six Eyes in a dream. Your mouth feels dry, your lips bitten down by your teeth.

Suguru had been too lazy to change after the beach, barely in the mood to shower until the dampness of his swim trunks had gotten to him. He’d changed to another pair of shorts, the inseam short enough to allow exposure of his tanned thighs, and not bothering with a shirt because of the humidity. Even this close to him, he still smells like sea salt. His long hair was slightly textured, naturally tousled by the ocean.

You sink into the couch, sighing. You feel as though you're overheating. Despite this, Suguru is next to you, thigh to thigh, the spot in between you burning.

His lips feel chapped, his tongue dry from cotton mouth. He thinks about sticking it down your throat.

The radio that comes with the house is old as shit, something inexplicably adorable enough to be in a vintage shop but not practical enough to own considering it would buzz every few minutes. The signal is weak, crackling as Tatsuro Yamashita plays at a low volume.

Suguru throws his legs over your lap as he inhales, passing the joint to you but not releasing it. Instead, he merely holds it to your mouth himself, lighting it with Shoko’s Zippo.

Normally, you’d shake yourself after a session, splash your face with cold water before you would start imagining things. You were addicted to the feeling of his fingertips, the sensation exacerbated by your high. The last time you were like this, you’d pictured Suguru’s mouth on your cunt, the image bombarding your mind throughout the night. You numbed the urge with alcohol, still taking bong rips until you threw up in Shoko’s trash can.

You don’t think you’re hallucinating this time. His fox eyes point at you and descend down your face and jaw.

“No more,” he says.

“Why not?” you whine.

“Your eyes are glazing over,” Suguru chuckles. “So fucking gone.”

“I'm not,” you sigh, pushing his legs off of you and leaning into his shoulder.

He welcomes you with open arms, allowing you to lay your head on his chest. He smells like his sunscreen, coconut from his fragrance, salt from his body. His skin is incredibly warm too, but so is your entire body, particularly your chest. You can feel your heart beating. You can feel his palm on your thigh. Scorching.

So touchy with you. You wonder if he’s high on anything else. Maybe that was why he was so affectionate today.

Suguru stretches his legs across the couch, your body like a doll’s in between his thighs. He cracks open the can of beer beside him—when had he gotten up to get one?

It’s more humid at night. Or maybe it was the slick of his skin. Either way, you think your hair must be matted with sweat, a messy braid loosening at the back of your head. Strands spin in between Suguru’s fingers like loose threads of a sweater.

“You’re excited.”

“What?” you squeak out, surprised. His voice interrupts a miasma of inebriated thought loops, dripping desire bombarding the forefront of your mind.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he observes. “And you get real horny when you're high.”

"I don't—”

"Don't think Shoko and I don't notice Satoru stealing you away when we smoke," he laughs.

His fingers curl around your jaw, lowering to feel the quickening pulse of the right side of your neck. You’d surely smell like him by the time you shower tonight. Coconut and sea salt and beer.

You shake your head.

Suguru had been at a deficit with you for the past six months. He would dream about your cunt sometimes, the sight of you on New Year’s permanently etched into his brain. He and Satoru still looked at the same magazines they’d collected in adolescence, spilling ropes of white to the same pages that had always gotten him going, but you were still more prominent in his head.

He would think of your mouth parting from the sensation of his fingers pushing through the slick of your pussy. Your tongue exploring the underside of his neck.

Satoru has been overly possessive ever since the school year started. Suguru had started to believe that he would never have you again and that he should accept it. He didn't feel particularly entitled to you. The Six-eyed sorcerer had his claim on you since he was a child, anyway—Suguru would learn to get over it.

But now, here you are, in his lap. Your breath quickens at the feeling of his hand on your thigh. Suguru could bet that you were soaking through your panties, perhaps from the moment you found yourself alone with him.

Lately, Suguru wants you more than he wants Satoru.

He loved Satoru so much, more than he thought he was ever capable of since he’d met him at fifteen, but he constantly dreams of the softness of your skin instead. He liked that you were pliant, desperate. It’d be easy to coax a reaction out of you, letting him in the crux of your thighs with just the tiniest amount of teasing. Suguru knew that you would say yes to him as eagerly as you would to Satoru, your mouth already watering. It made him feel insane.

Your cheeks heat up when you feel his dick hardening beneath you. Prodding at the small of your back, the only thing separating you is a thin piece of nylon.

“Aw,” he purrs. “You have a freckle right here.”

“Do I?” you breathe, your eyes lowering down to where Suguru’s finger strokes the inside of your thigh, the tip of it caressing a dot of dark brown. So tiny that you hadn’t even noticed it yourself.

“S’cute,” he whispers. You shiver, then. His hot breath all over your neck is intoxicating. When his fingers skim your collarbone, he notices it’s hot to the touch, your pulse twitching the same as it does when he’d called you princess.

You swallow thickly, turning to face him in his lap. He says your name with a heaviness that has your heart sinking to your feet.

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t answer, merely turning your head to melt into him. High out of your mind.

He’s careful with you. His lips are soft despite being a bit chapped, his aftershave prominent in the air with notes of sandalwood. There’s intent to it, something you didn’t often feel with Satoru over the past few weeks.

Your hands cup his jaw almost immediately, while his own hands cup the flesh of your thighs. They slide up to squeeze your ass, which forces a mewl out of your mouth.

He didn’t think his cock could get any harder, wanting to burst from his shorts. It hurt.

“You’re so warm. You got a fever or something?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Your skin is burning. Wanna take this off?” he grins. A shark smile. His fingers skim the hem of your dress.

You do it without him begging. He doesn’t even have to convince you — you’re peeling it off, exhaling at the feeling of the thick air around you. Even with the slip of fabric off, you still feel so fucking warm against him.

You yelp when he grabs your breast, squeezing it along with his tongue on your nipple.

“Suguru—”

Your whine falls flat. You don't remember if you were meaning to scold him or to beg for more. He smiles with his forehead pressed to yours, his hands smoothing up and down the skin of your sides.

“Pretty,” he muses.

“Pretty,” you repeat. He’s beautiful underneath you.

A beat passes. You don't know who closes the distance first.

It’s a gnash of limbs, of lips, of teeth. Devouring each other. The weed made you so fucking wet, dripping into his lap through your panties. He doesn’t bother with them, pulling them to the side to fuck into you without a warning. You don’t even recall him taking out his dick.

The feeling of him makes you want to cry.

He groans at the bulge of your lower stomach, his cock carving out the gooey parts of you for him to nest in. The flush of your cheeks makes you look like a flower. Your cunt blooming for him, hot and tight.

You feel like you’re being split apart, like the skin of a mandarin orange unfurling beneath his hands.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he sighs, gaining control of his voice. Humming instead of growling, like he’s sinking into a warm bath.

You think it would burn if you weren’t so wet, his girth thicker than Satoru’s.

He holds you by the hips, thrusting into you at a slow pace, breaking you open. Making a mess of your insides.

“Does Satoru fuck you this good?” he grins.

You’re too breathless to reply. As if you even could, your face feverish at his taunting. You didn’t think you could survive a grip harder than Satoru’s, but despite Suguru’s gentle demeanor, his hands on you are brutish.

You kiss him, licking up the taste of beer and weed, slightly herbal from the papers. He moans into your mouth when you grip his hair. It’s soft in between your fingers. Like real silk.

Suguru had dreamt about this for months.

“You look so pretty,” he grunts, teeth bared. “Fuck. Thought about this for so long.”

You whine at his admission. His cock is impossibly deep inside you, coupled with the sensation of your limbs melting like boiled sugar. You roll your hips, cunt spasming around him already. Your nails make crescent-shaped marks on the meat of his broad shoulders, mirroring the same ones that he had made from gripping your waist.

Suguru’s hand holds the crux of your neck, tipping your face upward to look at him dead in the eye. Everything in your body is cloying heat, making it difficult to keep your eyes wide open, but he forces it from you with deeper thrusts. His fingers coax your mouth open for you to suck on, making you whimper, making you choke on his digits.

There’s a flash in Suguru’s eyes, the smallest gleam that you had recognized in Satoru. Something predatory.

“Knew you’d be a good girl,” he whispers in your ear. “You think about me like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

He pulls back, leaning back on the couch to let you have your rut, your pace eager like a starved puppy. Part of him wanted to mark you up just to piss Satoru off, though he knew the bastard would probably like it anyway.

“How do you think about me?”

“I—Suguru—”

“Tell me,” he teases, his smile serpentine. He pulls out to flip you over, your tits pressed against the arm of the couch. “Like this? Pulling your hair?”

"I think about your mouth. About your cock inside me," you say. Mindless. Under his spell.

The stretch from behind feels somehow deeper than before. He groans at the way your back arches, your hair in his fist. Your knees are already chafing from the leather beneath you, the back of your thighs burning from slapping against his skin.

“Close,” you choke out.

“Yeah,” he sighs, biting your shoulder. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You could pass out like this, you think. Your vision is already spotty, air stolen out of your lungs from the brevity of his movements. Your mouth hangs, wide open and slack as a pitchy moan rolls out.

Suguru follows soon after you — he can’t help it when you sound like that. He’s addicted. Desperate to live inside you like this, high in every earthly sense. He has half a mind to pull out before he spills, but he can’t pry himself from you.

Still dizzy, you lay on him while he cleans up the mess in between your thighs, his cum nearly leaking onto the couch. You’re surprised when he grabs the back of your neck to kiss you again. Neither of you keep track of how much time passes as you make out like teenagers. You feel almost faint in his arms.

“Fuck, you’re still high as shit, aren’t you?” Suguru says, squishing your face in between his hands. He slides his dick back into his shorts, light soiled from precum. If he hadn’t put them on again, he probably would’ve been too tempted for another round. Even with your hand palming him while you made out, you were clearly in another dimension.

Looking at him makes you feel raw. Like letting him fuck you was the same as volunteering your heart on a pulpit.

“Dinner.” It feels strange to use your voice. Swapping spit with Suguru wasn’t doing much for hydration.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Want to go to that restaurant?”

“Mm,” you whine, slinging an arm around his neck. “Let’s do takeout.”

Satoru manages to slip back late at night, long past the time you and Suguru had fallen asleep on the couch with the television on. He smirks at the sight, hovering over the two of you like the Grim Reaper. Suguru would surely snap at him if he was awake, but for now, the Six Eyes examine every contour of each of your bodies fit together like clasped palms.

The room smells like sex. Or maybe Satoru is projecting, his jaw only now relaxing after keeping his teeth so gritted during that stupid fucking meeting with the higher-ups. He kept thinking about you, distracted by the sight of you at the beach, your bare legs splayed out on the sand.

Suguru probably got to you first. Of course, he would. It makes Satoru bite his cheek, but it also makes the butterflies in his stomach feel like daggers.

He stills when he hears you hum, mumbling something unintelligible as you bury yourself in Suguru’s chest. It’s so soft, so innocent, yet Satoru has to excuse himself to your shared room so he can wrap his hand around his cock.

He thinks about your mouth when he’s close and decides not to finish. He’d rather feel you against him instead, skin to skin.

The sound of you mewling in your sleep is adorable to him — you do so in his arms as he lifts you bridal style, prying your body from Suguru’s grasp. When he puts you down in the bed, you look angelic.

Satoru rubs your thigh, prying your legs apart gently so he can suck kisses into the skin. You twitch, your breath heavy. Indulging in your dreams while Satoru indulges in his.

You squirm, stirring when you feel his tongue in your cunt. You’re already so wet for him, pliable and ripe for him even in your sleep. He tastes salt, the aftermath of his best friend’s release, and he laughs.

“Satoru,” you mumble, your voice still in a dream-like haze.

“I’m right here, baby,” he murmurs, licking a stripe from your clit to your belly button. “Missed me?”

“Mm.”

The air is thick with tension as he rises to slot his body behind yours. Satoru pumps his cock once before he slides into you without much warning. Despite being wet, your cunt burns.

“Sator—” He covers your mouth.

“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Thought Sugu would’ve loosened you up, huh?”

“Hurts,” you whimper.

“Take it,” he sighs. “Take it for me.”

His teeth on your shoulder make you dizzy. You still feel like you’re dreaming, but the stretch he has in between your walls makes it all too real. Satoru knows he doesn’t deserve you like this, but he’d decided the moment he stepped into the house that he would be selfish tonight.

He fucks you like he’s starved.

Even in the wine-dark night, he senses his best friend all over you with his Six Eyes. You’re covered in him.

You pant into his palm until he descends his hand to your throat, pulling you taut against him so that your back arches. He doesn’t bother with making you cum, mostly circling your clit to get you wetter. Inside you, he feels boneless, washed away of his irritation.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Oh, fuck. ‘m sorry, baby.”

“Too much,” you whine.

He shoves his fingers into your mouth the same way Suguru had done hours before.

With a mean cant of the hips, you can feel his body slacken after warmth fills up your cunt. Your voice is high and needy on the comedown. You taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your lip too hard, chapped from all the kissing of today.

“Love you,” he mumbles, his mouth on the nape of your neck.

He falls asleep soon after, leaving you with your thoughts, still half-drunk on him, barely lucid. It makes you sick, the way you want him, the way you let him use you. But you liked it. You liked his violence and possessiveness as if his actions were love letters.

Satoru had you weaned on something so saccharine that you stopped caring about the possibility of it spoiling. You welcomed the rot anyway. You had your own to wield with your bare hands.

August, 2009

You dream about them sometimes. You were shocked that the boys didn’t have any more games to play with you during that weekend, the two of them collectively ignoring the smell of sex in the air and the casual touches. They still touched you in their own ways. Reminding you of yourself. Your role as a toy.

Sometimes, you dream about them together with you as the voyeur. You’d see their broad backs, sweat pooling into a navel. Tongue-kissing. They were both too large to fit on the dorm bed together, you’d imagine.

Satoru gets clingier. If that was even possible. He sleeps in your room instead of his more often now, leaving his clothes tucked messily in your bottom drawer. It’s almost domestic, the way he starts sweeping the floor like it’s a shared house, the way his toothbrush kisses yours in the chipped mug on the bathroom sink.

Even when he's not physically in your room, his presence always lingers. The amount of belongings left behind that are Satoru's continues to increase. Video games he forces you to play with him. Manga piled up on the corner of your desk.

It’s during this time that you realize how touch-starved Satoru must’ve been as a child. He had clung to you then, too—always playing too rough, always finding a part of you to hold whether it had been your hand or your braids to pull. From an early age, he’d always needed that relief. Something to sink his teeth in fully.

He’s more than willing to wear his heart on his sleeve for you, which you find endlessly amusing. It makes him dopey, almost stupid in his affection for you. You’d consider yourself a girlfriend if either of you would say it out loud. Neither of you do.

Suguru likes to sneak up on you in small ways that evade Satoru’s watchful eyes. Like the times he sleeps in your dorm when Satoru is busy on a mission. Suguru will indulge your interest in movies that are more cerebral—psychological thrillers and slow cinema. Satoru doesn’t have the patience for it, always opting for a slasher horror or an action film. Suguru likes to be quiet with you in these instances. Likes to stroke your hair when you rest your head in his lap. Likes to fall asleep in your tiny bed, his larger body engulfing yours.

You’re being shared between them, though you aren’t sure of the conditions. You don’t have the guts to ask. You don’t even notice a significant change. Being attuned to the boys in physical and emotional ways is almost second nature to you, now.

Between July and August, the three of you are a set.

A crowded bed. Weed-induced makeouts. Someone’s hand snapping the waistband of your shorts and slinking downwards. Sometimes, you can’t distinguish their touches. You don’t care to.

August is golden light waking you from sweet slumber. August is liquid gold in the sky reflecting on smooth skin. Bare knees hanging from rooftops.

The summer loosens you up, much to Satoru’s delight. Enough to convince you to be more social, at least.

One night, your dorm is crowded—Shoko supplies the weed and Utahime supplies the alcohol.

Strip poker again. A unanimous decision because the school had poor ventilation and there were too many of you for your single box fan to air out the room. Shoko calls the game off knowingly—Satoru’s making his eyes at you again, drunk and high off his ass while you’re occupied with conversation. Any more clothing items stripped off and the rest of them would be kicked out of the room.

You all settle on a movie drinking game, then. Something stupid, something American that Yuki picks out. You think it’s funny that she hangs out given her anarchist values on sorcery.

Satoru is, of course, annoyingly clingy and annoyingly cute. Hogging up all your attention the second you lean into Suguru in the slightest bit. You almost want to scold him, maybe spray him with a bottle like he’s a cat.

He doesn’t bother to put his clothes back on—not all of them, at least. He leaves his shorts on, though you think they must be a size too small given the inseam. You’re still clad in shorts and a crop top, giving Satoru any excuse to touch any expanse of skin between your hips and ribcage despite the number of times you complain about being too warm.

The girls get too drunk too fast. Yuki falls asleep in Suguru’s lap while Shoko and Utahime end up making out without caring about who’s looking.

The minute the three of them are out your door, Satoru’s lips are on yours. Teeth adamant on biting into the flesh of your bottom lip like a predator. He tastes like strawberries this time. You can barely keep up before you register that Suguru is behind you, laughing, cursed energy flickering.

Despite everyone’s departure, the room feels smaller.

Satoru has never been so eager to show off like this, believe it or not. He usually waits until the two of you are alone, though your reaction time is always too slow and the flippant speed that he takes you the millisecond you get privacy together is always too fast.

Maybe sometimes, Suguru would be asleep nearby while Satoru would tease you to sleep, but he’d never be a part of it. Certainly not in the same room.

So it has you deeply flustered now, just like it had been those many months ago in the late hours of New Year’s Day. Rushed and torrid. Two pairs of snake eyes on you. Getting torn apart by two sets of hands.

It seems that your suspicions on that beach weekend were correct.

Satoru’s been bringing up Suguru when he fucks you lately, asking you if you think his other half is more attractive. If you’re thinking about Suguru while he’s inside of you.

Of course, you don’t answer—you never do. But Suguru seems to be in on it, given the amount of times he bumps into you, the way he’s started to call you Twigs. He seems to be everywhere, all the time, the exact second Satoru isn’t around. Like a scab that won’t heal.

He buys you lunch often, likes to treat you after studying the more practical parts of Jujutsu. Plays with your hair absentmindedly just like Satoru does.

He’s doing it now, making your scalp tingle as he presses his mouth gently at the nape of your neck—a stark contrast to Satoru’s tongue in your mouth.

“You gonna let Suguru watch, baby?” Satoru mumbles against your jaw, his breath hot. “Or d’you want him to join?”

You nod dumbly, barely aware of yourself. It’s how Suguru manages to get your shorts off so swiftly. His hands caress your shoulder blades with palms outstretched underneath your shirt. Your own pair of wings.

It’s too easy—like picking apart petals off a rose. Rough as the boys are, they don’t need to be. You’d fold over for them without much convincing. You can tell how much they love that about you, how Satoru probably whispers about it to Suguru in between classes when you aren’t watching.

So sensitive every time I touch her. Like it’s her first time all over again.

“Suguru,” you whine. “Kiss me.”

He laughs and looks at you like a shiny new toy. Precious. Suguru is somehow more boyish when he’s high, his cat-like smile as lazy as his slurred movements. He’s always graceful despite the posture problem he shares with Satoru. When he smokes, there’s a lightness within him. Rolls off the shoulders like water falling.

He’s perfect.

Satoru preps your cunt with his mouth. You cry out immediately, feeling the vibration of him beneath you. It was good that they cut you off from the joint considering how many beers you and Utahime were passing back and forth. You’re light enough now to feel every lick and suck so acutely, Satoru’s mouth making a mess of you.

Suguru works on your neck, then takes your nipple in his mouth. You swallow a moan. Kitten licks from both of them and you’re already convulsing.

“Think you broke a record, princess,” Suguru grins.

“Best girl,” Satoru sighs, biting into the meat of your thigh.

“C’mere. Let me taste her.”

You expect Satoru to huff in protest or move out of the way, but he doesn’t. He leans over your body and presses his mouth to Suguru’s, licking into it obscenely with a small groan. Your eyes widen with fascination, cheeks blooming.

“How is she?” Satoru smirks.

“Perfect. Just like always.”

You whimper in response. They both smile at you; God and the devil. You swear their faces blur into each other.

“That turn you on, baby?”

“She’s so cute,” Suguru muses. “All fucked out already.”

Something divine awakens in your blood. You want to indulge in them, be their pet. It’s like your brain is melting into a pool of desire, dripping out of you. You blink slowly, feeling a pressure in your stomach that bleeds of desperation.

“Want you both,” you pant. Your lashes flutter when Suguru feels the slippery plushness of your walls with his fingers. “Fuck, want it so bad. Need it.”

“So fucking wet, holy shit,” he groans. “All this for me?”

“You?” Satoru frowns. “I’m the one who made her cum.”

“And I’ll make her cum on my cock.”

“Dude—”

“You need to learn how to share, Satoru,” Suguru chuckles. His fingers are incessantly scissoring into you, yet the two of them bicker as if you aren’t there. “You owe me for getting us in trouble last week.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault that we both forgot to put up a veil—”

“Shut him up, will you, sweetheart?” Suguru interjects. “Shit, he’s hard as a rock.”

You whine when Suguru removes his fingers, but he’s quick to fuck into you. It’s whiplash, the stretch of him. Satoru rolls his eyes and leans in to cup your face with his hand, kissing you while his other hand pumps up and down his cock.

“Oh,” you gasp.”S-Suguru…”

“Does it hurt, pretty?”

“N-no. Feels too good.”

“Feels better than Satoru? Yeah?” he sneers.

Satoru glares at him, exhaling a groan in between annoyance and desperation as he palms himself.

“You know, I was gonna fuck her face but now I think that’s your job.”

“I’ll fuck you after, relax,” Suguru chides. “I wanna kiss her.”

He leans down. His messy bun has fallen out of its scrunchie — it’s one of yours. Even when he has his usual hairstyle, he keeps it around his wrist sometimes. Now, his hair tickles your face as he kisses you, hand to your throat to hold you in place while your hips quiver at the sheer girth of him.

“Satoru, c’mere,” you whimper.

He kisses you deeply before kneeling in front of you, his cock hovering over your face. You take him in your mouth, the flushed skin of his dick tight and throbbing underneath your tongue. You like the way he groans and pulls your hair, mirroring the way you were just pulling on Suguru’s hair when his face was buried in your neck.

“Holy fuck,” Satoru moans. His thighs twitch. Suguru’s right – you look fucked out, eyes rolling backward. Must be the drugs. Then again, Suguru’s hitting every sensitive spot inside of you at a relentless pace.

“Such a good mouth, Twigs.”

If you weren’t getting fucked, you would’ve cringed at that. You hate when Satoru calls you that in bed.

“Good cunt, too,” Suguru rasps. “Perfect cunt. Fuck, do you feel that, baby? Feel me up to your stomach?”

You moan around Satoru’s cock.

Satoru’s eyes are blown wide, a drop of blue expanding against the stark white of his sclera. He used to dream about this. His two favorite people in the world. It had occurred to him just then how much he wanted you both in the back of his mind. Wanted to consume you both in one bite.

He pulls out of your mouth, stroking his cock slowly as he watches.

You whine something unintelligible. Begging, mumbling. “Faster.”

“Any faster and I’ll cum, baby,” Suguru groans.

“Don’t cum inside her,” Satoru warns. “I’m still pissed at you for the last time.”

Suguru merely laughs. “Come over here and open your mouth then, pretty boy.”

His thrusts are getting sloppier but rougher. The impact of him is dizzying, the hand he has wrapped around your throat making you lightheaded. You can only stare with a parted mouth, fascinated by the succulent pink of his lips as he focuses on making you cum. You’re too out of breath to even tell him when it happens.

It turns you inside out. Liquefying your body like treacle.

“You’re so cute when you cum, baby,” Satoru coos, squeezing your breast.

“Fuck, fuck, Satoru, c’mere,” Suguru slurs. He pulls out of you then, pumping himself over Satoru’s tongue until his cum spills onto it. He swallows and scrunches his nose.

“Battery acid.”

Suguru laughs, then looks back at you. “You’ll have to weigh in on who tastes better, princess.”

“My turn,” Satoru grins, his eyes a bit feral.

You yelp when he manhandles you and gets you into his lap. He starts marking you up. Bites you a little too hard as if he’s trying to wake you up. When he thrusts into your cunt, you gasp, feeling him all the way into your guts. You spasm around him, still sensitive from Suguru.

He holds your hips and fucks into you at a steady pace while Suguru comes to caress your back, licking over your shoulder blades.

“Satoru, you’re going to make her look like a domestic violence victim with the marks you’re making.”

“She likes it,” Satoru pouts.

“Fuck, ‘m hard again,” Suguru groans. “Lay her down.”

“No, I want her like this.”

“Too fucking bad, I want you like this.” Suguru pulls at you until your back hits the mattress and Satoru rolls his eyes, gripping your hips with bruising force as he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

Suguru bites Satoru’s neck, peppering it with kisses. Watching them in front of you is tantalizing, makes you clench around Satoru harder.

“Shit, you like that, baby? You like looking at us?” Satoru moans.

“Y-yes.”

Suguru spits in his hand as he preps Satoru from behind. It’s minimal, given how impatient he is. He reaches over to your bedside table, fumbling with a bottle of lube. It doesn’t take long until his cock fills Satoru to the brim.

“Jesus.”

“Shut up and take it.”

Satoru feels too hot, too full. The feeling of Suguru’s cock in his ass inadvertently makes him bury himself even deeper into you, and he’s already on the brink. Suguru reaches over Satoru’s body to press a thumb to your aching clit until you cum with a strangled cry.

The boys try to time their stuttering hips at a similar rhythm, but Satoru feels like he’s losing his mind. Caught up in between both of you, melting, barely lucid. Eyes squeezed shut with his mouth falling open.

“Tell me you love me.”

You blink at him, wondering who he’s asking. The flush in his cheeks makes him look exhausted, spent. Drunk over the bacchanalian mess of it all.

“Love you, Satoru,” you whimper anyway. “I love you.”

He moans at that. Gasps when he feels the stretch of his hole split open on Suguru’s cock.

You watch with tears in your eyes, overstimulated from your orgasm. Over Satoru’s shoulder, Suguru locks eyes with you and smirks, not letting up eye contact nor the stimulation of your clit with his fingers. He doesn’t care that you’re convulsing underneath them, doesn’t care that hot tears are streaming down your face. He always thought you looked beautiful when you cried. It’s sick of him, maybe, but he wants to be the one to make you do it, even when it’s not his cock inside of you.

“Shit— Sugu—”

Satoru hits his peak, filling you with his cum when Suguru hits the perfect spot inside him. He’s whimpering. His eyes are glassy.

“Fucking shit, you’re tight,” Suguru mutters. “Gonna cum.”

“Not inside,” Satoru whines.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Suguru chuckles.

Of course, Suguru disobeys, cumming inside Satoru with a guttural groan. Once he pulls out, Satoru collapses on top of your body, face buried in your hair.

You whine. You’re overheated, smothered. Your body feels as though it’s been rearranged multiple times like malleable clay in each of their hands. It’s a miracle that Satoru pulls his dick out of you at all.

“The hell was that?” he asks Suguru, out of breath. Suguru simply smiles, ignoring him.

“Let’s run her a bath. Poor baby looks like she’s gonna pass out.”

He’s right, admittedly. You aren’t even sure if you could get up if you wanted to, which is why Satoru scoops you in his arms.

“We can’t all fit in the tub,” you mumble.

Satoru laughs. “Yes, we can. But fine, we’ll just shower after you.”

The two of them handle you like glass. The swapping of washcloths and soap bottles makes the ordeal ritualistic. Suguru runs his fingers through your wet hair while Satoru lifts one of your legs to scrub.

“Little princess,” Suguru says.

“You guys treat me like a pet.”

The two of them exchange a glance. Unreadable. But there’s something of a knowing smile in Satoru’s expression.

“You’re just precious s’all. Perfect girl.”

You sigh, sinking into the water. Something turns over in your stomach, but you’re soothed by the sound of Suguru lightly humming behind you. They’re gentle with you. It’s ironic.’

Suguru kneads your spine and presses kisses to your wet skin. The smell of sex dissipates and the scent of Suguru’s shampoo wafts under your nose instead—he’d left it in your bathroom one weekend when Satoru was out on a mission. You have a suspicion he did it on purpose to get a rise out of Satoru or to make you smell like him. You didn’t mind either way.

Every touch feels blistering as much as it feels soothing, somehow. White-hot, too noticeable, yet the feeling of their hands lets you exhale. Maybe it was the sex. You couldn’t even really look Satoru in the eye, not really. Something in the face was constantly changing, as if he was slowly transforming whenever you were joined together in ways that were beyond you.

He’d gotten rougher. Meaner in the hips, even if his kisses were meant to cherish. He’d get too eager. He always was, to be fair, but it’s been ferocious from him. Bruising your hips with the force of his hands, handprints adorning your ass. It would be Suguru to pick up the pieces, to soothe you with sweet nothings despite his cock splitting you open. It was only a few times since the beach trip, but it was as if they planned it together.

You realize this now in your post-sex haze. Steam in the air as heavy as your lids. They wanted to take care of you so badly. They just had to ruin you a little beforehand.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

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seoafin · 2 months

Text

everything eats and is eaten

pairing: fushiguro toji x fem!reader warnings/tags: smut, extremely loose prior teacher x student relationship except toji was a bad teacher and nobody respected him that much, background stsg x reader (i guess), cucking (i guess) word count: ~5.7k title from ingydar by adrianne lenker

this is a fic that was commissioned by @stainedglassvariations if you enjoyed the fic please please please take a second to thank them for their generosity and kindness!

You’ll regret this, Toji thinks. Maybe tomorrow, or the next week. Maybe in the far future.

Or maybe you won’t. He never really knows with you.

It’s not like he knows you, really. Not like Ieiri, not like Gojo or Geto. He knows that you faced him with a blade and lost. He knows that you have lived a distinctly miserable life (he is intimately acquainted with misery). He knows that prying teeth is an easier job than getting you to talk about yourself (it is, admittedly, amusing, to see Gojo’s clenched jaw and Geto’s locked, displeased smile when you, once again, tell them that you don’t mind whatever movie they want to watch, as long as they want to, when you shoot down a question about your childhood that you’ve already marked as negligible) (he is half convinced, that everything the three closest to you know about you came from a particularly nosy foray into your personal file, stolen from Yaga’s office when Gojo’s intentions straddled the line between nosy and curiosity).

It’s better like this. He doesn’t need to know you for this.

Your chest heaves, perspiration gathering in places he shouldn’t observe too closely (the junction where your neck meets shoulder, your temple, your thighs). Your expression is somewhat placid as you stare blankly at the ceiling. Who knows what you’re thinking at this moment, as you come down from the shock of your very first orgasm.

A lesser man would be offended. You had been mostly quiet while he had licked and sucked until you came with a keening, choked noise that had his cock swelling in his pants. He had seen teeth digging into your bottom lip as you struggled not to let anything more escape, the inky depths of your eyes before you closed them.

He meets your gaze from where he rests, in between your legs, and lets his tongue run over his lips, wet from your slick. He has half a mind to spend the rest of the night eating you out, to let him show you just how much he can do with his tongue.

You blink, lips pressing together, as you look at him discerningly, as if you’re not sure what to do next. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, and he’s once more reminded of the hardness pressing against the confines of his pants. Shit, it’s been a while hasn’t it?

Toji clears his throat to speak, before you can do something ridiculous like thank him for the orgasm.

“What are you into?”

You stare at him.

He figures now is as good a time as any to ask. It’s a conversation that probably should have come sooner, but you shrugged off your clothes before he could even say a word, and when his gaze had dropped to the mess of scar tissue at your side, you had stared at him blankly.

Then you put your hand on his clothed thigh in an invitation.

He’s never been that good of a man.

“What gets you all hot and bothered? Gets your rocks off?” His voice is husky. Have you ever touched yourself? He wants to ask. A finger idly runs down your inner thigh. You don’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never thought about it,” you say slowly, composure returning.

He quirks an eyebrow. He’s heard what the visiting Kyoto girls have to say about Gojo or Geto, or both. But you’re being truthful. He can feel the steady thrum of your pulse, the honesty telling.

He’s sure there are devout Christian nuns less repressed than you.

“Everyone has something,” Toji replies easily, eyes never leaving yours. He’s long learned one truth of the world: there are some kinky motherfuckers out there. “Handcuffs, bondage—” he grins, the curve of it a little too sharp, “—teacher-student roleplay?”

You refuse to give into his goading, despite the slight curl of your lips. A grimace. “You’ll make me sick,” you reply tonelessly, slightly rising on your elbows. “Take off your shirt already.” You pause. “Please.”

Toji snorts. It’s not a nice sound.

In a single, fluid movement, his shirt is off. Your gaze goes from his chest, his torso, the tent of his jeans. It settles on his chest.

Appreciation, he thinks. This is new.

“I’m not blind,” you say plainly, lips verging on a frown, as if you can read his disbelief. “You’re very attractive.”

He raises an eyebrow, stifling a chortle. “You know how to get a man going, alright.”

And then he lowers himself down, and kisses you.

You’re not used to it, he gathers, but you try anyway. You meet his lips the best you can, let his tongue run over yours, and try not to be overwhelmed despite the fact that this is most likely the most human contact you’ve ever had in your life.

(He’s read your file too.)

Your legs tighten around his waist, the breaths leaving your mouth are a bit more heavier. He’s rewarded when a hand sneaks down to your wet hole and slowly presses a finger into you, and fuck you’re tight, clamping down on his finger like you want him to stay. He’s careful not to imagine too long how tight you’ll feel around his cock when he’s fucking you into your mattress.

Your breath catches as your lips tear apart, teeth making a reappearance in your bottom lip. His thumb circles the swollen nub between your legs, as he adds a second. You moan, body growing pliant, and Toji thinks, right now, as you look up at him, eyes wide eyed and misty, lips swollen, you’d do anything for him.

Instead, he unclips your bra.

It doesn’t take long. You’re almost embarrassingly easy. You come as soon as he finds your lips once more, and sucks on your tongue in a manner reminiscent of how he had you coming all over his mouth. Combined with the curl of his fingers stretching out your walls, and you’re done for, shuddering with a small whimper. Toji likes his women loud, likes his fucking crude and messy, likes it when he can feel the indent of nails pressing into flesh, raking down his biceps, shoulders, chest.

Toji likes—

Your eyes go unclear. For a second you look out of it, until the cognizance returns.

He doesn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t be interested in the usual false platitudes. He settles on: “You’ve got nice tits.”

You stare at him through heavy lidded eyes once more. It’s almost unsettling, the lack of emotion on your face, despite the rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s too old to care, too unbothered to give you anything but a grin in return.

He’s never been with a woman who looks at him the way you do. He doesn’t know what those two loverboys see in you. You’re not exactly what every teenage boy dreams of but he doubts it matters. He’s seen the way they look at you, no matter how odd in the head you seem. No matter how much he tries to forget. Once, he had looked at someone else that same exact way.

You’ve got nice tits and an even nicer, tight pussy. Right. You’re a virgin. He hasn’t taken a virgin since he was fully moonlighting as a gigolo, and even then he preferred not to. Clingy, prone to tears and romanticization. They always wanted him to stay the night, and when he obliged (for the free bed more than anything), it became a day, and then a week. And then it was the constant pleas for updates, the jealousy, as if he cared for anything but the yen they had to spend on him.

Rich widows. That’s where the real fun was.

Your cunt pulses around his fingers in the wake of your second orgasm. His dick is rock hard, too insistent in his pants to focus on anything else. He’s going to have you past tears by the time the night is over. You have no idea what you’ve given him permission to do to you.

Toji brings his fingers to his mouth, licks your wetness from his fingers. He’s not expecting you to ask him to eat your sweet little pussy out again, so he’ll force the words out of you. Make you say ‘please’ real sweetly.

An arm is thrown over your eyes. You’re not sleeping. More like recovering.

“Done for already?”

You look at him blearily. “There’s more?”

“I didn’t do all that prep just to not fuck you,” he replies dryly, easily freeing his cock from his pants. You go still, eyeing his dripping cock with trepidation. “Help a guy out.”

“Right,” you breathe out, like you’re doing him a favor. “Okay.”

In Toji’s opinion you’re already taking the appearance of his dick better than some other girls he’s had. He knows he’s big. Probably not a virgin’s first choice. Not a virgin like you, who’d be more than fine with some fingers, a toy if you’re feeling brave. A good time for the more experienced girls he’s taken, but you look a minute away from the guillotine. He swipes a condom from the nightstand, rips it open, and rolls it down his cock in one smooth movement. You watch him, almost curiously.

“First time seeing a condom?” He can’t resist the urge to poke the hornet’s nest. He’s always been somewhat of an instigator. Just like you.

You shrug. You’d probably never see one, if it were up to those two. Safe sex is never the first thing on a hormonal teenage boy’s mind. Especially when they’ve been blueballed to hell and back. “Pregnancy’s a bitch.”

You give him a look that clearly says: So is fatherhood, apparently.

He almost winces.

“I’m on birth control,” you reply. “You’re clean. Either way, I don’t really care.”

Of course you’re prepared. Gojo and Geto would have a field day with you. He nudges your thighs open, letting the long hard length of him slap against your stomach right above the thatch of hairs at the junction of your thighs. He likes an unwaxed woman.

You stare at it leerily. His dick twitches at the attention, precum spreading everywhere. He’s always liked his women a little mean. “It won’t fit.”

He laughs at that, deep and just as mean. “It’ll fit.”

His thumb roughly catches on your swollen clit, and he’s rewarded with a hitch of your breath, a reflexive roll of your hips at the pressure. The first sign of anxiety crosses your face, teeth biting at your lower lip.

He could reassure you with practiced words, but you wouldn’t appreciate any of it. He wonders what the Gojo brat would do. What words that ever-smiling Geto would reassuringly murmur in your ear if he was the one about to fuck you. They’d hold your hands at the very least. Those two prodigies, gifted at everything, given all they could ever want. Two boys, born to be at the pinnacle, in love with a girl about to be ruined by Zenin trash.

He likes the thought more than he should. Trash like him touching a girl he has no business descrating. Ruining her in ways they can only dream of. You’ll keep this part of him with you forever, despite your feelings towards him. Despite what’ll happen if they find out.

Let them, he thinks. The boy-god can do many things, but this, this is permanent.

Things would be different. If he were a man that loved you.

But that’s something neither he nor you wants. If anything, it’s the one thing he can respect.

Toji lines himself up at your entrance, and without further fanfare, begins to stretch you open.

He almost winces at how tight you are. A virgin through and through. Your eyes are wide, almost comically frozen. Your teeth tears into your lip, drawing blood.

You make a noise in your throat. It sounds like a whimper. It’s muted, like you don’t want to make too much noise. He’ll have to rectify that. He likes noise. But right now your cunt is struggling to fit him, caught between pushing him out and squeezing him in, and all he can think about is how it’s been forever since a pussy felt this good.

“Shit,” he mutters. You’re warm, wet, and tight. He almost wishes he were bare just to feel you even closer. Almost. He could ruin you. Mess you up so well you wouldn’t be able to do anything but take him. It makes him think he hasn’t changed one bit. He’s always liked ruining things. “Gotta go easy on me sweetheart,” you slightly relax as he plays with the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs, “we’ve got all night.”

You make a choked noise, tears springing at your eyes. Fingernails dig into his forearms, and a rush of heat envelopes him. He keeps a steady hand on your scarred side. You don’t notice.

He’s already marked you once. What’s a second time?

A full body shudder wracks you when he fully sheathes himself inside of you. Your eyes are unfocused, glossy, already a little empty headed, and he hasn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“You…”

“All me,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”

A slight frown. “It feels…weird. I feel…” you slightly raise your hips as if to gauge him inside of you, walls pressing tight. The pressure makes his cock ache. A lesser man would’ve blown his load already. He’s got the patience of a saint to be this still while he’s inside your pussy. Your eyebrows furrow. “Full. This is supposed to feel good?”

“That’s the idea,” he replies, looking down at you, the way your chest heaves up and down, swaying. You do have nice tits, for what it matters. Gojo and Geto really are missing out.

Your arms come to close around your chest, blocking his nice view.

So you do get embarrassed. It’s almost cute.

“You can move,” you say pointedly, despite your voice being a whisper. “I’m okay.”

“Wasn’t waiting,” he lies. Well, your funeral.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, moving his hips in a way that has you becoming increasingly flustered. You make a protesting noise, but he’s watching the way his cock sinks into you as he tests you with a shallow roll of his hips.

He’ll have you bouncing on his cock next. Or squirming on his face. So many possibilities.

He begins to thrust in earnest. You cry out as he fucks you, one hand encircling your thigh, the other on your hip, bringing you down on him. The room swells with heat, and every single thrust is accompanied by the sound of his balls slapping into your cunt. You can’t help the noises now. You grow louder and louder with the growing mess forming on the sheets underneath you.

Your hips are struggling to match his thrusts, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of every movement. He’s never known anybody so bad at taking cock. It’d almost be funny if his balls weren’t about to burst. He decides he’ll turn you over on your knees, mount you like a mutt next, as soon as you finish.

“I—” your bottom lip trembles, and Toji wants to bite it. Hard. You almost look like you’re in pain.“It’s—”

You don’t need to say a thing, Toji can feel you squeezing around him. He lifts your leg up, higher, hikes them up on his shoulders. A hand encircles your left ankle, brushing his lips over skin, right before his teeth sink into the fleshy part. You yelp.

“‘Atta girl,” he murmurs as you squirm underneath him, single minded rhythm keeping you pinned underneath him. “Gonna cum on my cock sweetheart?”

Without really thinking about it, he leans down and kisses you. He feels the weak push of your tongue against his. Toji licks the blood from your mouth, and swallows.

You’re gushing around his dick, crying out for anybody and nobody, as your body arches high with the force of it all, the violence of it. A milestone, he thinks. You barely have time to come down from the high before he’s flipping you.

On your knees, a choked squeal tears from your throat as he continues. Hands on your waist, there’s that heat in his abdomen, that tightness. He feels electric. You’re crying now, he can hear you, unsteady breathing peppered with short strangled sobs. Toji should know better. You’re a virgin. You’ve never taken cock before. You used to be his student despite the fact that it didn’t really mean anything. You knew what you were getting into. If anything, he’s going easy on you. This is nothing compared to what Gojo and Geto will do to you when they find out Toji’s cock was anywhere near your cunt.

They’ll tie you up, have their way with you while ingraining the dangers of fucking dangerous men that aren’t them into your body. No condom. Geto looks like he’d be into that kind of freaky shit and more behind that smile of his. Toji almost feels bad for you.

Might as well build up your stamina while you can. He’s practically doing you a favor.

He slightly lifts your hips, pushing into you at an angle that his cock pressing into you, in a spot that makes your toes curl.

“Oh,” you whimper into the pillow. “Again?”

A grin cracks his face despite himself. You always were a funny one. He wishes he could see your face.

Hips pistoning into you at a rhythm far too fast for you to keep up with, it’s not long until you’re trembling again, walls growing tight around him. But all he can think of is how warm and wet your pussy is, how long it’s been since he’s come in something other than his hand. A thought nudges at his head, about how you’re not some fuckin’ fleshlight to be used for his pleasure, he’s supposed to be making you feel good, but he’s too lost, reaching for his release with a vengeance that’ll have you sore for weeks.

Your arms are barely holding on. Toji takes your wrists behind your back, and you nearly fall face first into the bed with nothing but a hiccup. He doesn’t stop. Instead he drives into you at a punishing pace, using your arms to bring you back into him like a ragdoll. Your face barely hovers above the sheets.

“Look at you,” he whistles through his teeth, focused on the small of your back, the sheen of sweat covering your body, “milkin’ my cock like a champ.” Your thighs are wet, slick dropping onto the sheets with every thrust, and he can almost see the frothy white of the rings around his dick had he not been practicing safe sex.

He almost feels at home with the sound and scent of sex in the air. You cum again, and cry out, in alarm or panic, as your body tenses.

“Toji,” you say weakly. It almost sounds like you’re pleading. “Toji.”

It tips him over the edge. After a few more thrusts, he buries himself deep inside you, and his cock twitches with his release. White hot pleasure behind the darkness of his vision. He exhales roughly, shifting his hips to nudge himself deeper inside of your walls. If he had came inside, you would be dripping white. A shame. A good creampie always hits the spot.

He drops your wrists, and you topple on top of the bed, face first, uncaring of the way the pillow smothers you.

Ah, shit.

He’d think you were dead if you weren’t still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasms. It’s not a bad sight. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, thighs trembling, and a part of him can’t help but think the sight would look better painted white.

“You alright?” He asks gruffly, reluctantly turning you over. You look disheveled, bruises marking your neck, chest, thighs. Ring of teeth marks around your ankle. Your bruised hips darken with every passing second, turning that scar that runs up your side a dark ugly color.

Now that you’ve been fucked to oblivion, trying to wrangle your thoughts back into something coherent, he can properly observe the mark he left on you years ago without your side eye. You had shrugged at it before, but Toji knows the significance of scars. There’s little that separates a scar from a brand.

Unconsciously, he rubs at the cut at his lips. It burns.

Trash, trash, trash a voice cloaked in venom spits out.

“I’m fine,” your voice is hoarse as you limply observe the ceiling. “I’m fine.” Your gaze slides to him. You tilt your head at him, but your eyes are curious. You know something’s wrong. “Toji?”

First name basis now, he supposes. No more Fushiguro-sensei this, Fushiguro-sensei that. He’ll probably miss it when he’s fisting his cock a week later.

He looks away, picking himself up to the bathroom to rid himself of his uncomfortably full condom.

“So tell me,” he says as he reclines on your bed, tossing you a towel dampened with warm water. You had been lying down, curled into a near fetal position, blankly gazing at the wall. You straighten as you accept it. “Honest. How was it?”

You think about it seriously. “Are you always that rough with virgins?”

Ouch.

“It’s fine.” A ghost of a smile touches your lips. Almost teasing. “I don’t mind rough.” He thinks you don’t quite remember what it means for someone to be gentle either. The thought makes him unsettled.

Your fingers flit to your wrist absently, brushing over where he had been gripping you. Something in his mouth turns bitter. He doesn’t remember what it means to be gentle, but maybe he should’ve tried.

“Thank you for your help,” you add unhelpfully. Unhelpful in the way that you sound sincere in a way that you shouldn’t be.

The two of you go silent. He’s usually somewhat of a decent conversationalist when push comes to shove. He’s also been with enough women to know that a good orgasm can make a woman everything from weepy to sleepy to talkative.

Like always, you throw everything he knows out the window.

“It was good. Better than I thought it’d be.” Very seriously, you tell him, “You’re very good at sex. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you?”

He scoffs, despite the fact that there was once a time he would’ve taken advantage of your offer. His lips curl. “You callin’ me broke?”

“I think you could use the money,” you say without missing a beat, looking him square in the face.

He could always use some money, but no way in hell is he admitting that.

Toji narrows his eyes, swallowing his retort of occupying your mouth with something else than snarky replies. Then he briefly contemplates laying you flat out and making you squeal for that comment. It’s a pretty picture, but he decides against it. If he gets going now, there’s no knowing when he’ll finish.

“Are you going to spend the night?”

He imperceptibly freezes. He hadn’t thought that far into it. The original plan was to give you a couple of O’s and slink out after, but then you started talking. And for what it’s worth, he’s always somewhat enjoyed talking to you. You make an interesting conversation partner. When he can follow along, anyway. (Sometimes, he can’t). Hours have passed. The night is dark outside your windows. Shadows blanket your body. He thinks about it.

Your bed is pretty comfortable. Some expensive ass luxury mattress Gojo bought for you when he found out you were originally sleeping with a blanket on the floor, according to you. In your words (and defense), it was just until you bought a mattress. But then you had gotten rather complacent with the floor. Gojo, offended, had bought you a dog bed in some sort of crass gesture to convey his dismay. (Toji bets he had wanted to get a rise out of you). You took no offense to it, and left it in the corner. Geto intervened. A bed was bought.

A fine, expensive ass, luxury mattress that you would’ve never bought for yourself.

A sharp smile cuts across his face in dry amusement. To think, he’d be the one christening your bed.

Besides, he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least when Gojo and Geto find out what he’s done. Before they find out. Maybe it’ll be Okinawa for the year. Yaga is going to bitch a fit when he finds out Toji up and left again. The man’ll have to understand. Toji’s always played fast and loose with death, but you are something he should’ve left alone for his own good. He’s always wanted more than he’s deserved.

Trash, he thinks. He touched something he shouldn’t have. He put his filthy fingers all over you, and you enjoyed it.

They deity-fied the Gojo brat when he was younger. Put him in the finest silks like a doll and obeyed his every whim and pleasure. Gojo had seen him once, when the two of them were child and adult. There was something in his gaze, even back then, that peeved Toji, the beaten dog he used to be. It was a gaze that promised mutual destruction.

He sees it now, more or less. Geto’s done the impossible: civilized the godboy. Despite painting his own pretty picture of respect and deference, Toji knows Geto couldn’t care less about it all.

Once, the two of them would have disgusted him.

He’s never seen any man want anything as much as the two of them want you. They’ll have you, but Toji had you first.

Toji stretches, putting on airs by settling yourself into your bed as if it’s his own. He’ll leave if you want him to. If even the slightest indication of discomfort mars your face. “Gotta problem?”

The kids will be fine. Megumi’s always liked you more than the sperm donor who only came back because he had to. And it’s not like he’s leaving permanently. Probably, anyway.

“Not really,” you say, meaning it. “It’s just…” you glance at him, unsure. “I thought you’d leave. Sleeping together is…”

He raises an eyebrow. “I just emptied my balls in ya sweetheart, that’s about as intimate as it gets.”

You blink, as if you had forgotten just where his cock had been an hour prior. If anything, you know how to bruise a man’s ego. No wonder Gojo and Geto are desperate to get your full undivided attention before you flit off to some space in your head reserved for something purely nonsensical.

“Then…I suppose they wouldn’t…want to stay the night either…right?”

How you managed to twist his words like that is simply beyond him. He doesn’t think he could survive one miserable day with the mental gymnastics it takes for you to contextualize yourself as desirable. He doesn’t have the brains for it.

You look a little embarrassed, as if berating yourself for having even thought about it. It strikes him once again that the only reason you had even asked him to fuck you in the first place was because of some misplaced insecurity. And you were lonely. The lonely ones always seek comfort and you are the loneliest person he’s ever met.

Geto and Gojo thought you’d wait for them, even if they didn’t. It’s a mistake that will haunt them for the rest of your lives.

Now you look like a kicked dog, even more than you usually do.

“You could ask,” he says lamely. He doesn’t really know what else to say.

You look vaguely sick at that, for reasons he cannot, once again, fathom. You are a being of endless possibilities. So instead he decides to be amused.

You quickly change the topic. “Do you think I can make them happy?” Your voice is touched by an unusual smallness. You fidget with the sheets, not looking at him.

Toji thinks you could kick Gojo in the balls, and he’d be just as enamored with you, if not more. (He knows a masochist when he sees one.) As for Geto, he’s never seen anyone who could be so effortlessly charming one second, and utterly exasperating the next. (He’s seen the chilling tightlipped smiles given to interlopers who encroach on his time together with you.)

“Men are easy,” he says lazily, “especially when they’re thinking with their cocks. Keep your legs open and they’ll do the rest.”

Instead of shying away from his words, you look relieved. “I can do that.”

He snorts.

You fall silent once more, comforter pulled up to your neck.

“Sometimes,” you say quietly, forlornly, “I think Suguru and Satoru forget I’m not like them.”

He doesn’t know if you think he’s asleep. He doesn’t know if you expect a response. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a noise. It’s the first time you’ve breathed their names into existence since the evening started.

It doesn’t matter, because after a few minutes you curl, making yourself smaller. Your breathing slows, and in the dark of the night you almost look like a corpse. It would terrify anyone who has held your hand, searching for a heartbeat in the pulse of your wrist.

He closes his eyes.

——

You wake up much earlier than you usually do. Morning has only begun to peek through your curtains. You stare at your ceiling for a couple of minutes, gauging every part of your body, from your shoulders to your toes. There’s a throbbing in your thighs and side, a persistent ache that flares even stronger when you try to move.

You aren’t quite sure what you expected. There’s a weight next to you. You look at the ceiling some more, before sliding your gaze next to you.

A lazy eye cracks open. The two of you stare at each other. You aren’t sure if you’re breathing, in the seconds it takes for you to blink. You had always thought the resemblance between him and Megumi was uncanny. Megumi has Toji’s eyes, both the shade of green and the slightly down tilted shape that lends severity to a glare.

Then he rises, without bothering to put on his clothes. You watch him retreat to the bathroom, and then hear the start of water. He comes back, towel low on his hips, water trailing down his neck.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you tell him. It’s the first words you’ve spoken to each other since last night. It might be an invitation, in the way the set of his eyes narrow. Just like that, things are back to normal.

Heat unfurls in your stomach.

You trudge to the bathroom and turn on the water. It doesn’t take long for the water to get hot, or for Toji to come. He fucks you over the counter, and when you step into the water, it’s a near boil. You leave the bathroom, legs still trembling.

You’re drying your hair with a towel when your phone rings.

Your phone is about to die, but it’s Satoru, and by extension, Suguru, calling, so you answer it anyway.

“Morning,” you say lightly, settling back on the bed, next to a reclining Toji. The two of you keep a respectable space between yourselves. Your thighs ache.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up,” Suguru says through your phone. His voice is soft, so close to your ear, that you almost close your eyes.

“—SPEAKER!” Satoru’s voice. You wince, spell broken, as you are, presumably, put on speaker as Suguru sighs and mutters something about broken eardrums.

Rustling. Movement. And then a loud grunt. Your lips twitch into a grin. You can almost see them rolling around on the bed, fighting over the phone.

“How’s Hokkaido?” You ask.

“Cold,” comes Satoru’s voice.

“We’ll be back in the evening.” You can hear the smile in Suguru’s voice.

Satoru’s voice is fainter, evident of distance. He must have gotten up. “Bakery first!”

Suguru’s answering silence is an eye roll.

“Should we get dinner all together then?” You ask, eager. “Shoko’s finishing up early today.”

There's another silence. A pause. You blink, wondering if you’ve accidentally overstepped somehow. You quickly rescind your offer. “Unless you two already have plans. In that case—”

“No,” Suguru’s voice drops an octave. “I was thinking we could order in tonight.”

The implication in his sentence isn’t lost on you. Your face warms. “Oh,” you say, suddenly overcome by a restlessness. Next to you, Toji raises an eyebrow. You ignore him, forcing yourself to swallow, chest tightening. “Okay.” Then. “Tonight?”

You had been planning on asking Toji if he could teach you how to give a blowjob first, but you suppose that’s out of the question now.

“If that’s what you want,” Suguru murmurs.

The panic on your face must be alarming, because Toji snorts.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “That’s fine. Tonight…works.”

“...Is someone there?”

You blink. “Yeah,” you reply, without really thinking about it. “Fushiguro-sensei.”

Toji’s head is cocked to the side, silent, in a way that tells you he must have overheard everything. It’s not as if you have anything to hide.

Suguru’s voice is measured. The tone he takes on when his face goes eerily blank, perfunctorily pleasant. Something in your chest tugs. “And what, is Toji doing there so early in the morning?”

It’s your turn to go silent. Maybe tonight isn’t the best night after all. You’re a bit tired, and sore all over. They won’t want you, not like this, and the fear or rejection is a sobering thought. You aren’t confident in yourself enough yet.

The phone is snatched out of your hands. Toji gives you a look, meeting your gaze. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and it gives you the vaguest sense of a ticking time bomb.

He speaks into the phone, eyes never once leaving yours. “What do you think?”

The phone clicks off as he tosses it to the floor.

He meets your confusion with an easy shrug of his shoulders. “Turns out you’ll be seeing them sooner than you thought.”

#you don't really need context to read this but ifkyk #fushiguro toji x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader

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angelofviscera · 28 days

Text

to find direction in my existence

1a & 1c juliet's balcony, amy beager / 1b keep the distance, the beths / 2 west side story, camp cope / 3 weaving through a dream, amy beager / 4 dressing america, torres / 5 & 7 uncluttered mind (central nervous system), bridget marie / 6 prickly water lily painting, seunghwan kim / 8 nine stories, hazel english / 9 everything is going to be okay a sweet and gentle spirit says, tae lee / 10 not a lot, just forever, adrianne lenker / 11 & 13 untitled, julie-ann simpson & valeria nuyanzina / 12 warm blood, the beths / 14 & 20 in all of my dreams the words i love you, hanif abdurraqib / 15 rear windows (detail), caroline walker / 16 lullaby in february, skullcrusher / 17 wind vibe, una ursprung / 18 dreams tonite, alvvays / 19 fireflies and hydrangeas, una ursprung / 21 untitled, jiayue li / 22 swimming, maple glider

#this is targeted. u know who u are!!! little bit of u little bit of me little bit of us <3 #the love colours are pink green and purple <3 #okay bye now....shut the door im feeling overexposed #youre caught in the light and the way walker paints light.... there are layers #anyways. i love u. this is my equivalent to standing outside your house with a boombox #web weave #web weaving #web weaves #parallels #art #poetry #the beths #camp cope #my web weaves

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natspats · 1 month

Text

anything

this is my 1st post on here! see my pinned to learn more about me. :)

thank you for reading & enjoy! 🩷

(inspired by: anything by adrianne lenker)

————————

Light rain patters against the car window, a light grey sky above. Soft music plays in the background and overall you’re feeling happy. That is until-

*click!*

“Hey-!! And what do you think you’re doing?” You giggle and swipe at the phone in your boyfriend’s hand.

Schlatt effectively keeps his phone away from you, holding it up in the air with his long arms, resulting in defeat for your shorter arms.

“Shush toots, I’m admiring my beautiful girl.”

He pretends not to notice the mix of love and happiness that falls onto your face, smiling to himself that he’s made you feel this way.

The amount of photos Schlatt has collected of you over the course of your relationship with him is uncanny. He has a folder in his photos app filled with hundreds of photos of you:

some pretty,

some silly,

some ugly (at least in your eyes, but he doesn’t think it’s possible for you to ever look anything but beautiful,)

and even some random photos of your tits (lol) he managed to acquire. (he insists it’s necessary to have a piece of you for when you’re not around, whatever that means).

Looking at you is probably in his top 5 favorite things to do. If he’s with you physically, he’ll just stare at you.

Stare at you as you sleep on his shoulder, as you ramble on about the thing you’re currently enjoying,

as you’re deep in thought,

as you do absolutely anything.

Or if you guys aren’t together, he will scroll through that damn photo album he’s built up.

“This one’s definitely going in the album.”Schlatt clicks the heart button below the photo and adds the photo to the album entitled, “pretty girl.”

“You say that for every photo you take of me!” You dramatically eye roll and cross your arms.

“Because every photo of you deserves to be kept in a special place.” Schlatt interlocks his big hand with your smaller one as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“One day, the historians will find these photos and think, ‘woah, who was this fine piece of ass?’”

“Whatever you say J.” You look up from his shoulder and smile at him, his eyes smiling as you do.

“I can’t wait.” Schlatt sighs with a light smile.

“For?” You give him an inquisitive look.

“To show you off to everyone. I can’t wait to walk into a room with you, and for all their heads to turn, and then I’m like ‘that’s right, this is my doll and she’s allllllll mine-’”

Your heart feels like it’s going to spill over as he rambles on about the future.

Truth be told, you wanted everyone to see you were his too. Allas, you both decided it would be best to stay on the down low for a while.

Schlatt didn’t want to stress you out with being thrown into the spotlight of his career, and you both wanted to have a relationship without any other party having an influence on that.

The only people who knew of your relationship was both of your families and Ted Nivison. And this method seemed to prove successful because you had been dating for a little over 2 years now.

You guys were both happy, but you knew you couldn’t live like this forever. There comes a point in time where you don’t want to hide anymore.

And that point in time is now.

“And you get to meet all of my friends, especially Minx and Niki you’ll really like them, and I get to hold your hand-“

You cut off the new yorker’s sappy rambling about you with a kiss.

He is taken aback, but quickly falls into it, deepening the kiss. He places a cold hand on the back of your neck, and another cold hand down on your thigh.

After a few seconds, you both break the kiss to catch your breath. He stares into your eyes, half lidded with love.

“Man, I’ll never get over that doll.” He says with a lop sided grin.

“Let’s do it.” You grab his face, placing both of your hands on his scruffy, mutton chopped face.

“Let’s- huh?” Schlatt says almost drunkenly, still grinning lopsidedly.

“You, Mr. Jonathan Schlatt, put that god forsaken photo album to good use.” You smile, staring right into his eyes.

“Just- not the tit pics.”

And with that, his lips meet yours, and you’re unable to keep your hands off each other from that point on.

——————

2 weeks later, you’re in the car, light rain pattering against the window once again.

Music softly playing in the background.

Specifically the song “Anything” by Adrianne Lenker.

It was the song Schlatt posted you to, the song he used to introduce you to the world as his girlfriend.

You feel warm inside.

happy, loved.

*click!*

“EXCUSE YOU.” You gasp at him.

Schlatt shows you his phone and puts on his best shit eating grin as he adds the new photo to the album.

“You posted the photos what more could you need-“

“Ah, ah, ah!” He swiftly cuts you off with his finger pressed to your lips.

“Just because I finally posted those photos doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop taking photos of you, toots.” He raises a brow at you and laughs.

You let yourself smile at the absurdity of it all.

Schlatt takes your hand and begins pressing gentle kisses to it.

He continues to press kisses to your hand, as you pick up your phone with your other.

“Ted is calling me.”

Schlatt looks over to your phone, takes it, and examines it before deciding to hit decline. He tosses it to the side.

“He can wait.”

And with that, you’re once again unable to keep your hands off each other.

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt fluff #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x you #makeout sesh #cuties #Spotify

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eyeliketoeatpoosay · 24 days

Text

ANYTHING ~ matt sturniolo.

summary ~ christmas eve and your mom does nothing but fight with you. you decide to leave and get stoned in some random parking lot when matt finds you.

warnings i! ~ ANGSTY ANGST, fluff, established relationship, soft!matt, use of petnames (baby), use of y/n (SUE ME), lower case intended !, mentions/details of suicide and depression. - tell me if ive missed anything !

a/n ~ hey ! haha🤣 so i was reading a fan fic and i started sobbing bc this song came on so i thought wait this is such a good song to write about💯💯‼️ so here i am💋 enjoy

not proof read !

✧༺💌༻∞

christmas eve. the last 24 hours before christmas day. the day of love and commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ. the day of love, celebration, and hope.

christmas was the one day a year, besides birthdays, that kids looked forward to. the day that children got presents from family members they had never even heard of, it usually just being a box of chocolate and a card with ten dollars shoved in it carelessly. but, the children didn’t care. they saw ten dollars worth of candy and robux. they saw fifty new cavities for the dentists to worry about, toys for decades, and snow to lay in and create artificial angels.

however, christmas hadn’t been the same for you since your father died. the day felt dull, empty, lonely. december 19th 2016. one day after your thirteenth birthday, you walked into your parents newly organized bedroom to see your father’s limp and lifeless body with his feet floating 6 inches off the ground.

the day permanently imprinted in your closed mind. the way his skin faded white and his cheeks puffed up red. the way your father took his own precious life twenty four hours after you turned thirteen.

you were adding setting powder to your under eyes, making sure your makeup was perfect before putting your outfit on.

you, your mother, and sister always stayed indoors all day on christmas eve. playing board games, watching movies, drinking hot cocoa. it was like a tradition at this point. your father introduced it to your family when your mother was pregnant with you, now you were carrying on the legacy.

it wasn’t your favorite time of year, in fact, you dreaded the clocks striking midnight on december 1st. you wished you could stay in november forever. relive that last month of your life when your father stayed alive for every single day. when your father didn’t waste a single breath.

you shook the thought and wiped off the powder, curling your long and black lashes and swiping mascara across them. something about doing your makeup every morning was therapeutic, comforting. it wasn’t that you were ugly or insecure, no, it was just something to make your smile break out.

and something to make your boyfriend convince you that you didn’t need.

the brown fluffy hoodie that you stole from matthew sturniolo, your boyfriend, laid on your pink floral bedding. along with your red and black checkered pajama pants. it was a cozy and warming day. you weren’t going anywhere, so you didn’t bother with actual clothes.

it was now 10:07 am. matt was most definitely not awake, but you decided to message him. just to let him know you loved him. you couldn’t let anyone down ever again. you couldn’t end an interaction without an ‘i love you.’ or the guilt would eat you alive.

‘morning matt’

‘i love u’

‘merry christmas eve !’

‘tell ur mom and dad i miss them’

‘i already told nick and chris’

‘call me when u wake up baby’

‘love u so much.’

‘💌💌💌’

you sling your phone onto your mattress and tie your hair up. half up half down with a ribbon. just what your father knew and loved. what you know and love.

you stand in front of your six foot tall mirror and held your hands at your sides, looking at your reflection and not recognizing a single molecule of your body. from your toe nails to your hair follicles, you were a stranger. a complete stranger.

a deep breath escaped your lips as you switched your bright white led lights off and made your way to the living room where your mother was sat drinking a mug of black coffee, which was probably laced with vodka. her frail hands were shaking against the boiling ceramic piece, clearly already brain-dead.

your younger sister, monica, was slouching on the opposite sofa. her phone fixated in her sweaty hands which caused you to roll your eyes backwards into your brain.

you quickly glance over at the cats empty and stained food bowl, “has cookie been fed today?” you ask to a simple head shake and a mumbling of ‘no.’ you scoff and make your way into the kitchen, grabbing the cat biscuits from the cupboard and pouring a generous amount into her small bowl. you rinse away the three day old water and fill it with ice cold water for your cat.

you stroke your soft hand across her back as she wolfs down her food, storming into the living room. you snatch the mug of black coffee from your mother, holding it up to your nose and immediately being wafted by the smell of vodka.

you nod as tears gloss over your eyes, a pearly vision to them now. “you promised, mom! you fucking promised.” your voice started off as a yell until it breaks and the tears don’t even threaten to escape, they just do.

your mom furrows her brows, taking back the ‘worlds best mom.’ mug and shaking her head. her pupils were dilated and her scoff had the smell of alcohol. “i didn’t promise shit, y/n!”

“that’s bullshit mom and you know it.” you snap, monica shoving her wired headphones in and scurrying off into her bedroom up in the attic. “it was four months you were sober. now you’re off drinking vodka for breakfast. what the fuck is wrong with you?! don’t you care?”

your mom, ashley, laughs in your face like you’re a fool. like you’re just a piece of dirt she wiped off her shoe. “oh, so i’m a bad mom, is that it?”

“because i have tried so hard to suit your needs, y/n, but nothing seems to please you anymore.” she added.

you press your lips together tightly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “yeah, you are a bad mom. what happened, hm? ever since dad died you’ve been gone. it’s like you’re here but your head is in oblivion.”

your mom scowls, her fists in balls. how dare you speak to her like that? who did you think you were? your father?

“don’t speak to me that way, y/n. i am your mother.”

“are you?! are you my mother? because i don’t see you. i never see you anymore! you’re always in the clouds. you’re never here, you’re always in space.” tears flood as you speak your mind, as you bring up the same argument for the one hundredth time, hoping that she will finally listen, finally get help, finally be a mother.

your mom stands closer, her hand coming up to slap your face, ready to leave a red handprint in your pale skin, but you grab her wrist. she clenches her jaw and yanks her arm down. “i wish it was you that died.”

you immediately grab your tote bag and leave the house. making sure to slip your ugg’s on as you exit. you don’t even grab your phone, instead just sit in your car and drive off. no plan, no money, and a million thoughts.

number one priority is getting far away from your home, wether you get to australia or the local gas station, you had to leave. but, just your luck, the car ran out of gas as you pulled into a random parking lot. no clue where you were, you threw your head down onto the steering wheel, the beep continuing on for thirty seconds until you were finally cured of the sound.

the stress you received from your mother never failed to dig your grave further.

i wish it was you that died.

the longer you let the words sink into your brain, the faster your heart sank. the words stung. you knew when she’d sober up she’d apologize and cry, like she always did, but you were sick of the empty apologies. you were sick of the games. you just wanted it to be november 2016.

you rummaged through your tote bag, hands gripping onto a week old roll up that you and matt forgot to use. you took a deep breath and picked up the lighter from your glove box, holding the blunt to your cracked lips as you lit it. you wished matt was there to hold it to your lips as he lit it, blowing smoke into your mouth as you made out. you wished you were with him.

an hour had passed. a long ass hour. you were lucky for your watch. about twenty minutes in you realized your phone had been forgotten and left on your pink floral bedsheets. you had no idea if matt had texted you, you hoped he’d still be asleep.

since you were bored out of your mind, you took the nearly finished blunt with you and travelled around the entire parking lot on foot. over and over again until you spotted a bench outside of the target. you took a seat and stamped out the blunt, kicking it under the bench.

your fingers danced around on the arm of the rotted bench. you felt a coldness wash over your body and felt a human presence in front of you. matthew.

his hand pressed against your knee as he knelt down and looked at your face with worry and concern. “hey.. what’s going on, y/n?” he asked, his thumb swiping over your kneecap as a way of comforting you.

you frown, “what are you even talking about, matt? i’m fine.” you cross your arms and look away, but his free hand grabs your chin and turns your face towards him.

“you’re stoned at half eleven in the morning, baby. what happened?” he asked, soothingly, tucking a strand behind your ear. “you only ever smoke with me, and even then you’re cautious.” he sits beside you, waiting patiently for a reply.

“i don’t wanna talk about anything.” you mumble, “i don’t wanna talk about anything.” you repeat, a lot softer, glancing up at matt for a moment.

matthew sighs, rubbing his eyes, “did your mom upset you? i understand the time of year, but you’re gonna have to tell me if i’m gonna help you, baby..” matts lips twist to the side and he rests a hand on your shoulder.

“i don’t wanna talk about anyone.” you sighed, “i want to sleep.” a small chuckle escaped matts lips as you said this, looking at the store behind him.

“well, let me just quickly buy some more whipped cream and marshmallows since chris ate them all, and we can head to my house, ‘kay?” he suggested at you nodded, a small, soft kiss being planted on your temple.

it only took him ten minutes to grab what he needed. he took your hand and walked over to his car when he stopped in his tracks. “how did you get here?”

“drove ‘til i ran out of gas.” you shrugged, pointing at your car isolated across the parking lot. matt took a deep breath and look at you, shaking his head playfully.

“i’ll bring a fuel can down here later and drive it to mine for you.” matt smiled softly and opened the drivers door, climbing in and tossing his bag into the back seat.

this target was almost thirty minutes away from the sturniolo household, so you connected your phone to aux and played one particular song on repeat, ‘anything’ by adrianne lenker. you hummed the lyrics, staring out at the snow trickling down onto the sidewalks, kids building snowmen with their families.

your eyes shut as you stayed slouched in the passenger seat, your arms folded and your head resting on the inside of the car door. you took a deep breath before eventually falling asleep.

it was almost 12pm, afternoon, but you needed this nap. you needed this break. you needed matt.

4pm. you woke up in matts bed with three blankets sloped across your body. drool down your face with hair stuck to your cheeks. you took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, sitting up slowly as you yawned and stretched your arms.

you blinked multiple times, still trying to come back to reality. your mind was foggy, cloudy, you had no idea what happened or where you were for a good few minutes.

matt suddenly walked into his bedroom and shut the door, jumping when he saw you staring directly at him. he smiled softly and walked over to kiss your forehead. he sat beside you on his bed and handed you your car keys, but you looked up with a blank expression.

“oh! i filled your car with gas, it’s out in the front.” he grinned and you nodded slowly, yawning again. he sighed, tilting his head and looking at you. “hey. what’s going on?” he kissed your cheek, “why did i find you stoned outside of a target thats no where near you?”

you finally start to wake up fully. wiping your drooled-face and shrugged, “don’t know.”

matt shook his head, “c’mon. speak up, baby.”

you sighed deeply and loudly, “i just hate this time of year, matt. my mom was literally drinking vodka at 10am. didn’t wanna fight, but she insisted.” you sob, laying your head in his lap and covering your face with your hands. “why did he have to die.” your words were muffled as you whispered into his lap.

matt felt sorry. he didn’t know what to do or say. all he knew was to be there for you. his fingers ran through your hair and he leaned down to kiss your head, “i know, i’m sorry, baby.” but he didn’t know. his father was alive and in the living room below them.

you choked on your cries, using his sweatpants as a rag. “i just don’t want to do it anymore, matt.” you say, sitting up and wiping your eyes. you look at his face, “i love you so much.”

matt nodded and kissed you tenderly, “i love you more, y/n.” he smiled softly and hugged you, “when we grow old and have grandchildren, we’ll give them a box of chocolate for christmas.” he chuckled, rubbing your back.

“with ten dollars in the christmas card.” you smiled back, holding his hand and pulling away.

matt nodded and spoke, “for now, we get to love eachother and be grateful for 8th grade science.”

@mattslolita @sturnprime

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #angst #fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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spydergaz · 2 months

Text

⋆⭒˚.⋆ not a lot, just forever.

🍂📀🍁

word count : 654

cw: fluff, no actual pronouns used, peter is awkward as hell, idk your vibe, but it’s a good one, peter is a cranberries fan.

a/n: i haven’t properly written something in forever :/ but i’m trying i swear lol. i was also listening to Adrianne Lenker while writing this so that may have influenced this a bit.

the leaves crunch under your converses as you walk, your arms swinging loosely by your sides as you wave your hands in the breeze. you’re walking across campus to your next class, a routine you've grown fond of due to the simplicity of it all. you consider yourself a simple person, you enjoy small things like rocks and the sound of the river that flows under the bridge of your campus.

you’re also noticeably quiet, so much so that your teachers have stopped trying to get you to participate in group discussions. you don’t mind though, you’re content being by yourself.

and so is peter. he’s just as quiet as you, he always has headphones on. you can faintly hear his music, you like the fact that he likes the cranberries, you do too. but he tends to sit away from you, he doesn’t hate you, how could he? the way you skip around campus, the way you collect and paint rocks, the way you sit by the river, the way you’re so freely yourself.

his crush on you is something you’re oblivious too, and he’s too scared to even look at you. he’s read so many books on nature related topics that he might turn into a walking weed, he’s replayed a conversation with you in his head so much he could write a script about it. he wants to ask you to get coffee, he’s seen you sip coffee once or twice, maybe he’ll ask you to see a movie?

he knows you like superheroes, he sees the superman pin on your tote bag. but talking to you seems like his kryptonite, like he’ll die if he tries.

but today he’ll try, he’ll try and push past that fear and talk to you.

it’s the afternoon, you’re sitting on a bench and quietly sketching the trees in front of you. your foot lightly tapping on the grass to your music that plays softly in your headphones.

he feels like he’s being creepy, holding flowers for a person who doesn’t even know him. but he sighs and walks up to you, cringing at himself as he taps your shoulder.

“hi uhm, i’m not trying to be creepy but-“ he’s cut off by your eyes peering into his, he feels so small when you look at him with those pretty eyes.

“are those flowers?”

“for you.”

“me..?” you smile as he hands them to you, they’re some sunflowers, they’re fake, but the gesture is nice anyways. “the real ones are super expensive and uh-“

you shake your head and look up at him again. “i get it, it’s okay.” he nervously laughs, mindlessly fidgeting with his fingers.

“could i ask your name?” you reply with your name and he smiles, smiles that you trust him enough already for that. “i’m peter parker, i promise i’m a lot more composed usually.”

you laugh at the self deprecating joke.

“i’ve seen you in class.”

“well i don’t tend to turn invisible, i’ve seen you too. which is why i’m giving you flowers.”

you smile, you appreciate how nice he is and how awkward he is too. “i was- am asking you out by the way, if you’re… interested?” you nod, laughing a bit.

“well don’t laugh at me, i’m trying!” his voice is mockingly whiny as he laughs with you. “but you’re like.. okay with going on a date?” you nod again, stifling your laughter for his sake.

“how does a cafe sound?”

“i like the sound of that, I’m always in a mood for coffee.”

“when do you… wanna go?”

“tomorrow? after class?”

“holy shi- uh- yeah that’s okay.” and with that he stands there awkwardly before clearing his throat and nodding, sighing of relief. “yeah i’ll see you tomorrow! uh, i’ve gotta bounce.” you nod in response and wave him goodbye as he runs off, you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

#spydergaz...!!#spydergaz... writes!!#peter parker #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm fluff

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atinylittlepain · 10 months

Text

June - Part Two

joel miller x f!OC

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ dark themes surrounding suicidal ideation and attempt, smut, angst

a/n | hi, folks, welcome back. i'm quite excited and also quite nervous to start sharing more of June with you. This is work touches on very heavy topics, so please take care in reading it, and know that my DMs are always open if you'd like to talk about it. Thank you for reading.

..........................................

Little red flower on your wrist

Maybe the angel fired and missed

Blue and red horses on the run

I think the angel is jumping the gun

"Blue and Red Horses" by Adrianne Lenker

.............................................

A slip. That’s what the doctor calls it. She had a slip, slip, slip.

He had been waiting for her on the porch, same as always. And when the sun turned to syrup and she still wasn’t home, he went inside to get his jacket. Two steps at a time, skidding to a halt in the sliver of light coming from her room.

Head lolled back, the most peaceful he’d ever seen her, except when she’s sleeping. Somewhere between that, and something much deeper. He’ll grow a beard if it keeps her from getting her hands on a razor again. Dripping down her finger tips, onto the thigh of his jeans. So much of it, his hands started shaking. Drip, drip, drip.

They keep her overnight at the clinic. White clothes, white sheets, white bandages, and the blossom of red they hide. She sleeps, mercifully. And he sits, his head propped on his palm, trying to figure out what went wrong.

Had something changed? He doesn’t think so, at least not for the worse. She had been eating, talking, working. They had found a rhythm, hadn’t they?

She sleeps, and he sits. Vigil, guard, whatever it’s called. Only letting one eye slip closed at a time, afraid that if he looks away, she’ll disappear. And when she wakes up in the morning, turning her head toward him, a sheepish smile curling her lips, Joel finds something that feels like anger resting heavy on his chest.

Keep an eye on–

Make sure she doesn’t have access to–

Bring her in if she says anything about–

He nods numbly at the doctor’s orders, his eyes darting over to her. Chin tucked down, picking at the edges of the gauze around her forearm. He has to swallow down a scream because why is everyone around him treating this like the most normal thing in the world? Why is no one else freaking out as much as he is? But he nods and he guides her out of the clinic, his palm hovering between her shoulder blades, unsure what will happen if he closes that gap, makes contact. She’s silent, chastened, like a child leaving the principal’s office. It makes him feel sick.

“Aren’t you going to be late for your shift?”

“Are you serious?”

“I was just asking.”

“Well I’m not. Not going anywhere.”

“You’re upset.” It’s a statement that makes him scoff, frustration rising hot and jittery up his neck, steadying himself with a palm pressed flat against the kitchen counter as he looks at her.

“A little bit. What made you do that?” He has to take a deep breath when she shrugs, knuckles tensing into a fist, open, close, open, close.

“Nothing made me do anything. I was just ready.”

“For what?”

“Just ready, Joel.” Back and forth, back and forth, his jaw slides in a hard grind as they stare at each other, unblinking, a yawning space between them.

“You need to eat. Sit down.” He’s a bit surprised when she listens, but then he sees it. The way her shoulders fold around herself like frail wings, fingers steepled in a light press on the table, her lashes brushing her cheeks with the droop of her gaze, a frown that folds like wet silk. And suddenly, he can swallow his anger, a bitter pill that leaves an urgency in its wake.

He toasts the bread in the pan, a thick slice smeared with butter on both sides. Something solid, affirming. And jam, but not the red kind, no, no, no. Blueberry, she likes blueberries. And they have blueberry. She traded for it two days ago. Before, before, before.

Sweet, sweet, sweet. A prayer in the pass of the knife. Stay, stay, stay.

And he sighs, long and low in his chest, when he sets the plate down in front of her. For you, for you, for you. She picks the piece of toast up, carefully, fingertips only, tilting it this way and that.

“Eat it, please.” He sits across from her at the table, his arms folded in front of him, steady eyes, something in his chest unfurling when she finally takes a bite. It’s slow, methodical, a languid roll to her jaw as she chews, her eyes holding his as she swallows. He watches every bite until the plate is empty.

“I want to lay down.”

“Okay.”

She looks displeased when he pulls a chair into her room, sitting down right next to her bed with his knife and a scrap of wood. She turns her back to him, a long sigh making the covers rise and fall. Silence, save for the light scratching of his work, shavings floating down around his boots, worry holding his throat in a tight fist.

…

“I’m not going to stab myself.” Her crassness is a slap in the face, enough for him to relent and pass her the kitchen knife, letting her get to work on the vegetables for dinner. She slept for most of the day, something the doctor had told him to expect after she lost so much–

“Shit.” His body slips into motion before his mind, palm circling her wrist to draw her finger into the warmth of his mouth to stop the–

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t, June.” He lets go of her wrist, a reluctant release. She curls her hand against her chest, something small and wounded. And then they snap back into the task, the crease of time smoothed out.

…

“Why do you want to leave?” He left out one word in his question. Me, me, me.

“I just do. Same as you.” But he doesn’t, not anymore, a secret he’s been keeping tucked between two of his ribs, an aching truth. He turns his head on his pillow, studying the slope of her nose, the stillness of her eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling of his bedroom, her hands clasped together over her stomach. The moon casts slants of light across the bed, across her face, her scar turned silver along her temple. For a moment, there is no sound except the dull croak of crickets, one last symphony before the end of the season.

“I won’t if you won’t.” She tips her chin toward him, owlish and unblinking in her wide stare.

“Okay.”

…

“People say she’s crazy, you know.”

“There’s plenty of reasons to be crazy in this world, kid.” This is new. Good, clear hope fluttering in his chest, though he tries to school any excitement out of his expression should Ellie detect it and flee. Neutral ground, the dining hall for lunch.

“Yeah, but people say she’s crazy crazy.”

“Ellie.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m happy for you that you found someone.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“Sure, Joel.”

“How’s Dina?”

“We’re not doing that.”

“Not doing what?”

“I’m not gonna tell you how my girlfriend is doing.”

“Well I just told you about mine, didn’t I?”

“So she is?”

“Is what?”

“Your girlfriend, you just said–”

“Wait– no– I didn’t– that just came out.”

“Sure, Joel.”

…

They go to movie night. Sitting in the back of the hall. Some film from the nineties, all the actors with British accents, all the women in the crowd letting out a sea of sighs. He studies her face, awash in pale blue light, eyes steady and tracking. An imperceptible drag of his chair, an inch closer, and a leap. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil, when he drapes his arm over the back of her chair, his fingers barely brushing the outside of her bicep. Up, down, up, down. Her eyes don’t leave the screen.

“Do you like this movie?” Only the faintest warble of his voice breaks his whisper, and she finally glances at him.

“Yes. You should be watching.” I am, I am, I am. Watching so closely.

He fills his lungs with cool, clean air when they step out of the darkness of the town hall and into the darkness of the night. His arm feels boneless, electric, from the way he had kept it framing her shoulders. And then he sees the little drops of light running down her cheeks and his heart curls up into a tight clench.

“Why are you crying?” He’d like to tuck those words back in his throat, instant regret at the way she swipes away any evidence, sniffing hard to stop herself back up.

“That movie always makes me cry.” He realizes all at once that he hasn’t seen her cry since that night in that field. Her hand in his, relief stretching like a taut muscle when her fingers curl around his, staying like that the whole walk home.

“Are you hungry?” “Not really.” He slices two plums, purple soaked flesh that dribbles and bleeds down their wrists when they sink teeth into tartness, hip pressed against hip where they’re leaning against the kitchen counter. It’s impulse, obscene instinct, coaxing her hand to his mouth so he can lap at the juice that drips between her fingers. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

This time, she takes. Turning toward him, closing that space with a tentative lean, her head jerking away once before she finally presses her lips against his, drinking the sigh that washes through his chest. Her fingers twine behind his neck, a perfect weight pulling him down into her. And something snarls, a touch of impatience in the way her tongue slides against his, teeth a sharp graze. His hands curl around her hips, a careful press that she preens into, her chest brushing against his. He has to slow her down when her movements flare frantic, something he knows will eventually spook her right out of his hands. Forehead to forehead, his nose running the arc of hers as she catches her breath, tiny pants that wash over his mouth.

“Will you tell me what you want, June?”

“This.” This, this, this. He takes her hand, a quiet tug upstairs and into his room and then his fingers start to turn desperate. And hers do too. Undoing buttons, swiping through zippers, pulling and pushing, seeking new skin. A patient unraveling, slowness he struggles to abide by. A careful allowance of wandering, palms sweeping over the bare softness of her stomach, up along the crook of her collarbone, dipping down to trace the swell of her breasts, the quick catch of her breath when the pad of his thumb slips over a peaked nipple. She steps out of his hold, his heart sinking, buoyed when she lays out on the bed, slinking down onto her elbows, warm in the light of the lamp he had half a mind to flick on.

Thin, frayed cotton, his fingers catching on the fabric, hooking, sweeping down the line of her legs and then she’s bare before him, something better than perfect. A soft hinge of her hips, an invitation for him to rest there. And he does, palm skating from the crook of her knee up and up, jumping from the swell of her hip to circle her wrist. He wants it to hurt, just a little, the kiss he presses into the gauze wrapped around her forearm, a cry breaking in her throat when he holds his mouth there, a hot stamp, a silent plea. But he wants to soothe as soon as it stings, so, so soft, lips smoothing over her pulse, the fine tendons jumping beneath his mouth.

“Please.” Oh, he likes the way that sounds. Warmth rising up and up, lips curling up and up, a curved press to her stomach, dragging lower, the hook of her hip bone, the soft crease of her thigh. And he breathes her in, coaxing the sloping backs of her thighs over his shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into the tensing muscles, slow, slow, slow. Swollen, the glistening middle of a plum, dark and slick and dripping down his chin. He goes greedy with it, insistent in the way he drinks from her, lapping up everything she has to give, tongue a hot, demanding press that makes her hips jolt. Easy, June. Easy, easy, easy. His eyes drag up the heaving plains of her stomach, the gentle shake of her breasts, neck long and taut, lips parted, a portrait of the pleasure he’s pulling from her.

“Joel.” Joel, Joel, Joel. Like a wave crashing in his ears, her whole body furling up around him before slackening, smooth and soft and sighing, her hands in his hair tugging up, up, up. He hopes that she tastes herself on his lips, and he thinks she does when she groans, low and mewling into his mouth. A fire flushes up his neck, his cheeks, when she takes him into her hand, soft, soft, soft, her eyes not leaving his. And he’s already so close to too much, the way her wrist flicks between their hips. No one’s ever been so gentle with him. It makes him ache.

“Please.” It’s his turn to say it, and her turn to permit, her legs slipping open even more, long lines of muscle and ligaments, a silent affirmation of want. Warm and soft and wanting, pooling thick in his spine, seeping, bursting, until he’s full of the feeling, his hips pressed so close, so snug to hers. She seizes around him, a long exhale that breaks high in her throat, and he stills, pressing his face right over her heart, willing ease into the pumping of blood, the coil of muscle. She hooks the swell of her calf around his hip, a soft press, a silent command that makes him huff out a quiet laugh against her sternum, the sound fizzling out in his throat when he meets her watery gaze. Wide eyes, blown out dark, dark, dark, swallowing him up.

His arm is a frame, a protection, curled around the top of her head, keeping her steady and safe as each press of his hips sends them shucking further up the bed. And she holds on, little half-moons of her fingerprints pressing into his shoulders, the arch of her heel slipping along his low back.

“June.” Over and over again. June, June, June. A cry, a prayer, a demand, a steadying sound that he breathes out against her lips. And he’s not being patient anymore, desperation driving his hips to a heavy rhythm, little sighs slipping from her throat with each beat.

Need, need, need. He needs to feel her like this, his fingers a plea, a mess against that place that makes her preen around him. Her back curves, tight and hot, the taut peaks of her breasts pressing, dragging against his chest. She unfurls for him, his name a high, clipped sound in her mouth. And he shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t, pain in his sigh when he pulls away from her warmth, smearing himself against her stomach, pale, pearling, pleasure.

It’s broken and ugly, like she can’t take a deep enough breath, her chest catching, shivering with the sob. All he can think to do is lay the weight of himself over her, solid, insistent, sweat and spend cooling sticky against skin. His palms find her ribs, steady pressure to smooth the shake.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She needs this. He knows she needs this. Something finally tearing open inside her, spilling out, his hands waiting and willing to hold it.

“You just cry, June. It’s okay.” He whispers it to her, words stamped into her skin, just beneath her collarbone. She cries and cries and cries. And he holds her through it, until her breaths start to turn smoother, slight hiccups of salt. Her eyes are heavy, swollen, slipping down her cheeks. He presses his lips over one, the other, her lashes flickering, quick winged reaction.

Clean, warm water, long sweeping palms. Soap that smells like honey passed between open hands. They’re close and quiet in the steam of the shower.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. I don’t like the way the stitches feel.” He wraps fresh gauze around her forearm, hiding the jagged, dark lines, smoothing his thumb down the trail of her destruction.

Socked feet that slip against his ankles. Her palm an anchor against his stomach, her cheek pressed warm and soft over his heart, clockwork setting back into time.

“Goodnight, Joel.” “Goodnight, June.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x oc #joel miller story #june

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ddixon99 · 6 days

Text

Not a lot just forever- Daryl Dixon x fem reader Fanfic

Description: Daryl believed that everyone around him would end up leaving him, ever since he was a young boy, with the conflict between his father and everyone close to him that had died, but y/n proved him wrong. This story reflects on the beauty and imperfections of their relationship, pointing out that it's beautiful to have someone who loves you no matter what, despite disagreements and fears.

(This is set after the prison era and they are on the road)

500-word count

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laying hand in hand, analysing the stars above us. Bodies sewn together laid delicately on the grass. No sound surrounds us, just the hushed tone of Daryl's breathing. You turn your head to look at him, his head looking straight up at the stars. His long locks of hair scattered across his face. You manoeuvre your hand over to his hair to slide the loose strands to the side, getting a view of his mesmerising face. It's just a few seconds before he turns his head to the side, facing you, his eyes so trustworthy and gentle. “You're so beautiful,” you whisper, loud enough for him to hear. Even though it's quite dark you can see well enough from the moon shining down upon the two of you, the colour of a faded pink spread from his cheeks. Letting go of your hand he brings his hand over to your waist, wrapping his arms around you, bringing you close. Your head laid onto his chest, the serenity of his heart beating. Just you and him, conjoined, huddled up together. You feel so safe and protected around him. The both of you share these special moments together, just the little things that make you the happiest.

Just moments after you hear faint sniffling. Untangling yourself from his arms you sit up to see his eyes glistening with tears, slowly sliding down his cheeks. Quickly but softly bringing him up into a hug, he accepts your hug and wraps his muscular arms around your waist resting his head underneath your chin. “M’sorry ya ain't supposed to see me like this.” Silently shushing him, while rubbing his back. “You don't need to be sorry, tell me what's on your mind, Daryl”. It took him a minute to open up, you can tell he gets uncomfortable when opening up. “M’scared to lose you”. Looking at him in the face, he looks up at you with fear. “I’m never gonna leave you, Dixon, never think you're ever gonna lose me”. You looked at him concerned. “M just everyone that I loved, have left. How m’ I supposed to love with the fear of someone leavin me?” You could understand the pain he's going through. Ever since the apocalypse started you had to expect death from the ones who are close. “Listen, Daryl, nothing can spread us apart. Not even death. It's gonna be you and me forever, intertwined. I have loved you my whole life.” With a reassuring look, Daryl's eyes softened, as you lightly wiped his tears away. “I promise”, Holding him in a tight hug. After a few minutes of staying in each other's arms, Daryl whispered. “I love ya, my girl”.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello, to whom will read my fanfics! This is my first time creating a fanfic and posting one. I'm quite nervous to post this, but if anyone has any thoughts about my writing please let me know so I can improve my work! I hope you enjoyed this short story. I normally base my inspiration for writing these stories on songs, so if anyone has song requests for me to turn into a story, let me know!! :))

#daryl x female reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #the walking dead #daryl dixon #Spotify

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valentine-writes · 2 years

Note

Hello hello!!! I heard you were taking request so...

May I please have some HCs about how GR Freddy and the rest of the gang would be as S/Os? 👉👈

i could use a love of some kind

↳ ft. the glamrocks + sun/sunnydrop, and moon/moondrop

「 gn! reader, romantic relationship <3 」

author's note: the song iz just.... so sweet ^_^ i thought it would b nice 2 listen 2 while writing this, so i added it so u can listen while u read!!!! if u wanna!!!!! ty anon 4 tha fun req, and i apologize 4 not writing it sooner luv <3 also he/it moondrop my fav ever.....

GLAMROCK CHICA headcanons:

▸ she's your best friend before anything else. the minute she met you, she couldn't help but get attached

▸ ultra energetic whenever you're with her. your presence really refreshes her. can't help but be buzzed with energy when she's with you

▸ chica is beyond sappy. you two are an adorable duo, it's undeniable- but man do roxy and monty tease you so much. this does Not Stop chica at all

▸ enjoys being physically close. you don't even have to be actually touching- even like. sitting near her makes her happy

▸ adores you. chica is the best hype girl ever and will b ur cheerleader when u need it!!! gives you that extra bit of motivation when you need it.

▸ she may not be all that threatening, which is expected, since she's sweet as sugar and incredibly friendly- but swears she would throw hands for you.

▸ likes receiving gifts! even if it's something small and simple like a trinket, giving her something tells her you were thinking of her. small gestures like that mean the world to her

more hcs under the cut !!

GLAMROCK FREDDY headcanons:

▸ in my head, the healthiest relationships you could have are with chica and freddy. i think it's mainly because these two aren't so emotionally constipated- for lack of better term (´꒳｀;)

▸ so completely genuine and honest. willing to communicate when there's something wrong and is very gentle w/ u

▸ that being said, maybe he's just a little. tiny bit. protective. not incredibly or overwhelmingly, but definitely needs to know that you're doing well for his peace of mind.

▸ pays attention to you. remembers the little things you tell him about yourself. he especially likes hearing about what type of music you enjoy! if there's anyone who knows your music taste as well as you- it's him

▸ likes dancing with you!!! idk why i just feel like this is a thing. if you insist you can't dance- he'll try to teach you!!!! (he wants 2 spend more time with you so badly (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) freddy's rly trying <;/3)

▸ incredibly patient with you. if you're in emotional distress of some sort, always willing to comfort you first.

▸ secretly gets very nervous around you. he has this natural ability to have good conversational skills, doesn't have trouble getting along with others, and is generally likeable- he doubts ALL OF THAT around you. just a little. he seems to falter or get flustered very easily. freddy gets a little shy around u aw ^_^

ROXANNE WOLF headcanons:

▸ her insecurities can sometimes turn into jealousy- roxy just needs that extra bit of reassurance when it happens, she just wants to be good enough for you </3

▸ it's a little hard for her to let her pride down and actually express her emotions for you. her "i love you"s are often in the form of gestures and not verbal

▸ only ever really shows her soft side to you. it takes some time but she really does seem to melt around you. she's scared of being overly vulnerable with you- but give her time and you'll be the first person she opens up to when she needs some comfort

▸ WOOO SCARY ROBOT WOLF GF PRIVILEGES!!! if you ever feel in danger or uncomfortable in a situation, roxy 2 tha rescue!!!!! :] if someone's messing with you, they're gonna have to deal with her.

▸ she just thinks you're the cutest thing to ever be on the face of planet earth. likes watching your face light up when you tell her about things that you're passionate about- even likes how expressive you get when talking about things you despise. a good listener when you need one.

▸ compliments. so many. just casually. she wants to appreciate you like you appreciate her. she's a little bad at giving them at the start but give it time. they're from a place of sincerity.

▸ misses you very easily when you're not around. you could be gone for a day and the next time she sees you, she'll act like you've been away for decades.

MONTGOMERY GATOR headcanons:

▸ ough boy i write for this silly guy so so much. i am runnin outta monty juice but oh babey!!!! u two are just tha perf pair

▸ actually starting the relationship was the hardest part..... he's kind of emotionally guarded. slowly but surely he learns that he can trust you

▸ it might not be easy at the start- like, actually trying to get to know him. he's got some issues with anger and is very short tempered. little things throughout the day irritate him so much and he takes his anger out by thrashing his room and on people who don't deserve it.

▸ if he ever gets mean to you becuz of this anger tho?? oh man. he'll struggle through a million apologies just to make you feel better again. he wants to be nice 2 u, really. he's not bad. just a little troubled :(

▸ once he trusts you, you're one of the only people he's really soft for. you really just melt him into a sappy puddle. but also. still wants 2 b cool in ur eyes. so tries to hide it. (it does not work!!!!! he cannot hide how much he adores u)

▸ you get a million names and are always called them. like. always. so much so that like the entire pizzaplex probably thinks ur lil nickname from him is ur legal name. he likes recieving sweet little nicknames too :] however. he loves to hear your voice saying his name most.

▸ bonus: when talkin abt when u first saw each other, he's all like "it was love at first sight ;]" and ur like "...u looked like u wanted 2 kill me the first time we met." he recalls being absolutely head over heels. you recall how he stared intensely as you walked past, wondering what you had done to make him glare daggers ur way. (he remembers that heart eyes were practically forming under his shades. perhaps thats for him 2 know.)

SUNDROP headcanons:

▸ ok so he's fully and completely in love. his words, not mine. probably because that was one of the first things he said when meeting you. kidding! i think. but it's certainly no secret sunny liked you the minute you met. and how couldn't he?

▸ he tried so hard just to be friends with you. drew you a million drawings of you and him holding hands just to get the message across. guess it worked eventually!! and better than he thought it would <3

▸he puts so much effort into the relationship you two have- he secretly fears being replaced for someone better but shh its not the main reason he does all this- because he's never had this type of thing with anyone. he make sures to cherish you and give you all the attention and care you need. you will never go neglected by sun.

▸ you will however, have to be there for him too. he can get a little erratic and he needs someone to get him to calm down. offering him some patience and time is really all he asks for when he's being a little much.

▸ physically affectionate!!! so much!!!! he's not very shy about wanting a hug 24/7 or holding your hand- but if you aren't a very touchy person, he understands!! looming over your shoulder like a terrifying shadow works for him too. he just wants u there with him.

▸ knows every little detail about your likes and dislikes! keeps a list probably. just like. a t-chart with one side that says "good! fun!" and the other that says "ick! not enjoyed >:[ !!" stuff like favorite colour, genres of music you listen to, movies you love are there, yeah- but there's also like. specifics. incredibly niche details about yourself you've mentioned once or twice which he will keep and remember! the list was just for sun to keep track of what could be good conversation starters to talk to you when you two first met aw

▸ can get a little protective. again, he's a bit worried he's too much for you, or that you'll find someone better. he doesn't get jealous in a possessive sense but he def needs a bit of reassurance. he'd hate to be something replacable in your eyes. this is the first time someone has cared for him like this- losing you would hurt more than anything in the world.

MOONDROP headcanons:

▸ BASTARD WHO STICKS HIS COLD METAL HANDS ON THE BACK OF UR NECK. it's his way of showing affection. or bothering u. same thing when it comes to moon /hj

▸ i don't know how you managed. but hey congrats. you're stuck with it now! and moon fully intends to let you know that. clingy, yes- but not in the way sunny is. ok. kind of like how sun is. but more of the "looming-over-your-shoulder-like-a-terrifying-shadow" sense rather than the cuddles and handholding.

▸yes, when the lights are out, he will be following you around. he likes being in your presence. he doesn't undestand what draws him to you at first, but finds himself trailing your footsteps often. (this is. very anxiety inducing for you, who probably hadn't even talked to him at this point. like?? where are those weird bell noises coming from?? are those... eyes in the distance or- oh no wait it's gone in a blur wtf)

▸ though very reluctant to talk to anyone, you two somehow become close. it likes the fact you never really gave up on it- despite the fact it can be a bit offputting and unnerving.

▸ likes picking you up. greeting ritual where moon just kinda- hoists you into the air on sight. he decends down on his wire when he sees you enter and just. swoop.

"hi."

▸ will fight and kill and murder and bite and slaughter for you- just. your dynamic:

moon: why do you think i don’t like you? i do. i would kill for you.

moon: ask me to kill for you.

you: ...first of all, calm down-

^^THATZ U TWO. ITS CANON NOW. so like... yeah his chill is. very low. moon just tends to be very intense in every way possible and it shows. he's got the right intentions (for the most part) with all his fervour. he puts all that energy into showing you and letting you know you are loved and safe with him :] no one will hurt you. no one can.

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