#it's whole milk or no milk lets be real here

[unbridledsun]

I think I will go make some strawbebbie milk

#hersheys strawberry slaps mega fat ass #combine with lactose free milk and shes got that zest #lactose free milk is like a wife to me she is so luxurious #after making the switch 2% is like thick water I don't know how anybody drinks that crap #it's whole milk or no milk lets be real here #yellow wallpaper

[obsessedwithceleste]

The Cat Chronicles

(Or five times Theodore Nott *accidentally* stole your cat)

Theodore Nott x reader

word count: 5.9k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

1

The first time your cat went missing, you didn’t think entirely too much of it. You knew many of the Hogwarts cats liked to gather behind the herbology greenhouse where a particularly plentiful patch of catnip grew. However, Gladys was never one to miss meal time, and when the time came to 30 minutes after her usual feeding time, you knew something was amiss. With a sigh, you made your way out to your common room where you saw Cho sitting by the fireplace with several other of your class mates.

“Has anyone seen Gladys wandering about? She missed feeding time and I haven’t seen her much today,” you say as you approach the group.

“I haven’t, sorry y/n. We’ll keep a look out for her though,” Cho tells you.

You let out a small sigh of disappointment.

“Thanks Cho,” you say before heading out to wander the halls of the castle, hoping to find your elusive, black cat.

You start out by the greenhouse where you see a whole gaggle of cats, but none with the sleek black coat that identified your furry friend. You then walked around the grounds a bit more with no luck, before moving on to the kitchens where several of the house elves promised to keep an eye out for the small black cat. You even checked several empty class rooms before coming to a stop outside the library. It wouldn’t hurt to check. Twenty minutes later, you were still completely out of luck. Tired and frustrated, you were about to call it a night when a loud chorus of voices turn down the hall. You look to see who it was and find a hoard of Slytherin boys making their way towards you. You recognized them of course, but didn’t exactly know them. What you did know however, was the mop of black fur one of the taller boys in the back of the group was holding.

“Gladys!” You exclaim, rushing towards the group of boys.

Their eyes all turn towards you and at the sound of her name, the fiesty black cat springs from the arms of the boy and runs towards you.

With a large grin of relief, you scoop the cat up into your arms, feeling her light purr as you scratch behind her ears. Feeling several pairs of eyes on you, you look up to see the group of boys still staring at you and your cat.

“Um, thanks, for finding my cat,” you say awkwardly, squeezing the cat to your chest lightly. The tall, brunette boy who had just been holding your cat only nods silently before turning and walking off, the rest of the group following, except one.

“Hey, sorry about Theo. He means well, really. Man really likes cats, but doesn’t have one of his own, so he sometimes makes friends with cats wandering the halls. We’ve all told him that he should probably stop, ah, borrowing, people’s cats, but he can’t seem to resist. Names Enzo by the way,” the boy says with a friendly smile, extending his hand out.

You take his hand, shaking it cautiously before a smile creeps it’s way onto your face.

“Thank you, Enzo.” You say, hesitating a moment before adding, “You know, Gladys is a picky bitch. Theo must be a pretty okay person if she let him carry her around.” You tell him before disappearing with your cat.

2

The second time your cat went missing, you honestly didn't realize she was missing at all. Theo had found his way down to the kitchens about a week after the original cat incident. That's how he thought of it anyway. The kitchens were one of his favorite places to lurk as not many students knew of the secret entrance behind one particular painting of a fruit bowl. The real attraction that often drew the brunette boy to the hidden sanctuary however, was the constant stream of cats that often visited the house elves who happily offered up dishes of cream and other treats. Plopping himself down on the floor next to a particularly populated bowl of milk, Theo's eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar set of glowing yellow orbs.

"Hello there, Gladys," he said hesitantly, decently sure that was the name called out by the pretty Ravenclaw girl who had stolen the cat from him a few nights ago.

Well, stolen in this case was rather relative, as the cat was technically hers, he supposed. Hearing her name however, the little black cat pranced over, nuzzling her head affectionately against his leg with a soft purr. Picking the sweet creature up into his arms, Theo stroked her soft fur, thinking back to his encounter with her owner, a grimace reaching his face.

He had been a downright bloody idiot. That was for certain. Theo was not usually one to be rendered incompetent by the mere presence of a pretty girl. No. That was meant more for Enzo. Or even Draco sometimes. But never Theodore. In fact, Theo had quite the reputation for his tendency to sleep around which made the idea of his mind completely blanking at the sight of this cat's owner all the more embarrassing. Matteo had made fun of him ruthlessly later that night. What had he said again? Right. Absolutely nothing. Just nodded like a right dunce.

The only solace Theo had gotten from that night was when Enzo pulled him aside quietly and told him what the pretty girl from earlier had said about him. "He must be pretty okay." It was hardly a compliment, but after the fool he'd made of himself, it really was the best Theo could hope for. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Theo once again focused on the little beast snuggling contentedly in his arms, carefully scratching behind the ears, a spot he'd found the cat quite liked.

The sound of the entrance painting swinging open startled Theo; and he honestly wasn't sure if he was elated, or absolutely mortified that the very girl who had been previously plaguing his thoughts was stepping through into the kitchens.

You honestly weren't entirely surprised to see the boy from a few nights ago sitting on the floor, cradling your cat, when you entered the kitchens. After Enzo had admitted to you that the handsome brunette had a soft spot for the castle's feline population, you figured it was only a matter of time until you bumped into him here considering it was a hot spot for the four legged beasts.

"Hello. See you've managed to find my cat again," you say, offering a small smile to the boy in front of you. After your encounter with that particular group of Slytherins, you did a bit of asking around, finding that Theodore Nott, while a bit known for his escapades with the female population, was actually one of the more talented wizards of your year. And one of the more level headed. (But in comparison to Draco and Matteo, you weren't exactly sure how much credit to give him there.)

The boy blinks up at you once before seeming to find his voice.

"She's a sweet little thing," he says finally, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but you.

You cautiously move forward, more worried about spooking the boy in front of you than the cats. Sitting down, you allow a pretty little Siamese kitten to wander into your lap. Gladys hisses with jealousy, but remains snuggled in the arms of the boy.

"She really seems to like you. Bit surprising. She's really not much of a people person," you tell him.

Theo nods at you, an action you found yourself growing familiar with.

"Enzo told me." He replies curtly.

You open your mouth to respond, but don't quite know how, so you let an awkward silence roll over the two of you.

"Well, I find that Gladys is a very good judge of character," you say finally.

Theo lets out a small smile at this, continuing to stroke your cat's soft fur. After that, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence with Theodore continuing to shower your cat with affection while you distract the many other felines, crowding the kitchen floor.

"Theo?" you wonder finally, the question burning away at you. The boy looks up, and you find yourself getting lost in the surprisingly soft brown eyes staring back at you. Breaking from the trance with a small shiver, you ask, "If you like cats so much, why don't you have one of your own?"

Theo's eyes immediately fall, and his hand freezes mid pet, much to Gladys' dismay. A pang of guilt washes through you.

"My father isn't much of an animal person," He replies stiffly.

You give him a small nod in response before rising from the floor.

"It's getting pretty late, I should get going," you say softly. "Gladys can find her way back to the tower on her own just fine," you add when you see Theo make no move to release the cat.

Without another word, you move to open the portrait door. You enter the hall with a small smile gracing your lips as you hear his voice quietly as the door closes.

"Thank you, y/n."

He knew your name.

3

The next time Theo met Gladys was much sooner than he expected. He had left the kitchens several hours ago and was now laying in bed. The clock sitting on his bed side now read 1am. The deafening silence was about to finally lull him to sleep when an insistent scratching at the door caused his eyes to fly open. Sitting up, Theo glanced at the door warily before finally deciding to cross the room to find out what was causing the noise.

As soon as the door opened, a black shadow darted through, making a beeline for his bed. How it seemed to know exactly where it was going, Theo had no clue. Making his way silently back to his bed, careful not to wake either of his roommates, Theo was finally able to make out the dark shape of an ever familiar black cat.

"Hi there, principessa," he whispered, gently stroking the cat's ears before crawling into the bed next to it. Gladys seemed to take this as an invitation to curl up in the nook of his arm, and Theo wasn't about to object. The last thought he remembered before drifting off was how nice it would be if Gladys' pretty owner was there too.

"Theo, what the fuck."

Theo woke with a start, to the loud voice of Lorenzo Berkshire ringing out above him. His eyes opened to see the other boy hovering over his bed, a look of shocked confusion apparent on his face.

"Is that y/n's cat?" he asks, leaning down as if to get a closer look at the fluff ball still snuggled in Theo's arms.

"No way," Matteo laughs from the other side of the room. "You stole her cat again? What, is this some sick and twisted new way for you to lure girls into your bed?"

Theo launches a pillow at Matteo's head. He doesn't miss.

"You better go return that thing before y/n starts to worry," Enzo advises, going back to his own side of the room. "And maybe just ask her out while you're at it hmm?" He adds, quickly ducking behind his fourposter before Theo has the chance to send another pillow flying his way.

With a heavy sigh, Theo comes to a stop outside of what he's pretty sure is the Ravenclaw common room. He's about to raise his hand to knock, when the golden eagle head mounted to the door springs to life.

"What gets broken, without being held?" The eagle asks, blinking at him slowly.

Right. Theo knew about this. The most annoying of the common room doors because instead of a password, the bloody door required you to answer a riddle. Theo was about to turn on his heel to leave when he felt a light presence behind him.

"Hello Theo. Hello Gladys." The platinum blonde haired girl said, giving the two of them an airy nod, before turning her attention to the door. "Would it perhaps be, a promise?" she asks.

The door swings open and Theo quickly hurries after the girl, making his way up the staircase. He'd never actually been inside the Ravenclaw common room, and his breath hitched when they reached the top of the stairs. The main room really was magnificent, nothing like the dark, eerie dungeons of the Slytherin common room. Theo eyed the shelves of books lining the wall longingly.

"Her room is just there, up and to the left," the blonde girl he'd followed in says, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Y/n? Her room is just there," the girl repeats, gesturing to a door at the top of another small flight of stairs.

"Oh. thanks," Theo makes out, giving the girl a nod of gratitude.

"Name's Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood." She says whimsically before floating off.

With a deep inhale to calm his nerves, Theo makes his way up the stairs and knocks gently on the door. Gladys lets out a meow of protest. Absolutely nothing could have prepared Theo for what was on the other side of the door. He felt his throat go completely dry as the door swung open and you stood in front of him in what was probably the shortest, skimpiest set of clothing that could possibly be considered pajamas. Theo tried not to stare, he really did, but he was only a man. A very weak and smitten man.

"Oh! There you are Gladys. I wondered where you wandered off to last night!" you say looking at your cat and then back up at Theo, and then again at your cat before looking back up at Theo expectantly. "Um. May I have my cat back?"

Theo jolts back to life, realizing he'd been staring and looks at you sheepishly.

"Sorry, don't know how this little one found me. Snuck her way into the Slytherin common room and then into my dorm. Didn't want to leave her in the halls alone, so I let her stay the night," he tells you.

You stare at the boy in shock, realizing that was the longest string of words you'd ever heard out of him.

"Wow Theodore, I'm impressed. I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk. And here I was thinking you were secretly illiterate," you say with a playful grin.

"Please," the boy scoffs. "I'm the picture of eloquence."

Interested in where this sudden burst of confidence that you didn't normally see from him had come from, you take a step back, inviting him into your room. He hesitantly accepts your invitation, bringing Gladys along with him.

"No roommates?" he asks, perching on the edge of your bed as Gladys purrs softly on his lap. At the moment, you found nothing more attractive than this man absolutely pampering your beloved pet.

"Not many Ravenclaw girls in our year, we had the option to share, but most of us opted for solo rooms. Wanted the extra privacy, I suppose," you tell him, leaning on one of the posts at the end of your bed.

Theo nods his head at this.

"I have two roommates," he shares.

"One of them happen to be Enzo Berkshire?"

Theo nods again. "And Matteo. Riddle" he adds.

You cock your head at that with a grin.

"Interesting pairing," you comment, imagining the chaos those two must bring with them.

"It never gets boring," Theo responds.

A moment of silence passes.

"I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime. I hear you're exceptionally talented at potions. And Charms. And everything really." Theo lets out finally.

You raise an eyebrow at the boy, internally screaming.

Trying to keep your cool, you tilt your head, "I hear you are too."

It's like a switch flips inside Theo.

"Well, we're obviously perfect for each other than," He replies easily, a cocky grin beginning to spread across his face. "Meet you in the library tomorrow at 7? And bring the cat."

You let out a laugh as Theo rises from the bed, gently placing Gladys down on the pillow, before going to make his way out of your dorm.

"You only like me for my cat," you joke, shifting to watch as he crosses the room to the door.

"Not just for your cat," he assures you, "I love the outfit, wear it for me more often, hmm?" he says slyly before the door thuds shut behind him.

You look down at your outfit, jaw dropping open and heat rushing to your cheeks.

4

Theo's head was pounding. Music pumped through the Slytherin common room and Theo could barely see through the crowds of people around him as he pushed his way to the circle of sofas occupied by his friends. Collapsing into a spot next to Matteo, the boy offered him another shot of who-knew-what which he quickly knocked back.

"When's that pretty little thing that's been occupying all your time gonna join us at one of our little gathering?" Matteo slurs out, gesturing to the large crowd around them.

Over the past several weeks, you and Theo had grown significantly closer; your first study date quickly becoming a daily occurrence as you found that you each were able to easily keep up with one another. Something about having a partner who was actually able to challenge you was exhilarating. From there, you found yourselves often seeking each other out simply for the sake of good company, Gladys largely increasing the number of these meetings.

"Don't know that Gladys would like it. Cat's aren't supposed to ingest alcohol," Theo responded, not quite drunk enough to fall for his friend's taunting.

Enzo places another shot in his hand, and Theo raises a brow at him, before knocking that one back as well.

"Did you ever ask y/n why in Salazar's name, she choose to name her cat Gladys?" Matteo asks. "If my name were Gladys, I'd being running off constantly too."

Theo thumps Matteo on the back of the head.

"You leave our cat out of this, she ain't do nothin wrong," he says, glaring at his friend.

"So now she's our cat is she?" Enzo asks, a smirk growing on his face. "Didn't know you and y/n were so serious."

"It's our cat damnit! If marrying y/n is what it takes to finally have a cat of my own, so be it," Theo says decidedly.

Enzo snorts at his clearly, very drunk friend. "Careful, or one might think you're only into her for her cat. And not the cunty kind."

Theo scowls at this. "Y/n says that all the time, but have you seen that ass? And the way she mopped the floor with Draco in potions the other day? She's perfect."

"Yeah? Why don't you go tell her that then?" Matteo says, wanting nothing more than to see a drunk Theo try to make his way to Ravenclaw Tower.

"You know what? I will. And I'll pet Gladys too." Theo states. A look of pure, intoxicated determination set on his face.

Lorenzo eyes his friend warily. While not exactly sober himself, he didn’t particularly like the look his friend was giving them.

“Aw c’mon Enz, don’t you try and be the voice of reason now,” Matteo drawls, sensing the hesitation coming from his friend. “Don’t you want to meet the lil thing our beloved Theodore has been obsessing over for weeks now?”

“I’m not obsessing,” Theo snaps, taking a sip straight out of a random bottle he’d picked up from the table.

“Let’s go. I’m gonna steal her cat. For real this time.”

With a wide grin, Matteo jumps up, ready to follow his friend wherever the night took him. With a low groan, Enzo followed suit, knowing that his pair of roommates would need some sort of guidance to prevent them from walking themselves straight of the edge of the astronomy tower.

You didn’t have a lot of expectations for the quiet Friday night that you were spending curled up with a book and your cat. It was late, and after a long and stressful week, the time alone with Gladys was just what you needed to really recharge. You had spent most of your day lounging out on the lawn next to the Black Lake with Theodore, studying with and harassing the boy. A small smile crept onto your face, remembering the way his brown curls had floated about in the soft breeze.

You really hadn’t expected for the two of you to become so close, so quickly, but you weren’t complaining. You’d grown quite fond of the boy, especially once he started opening up a bit more. You’d initially thought that he was a man of very few words, but quickly learned he was in fact very sharp witted and even a bit snarky at times. Time spent with him had easily become your favorite part of the day and was something you were constantly looking forward to.

A sharp knock jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to jump a bit where you were sitting, Gladys letting out a yowl of protest.

You quickly cross the room and open the door to find a very miffed looking Cho, a frown imbedded on her face.

“Sorry to bother, but could you please come get your boy under control? He’s upsetting the portraits.” She says.

You blink once. Then again.

“Sorry?”

“Your Slytherin fellow? He’s out in the corridor with two of his friends harassing the door,” she explains, turning to lead you down the spiral staircase.

You’re not even halfway down when you begin to hear the voices.

“Who in the bloody hell would want to be in Ravenclaw with this blast-ended skewt ass looking-“

“Matteo you can’t curse out the door.”

“I’ll curse at the bloody door if I want to bloody curse at it.”

You grimace, looking at Cho who looks back with a similarly displeased facial expression.

“Sorry bout them. I’ll take it from here,” you tell her when you reach the bottom.

With a slight nod, she turns to retreat back up the stairs. With a sigh, you push the door open, almost taking out Matteo who had been leaning on it for support.

“Hi amore, fancy seeing you here,” Theo slurs, a grin taking over his face at the sight of you.

Enzo leans against a pillar, face in hands, looking like he wanted to disappear. You could smell the alcohol on all of them.

“Hi Theodore. Are you sober?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“I’m moderately functional,” he replies with a lopsided smile.

“I’m taking that as a no,” you say, glancing worriedly at Matteo who was currently laying spread eagle on the floor. “Let’s get you boys back to your common room.”

“I wouldn’t. Party’s not gonna end any time soon. They’ll just get more hammered and start wandering off again,” Enzo advises, head still in hands. “Like herding hippogriffs with those two.”

“And Theo hasn’t proclaimed his undying love for y/n yet!” Matteo adds.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and Theo glowers at his friend.

“It’s okay Theo, I know he’s drunk,” you say, not certain if you were saying it more to comfort him or yourself.

Theo ignores you however, turning his attention back to the door.

“Let us in, I just want to pet the cat,” he tells the door, swaying ever so slightly.

For Salazar’s sake. Man gets absolutely wasted and just wants to pet your cat. You go to grab onto Theo to steady him, but he has other plans. Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Hi,” he mumbles, picking you up just enough that your toes barely touch the ground. “I missed you. Can we see the cat now?”

Not knowing what else to do, you glance helplessly at Enzo.

“Would you be able to get Matteo up the stairs?” You ask.

“I can try. He’s a stubborn bastard though.”

You turn back to the door, knocking once. The eagle once again moves to life, glaring at the scene in front of it.

“If the day before yesterday was the 23rd, what is the day after tomorrow?” It asks crankily.

“We’re too fucking wasted for this bloody bullshit,” Matteo moans from the floor.

You try to ignore Theo’s tight grasp on your waist and Enzo prodding at Matteo with his foot before answering. “The 27th.”

The door swings open and you try your best to haul Theo through, Enzo following closely behind with a very disgruntled Matteo. Dragging the boys up the staircase feels like the most difficult task of your life as you constantly tell Matteo to lower his voice and mind his mouth while also trying to ignore the very minimal distance between yourself and Theodore. When you finally make it to the top, you rush to herd the boys into your room before slamming the door shut behind you with relief. Theo immediately stumbles over to your bed, collapsing face first in the middle and snatching Gladys into his arms.

“No roommates?” Enzo asks, looking around the room and seeing the single empty bed that you had pushed into the corner at the beginning of the year.

“No, thank Rowena. I would not want to have to explain whatever this is.” You reply, motioning to Theo and Matteo who was now wandering about the room.

“Room’s a mess. Coulda at least cleaned up a bit,” he says, poking at the various books and blank scrolls lying about.

“Had I known I would be having guests at,” you glance at the clock, “almost 2 in the morning, I’m sure I would have.” You say dryly.

Retrieving your wand from your desk, you point it at the spare bed. “Engorgio.” The wooden frame creaks as it expands until it can comfortably fit 2 people. You look at Enzo.

“Good luck with that one,” you say, almost feeling sorry for the boy as Matteo flops onto the bed with a groan.

“Looks like you’re gonna need it more than me,” he replies, gesturing to Theo who was out cold, Gladys trapped and bug eyed in his grasp. With a sigh you and Enzo each resign yourselves to your respective charge.

“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a light shove. No sign of life. You give him a slightly harder shove, allowing Gladys is wriggle out of her prison. Frowning, you sit down on the edge of the bed, using most of your body weight to shove Theo to one side of the bed before sliding under the covers. Now deeming it safe, Gladys hops back into the bed, nestling into your arms happily. You’re about to close your eyes when you feel arms snaking around your waste, pulling you into the very warm chest of Theodore Nott. You freeze, holding your breath, not sure if the boy is asleep or not.

“Goodnight mi amore,” he whispers into your neck, causing the hairs to prickle.

Definitely not asleep.

“Goodnight Theodore.”

You hadn’t had any expectations for the night really, but you definitely had not expected to have multiple overnight guests who were trying to steal your cat. And you most certainly did not expect to drift off in the arms of Theodore Nott.

5

The next morning you wake up missing the usual lump of fur weighing down on your chest. Immediately you bolt upright, eyes shooting around for any sign of your furry companion before the events of last night wash over you. Enzo and Matteo are both still out cold and when you look down, your jaw drops open. Theo is fast asleep, back facing you, Gladys snoozing contentedly while cradled in his arms. Even in his sleep this absolute tosser had managed to steal your damn cat.

Careful not to wake the boys, or Gladys, you silently sneak across the room and disappear out the door. Once you’re safely out of hearing distance, you make your way quickly down the kitchens. A little known fact about the Hogwarts house elves was that many had once served in the homes of different wizarding families at one time or another. This meant that many of the elves were all too familiar with the valuable hangover potion that you sought.

Ducking in through the portrait hole, it wasn’t difficult to persuade the elves into handing over 3 glistening blue vials. You had always been kind to them, often chatting with them during your visits with the cats.

Your task complete, you made your way back to Ravenclaw tower, taking your time as you didn’t expect the boys to be up any time soon. They really had been plastered. Not even Enzo had been completely sober you recalled.

You’re just passing the entrance to the dungeons when a voice calls out.

“Hey! You!”

You’re ready to continue on your way before noticing that there was no one else in the corridor they could be referring to. You turn to see two girls you recognized as the Greengrass sisters hurrying towards you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the shorter blonde girl says when they get closer. You’re pretty sure that one is Astoria. “You’re the girl Theo has been seeing right?”

You nod your head cautiously. You knew Theo had a reputation for getting around, so if that’s what this was about, things were about to become quite awkward.

“You haven’t happened to see him or Matteo or Lorenzo, have you?” The other girl, Daphne, asks.

“Draco said he saw the three of them leave the party together last night, but no one saw them come back,” Astoria explains.

You feel yourself immediately relax. Good. At least this was something you could help with.

“You two are lucky you found me then I suppose,” you tell them, gesturing for them to follow. “The three of them tried breaking into Ravenclaw tower last night, so I let them crash in my dorm.”

“Oh Salazar. Were they trying to steal your cat? I’m so sorry. When Matteo gets drunk he has a tendency to try and egg Theo on,” Astoria frets.

You give the girls a strange look. “You know about my cat?” You ask, surprised.

“Oh sure,” Daphne replies. “Whole group does really. Boys came back one night going on about how Theo was just smitten with some Ravenclaw with a cute cat. And I can see why. You’re gorgeous by the way.”

You blush at her statement, diverting the subject away.

“The boys should probably still be asleep. I just ran down to the kitchens to get these,” you tell them, brandishing the potions you had gathered. “Once they’ve downed these, they’re all yours.”

Astoria eyes the potions with jealousy and you realize the two girls were probably decently hung over as well.

“Oh you can keep Theo, we were really just looking to collect Enzo and Matt,” Daphne laughs, giving you a sly look. You open your mouth to reply, but stop realizing you had reached your common room door.

After a few attempts, you’re finally able to solve the blasted riddle and the door swings open.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had this many Slytherins in our common room before,” you joke, leading the girls up to your room.

Pushing the door open, you’re unsurprised to see the boys still passed out.

“This must be the infamous Gladys,” Daphne whispers, quietly approaching Theo who was still clutching onto Gladys as if his life depended on it. Again you’re surprised that these girls apparently even knew the name of your cat.

The two coo at the sight of your cat, coming to the conclusion that she was indeed worthy of warranting cat theft before Astoria finally decided it was time for them to get the boys out of your hair. They migrated over to the other side of the room where Enzo and Matteo were sound asleep, leaving you to deal with Theo.

You decide the easiest route, may just be to lure Gladys away, so you fetch her food dish before accio-ing her kibble container. At the sound of her food, Gladys was up and running, darting over for her morning feast. At the sudden loss of fluffy heat, Theo groaned, rolling over, face down into the pillows. After giving Gladys her food, you move back to Theo, giving him a rough shake.

“Come back to bed principessa,” he grumbles, reaching out and flailing his arm in your general direction.

“It’s time to get up Theodore. Come on, I got you three hangover potions,” you say, waving one over his head.

“Did someone say hangover potion? Give,” Matteo demands from the other side of the room. You look over to see Daphne and Astoria sitting on the side of the bed while Matteo and Enzo were groggily waking up.

Pulling out her wand, Daphne gestured for you to toss her the potions which her magic catches easily, levitating the vials over to the other two boys. Matteo snatches one out of the air, quickly downing half before offering the other half to Astoria. Enzo does the same, giving the second half to Daphne who graciously accepts. After a moment, the four of them are looking much more awake.

“Thanks for making sure these three didn’t drown themselves in the lake,” Astoria says, once the potion had really kicked. “And sorry you’re not having more luck with that one. He’s always been a late riser.”

“You’ll be lucky to get him up in the next hour,” Enzo agrees, rising from the bed. “Thanks again y/n.”

The four of them shuffle out of your dorm, a chorus is thanks and apologies strung along until they reached the door. Even Matteo gave you a nod of gratitude. Once they were all gone, you collapse once more onto your bed.

“They finally gone?” You hear Theo ask, as he rolls over to look at you. You nod, faces so close that your noses are practically touching and you can feel small puffs of air as he exhales. “Thanks for last night. I’m sorry for trying to steal your cat.”

You let out a snort at that. “Did you know when I woke up this morning, you had turned away from me completely, and stolen my cat away from me in your sleep?” You ask with a laugh.

Theo at least has the decency to look embarrassed as Gladys joins the two of you once more.

“I should do this more often,” Theo says finally, reaching out to stroke Gladys’s fur.

“What? Get downright plastered and break into my room, or steal my cat?” You scoff.

“Sleep in your bed with you.”

You freeze, looking up to see if the boy was being serious. His eyes blink back at you unwavering.

“You can come back any time,” you tell him, snuggling your way into his chest, ready to fall back asleep in the boy’s arms.

“Will Gladys be here?”

“Oh my god, yes she will be here,” you say dramatically throwing your head back.

Theo grins down at you, leaning in and pressing his lips softly against yours.

“I’m only joking amore,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your nose.

“Of course Gladys would be here, she adores me.”

“Get out of my bed.”

A/N

My biggest regret in life, is being highly allergic to cats </3

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin boys fanfiction #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #matteo riddle #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #harry potter universe #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theo nott fanfiction #hogwarts houses #ravenclaw reader #Theo loves cats

[orteil42]

Cookie Clicker turns 10 today! Having outlived our enemies, let us celebrate with a fresh batch of announcements!

🍪First of all, Cookie Clicker is 40% off on Steam this week! The perfect gift for your loved and/or hated ones! (the web version is still free forever but you don't get Steam achievements or music by C418!)

🍪Secondly! The mobile version has been lagging behind the browser game for years and is in dire need of an update. I've been dedicating most of my time recently to bringing its content up to par! Here's a progress report:

Compared to the current version, this update adds back 284 upgrades and 179 achievements from the web game, which leaves 83 upgrades and 94 achievements still unimplemented plus a good amount of heavenly upgrades. I am determined to close that gap!

Seasons and the pet dragon are currently partially implemented. These are complicated, compound features with side-effects in all kinds of places so once the update gets an alpha release I'll likely be needing everyone's help to hunt for bugs and oversights. I'm being as thorough as possible but there's no way I didn't forget some obscure interplay somewhere!

I'm also updating the UI! Cookie Clicker's interface makes heavy use of woodwork, which is largely absent from the mobile version; I've been aiming to bring it back. Rather than recycling desktop assets, I'm looking to push the game's visual identity towards less "plain wooden boards" and more "victorian biscuit shop" (something I'd have liked to go for when I first made the game but didn't quite know how yet). Here's some early screenshots!

I'm using Blender for the new assets, I might make a more in-depth post about my process in the future. Please note that these are experimental and I'm still fiddling with the look! Once I'm happy with it I'll ideally be giving the desktop game a similar makeover.

This update will hopefully come out later this year and will likely involve multiple rounds of alpha. Once stable, future updates will focus on adding sugar lumps and as many of the minigames as possible.

🍪Thirdly: the Makeship grandma plushie is real and we're doing a giveaway! Please read this twitter post to enter. Note that if the launch campaign succeeds we've got other plushies in mind! Maybe a wrinkler?

🍪Fourthly - there was going to be a really cool announcement here but I've been informed I'm not yet at liberty to discuss it. It's sooooo cool tho trust me. things happening. u gotta take my word for it. tune in next time

🍪Lastly:

i've got enough dough for like, idk 50 more? mom's recipe. white+dark+milk chocolate. they're very good thank you

PS. thank you for playing with us all these years! odds are some of you reading this have been here since the very start. that's mad to think about! Opti and I couldn't have done this for 10 whole years without all of you hyping us up. i want to see if we can do 10 more. get real freaky with it

#cookie clicker

[ohimsummer]

LOWKEY, SHE’S SO SWEET ft. SUGURU GETO

— minors dni, light angst?, suguru x fem! reader, penetrative sex, mention of gojo x reader (one kiss), slight dumbification, nipple play, biting/hickeys, making out, lovesick! suguru, what could’ve been a creampie, pussy taps, dry humping, reader gets a little flustered (duh it’s suguru), pussy whipped suguru ?, a little proofread

wc 3.3k

Gojo had a lot of bad habits. Eating an over abundance of sweets, not taking things seriously, hiding his feelings, along with procrastinating and, more importantly, avoiding things he shouldn’t.

“Since when were you such a coward?,” Shoko asks and elbows him in the ribs.

He faces away, a lip jutted out as he mumbles a response. “‘M not a coward, I just don’t like her in that way.”

Suguru stands nearby, lighting a cigarette as he eavesdrops on the conversation. The lighter falls deep into his pocket, while he’s wondering how he could have such an absolute idiot as his best friend. People who don’t like someone else ‘in that way’ don’t get butterflies when they kiss that person, but he digresses. If Gojo wants to let you go and keep denying his own feelings, so be it. Suguru will gladly swoop you up and make you his own. Ever since that kiss you and Satoru had shared, one the former was adamant meant nothing because he definitely wasn’t in love with you, the two of you had been avoiding each other for a few weeks now. Well, Gojo was avoiding you. Geto discovered through Shoko that you just didn’t want to force him into anything, putting Gojo’s feelings above your own and essentially condoning his childish actions—and that you were struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’d wasted your first real kiss on someone who apparently thought you meant nothing special.

A week after the incident, Geto was over at your place again, as he often was since you two did hang out a lot. Shoulders drooped, the usual playfulness in your voice is gone, he never gets a good look at your face and that’s on purpose. At that point, it was too hard to conceal your emotions about the whole thing—Geto can read you like an open book, and the conversation wouldn’t be worth the heartache. You’re nothing like yourself. If he’s being honest, Suguru’s annoyed and a little bit jealous that you’re this way over his friend. He could treat you so much better. He’s not the type that needs to be pushed so hard just to admit his feelings; the type to just up and pretend his friend of almost a decade doesn’t exist anymore over one kiss.

It’s not like Geto was being unfair here. He’d been eyeing you for years already, anyway, stuck watching you pine after—and now, lose sleep over—his snowy-haired best friend. Almost two months had passed, and this was the final straw to push Geto over the edge. If the strongest sorcerer in the world was going to waste both his own and your time, then Geto would move things along himself.

“Glad your mission went well.,” Suguru says as you usher him into your spacious apartment, coming to check on you after an especially grueling curse you’d been assigned to kill.

“Oh yeah, easy-peasy.,” you laugh. Your hand waves through the air as if swatting away a fly. “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

He’s used to this, your bravado after every mission, regardless of how dangerous it actually was. Something to lighten the mood after just putting your life on the line. You’re similar to Gojo in that aspect, only the tiredness behind your words and expression is far more evident, but you power through regardless. Calm and collected as ever, pouring yourself a glass of milk and gesturing a chilled water bottle at your guest in offering. Geto rests on the couch with an arm slung over the back as he watches you toss the half-empty jug within the fridge, before prancing over to him with a playful grin.

“Milk?” An airy chuckle puffs from his lips.

Your eyes narrow as you toss the bottle into his lap, your own glass hesitating before your mouth. “Listen, I had a craving while I was out, and it’s going to help my bones grow. I have to catch up to you and Gojo somehow.”

Your silly comment elicits a tugging at Suguru’s lips, ignoring again how you’ve started using his friend’s last name. There’s a flicker of discomfort that crosses your features at the thought of Gojo—he’s noticed your sudden unease at the mention of the sorcerer—before you’re chugging the milk in swift gulps. Geto sees the tension, traces of it at least, leave you through the relaxation of your shoulders.

“So,” you lower the glass just a little, tongue swiping the milk mustache below your nose. “Wanna watch a movie? You don’t have a mission tomorrow, right?”

A shake of his head. “Nope. I’m all yours for the night.” His cheeky words brings a warmth to your face.

Geto lets you pick the movie, giving in to you like he usually does, and accepts the invitation to sprawl out on your bed upstairs. It’s more spacious than the couch, and also adorned with various plushies to protect you both from the frights of the dreadful movie about to play. It’s a typical psychological horror—filled with cheap jumpscares and agonizing suspense in the form of characters lingering through the shadows. He’s never seen this film before, so Geto should be paying attention because he knows you like to discuss after, but he just can’t. Not with both your sides pressed together and the heat of your body radiating onto him, or when your head lolls against his shoulder, face half-hidden behind the fuzzy dog plush in your arms.

It’s sweet, the way you jolt when a character springs from behind a corner, squealing in fright, lowering just a little further behind the stuffed animal. His heart races a little faster when you cower against him, eyes soften a little more at your goofy comments about the idiotic choices of the cast members. You, laughing at your own words, which makes him laugh in turn, and Suguru feels like he’s just falling more in love with you and your being.

Another hair-raising scene occurs, and Geto slinks a comforting arm around your shoulder, face growing warm when you shuffle to sink further into him. From the corner of his eye, he can see the fear written on your face. It’s amusing and just endearing really, how you’re seemingly more frightened by the fake movie monster than an actual cursed spirit. His hand snakes over your face to cover your eyes, fingers spread so you may peek through, and Geto chuckles when you scrunch your nose up at him.

“Are you trying to say I look scared–!”, The accusation barely leaving your mouth before a loud gasp erupts from your throat, the source of your shock being the sudden loud noise of a bookshelf falling in the movie. Alas, your boldness is thwarted by another cheap scare.

“Ah, silly me. Of course not.” Geto’s voice is mocking as he brushes hair from your face. “So fearless, I can tell.”

“Shut up, that doesn’t count, you distracted me.”

He laughs again. “Oh, so you’re gonna pin that reaction on me?”

You mumble into the stuffed dog something unintelligible, face half concealed against Geto’s chest. His hand falls to rest on your shoulder, drawing circles and then hearts into the warm skin of your body. You squeeze an arm behind yourself to wrap around him, giggling when he turns to glance at your smaller hand on his other side.

“So you won’t be scared the rest of the movie.,” you tease with a toothy grin.

“Me?” He thinks you’re ridiculous in the cutest way. “I haven’t jumped once.”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re lucky I was too busy watching the movie to notice you shivering over there.” The faint smell of his cologne is intoxicating from this distance. “Your heart’s probably pounding right now.”

It is, Geto thinks, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. Less of the movie, and more of your pretty face inches from his. The film continues playing on your laptop, a scene shot at night and through the dark screen, Geto admires you in the reflection. Those wide, doe-eyes seemingly hyper-focused on what’s in front of you, darting to take in everything on display—maybe you’d find an Easter egg in this shot, some reference to another movie, perhaps? Your breathing hitches when a sound makes the main character twist to look behind them, and Geto finds himself hugging you just a little bit tighter.

“I’m fine, y’know.” You huff the sentence out at him, catching his curious gaze through the dark reflection of your laptop. “Why are staring at me like that?”

Your head raises, turning to confront him. Amongst the love in Suguru’s eyes, you see hints of fondness, soft and subtle as he studies you. And behind that, something else that’s not so innocent. It all intrigues you.

“Got something on your mind, Suguru?”

This was supposed to be happening with Gojo. Or you’d originally hoped it would, anyway.

The movie was long forgotten, laptop dark as the credits had ended a while ago. The device teetered along the edge of your bed before falling, luckily cushioned by the discarded yellow puppy plush that’d met the floor through Geto’s foot.

Your moans bounce around the room, occasionally colliding with his grunts of satisfaction as Suguru’s tongue danced around in your mouth, him nibbling on your bottom lip as a hand crept up your shirt. Shaky legs squeeze around his waist, parted by Geto’s knee, and you grind against the flex of his thigh to relieve the building ache in your core.

There’s the soft smack of parting lips whenever Suguru breaks away, eager to shower kisses along your exposed neck, littered with the dark marks of his possession—then he returns for the taste of strawberry on your lips again. There it is again, this endearing sweetness about you, it’s engraved into your very being: your laugh, your smile, your silly jokes, the flavor of your kiss. A needy grip, wandering hands that don’t know their destination, rubbing over Suguru’s shoulders, his back, gripping his nape and threading amongst dark strands of long hair. In the back of his mind, he can’t help wonder if Gojo had an experience such as this and, if so, how he could ever risk never being able to go through it again?

It only takes one hand to unclasp your bra with expert fingers. The undergarment is inched away to expose your breasts, and soon, your shirt with it to leave your top half unveiled for Suguru’s longing gaze.

“Fuck, you’re perfect…,” he mutters to himself, pink dusting the tops of his cheeks. Satoru’s such an idiot, he thinks, missing out on this, on you.

Your hot pants graze his skin; fuzzy, indecisive eyes flicker between Geto’s flushed face and the prominent tent in his sweats, where it just brushes your panties and sends a flood of wetness between your thighs. Trembling hands finally find purchase on his shoulder and behind his neck, where you pull him towards your body, arched to raise your tits and the gesture sends an intense throbbing straight to Suguru’s dick. Offering yourself to him like that, wordlessly begging for his mouth to indulge in you—he’s wrapped so right around your finger, just a lovesick fool for you.

A sharp gasp slips out—Geto’s mouth meets one of your stiffened nipples, rolling it on his tongue before tugging it between his teeth. ‘Ah! Suguru!’ you mewl his name with your head sinking into plush pillows, and he gropes your other lonely breast with a large hand, thumbing the hard bud and pinching it between his fingers.

It’s easy to match the greedy rhythm of his hips, and you uplift your own to meet the grinding of his erection against your heated pussy. A loving kiss pressed to your chest, over the swell of your tits, a bite or two in between while he worships your body. “M—!” Geto cuts you off with a harsh suck of your nipple, prompting a desperate whine from your throat. “O-oh, god—! Fuck, Suguru, k-keep going!”

He pauses the feverish assault on your chest, licking a stripe up the center of your throat, and muttering sweet nothings over your glistening skin before continuing ministrations on the pebbled buds. Your legs hug tight around Geto’s hips, pulling him ever closer until the stiffness in his pants massages your clit through sopping wet panties. Drool soaks your chest, messy and riddled with a new array of bite marks and blemishes. Evidence of Suguru’s obsession, and a clear claim over you because you’re all his now.

“Suguruu…”, you jut out a lip when dark eyes move in your direction, tongue hesitating on your nipple. “Hurry, pleasee?” You whine and flutter long lashes, purposefully grinding against his length again in a needy plea.

He gives one last suck on the erect nub, causing your mouth to fall open with a small moan, and Geto balances himself on an elbow next to your head, easing fingers beneath the waistline of your panties. Snorting, his eyes trail over your heaving form, watching your own fingers tug at the hem of his pants.

“My darling’s so eager, isn’t she?” It’s a soft taunt that fills your ears, makes you conscious of the blazing heat in your veins that sets fire to your skin. “Can’t be that desperate for me, can you? Want me in this pussy that bad?”

Your clit throbs in response, and you keep fingers tucked into Suguru’s sweats, pulling them down for a glimpse at the dark hairs of his happy trail, before growing a little more embarrassed and hiding it away again. He chuckles at your shy behavior.

“Shut up.,” you search the room, pouting, for something else to look at. “You can’t get me like this and then be so mean.”

He lowers himself towards you. “Like what?” A little closer, now locks of his hair brush your face. “Getting this pussy all sloppy and wet for me? Begging to have my cum stuffed in her?”

Eyes widening, you break his gaze, cramming your lids shut as your face twists with a look of bashfulness. “God, Suguru, you are sooo–!” Hot? Dirty? Perverted? “Embarrassing!,” you finally groan in frustration.

Suguru sits up to stare down at the soaked wet patch staining your panties. ‘I’ll tell you what’s embarassing…’ and you give a playful glare at his comment. He chuckles, and adjusts both your legs to rest on his left side before fingers hook beneath the fabric, pulling it off in one swift motion. The slickness of your pussy is a sight to behold, mouth-watering. Juices cascade down your thighs, drenches his protruding digits as he slides them up and down your fluttering hole that threatens to suck him in and never let go.

“ ‘S not my fault, she just knows what she likes.” Geto marvels at how easily his thick finger sinks in, cock twitching at your lengthy whine. “And I think right now she’d like me to break her in.”

He’s so insufferable. “Suguru–“

“God, I’m gonna make this pussy mine, just wait.,” he sighs. The squeeze of your walls at his promise is mesmerizing—your words can’t fly high enough to reach him in the clouds. “Til you can’t remember anything but the shape of my dick, gonna breed this tight fucking hole–“

“I think actions speak louder than words, Suguru.”

Your little taunt pulls Geto out of his daydreams. “Oh, you’re going to be much louder than my actions, darling.”

It’s like sand on your tongue the way your mouth goes dry, him grinning at your flustered expression as he frees his cock from it’s prison. Precum drools from the tip, leaking down his length to leave a stain on his dark sweats. Your tongue darts over your lips, craving just a taste, a desire to encompass his bobbing length in the safe warmth of your mouth.

He glides it over your spasming pussy, making a mess as precum and slick smears everywhere. Amusement dances in Geto’s eyes when he slaps the tip a few times against your clit, sending a jolt through you and bringing a cry from within your throat. He does it again, circles your clit with his tip until your hips are gyrating to match his movements and tears prick the corners of your eyes. ‘Suguru…’ falls off your lips once more in a pathetic plea, and Geto can’t wait any longer when you blink so innocently at him, sigh so prettily at his teasing motions.

It burns a little, the stretch of his fat tip making its way inside. But Geto is slow and patient—he notes any sign of discomfort as he awaits your go ahead, as torturous as it is, especially when the deepest parts of your pussy are calling for him. Your gooey walls are snug around his length, holding him so tight and inviting him inside as inches sink deeper into your fluttering heat—it’s maddening. As Geto finally bottoms out, he cages you between his arms, face flushed pink and framed by long, jet-black waves of hair. So pretty. And his pleasured smile wavers for just a second. You’re so fucked out already that you don’t even know you just mumbled that out loud. Looks like you’re both a pair of lovesick fools.

“F–fuck me, please.,” you whimper. He won’t make you ask twice. Lazy yet deliberate, the drag of Suguru’s cock has your head reeling, especially when he keeps brushing that spot inside you, sending floods of euphoria throughout your body.

Your arms move to wrap around his neck, tangling fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. “S-so full, Suguru, it f–eels, feels s’ fucking good, don’t stop.” And he replies with a low grunt, ‘shit, I won’t, could never’ as his pace quickens. Tears cast a blurry haze over your vision, sounds of skin against skin picking up in your ears, along with desperate, broken moans from either of you. The sharpness of your nails leave a collection of scratches along Suguru’s back, and the slight pain of it all only fuels the plunge of his dick, making itself at home within the gumminess of your walls. He uses a hand to shift your pelvis, moving himself for a deeper angle and fucking hard into your sweet spot. ‘Oh, fuck, fuck!’ You cry into Geto’s ear, tugging his hair and grasping at him to fit against you. ‘S-Suguru..! Right there–!’, finished off with a loud cry. Your orgasm is right around the corner, a blazing pool of desire overflowing in the pit of your stomach.

“C–um..!” You’re starting to babble, mindless and stupid. “Inside, inside, Suguru!”

And he wants to, trust, but it wouldn’t exactly be responsible without a condom on or knowing whether or not you’re on the pill. Maybe if he was a little less caring—or not tucked away in the crevice of your neck to hide from the hypnotizing power of your eyes—he’d make good on his promise and fill your pussy up until you couldn’t take it anymore. It’s so tempting, the heavy urge to mark your insides with his seed, til they were coated in white, but he just can’t be sure. So while you’re shivering and crying, high off your own orgasm, Suguru uses his last remnants of sensibility. He pulls out, low, raspy grunts and a hiss leaving him at the sight of his cum painting your thighs, spurting onto your swollen clit and leaking down to your quivering hole.

He collapses next to you, chests both heaving and an arm moves to wrap around your waist. Your teary eyes glaze over Geto in his divine glory, too dazed to see him doing the same to you.

“What’s with that face?,” he pants a short chuckle at the pout of your lips.

You turn further onto your side, pressing your bare bodies together and wrapping an arm around his neck, the other rubbing through his hair. “Told you to cum inside me, you wasted it everywhere.”

Suguru scoffs, playful. “Couldn’t risk it, sweetheart, I’d be hooked after one go.”

A shiver runs down his spine as you brush a thumb over his nape. “Oh, is that so bad? Thought you were gonna stuff me, Sugu, you don’t wanna breed this little hole and fill me up?”

“…Keep talking like that and I might.”

tagz: @anthoosies @mysugu

#suguru geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #suguru geto x you

[swingsuckerswing]

Gentle With Me

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Virgin!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x OFC

PART 2 HERE

Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Reader asks Hawkins High’s favorite freak to deflower her before they graduate. Reader has had a crush on Eddie since forever and only trusts him to do it right. Unbeknownst to her, Eddie has also been crushing hard. He takes extra special care of her ;)

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal penetration, safe sex, mentions of blood, first time, deflowering, loss of virginity, fluff and smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), he talks you through it, constant checking in, aftercare

Word Count:  7,908 (sorry, this got super long!)

Hope you like it! :)

This was probably the worst idea you had ever had. In fact, you didn’t realize you could even be this stupid. Hey, cheers to you, jackass!

Your fingers were sweating around the tightly folded note. You had taken forever just to fold it, not to mention the eon it took to come up with the short yet somehow super fucking intimidating message.

“Woods. 4:30″

Seriously? It had taken you almost the entire lunch period to come up with that? God, what if he thinks I’m gonna like jump him or something? But it would have to do, time was running out and if you didn’t do it now you know you’d only chicken out later. God you’re such a fucking idiot for this.

You looked up to scan the lunchroom. All the other tables, including your own, were too enthralled in their conversations to notice you hunched over your notebook as if you were plotting an assassination. Seriously, you had to calm down. Its just a note. A note for a certain metal head who you were hoping would take your virginity...Yeah...totally not a big deal and super normal. You fucking dunce.

You let your eyes wander to the table, a beloved lunchtime activity of yours. Eddie Munson was throwing his head back in a loud, deep cackle as the entire table erupted into fits of laughter. It looks like Dustin, one of the freshmen, had just snorted milk out of his nose. Charming. You watched in envy as the boys hunched over themselves with the kind of laughter that makes your abs burn. “Dude....I’m gonna..... be sick!” you hear Jeff choke out in between his giggles. The whole scene coaxed a tender smile out of you.

Mike, the only other freshmen at their table, was handing Dustin napkins while wiping tears of boyish joy from his own eyes. Eddie leaned into the group and said something too low for you to make out. Whatever he said caused another wave of debilitating laughter from the guys before he stood up, took a bow, and walked towards the exit. Probably off to get one last cigarette in before class. With Eddie out of the picture, it was now or never.

The bell rang, jolting you out of your paralysis. Shit, this has to happen right now. “Aren’t you coming, Y/N?” your friend asked. Your group already had their books in hand and were standing around the table waiting for you to join.

“Uh yeah, I’m just finishing up this last problem. Can’t turn in another late homework!” you chuckle, trying your best to act as inconspicuous as possible. Your friends shrug and wave as they head towards the hallway.

You glance back over to the Hellfire table. Perfect, only Mike and Dustin were left, still trying to dry Dustin’s shirt with the now tattered napkins. You make a bee line towards them.

“Dude just hold sti-”

“I AM holding still, Mike. AND STOP RUBBING YOU’RE ONLY MAKING IT WORSE! You have to dab!”

“Oh my GOD, shut up Dusti-”

“Hey guys!” you interrupt their bickering. They both freeze and stare up at you, mouths agape. Dustin is holding his arms mid-air so Mike can dab at the front of his shirt (but lets be real, he really was only just rubbing the milk into the fabric). They simultaneously retract their arms at the speed of light, making you giggle.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! I was just wondering if you could uh give this to Eddie when you see him?” you slide the note across the table next to Dustin’s tray.

The freshmen can’t seem to form words, in fact they’ve completely forgotten how to form syllables. They weren’t used to senior girls coming up to ask them favors, or ask them for anything at all really. 

It was Dustin who snapped out of it first “Oh! Yeah! Totally!” he picks up the note and inspects it. “What is it-”

“Its nothing!” you reply way too fast. Shit, just chill out. Even if they read the dumb thing they’d just assume I was buying weed or something. “Oh, uhm, okay.” Dustin steals a questioning glance at Mike before tucking the note into his pocket. “We’ll uh make sure Eddie gets it!” Mike assures.

“Great, and uhm one more..teeny tiny request...” you look over your shoulder to make sure Eddie hadn’t miraculously appeared behind you. The two boys lean in, entirely wrapped up in the secrecy of this whole charade. “When you give it to him, could you not mention who its from? Just tell him its a surprise, or whatever you wanna tell him! I trust your judgement.” you end with a sweet, innocent smile. Me? Scheming? Noooo.

The warning bell rings, causing the boys to shoot up in a panic. They struggle to gather their things, bumping into each other and fumbling around with their trays as they both promise you that your note would be delivered safely and discreetly. 

You give them your best smile and thank them before turning on your heel to get to class. Alright Munson, see you at 4:30.

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

You look at your watch, the green blinking digits read “4:32″. What if they didn’t give him the note? You make yourself sick with worry, its a favorite pass time of yours. What if he thought I meant a different part of the woods? Wait, did I specify the picnic table? You pick at some of the splinters jutting out of the decrepit tabletop. I think all I wrote was ‘the woods’, fuck. What if he’s now lost out in the woods because of me!? Shit shit shit this was such a stupid plan. I’m so over my head how could I be such a dumb bitc-

“Hey...” comes a familiar voice from behind you. You flinch and a small gasp escapes your lips as you turn to face him.

Eddie holds his hands up as if he’s calming a wild horse and chuckles “Ha woah, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you” the corners of his lips are turned up into a shit eating grin. It’s still annoyingly charming, even if it is at your expense.

You watch as he comes around to sit on the opposite side of you. He rests his black tin lunchbox on the table as he shimmies off his layers of jackets. You spot a few tattoos you had never noticed before and your stomach threatens to drop to your knees. Is it too late to ditch and run? You realize you’re gawking, so you avert your eyes to the table as he continues to make himself comfortable.

He can’t help but notice just how tense you are, or how you hadn’t said a word yet. He remembered you way back from middle school, you had even had a couple classes together here and there. You were never really friends, but he always remembered how sweet you were, even to a social pariah like himself. He takes a stab at what’s eating you.

“There’s uh...nothing to worry about. Okay? No one ever comes out here.” he tosses his jackets onto the table as he sits on the rickety bench. “We’re safe. I promise.” he adds for good measure.

His words make you want to melt into this seat, become a permanent fixture. You smile and tuck a few strays behind your ears "Yeah I uh...I know...thanks” you’re still looking down at your lap. He nods, relived to have gotten something out of you, and pops open the lid of his box.

Assuming you were here for drugs, he begins his pitch. He grabs a clear plastic bag “I’ll do you a half ounce for, uh...$20. What do you say?” he holds the baggie out to you for you to inspect. “Plenty of bang for your buck. Should last you a while.”

As much as you’d love for this to be just a simple drug deal, you realize you’re gonna have to break it to him sooner than later. “Eddie,” you hold your head up to look him in the eye. He freezes, the baggie gently swaying back and forth in his grip. “I uh, didn’t ask you here to buy drugs...” Although maybe I should in case this goes south and I need to forget it ever happened.

Now caught completely off guard, the boy shifts his weight on the seat as he slowly drops the baggie back into the box. “Okayyy...then why, pray tell, did you leave me such a cryptic note?” a playful smile warms his face as he raises his eyebrows at you. He rests his head in both hands as if utterly fascinated.

Seeing a perfect opportunity to stall, you take it without looking back. “It was pretty cryptic wasn’t it?” you chuckle as you bring your elbows up to rest on the table, mirroring Eddie’s posture.

“I thought I was gonna get jumped!” Eddie exclaims causing you both to laugh at your predicament. Shit, I knew it.

“Well what was I supposed to write!?” you try to defend yourself. 

“Literally anything else!” Eddie’s eyes are practically twinkling as he continues to playfully chastise you “better yet, you could’ve just, oh i don’t know, asked me in person like a regular human being??? And WHY all the anonymous shit??”

You’re laughing out of utter humiliation “I don’t know, okay? I wasn’t thinking, I was on auto pilot! It seemed like the thing to do! Were you at least surprised when you saw me?” you don’t quite know how you want him to answer this.

“Huh? Oh, nah those twerps ratted you out within seconds” Eddie huffs as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“WHAT!?” your mouth drops to the forest floor. “Those little fuckers, they swore on Dustin’s mother they wouldn’t tell!” you cross your arms and pout in protest of this vile betrayal.

“Sweetheart, you don’t trust freshmen with anything, m’kay? That was your first mistake. I mean you should see them try to recruit for Hellfire, its pathetic...frankly” he snickers.

You scoff and look up to the blue sky, still unable to believe you had been sold out. Eddie admires you while you’re not looking. Whats a pretty girl like her doing out here with a guy like me? he wonders. He brings his hands together in a fist on the table and taps the back of his rings along the gnarled wood.

“So, you gonna answer my question?” he drops his chin and looks up at you through his lashes, a smug expression on his face.

You come back down to earth to see Eddie looking at you expectantly. You narrow your eyes and playfully tap your finger on your chin a few times “Hmmm which waaaas...?” Please can we just keep harmlessly flirting a little longer before I ruin this?

“Don’t play dumb with me” his tone a little more serious this time. “Why am I here, Y/N?”

Oh. You’re not sure how he made your name sound like some heavenly prayer, but you’d do anything to hear him say it again. Stop. Focus. You take a deep breath in. Just do it, rip the band aid off.

“So uh...I um...I’ve never- at least not yet I mean... I’m still uhhh....” Holy shit, maybe I should've rehearsed this before.

Eddie can tell whatever this is must be a big deal to you. Although you were quite cute all flustered, he didn’t want to make this any more difficult. He dips his head down to catch your eye “Hey, its okay. Take your time. No rush, I promise.”

You close your eyes and exhale a few counts before looking back up at Eddie. His doe eyes full of concern and patience. Fuck, man. You groan before letting it spill out.

“Okay, look. I’m still a virgin. In fact, I haven’t really even had a proper first kiss yet. I mean Jason kinda kissed me at a party once but he was drunk and he missed my lips entirely, and I didn’t even WANT to kiss him, he just kinda threw himself on me, and WOW I’m just now realizing how kinda fucked that was but anyway yeah I just don’t think that should count, right? And we’re supposed to be graduating in a couple months and I don’t want to get to college and not know what the fuck I’m doing!”

You had expected his eyes to be bulging out of his head like a cartoon character, but he just looked...normal. Like you had just finished telling him something as mundane as how your day was. His eyebrows were slightly raised, but it was the only indication that he was even listening. You bite down on your lip waiting for him to say something, anything.

Eddie clears his throat “So, let me get this straight.” he leans further in “You want... me... to... deflower you?” His eyes narrow at the question, but his tone was more disbelieving than judgemental.

“Well....yeah, yes. I do.” you nod absentmindedly as words just continue to topple from your lips “And you can TOTALLY say no, I know this must be like the weirdest thing anyone has ever asked you and I totally get it if you don’t want to.” you take another breath to slow yourself “Its just... I want my first time to be...gentle...”

Eddie can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks like wildfire, the red glow even reaching the tips of his ears. “And... you think that I can be gentle?” his stare softens as his brain tosses this idea around.

You smile thoughtfully and chuckle “I think you’re a big softy who likes to play ‘big bad wolf”. Eddie’s eyebrows disappear under his mess of bangs as he chuckles, the observation hitting closer to home than you would ever know. While you have him smiling, you take the opportunity to play your final hand.

“It also doesn’t hurt that I’ve uh...liked you since middle school” your eyes are glued to the table. You don’t even dare to blink. Well its all out there now, no going back.

Eddie’s heart threatens to rip through his chest. You had always been on his radar, he just figured he could never be on yours. Your confession momentarily stuns him before his smile turns devilish. He wants to milk this moment for all its worth. Of course, without giving away the fact that he’d drop down on his knees for you at any given moment.

“You could’ve asked me on a date, y’know.” he teases you.

You huff as you meet his eyes “You’re right...I could’ve. I should’ve” you correct yourself. Something as simple as a date never occurred to you, but then again Eddie Munson wasn’t simple.

A comfortable silence falls as you take a moment to look each other in the eyes, swapping dreamy smiles back and forth. Eddie shifts his gaze down. Your lower lip was practically war torn from all the biting you had inflicted upon it. He’d like to leave a few marks of his own, and it looks like he might finally get the chance to.

“So!” Eddie claps his hands down on the table with a loud THUNK, his smile growing wide with mischief “When am I popping your cherry?”

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

You couldn’t believe Friday was already here, not to mention that you were riding shotgun in Eddie’s rust bucket he called a van. It had been fairly simple deciding the where and the when given that Eddie’s uncle worked nights and you could tell your mom you were sleeping over at a friend’s house (not technically a lie, just maybe not the whole truth).

You pull up to his trailer and Eddie quickly gets out of the car and jogs up the steps to open the front door for you. He bows his head and gestures for you to enter “Welcome to my castle” he says sarcastically.

It was hard not to notice the millions of trucker hats decorating the walls inside. You quickly deduce that these must belong to his uncle, although you’d love to imagine Eddie wearing any one of them. As you slowly spin around the parlor to take it all in, Eddie straightens up a bit as he passes a few stray beer cans and empty cigarette cartons. “Sorry, the maid’s on vacation” he jokes. You get the feeling he might be just as nervous as you are, but he’s doing a better job of hiding it.

As Eddie tosses the last can into the trash he looks up to see you quietly admiring his home. Your smile is soft as you take in every detail. You look enchanted just to be here, which made Eddie feel a lot better. He quietly walks over to you, not wanting to disturb your wonderment, and he gently takes your hand. You’re still looking around as he says “You wanna see the rest of it?”

His voice brings you back to reality. You look down to see his large hand enveloping yours. “Hm?” you softly hum, not tearing your eyes away from the skin to skin contact. You feel your palm begin to burn as he lightly squeezes it. “Come on, I’ll show you” his voice is like warm honey, you’d follow him wherever he decided to take you.

He pulls you towards the hallway, pointing out his uncle’s room on the left and the bathroom on the right, before reaching the desired destination. “And this is uh... my room” he stops in the doorway, letting your hand go so you can explore on your own as he watches.

Its messy, but its exactly what you had pictured. Band posters litter the walls, clothes are strewn haphazardly across the floor and his dresser. There’s an ash tray filled to the brim with cigarette butts. He has a couple of guitars dangerously balanced against the walls, but there’s one very unique guitar on display hanging over his mirror. You cross the room to inspect it further, you had never seen anything like it and it must have cost him a fortune. You raise your hand to touch it, but you catch Eddie’s eye in the mirror. He has a sly smile “That’s my baby” his voice is full of pride.

You smile back at his reflection “Can I...?” slowly moving your fingers closer to the gorgeous instrument. 

“Go ahead. She’s meant to be touched” his gaze turning darker.

You duck your head and smile bashfully, knowing full well he can see you blush in the mirror. You stroke your fingers up the long neck and glide over the strings, teasing a ghostly hum from the guitar. As you continue to strum, your eyes wander to the wall where something shiny is dangling from a hook. It takes you longer that it should to recognize them as handcuffs. Your lips part, your eyelids becoming heavy. You feel a tickle between your legs. Oh.

Eddie notices you’ve frozen, no longer interested in the guitar. He follows your gaze to the item stealing all of your attention. “Ha!” he walks over and takes them off the hook, not wanting to scare you. Your eyes don’t leave the shiny metal, looking even more appealing in Eddie’s hands. He notices your fascination with them, and the fact that you’re not running away screaming makes him want to marry you on the spot. He sees the hazy, far off look in your eyes and recognizes it right off the bat. His lips curve into a delinquent smile “Not tonight, sweetheart” and he tosses them into the abyss of a drawer

“But-” you try to object, convince him you need a demonstration and you’d happily volunteer, but before you can get another word out Eddie holds a hand up in protest. “Sorry, honey” he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilts your head up to look at him. “I thought you wanted gentle, hm?” his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear.

His closeness, the words, his touch... it should be illegal. “I- I uh I did- I do! I do want gentle...I- I want...you...” you stutter out, making Eddie’s smile grow wider and more smug. He loves how flustered he makes you... but he loves teasing you even more.

He suddenly releases you and takes a step back “Great! What kinda pizza you like?” he asks, stepping backwards towards the door.

You’re a bit dazed “I uh..what?”

“Pizza! I mean, I’d cook for you, but you might end up dying a virgin so...” he chuckles.

You giggle, not realizing being wined and dined was a part of the deal. “Um, would you think I’m weird if I asked for ham and pineapple?” you narrow your eyes, bracing yourself for imminent mockery.

“See? I knew you were a freak, Y/L/N” he throws a brilliant smile your way. “One ham and pineapple coming up!”

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

You laid together on his bed, the discarded pizza box somewhere on the floor below. He had rented Plan 9 from Outer Space, and the two of you had nearly choked to death laughing at the B-Movie cheesiness. Any jitters you had about this night were long gone, it was hard to feel nervous being tucked up in Eddie’s arms. Over the course of the movie, you had somehow become one conjoined life form. Your legs were tangled together, your head nestled on his shoulder as he rested his chin on your hair. You were like two perfect puzzle pieces. The sun had set a while ago, and the dark only made you feel more cozy.

But at some point, it became harder to focus on the movie. You had become hyper aware of how close his hand was to your ass, and how if you moved your knee juuuust a little you’d be grazing his dick. You felt the room getting hotter, and you thought he might be feeling it too as he started to squirm a little under you. With a sudden burst of bravery, or maybe just desperation, you slowly begin to arch your back. Your steady movement causes Eddie’s hand to ever so slightly slip closer to your backside. Before it can reach its desired destination, however, he digs his fingers in your flesh, stopping you in your tracks. He takes your chin in his other hand and forces you to look up at him. “What are you up to, hm?” he asks with a smug smile.

You screw your eyes shut and wrinkle your nose, embarrassed at being caught. “Hey...look at me” his voice is so gentle you could hardly bare it. You take the bait and look up. You weren’t expecting his gaze to be filled with such concern or to be so penetrating. It was like he was searching for something deep inside your soul. He moves his hand from your chin to gently cradle your jaw. His fingertips tease the sensitive place behind your ear, his thumb rests on your cheek. “You still sure about this, sweetheart?”

You have to swallow before you answer “Yeah...I’m sure”. It came out barely above a whisper. You’d never been more sure of anything in your whole entire life, the thought of it actually happening with him was beyond electrifying. The tickle between your legs returns, this time with more urgency.

He considers your answer for a second before continuing “Cause we can stop whenever you want, okay? You just say the word and I’ll take you home, no questions asked.” his voice is serious, and his worry only makes you want him more.You always knew he was the one, the only one.

His eyes begin jetting back and forth between yours, his calm demeanor slipping away, something more desperate taking its place. You can feel his grip around your waist tightening, bringing you closer to his warm body. He’s right on the edge with you, but he won’t make one move until he’s certain this is what you really want. He swore he would do this right, and goddammit if Eddie Munson was not a man of his word.

Seeing him worked up is the last straw, you’ve been good for as long as you could bare. “Eddie...” a pleading whimper escapes your lips and it was more than enough to break him. Before you knew it, Eddie’s lips were on yours.

His kiss was all consuming, it wrapped you up and tucked you in tenderly like a cozy blanket on a cold winter’s night. With his hand still holding your jaw, he ever so slightly parted his lips to deepen the kiss. The feeling of his hot breath brushing against your lips made you dizzy. He barley grazes your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, causing the fire burning in the pit of your belly to flash white hot.

Eddie had to constantly remind himself to keep it slow, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of his hard cock straining against his jeans. Gentle, Munson...keep it gentle. He nearly cries when you slip your tongue into his mouth. If only you knew how much he wanted to devour you, heart and soul, until there was nothing left. If only you knew how many times he watched you laughing with your friends, jealous that they were getting all of your attention. How your voice was sweeter than any song, how all you had to do was say his name and he was yours. You could have asked him for anything in those fucking woods and he would’ve given it to you. He’d do anything to keep you here in his arms forever.

He rolls over so that he’s slightly above you, not wanting to crush or smother you, but he just couldn’t get enough. The movie is still playing in the background, thankfully drowning out your needy moans, until Eddie mindlessly rolls his hips down into yours. You could feel the rough fabric of his jeans and his rock hard erection through the thin fabric of your skirt, pressing against you in just the right spot. You don’t even realize you’re loudly moaning his name until you hear him snicker “You can be loud if you want. No one’s gonna hear, we’re safe. I promise.” he whispers into your ear, stealing a few kisses there. He rolls his hips again, wanting more than anything to hear you moan his name again.

He brought his hand down from your jaw to rove over the rest of your body. He lets it rest over your neck for a second and gives it a delicate squeeze. Its not enough to choke you, but the pressure makes his tongue in your mouth feel all the more vital. Like a lifeline. Its a gentle reminder of who you belong to in this moment, who’s in charge. For a fleeting second you wish he hadn’t been so quick to ditch the handcuffs.

He traces your collarbones, down to the underwire of your bra, tickles your ribs, and finally arrives at your skirt. His fingers halt, just tucked under the waistband. Liking the direction this was going, you rest up on your elbows and begin to peel your shirt off. Eddie gives you the space you need, and watches in awe as more of your supple flesh is revealed. He admires every detail, down to the smallest freckle, making an internal map so he’d never forget.

You toss your shirt somewhere into the oblivion of his room, not really caring whether its lost forever or not. You look at Eddie hesitantly, the rush of cold air reminding you that you were only a bra away from total vulnerability. You bring your hands up to cover your belly, starting to feel a little self conscious, but then you see the look of absolute worship in Eddie’s eyes. Like he was standing before an altar, you were his temple. Eddie realizes he’s been staring without speaking for a while now and he looks you in the eye “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Y/N” he says a little out of breath. You smile with absolute giddiness, quickly moving your hands from your stomach to bring him back into a deep kiss. While you embrace, Eddie frantically starts pulling at his own shirt and you assist him in taking it off.

The feeling of his warm chest against yours sends you into a nose dive of indescribable sensation. You wanted to feel his skin everywhere, scratch your fingernails down his spine, play with the soft tufts of curly brown hair on his tummy. Deciding you needed more contact, you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra. Eddie keeps his eyes shut tight, mouth fixed to yours. He’s abundantly aware that you’re now completely naked from the waist up, and he just knows that if he looks at you for one second he’ll lose all control, the very little he had left. Instead, he blindly brings his hands up to your tits and rubs over your hard nipples. It only makes you moan more, practically driving Eddie to the brink of madness until he can’t wait any longer. He has to know what you feel like on the inside.

Eddie breaks away from your embrace and props himself up on his side to look down over you. He returns his hand down to the waistband of your skirt and tugs, raising an eyebrow at you for permission to remove the obstacle. You nod and smile, your heart starting to beat like the wings of a hummingbird. He wiggles the skirt down your legs and gingerly tosses it to the side. He places his hand over your underwear, his fingertips aligned perfectly over your slit. He rubs upwards, feeling how wet you are through the fabric. You jump a little as bolt of lightning shoots through your core. It makes his heart sing to feel how ready your are for him. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart” his voice crackles like firewood as he continues to rub you through the fabric. He watches your every move as he tends to you, utterly consumed by how beautiful you are.

With every touch, it sends a shock wave of pleasure through your entire body. Electricity building in your fingers and toes. And just when you think it couldn’t get much better than this, Eddie slips your underwear off and slowly slides in just the tip of his middle finger. You sigh as he enters, pure ecstasy rolling over you. He smiles down at you “Thats my girl, how does that feel?” he asks as he gently slides his finger in and out of you, never completely taking it out.

You’re drunk off of his touch, and you really have to concentrate in order to forms words “fuuucckk....Eddie...amaaazing.” He chuckles softly at how completely out of it you are. “You want it deeper?” he brushes a few strands of hair from your face as you rest your head against his arm. All you can do is desperately nod, if you open your mouth you might start drooling.

Eddie slides his finger in deeper, just to his knuckle. You feel a little pinch, but nothing too bad. He turns his hand over while inside of you so he can play with your clit with his thumb. “yes yes yes...” you whimper. The sensation soothing any tiny discomfort you had felt.

He only speeds up when he feels your slick start to drip down his hand. “Fuck, Y/N. I’d love to watch you cum, sweetheart. Do you think you could cum for me?” he asks like you’re doing him a favor, and he plunges his entire finger, up to his ring, in your pussy, causing you to yelp and giggle. Your body felt like it was going to vibrate off the bed, and you could feel something tightening deep inside. You concentrate on the feeling, like a volcano about to erupt. “E-Eddie” your voice is shaky “I..I th-think...I’m g-gonna....” you hold onto his arm for dear life as you ride your high. You moan and cuss loudly as Eddie continues to finger fuck you through your aftershocks, gradually slowing his pace until you’re panting below him.

He slowly slides out of you and immediately licks your slick off of his finger. You watch in awe as he closes his eyes and revels in your taste. “Mmmh...cherry pie...my favorite” Eddie teases you with an ear to ear smile. You smack his chest and giggle before curiosity gets the better of you “C-can I try?”. Eddie’s eyes beam at you with a kind of pride that you couldn't fathom. He dips his finger back into your slick and brings it back up to glide along your bottom lip “Knock yourself out”.

You take his finger into your mouth and suck. A mixture of sweet and salty coats your tongue, and you’re amazed at the fact that you actually taste good. With your tongue lapping at Eddie’s finger, he gets another brilliant idea. He removes his finger from your mouth and quickly pops into into his, sucking the rest of your slick and saliva off, before getting up and kneeling at the foot of the bed. “Hey, where are you-” you try to protest, but he’s already got you hooked by your knees and pulling you down to meet him. His face between your legs quickly shuts you the fuck up, awaiting whatever command he deems you worthy of. He sees your eyes going wide in anticipation, and he smirks before furrowing his brow. “Has anyone ever kissed you here before?” he already knows the answer, but he wanted to hear you say that you were all his. He watches you as he nips at your inner thighs, waiting for your reply.

You’ve gone dumb, not a single thought in your head. He has you completely transfixed. “I-uh..n-no...never” is all you manage to spit out. Your innocence makes his cock throb, but he has to wait, he has to show you how good he can really make you feel first. “See, that’s a real shame.” he inches his mouth closer to your pussy, lazily dragging a finger around your entrance, playing in your slick. You squirm under his touch, desperately searching for friction, a release, anything. His smirk turns absolutely devilish “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, princess”.

He hoists your knees up and over his shoulders. Looking up at you through his bangs, he slowly dips his tongue into your slit and flicks up. This alone nearly gives you a heart attack, and he holds you steady as your body shutters. Eddie tongue fucks you until you can’t see straight anymore. You’re a moaning mess, all you can do is tangle your fingers in Eddie’s hair and hang on tight. He licks a steady stripe up, enveloping your clit with his mouth. His tongue twirls, flicks and practically pirouettes around your sensitive bud. And just to kick you while you’re down, his fingers come back to play. This time, he easily slips two in and begins sliding in and out of you. Your body contorts like you’re in need of an exorcism, your noises telling Eddie to go faster and deeper. You feel yourself going higher, and higher, and higher until you reach the tippy top of your second orgasm, riding Eddie’s face all the way back down.

Eddie lets you rest for a moment, legs sprawled haphazardly across his bed. He stands up and crosses his arms against his chest, admiring the aftermath of his handy work. His smug smile returns, the entire lower half of his face glistening with your honey. “Right?” he says, all cocky. You chuckle, and try to kick him but your legs are too wobbly “Shut up” you say breathlessly.

He gets down on the bed and hovers over you on all fours. He growls from the back of his throat and nips at your neck while viciously tickling your ribs. You giggle and squeal, wrestling against him but not really wanting him to stop. You tousle around on the bed for a while before your play fight turns into making out. You didn’t realize how much you had missed his lips on yours, you felt starved. You grind your leg onto his thigh. He somehow still has his pants on, and you’re not sure how you could have made such a blaring oversight. You reach down to undo his belt buckle, letting him know that you were truly ready.

While you fumble with his belt, he reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a condom. He puts the corner in his mouth, his hands a little too shaky to handle it, and rips it open between his teeth. You shimmy his jeans off, his erection creating a tent in his boxers. You look up at him to make sure he was okay, and he winks in return. You inhale and pull his boxers down, his cock finally springing free. You’re a bit mesmerized at first. You had never seen one before, and you were shocked by just how...big...he was. You panic a little, wondering how he was ever going to fit inside you. You mindlessly cup your hand around his length, his skin is soft and turning a mean shade of pink. He gasps at your touch and closes his eyes, melting into your palm. You rub your thumb over a long, thick vein on the side of his dick, not realizing you were unraveling the poor boy in your hands. You notice the precum leaking from his head. You steal a glance up at Eddie and see that his eyes are closed, totally blissed out. You smile, having a devilish thought of your own. Starting where the head meets the shaft, you lick a quick line up the tip of his dick and flick the precum into your mouth. Eddie jolts, eyes snapping open, and quickly rolls over to imprison you underneath him “You trying to kill me, Y/L/N?” he punishes you with smothering kisses, making you giggle uncontrollably.

He sits up and rests on his knees so he can roll the condom on. You watch in wonder as you adjust your body so you can be ready for him. Last minute nerves make your tummy flutter, but you know you’re in the best of hands. He comes back down and places his hands on the mattress on either side of your head. He lowers down for one more kiss. “This may hurt a little, sweetheart.” he whispers in your ear before placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. He looks you in your eyes before continuing “Remember, we can stop whenever you want. Okay?” You nod adoringly and whisper “Okay”. He gives you another earth shattering smile “That’s my girl.” he brings his forehead down to meet yours and you gaze into each other’s eyes, smiling like fools, absolutely head over heels. You wrap your legs around his waist, and brace yourself for whatever comes next.

Eddie aligns himself with your entrance and slowly pushes in, you can feel your walls stretching to accommodate him. He stops at just the tip, and you both moan. He slowly rolls his hips, slipping the tip of his cock in and out so you can get used to the sensation. You feel a slight pressure when he slides in, but its dull and far off, and the kisses he peppers you with are a nice distraction.

He pumps into you a little longer before sliding further in. This time you do feel a nagging pain, causing you to sharply inhale. You dig your fingernails into his back, and he slows his movements even more. “I know baby, I know.” he soothes you and you find the pain quickly gives way to pleasure. You moan into his hair “Mmhm Eddie...you’re so big...” the words tumble from your mouth without a thought behind them, just pure ecstasy. Eddie groans and he fights the urge to fuck you dumb through this damn mattress. “Keep talkin’ like that princess and I might forget to be gentle” he warns as he nips at your neck.

He slides deeper until he reaches his hilt, stretching and filling you to the brim. You curse under your breath at the pain, screwing your eyes shut so no tears can escape. He cradles your head “Hey look at me, you okay?” you open up and he’s staring down at you with those doe eyes, brows furrowed in concern. “I’m fine, it just hurts a little. Please don’t stop” you reach up and cup his red cheek, assuring him that you can take it. He gently and slowly continues to glide into you. Worried he may not be able to slide back in, he never fully pulls out of you, creating a pocket of delicious sensation deep inside. Your walls eventually relax around him, allowing him to pick up his pace.

It was a cacophony of feeling, a delicious blend of searing pain and ultimate euphoria. The hurt felt so good, you loved being filled for the first time. You kiss Eddie everywhere you can reach him, his chin, his shoulder, his collarbone, just to show how thankful you were. He smiles in complete adoration for you, noticing just how ethereal you look underneath him. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, Y/N” he kisses you hard on the lips, practically smashing your faces together. His steady motion begins to sputter a little, he must be getting close. “...and you’re so...fucking....tight....” he pounds a little harder with each word, causing you to cry out. He cradles the back of your head and soothes you. “Sorry...sorry..I just ...wanna try...*grunts* one more thing. Okay?” he kisses your neck, his hot breath causing you to shiver and your pussy to tighten around his cock. Although you’re not sure what else there could be, you nod with every fiber of your being. “Yes...fuck ...I-I’ll do...anything...f-for you” you whimper. He groans and rolls his head back, trying to forget you said that before he busts this second.

He stops rocking into you only for a minute so he can gently pull you up into a sitting position in his lap, his hand still cradling your head, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “Come here, sweet thing” he swipes a few strands from your face once you’re up. The blood rushing to your head mixed with this new angle is something else. You feel entirely open, the tip of his dick just grazing something galvanic inside of you. You smile warmly and stare deep into each other’s eyes for a moment, completely elated by each other’s company. He pulls you into a bear hug, your breasts squeeze against his chest, as he fucks up into you. You go limp, whatever it was inside you that he was hitting over and over was causing your brain to melt. You roll your head back and just let him take you.

Even when Eddie is fighting every urge to cum himself, he’s still only thinking of your pleasure. In your lulled state, he reaches down in between you and starts rubbing your clit, alternating between circles and side to side. He figures if he can get you to cum one more time, he can die a very happy man. The sensation brings you out of your nearly catatonic state, and you tighten your thighs around his waist like a boa constrictor. You start to bounce back on his cock, feeling that oh so familiar feeling starting to build in the center of your soul. Eddie groans, the veins in his neck popping out. “Y/N...fuck...you’re gonna...make me cum, sweetheart” he growls out, unable to contain himself any longer. His body stutters as he reaches his peak, his arms locked around your fragile body in a vice grip, and he spills himself into the condom. Dazed from his own heavenly release, he still doesn’t forget about you for one second. His fingers shift into overdrive, pummeling your clit until your crying his name out for the whole trailer park to hear. The look of sheer joy is plastered to his face, and you both collapse into each other, exhausted.

You sit in his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. His dick is still inside of you, and you don’t dare move a muscle, never wanting him to leave. He plants soft kisses in your hair and runs his fingers down your spine. It takes you a minute to realize the movie is still playing. “Could we rewind? I think I missed a bit” you joke.

He chuckles “I’d have to get up to rewind it” he reminds you, tucking his finger under your chin to lift your head up. He brings his forehead down to meet yours, his eyes sparkling in the darkness. “Can we stay like this for a little longer?” you plead. He smirks and kisses your cheek “We can do whatever you want, princess.”

You stay there wrapped in each other’s arms for a little longer before Eddie slowly slides out of you and places you back down on the mattress. There’s a tiny bit of blood mixed with your slick dripping from your pussy, and Eddie grabs a clean shirt from his closet and cleans you up delicately as if he was handling a rare gem. He throws the condom away and pulls on a pair of boxers and a faded Metallica shirt. He hums as he goes about his little tasks, giving you a sense of comforting domesticity. He miraculously finds your underwear on the floor, but has no luck finding any of your other clothes. He grabs another one of his shirts and tosses it over to you. You hold the garment up and notice its his Hellfire club shirt, a wave of pure glee washes over you. You pull it over your head, his familiar scent wrapping around your body. Eddie fidgets with the tv controls, rewinding to around the time y’all got...distracted, before turning around and plopping back onto the bed to cuddle up next you. He looks you up and down, “Looks better on you” he beams as he brings you back into his arms, assuming the same positions you were in earlier in the evening.

In no time you’re both in stitches again over the movie, and you spend the rest of the night laughing, talking, and kissing all while entangled in each other’s arms. Just before you both doze off, Eddie whispers “So, did you have fun? I mean...was I gentle?”

You cup his face and kiss his forehead “So gentle” you chuckle before giving him a sincere answer, “it was more than I could ever dream of, Eddie. It was perfect” Eddie smirks through the darkness and pulls you into a vice grip to tickle you. You squeal and squirm and giggle in pure delight. You settle back down and he turns around you so he can spoon you “Good, cause next time...I might not be so gentle” he whispers devilishly in your ear.

You perk up, remembering some paraphernalia from earlier. “Can we use the handcuffs?” you ask in excitement. Eddie chuckles, finding your eagerness adorable. Fuck, this girl is gonna be the death of me. “Anything you want, princess” he kisses you behind your ear and you both drift off into blissful slumbers.

                  ___________________________________________

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I was really inspired by the song Touch Tank by Quinnie, I keep seeing so many amazing edits of Eddie/Joseph with that song! I also borrowed some of his dialogue from his scene with Chrissy in the woods to make it more convincing, hope you don’t mind. I started on this before Vol 2 came out and then it felt weird to keep going but I pushed through. I’m 100% in my denial era and this is for all the girlies who are in the same boat! <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x virgin!reader #eddie munson x virgin!reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things no spoilers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie musnon fic

[bratbby333]

nsfw 𓆩⟡𓆪 mdni !!

dating toji feels like an 808 bass drum pounding in your chest...

...and his thick cock feels the exact same way as it ruins your pretty little pussy

cw: fem!reader, public sex, p in v, rough sex, pet names (doll, pretty girl)

he's over protective and territorial, his brooding jealousy and tight grip on your waist shoots pangs of arousal through you whenever the two of you go out. blood rushes to your eardrums, the rhythmic thump mimicking the pulse in your core.

he loves making it known that you’re his. he’s like your own personal bodyguard, scowling at anyone in the bar who dares to let their eyes linger too long on his pretty girl.

you attempt to ignore the gnawing ache in your core, but god does he make it hard. he doesn’t even have to do much either—he’s practically trained your body to respond to him regardless of what he’s doing.

he voices how pretty you are in a raspy whisper against your neck, nipping at the skin behind your ear. his large hand cups the small of your back, grips your hip tight— honestly whatever he can get his hands on. his fingers run up and down your thigh, digging his fingers into the squishy flesh, a bruising reminder of who you belong to. if you’re feeling real bold, sometimes you try and rile him up on purpose just to get a good, nasty fuck outta him.

and you always succeed.

your plan is set in motion when he gets up from the table to grab another round of drinks, shamelessly allowing some drunkard to flirt with you.

silly, silly girl. oh, you've done it now.

toji's a multifaceted lover; nice n slow sometimes, brutal and mean the next. a jack of all trades. you never really know what you're gonna get—which is why you're eyes are blown wide, your breath stuck in your throat while he has you pushed against the sink in the bathroom, fucking himself deep into you.

to be fair, this is the outcome you wanted, but you didn't expect it here. you know just the right way to push his buttons.

he wraps his fist around your throat, squeezing your sensitive skin so tightly, his hips meeting your ass with every unforgiving stroke.

he's just so thick, you'd think you'd be used to it by now, but it's like you're taking him for the first time all over again. but god, you just cannot get enough of the way he stretches you...the sweet burn of his girth coupled with the fat head of his cock that seems to brush into your g spot without failure...your gushy walls swallowing him whole, the squelching sounds ringing through the bathroom, bouncing off the linoleum walls.

he just knows his pretty girl too well. his hips snapping over and over and over, driving himself so fucking deep. his veins rubbing against the pillowy walls of your pussy. the pretty whines that can't help but escape your lips.

poor thing, you're trying so hard to keep quiet, but he's fucking you so hard and he's so deep, you can't help but cry out for him.

his fist wraps around your hair, pulling your head up. "look at you," he'd coo, his voice raspy, "so pretty while yer takin' my cock," his pace is unyielding, and his eyes bore into yours with every push.

your sinful ahh's and ooo's and oh fuck's are silenced by a firm hand over your mouth. "keep quiet, pretty girl. don't wanna get caught now do we?" your head shakes, your tummy churning with pleasure as he pounds into you.

maybe if he wasn't fucking you so hard you'd be able to keep it down. he's so smug, so teasing. his eyes dare you to make another sound, his cock taunting you to cry out once more. "you gonna cum?" you whine into his hand as sweet tears brim behind your eyes, your head bouncing up and down in confirmation.

"that's it, c'mon...be good f'me." his words send chills down your body as his fingers draw quick circles into your clit. the tightness in your core finally snaps as you choke on your moans, your orgasm clawing its way through you. his follows soon after, unable to resist the delicious clenching and spasming of your walls as you milk his load from his heavy balls. his thick seed coats your insides, a mixture of both your cum dribbling out around his cock and trickling down your thighs.

he quickly pulls out and slides your panties back up, a dark spot appearing immediately from the fluids that are spilling from you. your thighs tremble and knees buckle as you work to regain your breath. he chuckles at the sight, "yer okay, did s'good."

he stares at your reflection in the mirror as he tucks himself back into his jeans, a look of accomplishment and a cocky smirk pulling at his cheeks at the thought you walking around full of him, a sticky reminder of you really belong to.

"c'mon, doll, let's get back out there."

#support banner from benkeibear #manga panel from twitter #dividers by cafekitsune #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x you #toji zenin #zenin toji #jjk #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #fushiguro toji smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #bratbby333

[honeykaes]

masked fantasy

slasher!lyney x reader II 2.8k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, modern au, implied!yandere, implied murder, fingering, cunnilingus, use of toys, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, praise pussydrunk!lyney, established relationship, gaslighting/manipulation, mention of blood, unedited

synopsis: you've been on edge lately seeing news report after news report of people killed by a masked pierrot serial killer, targeting people you seemed to vaguely know. your boyfriend, lyney, insists you drop it and focus on him instead to try to get your mind off of things. you listen, but something in the pit of your stomach continues to nag at you.

Gloomy clouds above hid the stars and the moonlight above. Rain loudly padded against the windows, a small waterfall streaming down it. You snuggled into your blanket further on the couch in an attempt to knock the chill away from the living room. A sigh emitted from your lips watching the 6:00 p.m. news report of yet another murder in your town from a masked serial killer. This wouldn’t very unique to some; however, you began to notice a pattern 

The media and detectives have deemed him the Pierrot—a serial killer who dons a French Carnival-Style Jester mask. Reports from the police said he’s still at large and seemed to be killing indiscriminately, but you knew a little better. The photos of the victims all shared one thing in common with you, you had vaguely known them in the past. 

One was an old high school classmate, another was a teacher's assistant who once assisted your professors in college, another was a barista worker from a cafe you sometimes go to, even old childhood friends you haven’t spoken to for years. You wanted to chalk it up to a weird coincidence but the pit in your stomach churned, discouraging you to relax. 

You worry whoever this masked killer was, he was working his way to you.

Thunder suddenly boomed in the sky, causing your body to jolt from the noise. You let out a sigh; the stress seemed to finally be getting to you. 

Your boyfriend walked in, an amused but concerned smile on his face. You and Lyney had been dating for a while now, meeting in college when you decided to study abroad in France. Eventually, you moved into his place that he shared with his two siblings—his twin sister Lynette and his adoptive younger brother Freminet. 

Things were great with Lyney. He was doting, caring, and amusing as well. He made you happy; he felt real. He was someone you could imagine marrying maybe in a year or two.

“You alright? You seem a bit jumpy today,” he hummed, handing you a mug of hot chocolate. The aroma of the milk chocolate made your mouth water as marshmallows floated on top. You flash a small smile, taking the mug for him and taking a sip—hoping the warm liquid would coax your anxiety.

“Honestly, not really. The whole Pierrot serial killer thing has been really bothering me lately. I vaguely know the victims, albeit there aren’t people I know like that or associate myself with now. But, still! I recognize them,” you sighed, looking at the reflection of your mug. Lyney’s face slightly softened at your confession.

“...I’m scared that the killers are actually targeting me. Like this is some fucked up mind game or whatever. I’m scared it’ll also mean the people that I currently care about are in danger too. …like you,” you muttered. Lyney chuckled slightly before you looked up at him and narrowed your eyes. He covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, murmuring apologies as he tried to calm down.

“Darling, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Besides, you have your amazing, attentive, loveable, strong boyfriend here to help. I’m here to protect both you and my siblings,” he chimed, leaning in to peck your forehead. You side-eye the man as he plopped down next to you on the couch, placing his mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. He grabbed some of the blankets covering your lower body, getting in close to cover his form as well. Your thighs and sides pressed together as he smiled.

“I don’t know if a shortie like you will be able to fight off a psychopath,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Slight annoyance flashed through Lyney’s amethyst eyes as he pouted.

“You’d be surprised…” he muttered. You chuckled once more before leaning in to kiss Lyney’s plush cheek as his eyes softened in affection. 

“Well, let’s just lighten the mood. We were going to watch Halloween special shows after all,” Lyney chimed, leaning over to grab the remote and change the television. That was right, today was supposed to be your date night. Freminet was having a sleepover with some of his friends and Lynette, begrudgingly, went out to give you two some space.

You felt Lyney’s hands underneath the blanket stroke against your thigh. At first, it was his thumb, before his whole hand slowly crept up and down. You gazed flickered to his that were glued to the television screen, albeit they were half-lidded and a smirk fell on his now rosy face.

“Well, aren’t you a bit touchy,”  you murmured.

“Oh, am I? I didn’t seem to notice,” he hummed back, turning his gaze towards you. As he leaned in close—lips hovering by your own—a cell phone rang loudly. Your body jolted up once more, not expecting the sudden noise as anxiety shot throughout your entire body. Lyney flashed a sympathetic smile as a soft chuckle echoed out. He padded your thigh to try to comfort you, reaching out to grab his phone that was ringing out.

“We got to get you to relax, mon amour,” he murmured. He got up from his seat, walking away from your form. 

Guilt gnawed on your body. You felt bad for being so anxious lately from this serial killer like your body is completely on edge as if you were a rabbit in the den of wolves, but you shouldn’t.

“I’m in my home. I am with my loving boyfriend. I am okay, I am safe,” you whispered out to yourself. Eventually, Lyney walked back in, and settled back to his spot on the couch.

“That was Lynette. She said that she would be coming home around midnight. It gives us plenty of time if you want this that is,” he stated, letting his hands trail across your thighs. You smiled, placing your hands on his cheeks. The corners of his lips curved up, leaning his head against your touch.

“I think a distraction would be good for me,” you whispered. His nose brushed against yours, lips hovering to where they once were before the interruption.

“Then forget all your troubles and leave everything to me…”

His lips finally found themselves to your own and you brought him closer to you. Your legs widened as his knees sank against the cushion of the couch to lean to you, deepening the kiss. Your hand reached over, softly grazing the crotch of his pants feeling his half-hardened cock pressing against his jeans. A soft moan escapes his lips, still connecting with yours before he parts away, and trails them along the nape of your neck.

“We…need to go to the bedroom,” Lyney groaned, continuing to kiss down your neck and nibble at the sensitive skin. Your body shivered, and you bit your lip to hide the smile creeping on your face.

“Oh, but you’re the one who has me pinned down here,” you reminded. With a grunt and pout, Lyney leaned back up, grabbed your hand, and found his way to your lips once more. The two of you bumped into walls—taking each other’s clothing off, leaving a trail to your shared bedroom. Lyney pushed you down on the bed as he slowly crawled on top of you with a mischievous smile.

“You seem so eager now. What’s the difference, chérie?” he hummed, dragging his lips across your thighs. His hands squeezed at your thighs as his lips finally trailed along the plush flesh. His hand reached to cup your cunt earning a soft moan from you as he nipped at your thighs. 

“You seemed to be a great distraction, I guess,” you whined, grinding your core into his hand to encourage him to stop teasing you. Lyney playfully rolled his eyes, letting his two longest fingers sink inside your cunt, drilling them to precision and skill.

“‘I guess’” he mocked. “You, out of anyone, should know I’m more than just a ‘guess’. You know how well you enjoy passing the time with my fingers deep inside of you like this…or my mouth…or my cock. As he continued to plunge his fingers deeper inside of you, feeling your walls flutter, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding against the bed to try to get some friction on his throbbing clothed cock.

He soon learned near your drooling core, globs of your slick clinging against the fingers plunging inside of you.

“But, it’s fine. I’ll ensure you’ll think of me and nothing else. Just me and only me,” he stated. He finally pressed his lips against your clit as your body jolted in delight. Your hands dug into his soft ash-blond hair, pulling him in even deeper as his chuckles reverberated against the nub. He darted his tongue out, beginning to slowly swirl circles along the perimeter of it before letting his tongue flick rapidly on the bundle of nerves.

Your body shivered in pleasure, back arched, as Lyney tried to contain his smile, feeling your thighs beginning to press against the cheek of his face. He continued to flick his tongue against your clit before encompassing his lips around it and sucking on it—fingers not wavering and continuing to thrust inside of you.

Lyney lifted your leg against one of his shoulders and he pressed the flat of his tongue against the nub, offering a few gentle licks on it before he shifted back to suck on it. You writhed underneath him, as his blunt nails dug into your hips to try to prevent you from moving too much. The sinful sounds of slouching echoed out in the bedroom, your cheeks hot feeling overwhelmed by the attention and meticulous touch of both his mouth and fingers.

“Lyney, oh fuck. Please, please…!” you begged out. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arched once more—quivering—as you finally reached your high. His breath is heavy, letting your leg fall back down on the bed, leaning up to watch your pussy convulsed against nothing. His lower mouth glistened in your arousal as he licked his lips to clean up what slick clung onto there. The sweet taste of it was enough to make Lyney grin, watching your tired form trying to recover from your climax. 

He leaned down against your side, feeling his hard and pulsating cock against the soft globes of your ass. He grabbed a handful of the globe, letting his cock slide between your thighs and slit a few times. As he made contact with your overstimulated clit you jolted and a soft whine emitted from you. Lyney laughed, tapping his tip against it a few times before he finally let himself slowly plunge inside of you. 

As Lyney slowly sank deeper, He moved his mouth to your neck, groaning loudly, feeling your walls pulsating. When he finally bottomed out, his lips softly kissed your neck before rutting into you. The sound of slapping skin was loud inside the room and the smell of sweat wafted throughout it too. Lyney continued to nibble at your neck, admiring the bruises and hickies he decorated on the skin. His groaning got louder as he sucked a breath in, feeling your walls beginning to cave and tighten. 

“Fuck,” Lyney moaned out loudly. You gasped as you felt him move and shift your body. Your ass hung in the air, as your head said laying on the pillows. His nails harpoon against your ass, drilling himself even deeper inside of you. As he continued to rut inside of you, he leaned down and kissed your back, groaning once more. He could feel your walls continuing to cave in, making it harder for him to control his thrusts and not lose himself too much in the pleasure.

He suddenly slipped out, cock quivering as he took a few breaths to try to control himself from climaxing. As he softly sighed, moving past it, he opened his eyes and admired your widening hole drooling out. 

“W-What are you…” you asked, softly before Lyney pressed a finger to his lips. He reached over to the nightstand, rummaging through it. You thought he was looking for a condom, but your eyes widened seeing him pull out a small bullet vibrator instead. He held down the button on the side as the contraption began to vibrate erratically in the palm of his hands.

“I think keeping you on your toes would be best for tonight. Besides, I haven’t heard you use this before when I’m in the shower,” he chuckled as you bit your lip in embarrassment. He slid his cock back inside of you, before snaking his hand around and pressing the erratically moving vibrator against your overstimulated clit. You cried out his name, his thrusts deep and rapid. The whole bed creaked to his fast strokes, Lyney’s breaths getting heavier as he repeated your name in a slurred way as if your cunt had made him drunk.

“There…there…there…that’s right,” Lyney moaned out. You covered your face feeling tears begin to prick out as the pleasure and burn of overstimulation settled in. You shout his name, body convulsing as you reach your high for the second time tonight, writhing for what it seemed like hours beneath him. 

In a dazed form, you felt Lyney flip you over admiring your absolute fucked-out form, quickly turning the vibrator off and throwing it across the bed. He continued to plunge himself inside of you. His eyes admire your chest bouncing to the fast pace of his thrusts. His cheeks were flushed and his voice whining, grunting, and groaning your name. You could barely focus on anything, your legs instinctively moved and wrapped against his small waist.

“I love you. I love you. Je t’aimerai toujours. Je n’aime que toi!” Lyney moaned out. He leaned his head back, snapping his eyes shut as he finally reached his high. His hips continued to bug, thrusting the ropes of cums deeper inside of you. He bit his lip as another soft moan emitted from him, taking heavy breaths before looking down at you. 

He smiled, wiping away the tears pricking your eyes, speaking softly, and whispered in his mother tongue affection gestures to make sure you were alright. He placed his forehead against your own seeing you slowly come back from your senses, eyes completely tired but your form relaxed. There wasn’t an inch of tension he could see that you had before.

Lyney brought his lips down against your own, offering a slower and more sensual kiss.

“You know I’d do anything, absolutely anything for you. I love you so much it hurts,” he whispered. You smiled, pecking his forehead as he slowly pulled himself out of you. Soon globs of his cum began dribbling from your cunt and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Your eyes drift to the clock; Lynette will be coming home soon. You two needed to clean up and shower to avoid any unnecessary awkward conversations.

You finally closed your legs, moving to get up from the bed you accidentally hit the vibrator down as it fell to the floor. You sighed as you got up, your legs wobbly as you tried to readjust yourself.

“W-Wait! Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it and change the sheets. You just go clean up in the bathroom. If you need help just tell me, but I don’t want you to fall!” Lyney suddenly murmured. He seemed oddly on edge suddenly. You shrugged, leaning down to pick the toy up.

“It’s fine, it’s just right here. I can take…care of it….” your voice trailed off. Your eyes catch something odd under the bed. You reached to grab it, revealing that same Jester mask you saw on the news report from earlier. Parts of it seemed more damaged and cracked than the rendering the broadcast had, with a particular smudge with a dark red substance splattered on it.

Dried blood. 

You look up in horror to gaze back at Lyney. His eyes, which you always knew were sweet and kind, looked back to you with more of a darker twist—his lips cemented in a frown. 

“I told you to drop it, didn’t I…?” he sighed. You felt frozen in shock and fear as Lyney moved from the top of the bed to join you on the floor. His eyes, still twirled with that dark emotion you couldn’t read well, but his gaze softened. His lips curled up in a smile, you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was just trying to comfort you from the revelation.

He dragged his thumb against your cheek, wiping away the tears that cascaded down. You didn’t notice you were crying.

“....Because sometimes we prefer the fantasy than the truth darling.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #lyney x reader #lyney smut #lyney imagines #lyney scenarios #yandere lyney

[paperultra]

space cadet.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 831 words Warnings: None

reverie (noun): a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream

You imagine the thoughts in your head as a forest of kelp at the bottom of the sea: dense, beautiful, brimming with life and all too easy to get lost in.

They’ve caused you trouble in the past. Countless rapped knuckles, letters sent home to your parents, walking into trees on the way home from school. But how could you resist? Empires rose and fell over the course of an hour inside your mind, mighty beasts swore their allegiance to you and the four seas were yours to explore. The childhood you had in the real world was so dull and lonely in comparison.

When you ran off and joined the Straw Hats, you finally had the excitement you had so craved. And yet, even now, your mind still wanders.

“If you swab the deck any more, we won’t have any left, sweetheart.”

Only a select few can bring you back.

You blink rapidly, the clouds dissipating as you stop scrubbing and look up. Sanji’s already smiling when you meet his gaze.

He lifts his hands; one offers a plate of shortbread cookies, the other a glass of milk.

“I’m going to guess that you haven’t had a break in a while,” he says. “Am I right?”

A break? Sending him a perplexed frown, you lean on the handle of your scrub brush and glance over your shoulder.

The side on which you had started winks back at you from afar, wood gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Oh.

“I … I guess so,” you reply slowly, turning back to him. It’s only then that you register the saltwater washing over your feet and the ache in your muscles. “I didn’t even realize …”

He shakes his head and chuckles, leading you to some nearby crates to sit down. “Too caught up in your stories again? I’m almost jealous that they get to spend so much time with you.”

“I don’t mean to make you worry.”

“Loving someone means worrying about them from time to time.”

He winks, and you smile, flustered.

“I see,” you say quietly. “Then thank you for worrying, Sanji.”

“Of course.” He hands you the glass of milk, then picks up a cookie and taps it against your lips. “Now, this is my best batch of sablés. You have no idea how hard it was to keep Luffy from eating them all in the kitchen.”

“I have some idea,” you drawl amusedly, taking a bite.

The cookie breaks with a gentle snap. It crumbles delightfully in your mouth, sugar and butter dancing on your tongue. A pleased hum rumbles in your throat before you wash it down with a gulp of cold milk.

“What do you think?”

“I think I might eat the whole plate right now,” you say, taking the other half of the cookie.

He grins. “So you like them.”

“They’re delicious.” Picking up another one, you hold it in front of his face. “Here.”

Sanji’s gaze remains locked with yours as he leans forward to take a bite of the cookie, his lips brushing your fingertips in an impromptu kiss before he pulls away. He chews thoughtfully. The action should not look as good as it does.

“My best batch, as I’ve said,” he tells you once he swallows. “But I’ve tasted sweeter.”

You tilt your head. “Where?”

His mouth curls into a smirk, and he places his fingers under your chin to bring your face closer to his. Your noses touch and you can feel his answer against your lips as he murmurs, “Right here.”

The rest of the crew may also have the pleasure of eating Sanji’s food, but they do not share your privilege of knowing just how talented he is at kissing.

He sets down the plate and lifts his hand to cup your jaw, meeting your lips and letting out a soft sigh before pressing his lips more fervently against yours. You can taste the smoke on his tongue, a constant underneath the warm sweetness of sugar and the saltiness of butter. Your eyes flutter closed, and you reach up to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly. The groan he lets out sends tingles down to the tips of your toes.

“Sweetheart,” he pants, and the longing in his voice would’ve made your knees buckle if you were standing, “I won’t be able to stop if you keep doing that.”

You put your glass of milk down so you can bury both hands in his golden hair. Your forehead touches his. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Maybe it is,” he mutters.

You bring him back in for another searing kiss that Sanji returns just as eagerly.

Yes, you value your time alone with your thoughts. They are a forest of kelp at the bottom of the sea, beautiful, countless, and wild.

But as easy as it is to get lost in your thoughts, it is infinitely easier to get lost in him.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #reader stares off into space and sanji is like. look at my angel. so pensive and sweet and beautiful <333 #meanwhile reader is wrangling with the logistics of surviving in the stomach of a sea cow #they get along quite well with usopp i think :) #anyway sanji and reader are THAT pda couple. guys u can't just make out on the deck for everyone to witness (sanji and reader do not care)

[pickingupmymercedes]

She's here and she's not only ours - Lewis Hamilton

Sequel to She's here and she's ours. Bit of angst, lots of fluff.

pairing: Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Navigating the journey from being a couple to becoming a family is often likened to entering a whole new world—one filled with unpredictable challenges and profound joys. The radiant 7-month-old girl had effortlessly woven herself into the fabric of your lives, captivating not only you and Lewis but everyone who crossed her path. Yet, adjusting to new routines, shifting priorities, managing emotional and physical changes, and, most crucially, cultivating a deep bond with your child were aspects of parenthood that no book, class, or well-meaning advice had adequately prepared you for.

And so, the real test of parenthood often lay in learning to prioritize.

“Oh my God, she’s growing up so quickly!” Susie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she entered the living area of your apartment, making a beeline for the giggling toddler seated in her bumbo seat on the kitchen island.

“Please, don’t remind me. Time is flying by too fast already,” you replied, your smile widening as you watched your baby recognize Susie and reach out to be scooped up.

“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced… I just... I had to know why,” Susie said, her expression curious and concerned.

You had expected people to comment and be surprised, but you hadn’t anticipated the attention coming so soon, even before you and Lewis had a chance to share your news.

“So, I take it everyone at Mercedes already knows?”

“More like everyone on the paddock, probably,” Susie confirmed.

“Do you remember her first few days? When she struggled to gain weight and every day felt like a battle?”

The first inkling that something was amiss came mere hours after you had returned home with your newborn daughter. Her incessant cries and insatiable hunger, even after an hour of breastfeeding, had raised red flags.

You had been warned that the initial days would be challenging—that you were now solely responsible for nourishing a tiny human. So, you soldiered on, suppressing your growing panic and tears, dreading the 40-minute feeding intervals where you’d bite your tongue and cheeks to keep from crying.

You tried every trick in the book—increasing your water intake, warm and cold compresses, dietary changes, pumping between feeds, consulting lactation specialists, and even consuming magic lactation cookies. Yet, your milk supply remained stubbornly low.

The sense of failure weighed heavily on you; your primary role was to nurture your baby, something you had done successfully during pregnancy. Instead of relishing the joys of new motherhood, you felt like a failure, a lesser mother to your daughter and a villain to your husband's fairytale of having kids.

Lewis was acutely aware of your distress and tried to be supportive. Despite knowing, as doctors and specialists had advised, that you needed to supplement with formula for both your daughter’s and your own well-being, he refrained from pressuring you. Every night he would feel as though you were punching him in the face when you went out of his sight to cry, or how his chest would tighten when he carried your screaming daughter in his arms, knowing she needed more, from him and from you. Still, he didn’t have in him to lecture you, yet again, on how that little girl needed more, not when you were giving your life and sanity away for her.

It wasn’t until the day before her second week checkup that you broke down. You knew the scale wasn’t going to give her much more grams than she had the past week, way less than she deserved and the added burden that he would be going for his first race of the season in a couple days had you reaching your breaking point.

Seeing Lewis on the sofa, looking worried and worn-out, you collapsed in front of him, letting your tears flow freely. He held you, comforting you with gentle whispers, and you both agreed that transitioning to formula was for the best. Despite the months of hearing about the benefits of breastfeeding, you had come to understand that sometimes the most challenging part of parenthood was knowing when to stand your ground and make the best choice for your family.

“We don’t want his job to feel like a burden every weekend,” you said.

“So, the Hamiltons will be a staple in the paddocks?” Susie asked, her approving smile revealing her pride.

“Life doesn’t always go as planned, does it?” You shrugged

“The media is going to love that smile,” Susie cooed, her attention directed at the toothy grin of your daughter.

“Yeah… She won’t be only ours, but Lewis needs her as much as she needs him. I guess it’s a small price to pay,” you replied, smiling at your yawning daughter in Susie’s lap, her little hands rubbing her eyes—a clear sign that her naptime was due.

“Please, let me. She still loves Disney songs, right?” Susie absentmindedly asked, already heading towards your daughter’s room, laying the toddler on her cheast and ready to lull her to sleep with a familiar melody. As you watched, you couldn’t help but marvel at how your daughter had already captured so many hearts at such a young age.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you'd like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #formula 1

[literaila]

the brunch

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get jealous, just so everyone knows

a/n: (that previous statement was a lie) the brainrot is real

last part | next part

year four.

it’s a bit unusual for the house to be this filled, especially this early in the morning. 

chatter echoes throughout the space, loud exclamations, and secret whispers, all making up a terrible-sounding symphony. 

megumi and tsumiki are playing some elaborate board game with onlookers on the coffee table, both of them smiling proudly. 

satoru is trying to tidy up the many different plates and cups everyone's left lying around, laughing when shoko rolls her eyes at something he's just said. 

and you're in the kitchen, talking with nanami like you haven't seen him in several years--it's been three weeks. 

it's very strange for the four of you. to let anyone--not to mention a dozen people--intrude on your carefully planned out saturday mornings. to invite others into your world of burnt breakfasts and uncombed bedhead. 

but here you all are, managing. 

and you’d reminded satoru probably seventeen times—too many times, he thinks, with far too many knowing glances—that hosting was not something to be taken lightly (and that you weren’t going to help him ((both of you know that you are)). 

but he doesn’t mind this. 

the crowded house, or the many different phone calls he had to make about getting this party (which he swore wasn’t one) set up. the loud sounds or the inevitable cleanup he'll try to swindle his way out of. 

it’s quite nice. actually, satoru is a little proud of his makeshift brunch, and the fact that everyone came, and everyone seems happy. he likes that he can barely hear his thoughts, that there's nothing important enough for him to think about anyway. 

and honestly, with all of it going on, satoru should not be this discontented with the fact that you’re smiling at someone else. 

he invited nanami because he knows that you miss him and that you’re too embarrassed to admit that. or too proud, maybe. too forgiving. and he knows that you wouldn’t have done it yourself, had he not gotten involved. 

but still. should satoru really have to sit back and watch as you fawn over a man who wore a suit to casual brunch? 

no, he should not, thank you. 

"what's wrong with your face?" shoko asks him after the silence has drawn on for too long, sounding very uninterested. 

satoru shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "what?" 

"you've got a weird look." 

"no, i don't." 

"it's like that time that you chugged the entire carton of expired milk someone left in the fridge." 

"don't remind me," he says, trying to put on a theatrical wince, but he just ends up looking back at you, with a blank face. 

there is no time for joking, or flamboyancy, or caring about anything else in the world. 

shoko does the same, her eyes trailing where his are, watching as you tilt your head at nanami, laughing when he murmurs something. 

in typical nanami fashion, his lips only twitch a little bit, but it's enough to tell that he's amused by whatever conversation you're having. 

that he's got your full attention, and he gets to watch your eyes as they shift from one glance to another and--

shoko nods, looking back to satoru, who is trapped in his stare. chained down at the mere thought of you. "oh," she says, rolling her eyes. 

satoru doesn't look away, but grunts in the form of a question. 

"you're an idiot, you know that?" 

he frowns. "what?" 

her eyes are exasperated, and her smile is all-knowing. she has always alluded satoru, and his very short attention span. and he kind of hates her, at this moment, for distracting him. 

"seriously," she scoffs at his perturbed face, "after a whole year of living basically in the same room, i thought that the two of you would finally get over it." 

"who?" satoru asks, smiling confusedly. "get over what?" 

"you. get over yourself. honestly, only you and y/n would raise two kids together and pretend like there's no intimacy in it." 

"what?"' satoru repeats, dumbly. 

"and, by the way," shoko tells him, sipping on her drink. "jealousy is not cute." 

and then she walks away, like she's answered a single one of satoru's questions. 

and he frowns, thinking about it. 

because--no, there's no way she was talking about him--he shakes his head. where would she even have gotten that idea? there's--

no. 

and it’s—it’s not jealousy. he laughs off that thought.

satoru gojo is the strongest. he's the one everyone looks to. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

and besides satoru knows that you don’t get enough time away from your discombobulated family. that your life revolves around them, and they around you. 

and the two of you have talked—at length—about the fact that you’re both young, and neither of you should live the lifestyle of some middle-aged parents, with no way to connect with the people in your age group. the people that would’ve been your family, in some alternate universe. 

satoru knows that you don’t carve out the things that you need without being asked to, that you get anxious about these types of occasions--he's watched it happen before, when you were forced into a corner at one exchange event the two of you shared, or when yaga took you all out to dinner, and you'd shrink yourself in your seat until someone noticed. 

he's seen you try to make yourself smaller at the convenience of others, and as he's grown (he almost winces at the thought) satoru has sworn to himself that he'd keep you from any situation where that might be necessary. 

so he shouldn’t--he doesn't--mind that you’re having a good time. he should be--is--happy with himself, for setting it up so you could, for planning it around you, and the kids. he should be preparing himself to gloat in your face about the fact that he thought of this, and he set it up all on his own. 

god. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but that doesn't change the fact that satoru can't really see beyond you, ten feet away from him, laughing at something that nanami said. 

and maybe it's not the fact that you're talking to him, or that you're smiling at him like satoru wants to be smiled at, he thinks, but more that you don't act that way with him. 

satoru is well aware of the grounds in your relationship, and he knows that you spend most of your days rolling your eyes at the obnoxious things that he says, trying to protect the children--and him--from the antics that you've all grown used to. 

he's not jealous, but maybe he's a little bit annoyed that he hasn't seen you this easy, and light since you were still in school. since you were still younger than him, and still someone he could look down upon. 

you cling to nanami like satoru clings to you, he realizes, sullenly. you smile and tease--if just the way your eyes crinkle means anything. 

you grin at nanami like you're trying to irritate him. like you're the reckless one between the two. 

and maybe it hurts satoru more just to know that you are the reckless one.

he'd lived with the two of you for three years. he'd experienced nanami's typical brooding--which, now, reminds him a lot of megumi, actually--and the way he'd think through everything. maybe a little bit too much, even. 

satoru was always there to watch you giggle alongside the austere man, pull him out of whatever thought process was darkening the mood, and remind him that none of it was all that serious. 

satoru knows--he knows--that you and him are similar. he knows that it's why he feels the way he does with you. that the way the two of you dance around your emotions, and say nothing that you truly mean is something to cherish, if also something to despise. 

he's not jealous, but maybe it hurts satoru because he knows that you've never been able to truly not care, with him. that he takes up all of the ignorance one household can get, even without meaning to.

or maybe it's just been a long time since he got the chance to watch you interact with anyone else. 

maybe he's just ridiculous, and he should go do something else before he thinks about this for too long. shoko is wrong, though, he thinks. he's definitely not jealous. 

he's satoru gojo. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but he's still watching when you shake your head at something nanami says, tapping him on the shoulder and excusing yourself while waving him on, still light and airy, eyes meeting satoru's with that same grin. 

it's probably worse to know that it doesn't quite belong to him. that he's not the sole benefactor of it all. 

"hey," you say, bumping into him on purpose when you come over, your hands wrapping around his forearm as you lean on him. "need help?" 

"nah, i've got it," he finally looks away. he doesn't want to watch this. 

but you're still grinning at him, trying to catch his eye--even with the sunglasses. "you're all alone over here," you coo, "i can help you clean up." 

satoru snorts. "i thought you weren't going to help with anything." 

"well, since i'm already here..." you drawl, beginning to pick up spare utensils, and napkins. all of the things he'd been too distracted to do. 

you're humming as you do it, completely content with everything. 

satoru tries not to grind his teeth at the fact that your mood is not because of him. 

"how's nanami?" he asks, unprecendented, after a moment. 

you shrug. "he's good. i guess the real world sucks too," you say it with a lilt, like there's an inside joke that satoru is missing. 

he shakes his head, trying to keep his words civil. "the real world?" 

"the corporate universe, and laws of reality, or whatever," you roll your eyes, and you sound exactly like him. "no curses or magic to liven things up." 

"no monsters, you mean." 

"or that," you smile at him, looking almost giddy. 

satoru hums. 

you put all of the trash you've collected on a serving dish, piling things up without a care in the world. and then you turn towards satoru, and he can feel your slight frown before he can see it. "you okay?" you ask him. 

satoru freezes. "what?" 

"is it getting to you? the brunch?" 

"what? no, i'm fine," he tries to look at you like you're ridiculous, but his face feels stiff, and wrong, and far too happy for you. 

"you look like your tongue is too big to fit in your mouth." 

he sticks his tongue out, almost on command. "does it look any different?" 

"hmm," you pretend to observe. "yeah. might want to see a doctor about it." 

"noted." 

"are you trying not to laugh at something? you can tell me if i have something on my face, you know." 

satoru's smile is a bit easier at that, but he shakes his head anyway. he kind of wants to run away to his room--something he's learned from raising two children. "no, i'm just thinking." 

you raise a brow. 

satoru scowls. "what? you didn't think it was possible?" 

"no, not really."  

he shakes his head. he tries to turn away, scoffing like it's a joke (it's not), but your hand reaches for his bicep before he can. 

"hey," you say to him. he turns back to you, and your smile, nose scrunched up as you lean in. "how are you?" 

"busy. i have to go make sure there's enough ice in that bucket." 

"i'll come with you," you say, even though you both know that he's lying. 

"no. i'm sure nanami has more he wants to talk with you about." 

"is that what this is about? nanami? are you mad at him, or something?" 

"why would i be mad at him?" 

"i don't know, satoru, your brain is a confusing thing," you tug on his hair just a little bit. "hey, c'mon. why're you upset?" 

"i'm not upset." 

satoru should be basking in your attention, but he can't quite bring himself to notice it. or that you spend every day with him--mostly without complaint--and never fail to laugh at something he says. 

no, his thoughts are not very organized, at the moment. 

"you've got your little angry pout on," you nudge his lips with a finger. "i think you've been spending too much time with megumi." 

he grabs your hand, trying not to squeeze. "i'm fine. go hang out. you're not supposed to be helping me." 

this time, you pout. "you don't want to spend time with me?" 

he groans, throwing his head back. "i'm trying to be nice," he tells you. "you know, like how you're always telling me to?" 

"ew," you say, giggling a little bit. "i don't like it." 

he rolls his eyes. 

"seriously, come hang out with me and the kids. we can beat them at charades, or something, again. you need a little pep in your step." 

"what are you, my mom?" he deadpans but feels his heart twitch a little bit because you're still holding onto him. 

"might as well be. take a break, satoru, i miss you." 

you say it so easily and nonchalantly that satoru wants to pick you up and lock you in a little box, just so you can never talk to anyone but him again.

he stares at you, blinking beneath his glasses, feeling like you're doing all of this just to mess with him. 

honestly, whiplash is a serious condition. 

you smile at him, fluttering your eyelashes unknowingly, pouting at him a little bit, even through the smile. 

and satoru's never been able to say no to you, so he lets you pull him with you, back to the kitchen, where you grab nanami too--to the dismay of satoru, of course. he tries not to glare. 

and satoru chooses to ignore the discerning look that nanami sends him, and the fact that his arm tightens around your waist as you drag the two men along. 

he's not jealous. god, it's just very loud in here. 

*

somewhere several minutes earlier, when the two of you were standing just a little bit too close to each other, both of you pouting, looking like two children fighting over a toy--you had a couple of spectators. 

shoko scoffs, shaking her head. "that's disgusting." 

you're on your tiptoes, head tilted as you purr something to satoru. they can't see his eyes from twenty feet away, but they can all tell that they're stuck on you. glued, never to be torn away. 

megumi looks at the woman, then follows her eyes to the two of you, blank-faced. 

tsumiki giggles. 

"we know," they both say, rolling their eyes. 

*

next part | series masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #a typical family

[shotmrmiller]

Neighbour ghoap secretly vandalising/messing with your apartment to get you into their own. Oh your heatings bust? No we have no idea what happened to your boiler but why don't you come over to the apartment where they can keep you warm ;)

Oh, your shower/bath is broken? You can use theirs

Someone broke the lock on your front door? Oh well. You better stay with them so they can keep you safe while you get a new lock

i had to delete this whole thing i wrote cuz it went really spook real fast.

but yeah, if you won't go over to theirs, then they'll make you.

maybe they start slow. you need to get used to interacting with simon, so when you're gone for work johnny lets himself into your flat and takes your sugar or leaves the milk jug out for it to spoil.

that's how you end up knocking on their door at 7 am, asking simon for a bit of whatever it is you need.

he takes great care in speaking to you softly as if you are a skittish animal

"here ya go, love."

"it's alrigh', don't worry 'bout it."

once you warm up to him enough to look him in the eyes when you say hello, they definitely mess with the boiler and take a wrench to your showerhead.

ooooo

they invite you to stay for as long as you need, and if you want the bed.

no?

you sure?

alright. well let us know if you need anything!

come morning, you're apple-cheeked and can't get a sentence out without stammering because the entire night you had the pleasure of listening in on them going at it all night.

christ.

you can't even look at them without breaking eye contact within seconds.

you can't stop thinking about it.

can't stop thinking about if simon's long, thick fingers would feel as good inside you as they did in johnny.

can't stop thinking if you'd even be able to take one of them at all, by the intimidating size of their bulging crotches in the grey joggers they're both wearing.

would they take turns? would johnny (the very clear bottom) clean up simon's spend with his tongue from your swollen entrance?

you mumble out a thank you as johnny gives you breakfast and eat in silence, while the guys talk to themselves.

the soft, hushed tone of their voices bring last night back to the forefront of your mind.

how johnny moaned in his pleasure, how simon whispered words of praise.

would johnny be the one talking filth into your ear or would it be simon?

ack.

how embarrassing, daydreaming about a male couple fucking you senseless.

you leave for work, and they decide to up their game by making it seem like someone broke into your home. they'll make sure to leave it trashed, so you have no other choice but to stay with them for the unforeseeable future. (they are absolutely not letting you stay at a hotel. they'll twist your arm about it if they have to)

#ghoap x reader #ghoap

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

 Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

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So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

#cross cooks lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr art

[dadsbongos]

i am a sword // i am a shield

word count - 15.8 k // warnings - unhealthy/codependent relationship themes, reader has ego/identity issues, potential dub-con but nothing actually happens, brief mention of animal death, existential crisis, past manipulation/abuse from makima for both of you, also you and denji are both adult-core, and reader is specifically written as a girl, CSM part 2 spoilers!!!

summary - The Rejection Devil gets put on a new mission -- to be Denji's girlfriend so he doesn't blow his cover as a normal guy living a normal life!

In late 1995, you are led into a tall building with a smooth, plain white finish and windows you wouldn’t be able to count even on both hands and feet. You aren’t sure where you were before this, and you can’t be certain why you agreed to trail the red-headed woman downstairs. All you know is that your life - your real life began with that red-headed woman and those winding stairs into the bureau basement. She’s speaking in a voice so silky smooth, you’re compelled to listen even though her words make your head hurt.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so easy to track down this time. You fight more than this.”

You hug your arms around yourself as the darkness swallows you both whole, a door clicking shut behind your backs and leaving your only route to be following this strange woman. She smells like iron and spoiled milk veiled thinly by cheap vanilla perfume. It makes your nose wrinkle.

“Are you sure I can stay here…?” your eyes drift to the many metal doors lining the cramped basement walkway, “It’s scary down here.”

She giggles, hands clasped behind her back, and doesn’t so much as look at you as she replies, “You’ll be safer here than out there.”

Coming to a delayed pause outside a gaping steel doorway, the woman maintains her straight-lace posture while you hunch into yourself. Coldness wheezes out of the room, and a single twin mattress on the floor with no sheets or pillows laid in the middle, making your arms wind tighter around your midriff. Your beige dress may reach the ankles, but it's still thin - branded together with noncommittal strands that fray at the hem.

“Can I… go home?”

“Where?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod silently. Right. There is no home. There is on the mattress she provided, or there is under her mud-stained boot heel. You step into the concrete room - a boxy affair that wouldn’t even hold a bed larger than a twin.

“Good girl,” the woman coos, head tilting sweetly as she lays a hand over the steel door, “And I’ll be back tomorrow to see you again, how does that sound?”

You nod meekly as the door slides shut with a heavy groan and shick.

The woman is not back the next day. Or the one after that. Or even the next five. By the time you see her again and learn her name (Makima, you recall: it tastes like sour cheese coated in sugar on your tongue), there are sixteen shallow tallies on the wall nearest your bed, and blood and rock mix grossly under your index fingernail.

In mid-1998, the debut of Tokyo’s summer showers threatened to kick off overhead.

Swirling, lumpy clouds mask the sun’s golden rays behind a sickly gray - sky darkening as the rumbles of an incoming storm roll under your feet. Yoshida marches ahead of you in confident strides, his familiarity with the building ahead your only savior to navigating Fourth East High School.

“Chainsaw Man really goes here?” you fidget with the unevenly hanging ribbon tied around your collar, “Why? Couldn’t He just avoid high school? I hear it’s terrible…”

“It is,” Yoshida confirms, not so much as looking over his shoulder at you as he guides you to your shoe locker, “But Chainsaw’s supposed to live a normal life now.”

“How would I help with that?” you watch Yoshida’s slender fingers pry open the rectangular metal door to fish out a pair of white lace-up sneakers. He lets them clutter to the floor before tapping the door’s plated number and wandering off to his own cubby, “Isn’t Kishibe His warden now? Why are we getting involved?”

Knowing Kishibe, Chainsaw Man is most likely left to his own devices more often than not. The man called “Mad Dog”, after all, would not be your top choice of fatherly figures, so perhaps Chainsaw Man is better off controlling his own life.

After swapping his own shoes, Yoshida stands where the entrance tile ends and the hall tile begins -- the entrance tiles are slightly darker in shade. Alabaster over pearl. He waits patiently for you to stuff your outside shoes into your locker and slam it shut before continuing down the hall. Teenagers in uniforms just like yours (though, you notice embarrassed, much neater and straighter than yours) are crammed by the walls, clogging staircases, and even looming in open bathroom doorways. So many voices all at once, they hurt your ears when they fight each other over who can draw the most attention. The joke is on them, with so much chatter you can’t pick out even a single conversation.

“Yoshida,” you call timidly from over his shoulder, and he hums - tilting his head just barely in your direction to indicate he’s listening, “How are we helping Him?”

Yoshida pauses in the middle of the corridor and turns to face you, one hand securing the book bag slung over his shoulder and the other in his pants pocket. His cheek meets his shoulder as his eyes flutter from the top of your head to the toe of your shoes, “I’ll show you at lunch. Just know you’re really doing good here.”

“At a high school?”

“For Japan,” he shrugs and turns back around, “Maybe the world.”

You like working with Yoshida more than most other devil hunters. He’s soft-spoken, but not from some unbearable shyness -- and he’s gentle, but not pitying. But even so, Yoshida is as much of a devil hunter as any and that means he selfishly uses what isn’t technically his. Well, technically it is actually.

Your power technically belongs to everybody except you in the name of public safety.

Cringing at your own overuse of the T-word, you slide wordlessly into the seat Yoshida points to as soon as you both enter a classroom. Your new classmates are sparse, and you assume that most of them remain out in the common space to squeeze out as much socializing time as possible. A few eyes follow you, so you flatten the crinkling, wrinkled material of your vest and undershirt with shaking hands. Secretly, you hope the sweat in your palms will slick the material down.

In the desk behind you, Yoshida sits with his cheek resting in his palm. Tired, lidded eyes skip over your withering frame and up to the clock above the teacher’s podium. His foot starts tapping as if he’s already expecting the dismissal bell to ring.

When a gaggle of girls approach and their gaze sticks to you a little longer than you think is appropriate, your hands shiver up to your hair. A terrible fire in your chest urges you to pat and soothe down any untamed strands you may have somehow missed in the mirror. Not that the mirror in your room is one of those great fancy ones you see in movies - the kind that fits the whole wall and never has a bothersome speck - but you think it gets the job done. Apparently, not well enough, you huff bitterly, glaring down at the pleats in your skirt joined by haphazard wrinkles vining down the unfolded sections.

You, still with a hand wound nervously in your hair, twist to look at Yoshida’s lame face, “What’s He like?”

“Hm?” Yoshida drags his dark eyes from the time to your pinched face, “Stupid.”

“Be nice…”

“Well, then he shouldn’t be stupid if he doesn’t want me to call him stupid. And lousy. But pretty. And he likes cats.”

Yoshida grins lazily when you perk up at that, stress lines melting away in favor of raised brows and wide eyes, “Really?”

“Mhm. Has one, too.”

“No way,” you perch both hands on the back of your chair and inch closer, “What’s its name, do you know? Is it black? Or white? Does it have long whiskers?”

“No idea.”

He watches your impressed gape press thinly into a frustrated line, “I thought you knew Him!”

“I do, but I don’t know his cat.”

“Do you think He’ll let me meet His cat?” you lean closer despite your apparent disappointment.

“Definitely,” Yoshida’s grin widens, eyes narrowing up at your buzzing excitement, “Why wouldn’t his girlfriend meet his cat?”

“Huh?” your brows furrow again, but you’re prevented from inquiring further by the attendance bell, your teacher tiredly saddling up to her podium soon after.

You’re going to help Japan (maybe even the world) by being Chainsaw Man’s girlfriend?

The sentiment is so baffling and strange, that you’re almost unable to sit still through class (not that the cause of your distress being sat right behind you helps any).

Yoshida’s standing just after the first ting of the lunch bell, his first curls around the oddly bent collar of your uniform before he’s yanking you up. Your new classmates file out of the room and Yoshida keeps a hand pressed flatly against your spine. He’s practically shoving you down the hall, towards one of the upward staircases.

“Where are we going?”

He sighs quietly into your ear, “Where do you think?”

“What?!” your hands scramble down to where your top is tucked into your skirt waistband, hoping it looks as neat as it did this morning. You trip on one of the step ledges, almost smashing your nose into the floor until Yoshida’s shoving hand grips the back of your vest tightly. He yanks you back into his chest, and you toss your head back to stare into his obsidian eyes, “We’re meeting Him now?!”

“Duh,” he forces you forward once again.

“No way!” you can feel your throat swelling, knees filled with jelly as Yoshida pushes open a heavy metal door. The dark sky greets you above, the rare ribbons of sunlight available reflecting off steel bars.

A lone boy leans against the furthest railing, his hair is tousled and unkempt. A pretty, silky coral that reminds you of the softness of mangoes’ flesh. Long in the back but trimmed at the sides in a way that tells you he might be cutting his own hair. His uniform is unbuttoned, flaps billowing in the wind behind his lax frame.

“Hey, Chainsaw!”

Lone Boy turns, plum bags hang under drowsy, unimpressed copper eyes. He sticks up a peace sign to acknowledge the call and waits silently as you and Yoshida approach his post. Despite the careless stance, he smells strongly of ashed cigarettes and dog fur unsuccessfully obscured by the plastic mimicry of a floral detergent.

Any polite greeting you’d hoped to muster is trapped in the dry cavern of your mouth. Tongue too heavy to form words. Your hands twitch up to the rail and you press your entire weight onto it to alleviate the wobbling in your knees. Yoshida stands at your side, squeezing your shoulder before speaking,

“I wanted to introduce your girlfriend,” he pitches you like those men in polos talk so passionately about whatever product is hottest in sterile white film studios, “And the best part? When it comes to her, you don’t need to keep any secrets ‘cuz she already knows.”

Denji stands straighter, his slumped leg shooting out in attention, “You know I’m Chainsaw Man?”

You nod skittishly.

He tilts his head, “You a fan?”

“Of course!” you chirp, hands squeezing around the rail so tight it burns, “You’re amazing!”

“Good to hear,” he leans closer, coppery eyes igniting with interest, “How’d you know? When’d you find out? What’d you think when you found out?”

“Oh- I’m- !” you reach up, straightening your bowed ribbon and trying to even the strands, “I’m a devil…” you shake your head, “Not as impressive as You, Chainsaw, just the rejection devil…”

His silence is chilling, and the disgust he must be feeling from your claim is starting to rot your insides. A terrible, agonized rot that no amount of blood could heal.

“Sooo,” he places a hand over his shirt - it has his own chainsaw form’s silvery and orange head on it with bubblegum pink characters lining his name, “You think ‘m a big deal, then?”

“You are a big deal!” you lean into him, at least hoping to lap up his body’s warmth if you can’t get his approval, “Huge!”

“Good, then?” Yoshida gives Chainsaw Man a thumbs up, “I’m sure a devil wasn’t your first choice, but a girlfriend’s a girlfriend and she’s nice. Listens. Easily impressed. Plus your big mouth won’t ruin anything.”

Chainsaw Man ignores Yoshida completely, grinning at you through shark’s teeth, “Name’s Denji. I like girls that like me.”

“I’m a girl!” you beam, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I like you!” you tug sharply on the black ribbon around your neck, “I think you’re the best!”

Denji nods curtly, visibly smug. His posture curves again, all suave and cocky, “What can I call ya?”

Yoshida steps back when you glance at him uncertainly.

“My name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“My name,” you state blandly, blinking at Denji as you try to cobble together sounds and vowels that sound familiar. Makima had a name. Could you have one, too? Angel just went by, well, Angel. Quanxi had a name. So did Princi. You must have a name, right? “I don’t know…”

Yoshida chips in, both hands in his pockets, “Nobody really calls her. If they do, it's just Rejection.”

Denji glares at Yoshida, “That’s shitty.”

Yoshida shrugs, “She’s enrolled as Yoshida, Reiji.”

“I am?”

Denji wrinkles his nose at that before looking back towards you, “Do you like that name?” you shake your head, just slightly enough so you can deny doing it if the only real Yoshida child gets offended, “What do you like?”

“I like fruit…” you twist your hands around the rail, the metal cooling your flushed skin, “And cats.”

“Peaches?”

“I like peaches.”

“Okay, peachy,” he stands straight, and there’s something sweet about the way he smiles at you -- the way his body jitters, like the thrill of being a boyfriend is jumping out of his veins, “We should go out! After school. Today.”

“Okay! Totally!”

You realized quickly that going on a date with Chainsaw Man (Denji, you correct yourself, Denji) meant that you’d be going out without Yoshida when the boy walked straight past you and out the gates without so much as a goodbye. He didn’t even wait for you to change out your shoes before leaving. How nerve-wracking…

Pacing, you wait for Denji to exit Fourth East and tell you where you’re both going for your first official date. You watch the black slip-ons Yoshida shoved at you this morning crease against the floor with every step. You get so entranced by the sight that you don’t notice Denji’s approach until a hand stops you by the arm.

Jumping under the sudden touch, you gasp at the sight of Denji before awkwardly calling, “Hi!”

“Hey,” he drawls out the vowel, releasing his tender grip on your bicep, “So, where d’ya wanna go?”

“Huh?” you tense up - was that a genuine question? - before gnawing your bottom lip unsurely, “I don’t know. I thought you’d know.”

“Is there anywhere you’d wanna go?” Denji starts walking, book bag hanging limply over his shoulder.

You rush to catch up to him, tightly clutching the straps of your own bag in front of you, “I don’t know!”

“Really?” he turns to stare at you, only to find you watching your feet against the pavement with a soldier’s focus. So he looks back up, glaring when a man in suit and tie doesn’t move to the far side of the sidewalk to avoid knocking shoulders with you. The man glares back at Denji, but relents to dodge you, “Anything you’ve always wanted to do?”

“I don’t know…” your brows draw towards the middle of your face in concentration, “I like… Food?”

“Me too,” he murmurs in solidarity, “What about ice cream? There’s a place nearby, and cheap! You can get two soft creams for three hundred yen!”

“Woah!” you don’t know anything about that or how important it actually is to get two servings for three hundred yen, but Denji is excited and that feels like a good enough reason.

“Right?!” his steps quicken, hand circling yours and pulling you along. His hand is warm with rough calluses blooming around his digits, but it feels nice in yours, “And you can combine any two flavors for no extra charge!”

Upon arrival, you are only a little disappointed, but you suppose you probably shouldn’t be. It isn’t like you were genuinely owed your preference, that’s why it was a preference, right? In the same way, you prefer to have control over the heat to your room in the commission basement but don’t.

“Ah, no mango…”

“You like mango?”

“I’ve never had one,” you admit, albeit confusingly following it up with, “It’s my favorite, though.”

“Oh. Okay,” he nods as if filing the information away for later, and you hesitate to ask if he actually cares, “My favorite is the bubblegum. It makes me sick if I eat it too fast, but it’s really sweet,” you nod this time, slowly, “But you like fruit, so you’ll probably want the strawberry one, right?”

You nod faster.

When neither of you steps towards the patiently smiling vendor, Denji leans forward, “Do you want me to order for both of us?”

“Yes!” when you realize how outright eager you sound, you try to quiet yourself down, “Please, that’d be nice.”

Denji gives you a peace sign before taking charge towards the old man behind the open counter.

Upon his return, Denji holds out the small cardstock paper cup to you, a miniature plastic spoon buried into the soft pink mound. Darker red splotches decorate the scoops, sinking to the bottom the longer you take to grasp the treat.

With unsteady hands, you almost knock the soft serve from his fingers before clumsily clutching it with both palms. Sadly, the spoon could not be saved once rattled from its spot; the plastic unceremoniously clattering onto the pavement. Strawberry sweetness splatters onto the toe of your shoe, staining your laces. Your chest fills with the heaviness of dread, the freeze of the ice cream spreading through your hands and all the way down to your wiggly jelly knees. You look up from the grizzly death scene to Denji’s blank face.

You squeeze the cup, strawberry cream teasing to gush over the lip, “I’m sorry.”

Denji shakes his head, orange peel locks flicking wildly. His coppery eyes gaze up at you through his dark lashes, soft around his stare. Suddenly, the cherries of his cheeks brighten up, balled and red with glee, “‘s fine!”

“It is?”

“I have an idea…” his posture straightens and he reaches for his own cup, scooping out hot pink bubblegum and swallowing down the sugar before offering the utensil to you, “We can share!” you reach for the spoon and Denji creeps closer, anxiously rolling his fist as you use the same spoon, “This is our first indirect kiss.”

He swallows down the other woman that briefly flashes through his mind. Instead, he focuses on the way your tongue swipes over your lips to lap up any excess ice cream. You blink up at him and smile before holding out the spoon with a soft, “Sorry…”

Shaking his head again, Denji feels the sparks of excitement spark little fires down every vertebra of his spine, trailing over the rungs of his ribs when he brushes your fingers, “What’re you sorry for?”

“You have to indirectly kiss me every time you want ice cream…”

Denji raises a brow at you, having a spoonful of his treat before passing the plastic back to you, “You’re kind of a downer, huh?”

“Ah,” you cradle your ice cream closer to your chest, “Sorry.”

“Downer, yeah,” he nods to himself, slipping the spoon from your hand - gentle, warm fingertips pressing into your skin again, “I guess if we were both jumpy, it’d get boring,” catching your downcast stare into your liquidy strawberry ice cream, Denji cranes his neck to force eye contact with you. He says nothing, but slides the spoon into your cup.

He’s honestly just glad to be so close to a girl without her trying to kill him. He’d hoped you’d be glad to be here, too.

His eyes follow as you glumly take the spoonhead over your tongue. Denji is consumed by the need to know your every thought, each tissue’s twinge should be beamed into his brain the second it happens. For a moment, he even finds the idea of knowing each other so well to be comforting. Like warm toast smeared with every jelly he can get his hands on.

You say you like him, but you keep apologizing for indirectly kissing him - it’s confusing. A dull buzz began to ache through his head at the mixed signals. Denji is excited every time his turn for the spoon comes around (even now, his hands are rattling with anticipation as he reaches for it). He can’t separate the taste of your saliva from anything else, but the hint of saccharine strawberries is more than enough. He’d never apologize for greedily sucking at the aftertaste of your ice cream if the roles were reversed.

Does this mean he pushed it with the indirect kiss? Should he have just asked for another spoon? Will you let him have a direct kiss anytime soon?

None of those questions shake Denji in his beat-up shoes, which are tearing at the soles, so he decides that if you really hated it -- then you would’ve told him. Besides, Denji got lucky(????) having his first direct and indirect kiss on the same night and not everybody is so fortunate(????).

The women, however, he grimaces just remembering. So instead of focusing on a fuzzying eyepatch and unrecallable (yet unmistakably soft) voice, or hair like consuming embers and too-tight smiles -- Denji turns to you. To your modest displeasure over the flavor, you’d been stuck with over your apparent favorite.

“Are mangoes really your favorite fruit?”

You shrug, slapping the spoon against your melty cream and watching droplets rocket over the cup’s edge, “Even though I haven’t had one, yes. I like the flavoring best of any other fruit. Do you like mangoes?”

“Haven’t had one either. Haven’t had most fruit,” he looks up and notes that the cloudy weather is inappropriate for an ice cream date, but you haven’t said anything against it so he doesn’t either. Then, as he stares into unfolding skies, blue peeking through clearing patches, he tries to recall any fruit he’s had that isn’t a plain apple or grapes. All the fruit he knows about is through artificial recreations, and for some reason that strikes him as unpleasant, “Do you prefer mango over peach?”

It takes a few prolonged, stiff seconds of silence before you snap to the realization that Denji expects a response.

“Mango is…” you twiddle your thumbs, wondering which answer he would rather hear. You aren’t sure, you don’t know which fruit he likes best. Or if he even likes fruit! So you stab your left thumbnail into the pad of your right thumb and decide to give the answer you truly feel, “‘Mango’ is a weird nickname - peach is fine. Peach is actually… cute.”

Denji nods rapidly, you notice he’s standing a little closer than before, “Okay, peachy. I’ll stick to that.”

Azure whistles overhead, downtrodden weather fading away calmly. You wonder what else is left for people to do on dates -- you’re sure they spend time together, but doing what? Denji took you for ice cream because he likes ice cream, does that mean you get to choose the next activity? When does the date end?

Does it ever end? You two are already boyfriend-girlfriend after all.

“What- “ you’re cut off by the sound of Denji’s voice, “When- “

“Sorry,” you wave him off, “Go, you go first.”

Denji purses his lips before drinking the syrupy remains of his aggressively saccharine bubblegum ice cream, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at the stained base of his cup, “When’d you decide you wanted to be my girlfriend?”

“I didn’t. Yoshida just said I was being reassigned.”

“Oh, so you didn’t know?”

“No.”

You can’t read Denji’s expression at all. It’s all straight except for the smallest downturn of one corner of his lips, “You didn’t know anything about me, did you?”

You shake your head, “I just knew I was going to meet Chainsaw Man. I didn’t know He was you.”

“You’re really only here ‘cuz you knew I was Chainsaw Man?”

Denji shouldn’t be hurt, he knows that was the plan eventually. To catch a fly with honey.

But when you plainly nod, it does hurt. It hurts a lot.

“Well,” you’re itchy all over, uncomfortable because he’s uncomfortable, “I think you’re great.”

“Right…”

Frowning, you hang your head and stare at the floor, “I do.”

You can’t read Denji at all. You’re supposed to placate him and you can’t even do that right. What if he breaks up with you? You’d be far too embarrassed to show your face back at work. The Rejection Devil met a force she could not deflect (seconds later you realize that the irony alone of being rejected as the very devil itself alone might kill you). How humiliating.

Denji’s head flops back limply, the apple of his throat exposed. You’re almost alarmed by the way you want to nibble it. He blinks up at the rolling sky, eyes watering as the sun burns away fitful clouds.

“Denji,” you plea weakly, feeling as small as an ant under his downcast mood, “I like Denji, too.”

His eyes flutter over to you, “You do?”

It feels like an opening - when the battle is at its climax and your opponent’s foolishly left their weak spot unguarded in the adrenaline rush, “Of course, I do. You’re cool when you’re Chainsaw Man, but you’re cool when you’re Denji, too.”

“Really think so?”

“I really do.”

Denji smiles suddenly, and you smile too just because he does, “You free tomorrow after school?”

Of course, you are.

You choose not to point out that keeping him company is what you should be doing after school anyway. Hopefully, he doesn’t consider that fact.

In January of 1996, you meet an imposing man with stitches across his left cheek and a flask tucked haphazardly into his trench coat - the silver glints under sickly fluorescents.

“Timid, but useful, if she can behave without me there,” Makima talks about you like you aren’t standing directly in front of her. She keeps her helix eyes just over your head at all times, “I’m sure she will, but I think you’re the best thing to test her with first.”

The man behind you reeks of booze and womens’ perfume and mold, but somehow it feels less safe than Makima’s more foul stench.

“Quiet one, huh?” as if to begin the ‘test’ early, he pokes you in the back of the neck, “Sure it's a Devil?”

“Positive,” she winks and taps her nose, “I have a good sense about this stuff.”

You don’t want to go anywhere with the man with the stitches. Physical attacks and special abilities from your fellow Devils are things easily deflected by your own power, but Miss Makima has taught you a new lesson:

Words do not bounce off the Rejection Devil.

And the man with the stitches doesn’t smile at you with any kindness.

“Then let’s get to work, yeah?”

You think he’ll actually enjoy finding all the ways around your rejection abilities.

“I thought we were going out today…”

Denji’s been your boyfriend for a measly two days, but he already hates the look of your disappointment. Those glassy eyes and pouting lips, they make him want to chew marbles and swallow. Instead, he scratches at the soft skin on his neck, clawing up red marks from chipped, short nails.

“I wanted to! ‘m just failing… hard. So I need to get my history shit done.”

“I can help!”

“It’ll be boring as hell…“

“No, really,” you hesitate to grab his hand before committing, his cheeks flush at the warm contact, “I could even just watch.”

Life is more boring when Denji isn’t around anyway. You’re mostly just… waiting to see Denji again every time you two part ways. Even the books and journals they supply you with at the commission cannot distract you from how gray and cold your room is now. All you think about is sunshine hair and thick lashes.

“I just don’t- “ you release his hand and look down at your white indoor shoes, “I just thought we would be together longer today. If you want to work by yourself, then- !”

Denji snakes his hand back into yours, shaking his head vigorously, “No way! That sounds terrible.”

“Okay!” you try to smother the elated smile rising to your lips, but it's totally hopeless. You nestle into Denji’s side, using him to navigate the (largely abandoned) halls of North East as he leads you both towards the school library. Your attention drifts to your feet against the floor once again.

Denji pulls his hand slightly behind his back, squishing your body tighter to his, every time someone passes you both, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Look at your feet.”

“If I tripped over myself in public, I’d just about die…”

“Makes sense,” he glares at a trio of boys walking down the narrow corridor shoulder-to-shoulder until they break apart to avoid bumping into you.

You remind him of Kobeni for that. He realizes he hasn’t spoken to her in a very long time. He wonders if she’d even appreciate him trying to reach out. Probably not, he concludes; but he likes you better anyway, which is appropriate given the circumstances.

“Why do you…” you hum quietly, contemplating the question as you both arrive at the library. Denji squeezes your hand encouragingly, finding you two a table far off from the rest, “Why did you try using Him to get a girlfriend?”

“We’re the same person,” Denji shrugs before tilting his head and shrugging again, “I dunno. It worked before.”

“Really?”

“Not really,” he isn’t minding his volume as he replies, not like you do. Two other students are holed at tables by themselves, one underclassman debating two books in the nonfiction section, and the librarian at her desk, “Every girl I’ve met before you has tried to kill me…”

“Aw, that’s terrible… You’re not someone I’d kill.”

“,,,”

“Not that I could. But even if I could, then I still wouldn’t.”

Denji nods, a pensive screw overtaking his face, “What if there was a prize? Like. Something really, really cool that you’d get. Would you kill me?”

Instantly, you’re shaking your head, “Never!” you’re still whispering, cautious of irritating others even as your boyfriend drags you into the depths of his ego death, “I’d run away with you if it came to it.”

Iron pools in his mouth. A severed tongue. Soft daisies leave dirt and spit-up trailing over his chin. An ominous choker that stayed on, even when she stripped to go swimming.

“What if I couldn’t run away?” he still has a family after all. Bigger than last time, even. If he had to run away, he wouldn’t.

You frown, “Then I guess I’d have to stay away for good…” then, you settle your head in your hands, palms cupping your cheeks, and Denji has to look away to avoid spilling his guts about how cute he finds that, “Wait, I’m not gonna have to run away am I?!”

The shrewd librarian raises her head only to shush you before burying her nose back into her binder of book logs. Denji flips the old lady off at the same time you mutter an apology.

She takes note of neither act.

It irritates Denji in a way he’s unfamiliar with because more than the urge to be acknowledged is the need for him to know that the woman heard you.

“I really can help, if you want, also.”

“Huh?”

“You said you’re failing,” you point out, leaning forward onto the table by your elbows, “I’m passing everything, so I actually can help. If you want!”

“Seriously? Didn’t you just get here? How’re you already all smart?”

“I just don’t want to fail,” you wave out your hands as though to dismiss any ill-intent, “Not that it’s… I’m not sure how to say it… I don’t think it’s terrible of you to fail, school seems really hard. I just feel sick at the thought of not doing well.”

“Your class is lucky to have you to answer questions, all my classmates are dumbasses,” he bites bitterly.

“Oh, I don’t really answer questions. Yoshida does sometimes, though.”

“Why don’t you?”

“What if I’m wrong one day?”

“Are you ever?”

No, but that doesn’t mean you’ll start raising your hand anytime soon. To distract Denji from this topic, you stretch closer to him over the table and insist on helping him finish his history work. That way, he won’t have to do it in replacement for your date tomorrow.

“Hey. Why d’ya like Chainsaw Man?”

His fiery eyes are all raw, mushy dough. He looks terrible and sad. You want to fix it, whatever or whoever made him this way. You simper sweetly and confidently declare,

“He’s so powerful. He can kill any devil he wants. And so can You, Denji. You’re both so amazing. But I like You best.”

“... I like you, too.”

In February of 1996, you are sent on your first real mission with Kishibe -- Makima stating he was your safest partner option after training together so long.

Your tie is tied too tight, and your pants cinch uncomfortably around your thighs. You can’t maintain any sort of normal breathing pattern and that’s beginning to occupy more brain space than your actual upcoming fight. Mostly, you’re trying to level your heavy breaths so as to avoid irritating Kishibe. Logically, you know him to not be hotheaded and prone to rash lashing out, but the fear of him slicing your chest open lingers there.

Far too soon for your liking, the car lulls to a stop outside the boarded, graffiti’d Love Hotel. Swiftly abandoned by faculty and regulars alike as soon as the Devil made itself known on the fourth floor.

Just remembering the bold letters printed at the top of Kishibe’s briefing report sends a shiver down your spine -- FOUR CIVILIANS DEAD. TWO PUBLIC HUNTERS M.I.A. ONE PRIVATE HUNTER K.I.A.

“Come on,” Kishibe jerks his head towards the building and you trip after him like a newborn puppy.

You follow Kishibe into the Love Hotel and patiently wait for his orders before heading for the top floor. He pauses at the stairs to jerk your body in front of his, shoving you in the back to hurry up the flight as he meanders behind.

“I want you to clear the first floor ahead of me.”

A command, no room to fight back. Not that you would. Following his orders blindly feels more comfortable, anyway.

“You ever get the urge to bite people?” Denji pops the question while watching you peel an orange. The underside of your thumbnail is stained yellowish from the skin you punctured, and some bizarre voice inside him whispers that he should dig the flesh out with his sharpest tooth.

“Hm…” you roll the orange peel into a ball and settle it beside you on the rooftop pavement, seeing as there are no nearby trash cans, “I don’t think so…” you rip the conjoined slices in half and hand the slightly fatter side to Denji, “Maybe when I first met Kishibe. He scared me.”

“Really?” Denji pops one of the juicy slices into his mouth, eyes still trained on your fingers as you carefully squeeze out the brown seeds inside before eating, “I just thought he was a geezer.”

“That’s rude!” you’re trying in vain to keep your lips pressed in a straight line, as if the Mad Dog would apparate at your back and kick you just for laughing.

Denji leans back and chews another slice of the orange, tucking the seeds under his tongue and debating whether or not it’d be a waste to spit them out. He shrugs, “‘s true. He had a flask, too. Definitely thought he was some weirdo.”

“I guess maybe a little…” you hesitantly admit, “He super liked beating me up when we met.”

“Oh, yeah. Like for training?” Denji finishes his half of the orange and settles on swallowing his seeds.

Just as you go to respond, the bell to end lunch rings and Denji is stumbling up to his feet, swiping up the pile of orange skins and your discarded seeds. He offers a hand to help you up and you wonder if it’d be more polite to spare him from the sugary orange blood on your skin.

“My hand- “ you begin, words sudden and jumbled, and you feel shyness suffocate you under his blank stare, “Sticky… it’s sticky with-“

“I know,” he waves his hand out again, “I watched you.”

“You don’t mind…?” you take his hand, earnestly shocked by the quickness with which Denji yanks you off the ground.

And just as Denji opens his mouth, Yoshida is yelling at you both to hurry inside from the doorway to the roof. Denji flips Yoshida off before turning to you, he squeezes the orange in his hand and thinks about the sweetness.

Oranges are better than apples, he thinks, but he can’t find a real reason as to why. The seeds are a hassle, and he’d hate to sit there and peel one, but he liked sharing just half an orange with you more than he liked having an entire apple to himself in Aki’s apartment. He can see the orange juice still glistening on the bow of your lip. His eyes linger there, and he knows you notice because you’re suddenly fidgeting under his gaze.

You wait patiently, eyes flickering down to your shoes before meeting his again. He isn’t sure what that means. So he turns back towards Yoshida and stuffs the boy’s palm with the orange husk before walking you to class in stiff silence.

Your bed is thin and flat against the floor. A bookcase that only reaches your waist is pushed against the opposite wall. You’ve read every book in it twice over. You don’t remember when every empty slot was finally occupied, and you don’t remember the last time you touched one of the books and felt genuine interest.

You do know that you once requested a brand new book from Makima, and she’d refused you so simply you once believed it was a personal slight you’d committed against her. You also once requested a television -- you had it for one week before it was taken away. You never asked why because Makima herself came to oversee your beloved TV’s removal from atop your dusty bookcase (though you doubt you would’ve had the courage to ask even if she was absent).

During that week, however, it was the happiest you’d been since coming to Tokyo.

A lot of what you watched was utter garbage. Contrived plot lines and miscommunication and shallow characters you’d sooner choke out than shake hands with, and it was the most beautiful entertainment you could’ve asked for. What you quickly discovered to be your favorite viewing material was movies made specifically for television. Usually lower budgets and completely unknown actors. A paradise all to yourself.

“That’s it, watch your back,” Makima’s soft voice called when one of the men nearly slammed into your doorway on the way out. She turned to you with a smile, “Anything before I go?”

A prompt, you figure, to ask if you had the courage to demand your stolen present back.

Rather, you shook your head shyly, twiddling your thumbs, “Well, could I maybe get a window…? I’d like to see something other than…” you gesture to the walls around you.

They, too, are covered in a thick layer of cloudy dust.

Makima extended a hand to pat over your head, “No,” she stated as blandly as your room was decorated, “You’re still a security threat.”

Another test. Would you deny it? Would you dredge up the fact that you’d never once reacted with hostility? Would you bare your teeth and try (in vain) to rip her apart?

You nodded solemnly and watched Makima exit.

And your room has remained untouched since.

Denji’s handwriting was a sloppy chicken scratch, often paired with backward or mismatched characters, which was why he asked you to write his reminder note.

YOYOGI PARK ON SATURDAY. 12PM.

And at 12:02 PM, you sit on a picnic table surrounded by tall ginkgo trees with bouncing knees as Denji makes his approach. In one hand, he clutches a plastic bag, logo wide and distressed around a massive bulb shape. In the other, is a knotted tangle of black and red leashes tethering seven wiggling and yappy dogs to his side.

“I didn’t know you had so many dogs,” you hold out your hands for the dogs to sniff and lick before petting over their heads and behind their ears.

“I got a cat, too, but I dunno if she’s allowed in.”

You sit straighter, letting the dogs press their heads into your hands for more attention, “So you do have a cat?!”

He nods, laying the bag on your table with a thud and crinkle before sitting beside you -- thigh firm against thigh and arms brushing, “You’ll meet her eventually.”

Denji leans over the edge of the seat to lift a corner of the table, stapling the leashes into the grass. Even if they weren’t collared, you doubt they’d try running off anyway with each dog avidly jamming itself into both your spaces. Big drooly jaws resting on your lap and paws digging into your calf for even more attention.

“Hey,” Denji whines when he sees the opaque slobber Tiramisu is webbing on your pants, “Off. You’re makin’ her gross.”

“It’s okay,” you insist, tempted to rest your head on Denji’s nearby and tantalizing shoulder as you pet the husky, “I have a lot of these pants in my room.”

“These’re your casual pants?”

“Yeah.”

Denji side-eyes you, but says nothing more about your white button-up and black slacks being ‘casual’.

“If I could have a job, I’d buy you lotsa clothes,” he mutters, “Whatever you wanted,” he’s so quiet you almost feel apologetic for hearing him at all; but before you can suss out a response, he suddenly whirls around in his seat and sticks both hands into the plastic bag, “A mango!”

“A mango?”

“Uh-huh,” he wrestles the fruit free from its plastic confines and rolls it into your hands, holding an arm out in front of you to keep his licking dogs at bay.

“...for me?”

“For you!” he echoes. He’s trying to play everything off casually, but really his hands are moist and vibrating - his gut cramping as he awaits your feedback, “Old man was in Kyushu, so I had him get a souvenir… I hope you like it, he bitched about how expensive it was the whole time I saw him.”

Taiyo no Tamago. Egg of the Sun. Gold leafing into fierce, flaming oranges and reds. You bet that the real slices are even juicer, tastier than faux flavorings.

Between both hands, you gingerly cradle the large mango and feel your mouth watering just as you stare at the fruit.

“Kishibe got it?” you lift the mango towards the blazing sun, inspecting the skin for any damage, “It’s not poisoned, right?”

“Nah,” he squints at the fruit as well, just to be extra sure, “I can try it if you want?”

“Aw, no, it’s- I’ll be okay either way, but I trust you,” Denji watches you pet over the mango like it's a fat kitten curled over your arm. He grins at the sight and doesn’t question it, scared that if he does, then you might stop, “So, does he watch over you?”

“Not really. Sometimes he comes around just to know I'm alive.”

“Do you get lonely when he’s not there?”

His face wrenches sourly at the idea of Kishibe lingering around the apartment, “I got the dogs and Meowy. And a little sister… friend… type living with me,” his eyes dart over you warily, “You’ll probably meet her eventually, so…” he inhales sharply, “It’s, eh, you know, the new Control Devil.”

“She got reincarnated already?” you whisper it, like you’re saying something inappropriate.

“Well,” he winces, “Nayuta’s her own person. Same Devil stuff, but she's nothing like Makima.”

“Sorry! Of course! I didn’t mean it like that…”

Denji feels a pang in his chest at the sight of your cowering frame, consumed by guilt over misspeaking, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just didn’t want you freakin’ out when you meet her or anything.”

“I’m nothing compared to Her, I’m not really in the place to freak out.”

Something disturbs Denji so staunchly at the ease with which you say that. He can’t place it, he just knows that the very sentence made his stomach curdle and tie his intestines in knots.

You tilt your head, “Can I ask…?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it… well…” you shake your head, but Denji shakes his back.

“Just ask. Whatever ya wanna know.”

“You said Nayuta is her own person,” his brows furrow but he lets you finish before speaking, “Do you never consider maybe they’re… similar?”

He’s quiet for an unbearable eight seconds before answering casually, “Guess if I thought about it for a long time, I could find ways they’re alike. But I don’t really think about it that long. Nayuta’s my little sister. Makima was…” he shouldn’t say exactly what Makima was to him in front of you, he knows that much about being a boyfriend at least, “Makima. They’re totally different.”

It’s extraordinarily complicated to even put words into describing what Makima meant to him. A lot of things he’s learned were sick, but some things he almost… wants to hold onto.

He definitely shouldn’t say that to you. But it isn’t like he misses her, he misses the comfort of their early days. If you could even label it “their” days. Makima may have been like Nayuta at one point, but he knows Nayuta would never so meticulously stab him in the back. Or the chest. Repeatedly. Miserably, however, he knows that even if she did -- he’d probably still love Nayuta like she were his sister. How he imagines an old dog still craves the warm hands of their human as they fall asleep for the last time.

Dangerously, he wonders if he may one day feel the same for you, smiling as you dig a knife through his chest just because his girlfriend is still holding him.

And when you blink up at him like he’s as delightful as the mango in your hands, he thinks he might.

You beam at Denji before shyly turning your gaze back onto the mango, curling both arms around it. This time with all the tenderness you would a baby and tuck it into your chest.

If Makima and Nayuta are different maybe you are too.

You hope so.

Tsuyu time is finally looking to drag to an end by early July -- with yet another rain storm. Fourth East faculty has very kindly allowed students to stay past the usual close time of 6:00PM due to such harsh winds and lightning raging outside. You hadn’t accounted for this when you asked Denji to accompany you to a bookstore’s summer sale after school. The frustration you feel could boil the falling rainwater with how heated such sudden weather has you.

Impatiently, you and Denji are leaning right side against one of the entry door frames with his chest to your back.

“They’ll be closed by the time the rain lets up…” you grumble.

Denji almost wants to laugh: the first time he sees you act minorly unpleasant is over books.

“There’s always tomorrow,” he’s not sure, actually, “Probably.”

You scowl out at the wretched, amalgamated clouds, “Sale better still be on tomorrow…”

“If not, there's next year.”

In an embarrassing instant, your annoyance wavers. You tilt your head back into Denji’s shoulder to look at him, “You think we’ll be together next year?”

Honestly, he hadn’t meant to imply that. All he meant was that you’ll be able to go next summer whether the sale ended today or not, but when you bat your eyelashes at him all softly he’s compelled to agree to whatever you want.

“Why not?” he shrugs, fighting to keep his arms relaxed at his sides rather than folded over his chest defensively.

Your lips stretch with mirth, a smize following lead, “I want to go with you to the summer sale next year, Denji.”

The confidence of your confession is rattled from you as quickly as it’d appeared.

Until, “Even if we go today?”

His tone is bleeding hope.

“Even if we go today,” and you’re all too merry to confirm.

Denji slides to your left, hands shaking wildly, “Can I- should we?” you quirk a brow at his chopped questions, “Can we kiss?”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

He nods rapidly. You want to kiss him, too. You reach for one of his hands and tug him closer with a much slower nod.

“We can kiss, Denji.”

“Awesome,” he lamely sighs under his breath.

You remain glued against the metal frame, leaving Denji to be the initiator. He’s the more dating-experienced party anyway.

Denji swallows audibly before steeling his nerves and leaning so his lips are just brushing yours. You can feel the hot puffs of air he lets out, and you’re praying he can’t feel yours. Neither of you has shut your eyes yet, weirdly certain that the second you do disaster will strike.

Up close, you can really see everything -- his messy sunset hair, the peeling skin on his lower lip, and the faint red veins peeking around his sclera. His skin is stained dark like pomegranate juice. Finally, he tenses his eyes shut with a wrinkle in his brow and commits. Given how chapped his lips looked, you’re amazed they feel nice against yours at all.

Your eyes flutter shut and you press back.

You don’t dare venture further than the chaste lip-lock before Denji pulls away, leaving a sharp stabbing sensation on your bottom lip in his wake. His low-lidded stare widens as soon as he sees your chin.

“Oh, shit.”

Cupping the aching area, you feel a slickness slowly leaking over your fingers. You dip a finger to your lip and pull back to find a stain darker than pomegranate juice.

“Denji!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he grimaces, reaching up to swipe away the blood spread over your chin.

“You bit me!”

“I know!” (he does a poor job hiding the aggravated trill in his voice there)

His fingers are all smeared with your blood by the time he’s done makeshift mopping up your lower face, and he wipes his hands off on his black school pants. You pull your lip back as if you’d be able to see the trivial wound. The motion tests Denji: wanting to maintain his nurse act, but also wanting to kiss you again.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore…” you twist a hand into your rumpled uniform skirt, “It’s okay. I wasn’t mad, just surprised.”

Forlorn, Denji reaches up to gingerly thumb at the spot he bit -- now swollen and darker than the rest of your lip. Only minutely, but still. His brain can’t compute how small-scale your injury is over the fact that he was the one to cause it in the first place, “I’ll be more gentle next time.”

You nod, face growing hotter the longer Denji touches you so softly, “I trust you.”

The rain thins outside.

“Can I try again?” Denji’s hand slides from your lip to your jaw until he’s tenderly cupping your cheek.

Again, you nod, hoping the shift in movement will get air to cool your melting cheeks.

Puddles are splattered by a few brave students rushing home, and Denji holds onto hope the storm clears fully before the bookstore closes.

By spring of 1996, you’re given your first journal and pen; and in winter of that same year, you finally pluck up the courage to try putting your headache-inducing thoughts to words.

A Devil is more humanoid the more that Devil tolerates humans -- you don’t know where you learned that. Or why you remembered it. It’s just something you’re always certain of, in the exact same way you blink and breathe you are also indistinguishable from a human being. When the both of you met, Makima spent time examining you from head to toe to see if there were any visible tells of your true species.

You aren’t sure why you look the way you do, you don’t like humans. Although, you don’t exactly dislike them either. When you think of people, flailing on swings and cramping grocery store produce sections and knitting warm winter sweaters, you feel only a vague thrumming in your heart at the knowledge that they could send you back to Hell. A primal and innate sensation of spine-tingling fear. If enough people discovered you outside Makima’s care, then you would be back in Hell.

Maybe it’s that fear. Your knowledge of the tipping power scales could be maintaining your flesh and bones. Strangely, you wish you looked more horrific - a gaping, toothy maw and claws in place of hands. Swells of discolored flesh that twitch with each beat of your heart.

You wish you looked appalling. Absolutely ghastly. Maybe then Makima wouldn’t like looking at you so much.

But then, what if you were so scary that Chainsaw wanted to eat you?

While being free of the perpetual motion of death and rebirth in Hell unto Earth and Makima’s inescapable, piercing gaze, you wouldn’t want to face off against Chainsaw. He’s the Hero of Hell, so wouldn’t that make you the villain?

You’d rather be reincarnated and stared at by a million Makimas than be so terrible that the puritor of Hell forced himself to consume you. And he’d be able to -- you’re sure of that, too. Not even your rejection of other Devils’ powers could be so strong as to deny Chainsaw. No, no. He’s far too great.

You think of that figure - one that makes your usual aching thoughts whirl into devastating stabbing pain just trying to remember - covered in Devils’ blood and guts and you feel nervous that perhaps Makima will try finding him too if she reads of him in your journal.

So instead of expressing those thoughts to free your searing skull, you jot down a plain:

Made a new contract today. His name was Yoshida, Hirofumi. He said I was nice for not wanting to eat his body parts as payment :)

“Denji! Over here!”

It's a stubbornly drizzling Tuesday when you’re shouting through the school gates, inky uniforms parting around you like a gentle river flow. Usually, getting your peers to not body check you is terribly difficult, but maybe the authority you carry in a Public Safety suit and tie is more pressing than yourself. While students shelter their heads with small book bags and hands and vests, you’ve got the plastic handle of a black umbrella warmed up in your palm.

Denji tilts his head at your distant frame before suddenly shooting ramrod straight. He rushes out from under the shelter of Fourth East and through the gates to your side - puddles splashing under his quick feet all the way.

“Heard you were out,” Denji ducks under your umbrella, tempted to hook his chin on your shoulder and sap up your body warmth.

“Just a mission,” your hand clenches with the urge to grasp Denji’s, but you take no such initiative, “Sorry I couldn’t tell you myself.”

He shrugs, “‘s fine,” then he sighs shortly, brows scrunching, “Fucker let me sit on the roof for ten minutes before saying anything.”

“Aw, I’m sorry! I told him to let you know in the morning…”

Again, Denji shrugs off your worry -- eyes trailing slowly from the pristine white collar of your shirt down to the smooth black slacks snug around your waist and thighs, “Been awhile since I’ve seen one of those.”

Ironed and fresh and symmetrical black-tie apparel. It seems far too dismal on you, he doesn’t like it. Memories of strawberry blond hair and scorching blue eyes snuffed out, he tries to smother those down as often as possible.

“Oh, I have my school uniform!” you lift a plastic bag up, sealed around more black and white folds, “In case I needed it…”

In case you want me to change -- you don’t add that part. You’re not sure Denji would appreciate the reminder of a power imbalance while you’re dressed like this. You already know that you don’t like thinking about Makima while dressed like this.

He nods, wordlessly sneaking the bag from your grasp to his so he can hold your now free hand, “You look pretty.”

“Really?” you two finally begin walking away from Fourth East and to the same ice cream place he’d taken you on your first date.

“You always look pretty,” Denji doubles down as if it's that easy. As if it's so simple. As if it’s undeniably true, “‘m glad I saw ya. Thought we wouldn’t be able to go out after school.”

“Sorry, again. They’re trying to avoid giving me more work, but I guess this one couldn’t be helped…”

You’re almost nervous Denji picks up on that sentiment of “more”. That “more” means you’re already working, which is mortifying because even if Denji is technically work you don’t want him to think that. You chalk that concern for his feelings up to not wanting him to grow tired of dating you.

But Denji doesn’t make any indication of having noticed, “I guess I’ll have to get used to it: dating the Rejection Devil.”

Now you’re genuinely nervous.

That sentence alone freezes every cell in your body -- heartbeat stilling lethally. Your hands crinkle down your long pant leg before scrunching up the material around your thigh -- ruining the plain smoothness. Desperate to feel something in the spiraling numbness, you stab your teeth into the ripe flesh of your lip, tearing up thin strips of skin. And you chalk this up to a defect in your usual personality.

“Hey, Denji?”

“Hm?”

“When was the last time you called me ‘peach’?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly before he blinks his brain into action and looks over at you, “I’ll use it more often, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“No, you’re fine, really. I just…” you can feel your chest bump in tune with your heartbeat, so overt and harsh it's causing authentic sparks of pain in your chest, “I’m sorry.”

For what, you can’t be precisely sure. You think, as a general rule to yourself, you’re sorry for everything that he doesn’t like, especially when it comes to everything about yourself.

But he just thinks you’re still stuck on earlier today, “Like I said, I’ll just have to get used to dating the Rejection Devil.”

Despite the two being in one body, you’ve come to learn that Chainsaw Man is Denji, but Denji is not necessarily Chainsaw Man.

While yes, you think Chainsaw Man is great, you think Denji is somehow even greater. It’s almost unfair. The Rejection Devil is okay, but are you? You as in you as in the fleshy, squishy, bloody you? You as in the you with a name you don’t remember (and desperately hopes her government-assigned boyfriend calls her peachy)? You as in the you that likes sugary fruit juice and soft cat fur? Are you okay? Could you one day be great?

Or are you only as useful as the devil you are? Protecting hunters and killing beasts and soothing the lively Denji (and therefore the Chainsaw inside him).

Are you still Denji’s girlfriend because he likes you? Or are you Denji’s girlfriend because he knows you might be the only available option? Could you be great like Denji? Could you be named?

Or is your soul too entwined with the Rejection Devil? Is your soul the Rejection Devil itself? Do you have a soul at all?

You must if you keep coming back. If your birth and death are celebrated and mourned, you must be alive.

Too bad you remember none of that.

If you died now, would Denji mourn?

You know you’d mourn him, but is that your choice?

You know you like Denji, but is that really you? Or is that Rejection Devil admiration spiraling into an infatuation for the Chainsaw and his host?

Does it even matter at all?

“Do you wanna come over after school tomorrow?” Denji asks like it's an afterthought, one he doesn’t even need to look at you for. Maybe he already knows your response.

“Yeah.”

Maybe he’ll grow bored soon. You wouldn’t blame him.

“Yeah!” you repeat it louder this time, hoping to entice a bigger reaction from him (this is the first time you’re going to his apartment after all), “I’d love to!”

He nods, though with a rosier tint to his cheeks than earlier and that’s good enough.

By October of 1997, your second diary was full with one last addition.

The wall closest to your bed has only 273 tallies, and you stare at the dust pooled in the shallow divots when you get bored. With every book read and only the same four walls to stare at until a Devil Hunter came with a contract proposal or a mission -- you were bored more often than not.

In a strange way, you still got excited when you saw Makima because it meant something new was coming. However quickly it would then be stripped away wasn’t even an afterthought.

But you’ve gone a long while since seeing her. You can’t be sure of the days passed with no window or calendar or even clock; you can’t even be sure you’re sleeping at night and awake during the day. Part of you is sick over the ache in your heart the longer you go without seeing Makima, Yoshida, or even Kishibe. As though they’ve all forgotten you exist. You could be locked down here for eternity with no means to die and not a single soul would be bothered to find you. But if they did?

If they found you, would they care?

Would they cry?

You don’t think so. You’re hardly something to cry over.

So does it matter at all that you’re down here? Certainly, a life of nonexistence is better than languishing in a cellar, burdening commission resources with no purpose.

Maybe when Makima finds Chainsaw, she could have him eat you. That would be nice. An honor to be so miserable upon humanity that Chainsaw is left with no choice but to consume the concept of your being. An honor to finally be wiped off this planet.

With a drying pen, you scribble that down.

To be eaten by Lord Chainsaw. That would be freeing.

And after sleeping that night(?), you awake to find Makima blatantly reading out of your journal. When she turns to stare at your crumpled form on the bare mattress, she smiles and reaches over to pat your head. Like an eager puppy, you push up into her touch and don’t dare demand she stop reading.

“You’re a good girl,” she coos down at you.

“I am?” you croak.

“You are,” she stands, snapping the book shut and continuing to smile down at you, “And you have a mission today.”

When Denji notices you curiously eyeing the black slip-ons by the door (which are multiple sizes too small to be his), he’s quick to explain.

“Just Nayuta. She throws her shoes wherever she wants.”

“Okay.”

You hadn’t planned on asking, but you like to imagine that maybe he didn’t want you getting jealous. Then you wonder why you like that so much. Probably because he’s your boyfriend, and you’re meant to.

Before you can spiral, a soft mew nabs all attention. Dogs’ nails clack against the faux wood tiles and you and Denji are quickly surrounded on all fronts by wagging tails and soft fur. Sniffing, happy puppies lick at your hands. You wrinkle your nose at the unadulterated smell of dog and you're hoping Denji doesn’t notice when suddenly a long tail wraps around your ankle. Loudly, you gasp and swoop down -- frightening Denji only a little -- to smooth your hands over the fat white cat’s fur.

“Kitty!” you’re borderline squealing in glee, and Denji shoos his dogs away after giving them their due pets, “So big!” you encourage the feline to pounce onto your lap with quick taps against your thighs.

“Meowy,” Denji clarifies (as if you could forget!), leaning over your shoulder to scritch under the cat’s chin, grinning when she starts purring in your coddling hold.

“I love you, Meowy,” you whisper to the cat, and Denji sits on the floor beside you after figuring the fat cat won’t be moving on from you anytime soon.

You’ve been looking forward to this since you heard about the cat, and somehow all your expectations have been exceeded.

“Didn’t know you liked cats so much, peachy, I woulda introduced you sooner.”

“Cats are so picky,” you keep your voice low as if raising it could startle Meowy off, “When a cat picks you, it feels so nice.”

“You must be a hit with the strays, then. Meowy usually fucks off in the living room instead of hanging by the door.”

You shrug, sluggish and dismal, “I’m not usually allowed out unless it's for school. Or you.”

Denji feels nauseous. His whole chest is tight with this unpleasant curdle. Quickly, he decides that he hates this feeling and wants it eradicated as soon as possible. Subconsciously, he must believe the solution is you because before he can really think about it, he’s lugging you off the floor and towards his room.

He lays you on his bed and falls into your side with Meowy now latched to your chest; purring loudly as you pet her with one hand, and Denji snatches the other. Rather than link his hand with yours like usual, he splays your fingers into his mess of tangerine hair.

Turning your head so your cheek meets the feather plush of his pillow, you find Denji’s eyes boring into yours. You blink at him with your hand limp over the side of his head, “Do you want me to pet you?”

Denji nods, crimson overtaking his cheeks and sweat beading over his palms.

“Okay.”

You card your fingers through his hair, gently prying loose knots apart over your knuckles before tenderly dancing your nails along his scalp. He presses his head closer, cheek now smooshed on your shoulder and eyes flickering shut.

Shakily, he raises an arm and lays it across your stomach, careful to avoid spooking Meowy. You can sense his hesitation in how the weight of his arm is so light it's imperceivable, then you press your hand flat against the back of his head and pet there, too. His arm relaxes, fully settling the weight on your gut.

This feels right.

Crushed and warm.

You’re doing a good job, you think.

You smile at the thought of being so useful and Denji hugs you tighter.

“Can I…” Denji swallows, throat cinching dryly, “I wanna make you feel good.”

“I do feel good.”

“Good good,” he’s quiet now. Voice all raspy and unsure, “I want to do something for you.”

That would be good for Denji too, right? He’ll be happy.

But you’re not sure you want to.

But not wanting to isn’t exactly your job.

Your job is to make Denji happy. So you lift Meowy from your chest with great remorse and watch the cat prattle out of the bedroom, “Okay.”

Sickness unlike the kind before a big fight builds in your stomach. Bloats all the way to your throat as you go limp in bed and allow Denji’s hands to wander. He sits up and untucks your uniform vest and top before gliding under those and resting over your bra.

Denji looks up at you for encouragement and finds a stoic appraisal. Then his eyes drift to your balled fists at your sides, and the lip you’re ravaging between your teeth.

If you had offered this to him -- he’d be on cloud nine, so what’s he done wrong? Denji clears his throat and finds a burning sensation at the back of his eyes, he tries blinking the fire away but it only makes the pain worse. He’s certain that this is what boyfriends and girlfriends do for each other. They bring each other to euphoria and lave one another in attention every night. This kind of service (or rather, the promise of service) was one of a few things that Denji recalled fondly from his days under Makima. Unfiltered affection: nasty and raw and intimate.

But the longer his hands are cupping over your bra, the more defeated you look.

The vicious pain in his chest bites up to his head.

“This isn’t hot at all…” Denji’s hands peel off from your chest to stow in his lap.

You shrink into yourself, shoulders coming to your ears as red-hot shame climbs up your neck, “What?”

“This isn’t hot,” he leans back with his arms outstretched behind him on the mattress. Hotter and hotter the burning grows until it's all wet, stinging heat in his eyes, “You’re not into it…” he looks around his room and tries finding anything out of place (he was sure he made it perfect!). But no, all the posters a girlfriend wouldn’t like are hidden under his bed with the magazines a girlfriend would hate. The blinds are drawn. His door is locked. He sniffles and looks down, hoping you don’t notice the flooding along his lower lashes “What’s wrong? You don’t like me? Ain’t I handsome?”

Inching your shoulders even higher, as if to somehow hide behind them, you frown, “What if you think I look weird naked? Or I make a sound you don’t like? Then you won’t want me anymore…”

Denji scoffs, lips twisting in an almost offended snarl, “You’re my girlfriend! I’ll still want you!”

He’s sure you don’t look or sound weird, but he’s also simultaneously sure that if you do then his loyalty will twist the weirdness into some obscure new fetish.

But you’re shaking your head, what more does he want?

What if he finally does have sex and realizes he never wanted you at all? What good are you doing then?

“We’re hardly a real couple…” his pout is just that, and one of his eyebrows is quirked curiously - he’s totally clueless, “What’s my favorite color?”

“I dunno!” he groans, then shrugging and sitting up straighter, “I know you like mango best even though you’ve only had a single one in your life. And you like staring at your feet when you walk so you don’t trip, which is annoying ‘cuz I gotta make sure nobody runs into you. And you never raise your hand in class even if you know the answer. Which is even more annoying ‘cuz now people think you don’t pay attention, but you’re passing every class,” he frowns a little, “You’re the smartest girl I know,” his frown deepens when you don’t smile like he’d hoped you would, “And you like cats more than dogs.”

“I like your dogs,” you weakly defend.

But he never meant it to be a jab in the first place, “But you like Meowy more.”

“I think we should break up.”

“Oh…”

“Just for a couple days,” your voice is tittering, all soft mush. If he so much as stood up and crossed his arms then you might take the suggestion back, “Three at most… just to see if this is really what you want.”

“I do, I know I do.”

“I know you want a girlfriend. Do you want me? Me me.”

“‘Course I do,” he sulks, “You’re…” he stops himself, the churning ache in his stomach sensing how displeased you may be with the repeated argument of you’re my girlfriend, “Do you want me?”

You’re silent. He tenses.

“I don’t know if we want each other.”

“I do. I want you. I want to- I haven’t given you anything. I want to give you things. I want to be nice to you, too. I want to make you happy.”

But how could he? You’re a tool, and now you’ve upset him. Are you worthy of being upset over? You aren’t so sure.

You aren’t even certain you have the power to make the call for a break-up. You’re a tool -- you don’t think you’re anything worth crying over.

But Denji is absolutely sure you are. And he knows he wants you, and that feels right because you’re his girlfriend. But curiously, even after you leave and he’s apparently now single, he continues to want you. He wants you so bad that he turns onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow you laid on, just to see if he can still smell your perfume on it (he can).

In November of 1997, Makima got you a cat.

“You like them, right?”

“I do!” you’d smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, giddily petting your new friend, “Thank you, thank you! I love him!”

That same night, she makes you hold the small, quivering kitten above your head as she takes aim with a single finger. Your words are slurred with spit leaking down both corners of your mouth in your hurry to beg for your friend’s life. Your eyes are squished half-shut, trying to juice all the tears out without cutting Makima from your vision. You choke on your own breath, snot sour on your tongue as you shriek for her mercy.

bang

You don’t remember much else after that. You think you passed out as soon as the wall to your right indented.

You do, however, remember waking up the next morning and weeping into the kitten's soft fur. Hugging the warm, live feline to your chest and praying Makima would die on her next mission (by now, though, you were smarter than to think your prayers had merit). You even feel rebellious enough to engrave the edgy remark in your personal journal.

As repentance, Makima sends you on a month-long mission only days later. When you return, it’s to an empty room -- aside from a note left on stationary you recognize as ripped straight from your journal.

Kitten got sick. :( - Makima

Yoshida is stomping ahead of you the entire way to school the next morning, and you already know he’s fuming. You had hoped that by the time you both reached Fourth East, he would have calmed down; but you’re quickly proven wrong as he storms up to you once you’ve switched shoes at your cubby.

“Are you- !” Yoshida holds both hands over his face, muffling the scream he unleashes, “Are you serious?! You were doing everything right! You two were fine!”

“I’m sorry, I just- I don’t think I should be here… I’m really confused about how I feel all the time. I think I should go back to- “

“You don’t get to decide that,” he hisses, visible eye wide with rage, “You better beg him for another chance, I am not letting you fail this mission just because you’re ‘confused’.”

“I don’t want to beg him,” you stand a little straighter, maintaining fierce eye contact, “I want him to be sure- “

“This isn’t a dorama!”

“Hey, stop yellin’ it's annoying,” a passing voice snaps. The both of you look up to see Denji glaring sharply at Yoshida, “And don’t yell at her at all.”

Yoshida is quiet as Denji stalks off, the latter’s back growing smaller the further into the distance he goes.

“Did you like him?” Yoshida asks, voice returned to his typical lulling forbearance.

“Huh? What does that matter?”

“Shut up,” he commands before redundantly asking again, continuing to stare deep into the direction Denji was headed, “Did you like him?”

Did you?

You did. He was prettier than Yoshida prepared you for. And more considerate, too.

Deep down, you even think that maybe he’s inspired you - regarding you higher than you’d ever taken yourself for. You’ve realized things since dating him: you hate your room at Public Safety, you want to try petting more dogs, you don’t like school, and you really, really hate not having a name.

A real name.

“I think I did… Can I still like him?”

Yoshida groans under his breath before walking off, “Do what feels right!”

“What?!”

Scratch that -- you really hate that cryptic answer above all else!

Despite not having anything else to be tending to, you dawdle around Fourth East more often than not after being dismissed. You prefer wandering around the track twenty times over retiring to bed as soon as you get back to the commission’s basement.

Not even homework can entrap your attention long enough for the days to be less agonizing.

You watch your outdoor sneakers line one after the other along the white paint - you wobble less now that your body’s used to the limited movement. However, the idea of falling onto your side on lap twenty-one is mortifying. So when you’re too busy staring at your feet, you jostle into a body at the starting line. Your head bumping into their chin, their hands gently cupping your arms to keep you upright.

“You should seriously look up when ya walk.”

“Denji!” you cough, clearing the excitement from your tone, “Denji, what’re you…” you stop yourself, fretting over how rude he might think you suddenly are, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Do you want to see a movie with me?” you open your mouth and Denji watches your lips part before interrupting you, “Don’t overthink it.”

Do you want to watch a movie with him? Yes.

Should you?

Don’t overthink it.

Does it matter? Honestly, what’s even waiting for you at home?

Why shouldn’t you watch a movie with Denji (especially when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to say yes)?

Denji ends up sneaking you two into an R-18-rated horror film. One with a single poster lit up in the theater lobby - blood dripping down a screaming woman’s face and the title in a gaudy, pure hot red. You’re the only ones in the theater, sitting in the middlemost seats Denji could scour. Your hand is bound in his on your shared armrest, warm flesh tangled in warm flesh.

And it’s the worst movie you’ve ever seen.

The main actress has the inflection of a primadonna teenager despite portraying a single mother lawyer, and halfway through you’ve seen more strip teases than blood. Not one of the characters is likable beyond being a slice of dead meat hooked on the end of the killer’s cleaver. You can’t even discern the plot of the movie other than some brick wall villain slashing down a woman and her coworkers.

You earnestly laugh as the woman runs upstairs in the creaky old cabin in the woods rather than out the wide open door. In the corner of your eye, you can see Denji looking at you. You return his stare, giggles still chittering through your teeth at the ridiculously forced story beats.

“Terrible, right?” he doesn’t bother whispering.

But you do, “Horrible,” his eyes flicker down to your lips again, “I love it.”

“Me too.”

It may be your favorite movie of all time.

“I missed you,” you admit, fully ashamed of backtracking a mere day after your decision to break up.

“I missed you, too, peachy,” his voice is unweathered by that shame.

“I don’t know…” you look down at your dark shoes, they fade into the swathing shadowing of the theater, “How can I know this is real? That I really do like you? That this isn’t just because I was told to?”

Away from Fourth East, above your small room in the basement, and throughout the barren offices of Public Safety, the shadow of Makima hangs heavy over everyone. You’re not certain when you started submitting to her, and you’re not sure when you started submitting to everyone she told you to, and you’re especially not sure when submitting to everyone felt comfortable. What you do know is that you are a useful tool for the public. You are a good instrument when devil hunters need assistance, for your technique and regeneration -- on missions and off them. And to keep Denji’s identity hidden, you are to be a sweet, giving, and kind shield.

But you hate all of that. You hate fighting and you hate everyone you work with. You miss movies. And you like Denji.

Is it some late-stage rebellion as the death of Makima truly settles in, or is this who you are?

“How should I know?” Denji mutters, kicking at the plastic back of the seat in front of him, “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care about devil hunting or who controls who. I choose my life, and I choose to be your boyfriend. If I didn’t like you on our first date, I wouldn’t like you now.”

“What if I change?“

“You can’t change in a way I don’t like,” he frowns when you don’t smile at his declaration, “I just want you because you’re…” nice, weird, interesting, and if he pushes the right buttons you can be lively and loud, “you. I like you. You can’t change in a way I wouldn’t like unless you tried killing me.”

“I would never try to kill you.”

So does it matter if this was chosen for you?

You can like Denji and be with him, or you can like Denji and be away from him. You feel like the second option would be more miserable. So how does it matter, then, that dating Denji was chosen for you? Either way, you like him.

A lot.

You smile, and he copies it, “I like you, Denji. I want to be your girlfriend.”

On the big screen, a woman is being stabbed to death, but Denji eagerly closes towards you as if the projection is completely blank.

“I wanna be your boyfriend!”

A flashlight blinds the both of you suddenly, a stern male voice you briefly mistake for some impossibly higher calling following after, “How old are you two?”

“Eighteen!” Denji flips the man off, one eye cinched shut and the other squinted in a nasty glare, even as he answers honestly.

“Yeah, eighteen!” you copy, grabbing one of Denji’s hands with yours.

The man holds out his palm, flexing his fingers once. Denji scoffs but hands over his student ID with you taking example.

“Hayakawa, Denji… Yoshida, Reiji…”

Reiji. れいじ. It feels as unfamiliar as it sounds.

You almost open your mouth to protest - that’s not my name! before remembering that in the eyes of Fourth East High, it is. You don’t like it.

But you don’t like Rejection, either. You feel bigger than that. You are bigger than that. You like ginkgo trees even without the fall glow, you think mangoes are the best fruit, you like the smell of ashed cigarettes and dog fur, and you think the color orange is prettier than people give it credit for. You wait until the strange guard leaves before voicing,

“I want to change my name,” you continue to whisper although neither of you is paying any attention to the movie.

Denji sticks his legs out, resting them over the back of the seat in front of him, “What to?”

His volume startles you a little before realizing that it doesn’t matter how loud he is; the two of you are alone.

You raise your voice to a normal volume, “No clue yet, but I’m excited to find one…” you smile when Denji does, he tightens his hand in yours, “I wonder if I’ll find one unique or pretty.”

“If it's yours then it’ll be pretty anyway,” there’s a pause, you stare at him and he stares at you. You like how the projection reflects over his pale face, his eyes sparkling from the bright screen. Finally, he speaks again, “You’re really pretty.”

I think I actually love you.

“You’re pretty, too, Denji.”

I think I actually love you, too.

“You should leave Public Safety for real. We can get you real clothes. And you can stay with Meowy all the time when you’re not in school. Nobody will order you around ever again.”

“They’ll try dragging me back,” you doubt that they’d let a Devil -- even one that has no interest in being a Devil -- roam free in Japan on some fluid, lucrative “mission” of dating Denji.

“I’ll fight ‘em off,” he sounds so determined, “I’ll protect you.”

You look back at the movie, you wonder if you and Denji are the only ones to have seen it since it came out.

“Okay,” he brightens up at your agreement, “I’ll live with you. I’ll leave Public Safety.”

Denji lifts your linked hands from the shared armrest and pulls it up, shoving it into the gap between your back supports to yank you closer to his chest. He hooks his chin on the crown of your head and squashes you in a tight embrace like a child would their stuffed bear. He kisses your head, nose dug into your hair. He feels so excited he could burst out of his skin, and the only solution is to keep hugging you as unbearably annoying characters are slaughtered onscreen. To cram the both of you so tight together you’ll explode as one -- that’s the only way he can escape this whole-body buzzing.

Immediately after deciding to live together, Denji made the frightening choice that you should meet his sister. On the way back to his apartment, he’s internally scolding himself for not having introduced you sooner but pushes the nagging feeling away. After all, Nayuta wants what’s best for Denji just like Denji wants what’s best for Nayuta -- if she can feel the same coziness that Denji always does when he’s with you, then she’ll like you. He’s certain of it.

“I told her about you, so… She shouldn’t be weirded out when you meet anyway…” if not for the blush on his face, you could mistake him as being casual about this!

You, however, feel so nervous you’re hunched into your boyfriend’s side and fighting the urge to gag up your lunch.

“What if she hates me?!” you heave, a hand clawing at the unevenly tied ribbon around your neck. It’s somehow too tight and too loose. Simultaneously suffocating and unable to ground you.

“She won’t!”

He’s so sure, he foolishly doesn’t even prepare a backup plan for if she does hate you. Besides, revising house rules to adjust for your incoming presence went well enough -- so how could it not work out now?

By the time Denji’s managed to steer you up to his apartment’s door, your legs are overdone noodles. He knocks twice - brief pause - then three more times, and waits. A caucus of rowdy barks and animated paws on fake hardwood thrum behind the door before a faint click hauls your heartbeat to a stop. As soon as the lock is undone, the door’s hinges squeal open and a little black-haired girl with untrimmed bangs is poking her face through the gap.

Her eyes are electric yellow, burning straight through your skull, with crimson rings around her iris.

“This is her?”

“This is Her,” Denji nods sternly, certainly much more serious than you’ve seen him before.

Nayuta’s stare is just as intimidating as Makima’s was, despite the girl being a grade-schooler. You’re frozen stiff under her gaze, heart thundering so hard you’re absolutely positive that she can hear it even feet away.

Suddenly, she nods, “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Denji’s positively beaming.

“Yeah,” Nayuta shows off a peace sign, receiving one in turn from Denji, “She’s got a nice scent.”

She doesn’t say it, but she thinks you smell like sugary fruit punch and honey.

Terrified of sullying her (apparently positive?) impression of you, you squeak out a childish, “Thank you…?”

Nayuta slinks an arm through the door, careful not to let any of the yipping, jumpy dogs out, and takes hold of you to pull you inside, “Mhm.”

She hugs your arm through the door and into the common space.

That night, Nayuta almost makes you miss Public Safety curfew -- desperately trying to worm you into the cuddle pile of the dogs and Meowy and Denji that they sleep in. You almost feel compelled to break curfew and listen, and not from her own power. As a compromise, you promise to be back the next day and she demands you honor your word before letting Denji walk you to the train station.

After a bite-free kiss from Denji, you’re sitting on the train to the commission’s haunting office building. Alone and warm all at once.

And you have to agree with your boyfriend, Nayuta is nothing like Makima.

In late 1998, you met with Yoshida at your shoe cubby for the last time. A cold breeze of December’s premiere christens the moment.

“It took some help from a senior hunter, but I got your release papers signed,” Yoshida holds up the manilla file in question, “I’m supposed to hold onto them in case you do something they don’t like, but I have a lot of work on my plate already.”

As if you wouldn’t understand, he waves the file around Fourth East’s expansive entrance. Then, he holds the folder out to you, jerking it further when you don’t immediately grab for the thing.

“Are you- ?”

Yoshida cuts you off quickly, “It needs to be renewed every five years, and I’m sure you’re not stupid enough to think there’s no consequences of fucking up. So just live a normal life, okay? Don’t make me and Kishibe regret this.”

Kishibe?

“Kishibe?! Seriously?”

Yoshida shrugs off your question and heads for class, fully intent on dodging any of your future attempts at interrogation.

Fortunately for him, you don’t give chase; too busy giddily reading over the official statement of your release from Public Safety. The final plot to yours and Denji’s journey of moving in together since you’ve had your few possessions sent to his apartment (and due respect to whatever nurturing side Makima had, no matter how selfish in nature, because you genuinely forgot how plain your room could be with no old books or journals).

“Thank you!” you call after the boy, ignoring the odd stares from your peers and holding the folder to your chest as if it may disappear.

Inside on the very top line is a printed line for your taken name. 恣恩 -- Shion -- is slated over the last name spot, preceding the empty bank for your first name. A pen is tucked into the corner of the folder.

Looking up again, you find Yoshida nowhere in sight, but you still whisper after him with a gooey need to express your gratitude, “Thank you.”

“You got it?”

“Yep!” you can tell who’s behind you without needing to turn.

For a reason you cannot discern, that makes you proud of yourself. Knowing Denji so well you can pick his voice from a crowd. You like that. A lot.

Nayuta drearily slips into the tight kitchen space, rubbing crust from her eyes while watching you and Denji stare into a pan. You’re closer to the stove with Denji huddled just over your shoulder.

“Breakfast?” Nayuta meanders over, wrapping her arms around one of yours and burrowing into your side.

“Eggs,” you and Denji answer.

Then you tack on, “And toast.”

She nods sluggishly against your shoulder, lazily blinking as Denji holds the pan for you to scoop the fried egg with one hand. You hold the egg up while Denji scrambles for a plastic black plate with a piece of toast on it. Once the egg is settled onto the bread, Denji holds the plate out for Nayuta.

“You’ve still gotta get ready for school!” Denji calls after her as she moves to the living room.

When you hear no response, you poke your head out to look at the little black-haired girl, being sure to keep your voice gentle as you ask, “Did you hear Denji?”

Nayuta throws up a peace sign, chewing her egg on toast.

“She heard you.”

“Figures.”

Denji yawns and slings both arms around your shoulders just to rest his head against yours -- the motion itself is selfish and monopolizes your entire personal bubble. You return the embrace around his waist and press a kiss against his cheek: soft and warm and pink like peaches. He hums at the affection and squeezes you tighter.

I think I love you

I think I love you, too

Denji almost gathers the courage to say it, but instead settles for, “You skippin’ again, peachy?”

You nod against his cheek, “Think I’ll wash the dogs.”

He snorts, “Your attendance is shit.”

“Oh well…” you think you’ll drop out at this point -- Fourth East is a slough of swamp water unless you’re cutting class with Denji by the track field.

Denji kisses your forehead before leaving to finish putting on his own uniform, “Yeah, oh well.”

He’s certain he’s in love with you. You’re certain you love him back.

On nights when you and Denji aren’t sleeping in his room -- Nayuta has you all holed in hers. You learned quickly that Nayuta was possessive (you expected it, even), what you didn’t pick up on was that her possessiveness spread rapidly to you as well as Denji and the pets. If you and Denji make the mistake of not putting her to bed with enough soothing, she’ll slither her way between your arms.

Like tonight;

You and Denji are laid out first in a loose sweetheart’s cradle, Nayuta flopping onto the wide mat next. She rests perfectly in the middle with both of you throwing an arm around her. Tiramisu will jaunt up behind you while Custard takes Denji’s side, and Meowy will always find a way to settle her weight on your lap or hip. The remaining five dogs will circle your pre-established huddle for the most comfortable spot before sighing into the mattress as well.

Nayuta’s stray hairs tickle your cheek and Denji will carefully card the strands away. It’s a repetitive routine, but a comfortable one.

You had a routine in the basement, too. It was less comfortable.

Much less comfortable.

~~

@ghostlykeyes hopefully i got the depressed:pathetic ratio right!!

#happy valentines day :) #denji x reader #denji x you #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #csm denji #denji fluff #csm fluff #pls someone treat this man right #PLEASE #hurt/comfort #denji angst

[teatoptony]

The Whole Being Soulmates Thing

summary; in this world, soulmates exist. he has one. it’s just that he already found someone, and your marks don’t match at all.

or, in which a stupidly stubborn punk in stupidly in love with someone who’s not his stupid ‘real’ soulmate.

pairing; hobie brown x reader, spider-punk x reader (soulmate!au)

warning(s); mentions of police brutality, not-too-detailed descriptions of injuries. r is non-gendered, no mention of r’s race. not proofread & written in the wee hours.

i am not black, i don’t have wicks. i did some research on how to properly care for them and wrote tiny parts in here with the info i had, but it may not be totally accurate. if something is wring, let me know. same for the lcp.

also hobie might sound a bit ooc but it’s a quiet fic and we don’t rly see him ‘quiet’ so eat my ahh(/j)

inspired by this post by @corrodedcoffeen ! not exactly 100% accurate but yea

He lived in a world full of soulmates and soulmarks.

Everyone who had a soulmate had a soulmark, like a little tattoo; whether it be on their arm, leg, back, even on their face. Sometimes, a person would have multiple soulmarks. In other cases, they wouldn’t have any at all. Some people were born with their marks, some appeared later down the line.

In most cases, people would do anything to find their soulmate. To be with them. To unite with their missing half.

Hobie Brown was among those who’d been born with a soulmate. Four little streaks that wrapped halfway around his left arm, like a scar from an animal that had halfheartedly tried to claw the whole thing off at birth.

Hobie loved his soulmark.

Not because he’d met his soulmate. Nor was it because the idea of a predestined partner made him giddy. No, it was because he felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at it. Pride that he’d beaten the system when he got you.

His thoughts wander as he sits on your your and his shared bed, a towel flat under his bum to prevent any grime that may be on his suit from rubbing off on the sheets. His vest and T-shirt had been haphazardly folded and placed on the bathroom sink, desperately needing a thorough cleaning after a particularly hard day, which left his torso bare for you to assess and repair the damage he’d been dealt once you peeled off the top half of his suit.

“Bit eager, yeah?” He’d joked as you hastily helped him out of his clothes, that cheeky smirk still shining through on his tear-streaked face. You’d answered with an exasperated laugh.

He had come home at two in the morning, stumbling through the window with a hand over the right side of his mask. When he’d ripped it off, tossing it on a random bit of the floor somewhere, you were met with red eyes, wet cheeks, a runny nose and a blood-crusted lip. Apparently, he’d been at the frontlines of a protest when one of the tear gas shells hit him right in the face, cracking his right eye lense and leaving him vulnerable to the gas’s full effect. You didn’t need to be told what happened to know what came next. After all, it was always the same routine with the pigs - gas the crowd and beat any individuals that strayed from the mass.

Now, as Hobie’s fingers tap a little rhythm on the mattress, your hands glide a washcloth long his skin, being careful to minimize pressure on his bruises. Which, granted, is hard when they cover most of his back and ribcage, but you made it work somehow. Tear gas residue sticks to anything it can, and although his body was mostly had been mostly covered, it gave the both of you peace of mind to clean anything off just in case. He thanks you by softly gripping your other hand, his fingers lacing together with yours.

“Need more milk?” You ask, going to put the cloth down and grab the already half-empty sprayer on the ground next to the bed, having already been used in the bathroom just minutes prior and put there just in case. He shakes his head, the hand that’s not on yours gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it back to his chest.

As you continue, he thinks back to the first time he’d held your hand like that.

It was when the two of you were barely teenagers, when he didn’t fully understand how the whole ‘soulmates’ thing even worked, or how messed up it really was. The only thing he really knew was that people were supposed to stay together forever if their marks matched, even if that wasn’t always the case.

Having known each other since you were just kids, he remembers wishing so badly that your soulmark matched his. He had wished that little planet on your ankle could be washed away, a temporary tattoo or doodle instead of an actual mark. He remembers drawing little black holes at the corners of his school worksheets, hoping that one of them would eventually swallow your mark whole and replace it with four lines identical to his.

Back then, he had wished his ugly little bands would somehow arrange themselves into a square. At least then he could insist that his mark was a planet. A weird square one, yeah, but a planet just like yours.

But as you looked at him with that warm glow in your eyes, he swore you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, soulmate or not.

If only that kid could see him now - here, with you.

He suppresses a smile that threatens to slip onto his face, as moving his lips makes the cut sting.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you mutter, wiping at the last bit of his torso. Hobie lets out a low sigh.

“‘M sorry love,” he says back, giving your hand a little squeeze. He really does mean it. He hates seeing the worry and sadness in your eyes every time he came back to you after one of these days. Fuck knows how he’d cope with it if you came home like this just every now and again, let alone what seemed like every other day recently. “I do try to be careful.”

You hum in response, getting up from your spot and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He does so with little to no hesitation, only waiting a moment to brace himself for the soreness that would follow. You lead him to the bathroom.

“Everything off,” you say, then immediately follow it up with, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say nothin’!” Hobie protests, feigning offense. As if that glint in his eye didn’t give it away.

“You need to get cleaned off properly.” You stress the lest word, letting go of his hand so that he can strip. “You can’t just go to bed after a quick wipe-down tonight. You need a shower.”

“But it’s gonna be cold.” Hobie groans. Tear gas wasn’t anything new, he’d had to clean the residue off of himself more times than he could count. That didn’t mean he was a fan of the cold showers that did most of the actual cleaning. Despite his complaints, he hastily steps out of his remaining articles of clothing as you start the water.

His muscles tense as he steps into the shower, pulling him out of his somewhat drowsy state. He quickly scrubs every part of his body, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

He washes his hair out last, taking care to not mess them up no matter how much he hates the temperature of the water. He’d made the mistake of trying to shampoo the whole of his head in one go just once before, and he’d be damned if he had to go running to the auntie down the street again to fix any tangles neither you nor him could sort out.

In his defense, he’d almost bled out just a couple hours beforehand that day. Having your first (superhero-related) near-death experience tends to shake you up a little.

“You’re such a man-baby,” you’d teased him as Hobie gripped your hand for dear life, the woman you’d guaranteed could get that nightmare of a knot out sorting through his hair with an arsenal of olive oil and a wide toothed comb.

“Oh piss off—” his reply was cut short as she detangled a particularly nasty bit of the problem, unfortunately having to tug exceptionally hard at his head. “Ow!”

The woman - Aunt Margaret, as you’d introduced her - tsked at him to sit still, poking at the tangle with the handle of her comb to see if it would give way now. Luckily, most of it did. She muttered something along the lines of ‘young people nowadays’, but in a sort of gruffly affectionate sort of way. From what you’d told him, Aunt Margaret was sort of the neighborhood mom, always helping people who needed it no matter how much she gave them grief for it.

The three of you made small talk over tea after his hair was nice and hairball-free, albeit a little slippery. Turned out, Aunt Margaret had plenty of stories of her own to share. Hobie had been delighted to hear about everything that had happened when she was a part of the League of Colored Peoples, almost ready to practically beg the woman to adopt him.

Two weeks later, when he decided to drop by again, the topic of soulmates came up. Aunt Margaret asked if he’d found his soulmate yet, to which he replied he didn’t believe in the soulmate system. She nodded in agreement.

“Just as well,” she had said, a frown making its way onto her face. “I’ve seen too many good people get their hearts broken because of that bloody mark.” She eyed his upper arm, exposed in the sleeveless top he’d worn at the time. “I got mine covered ages ago.”

“Did you meet your soulmate before that?”

Aunt Margaret shook her head. “That’s a story for another time, Bartholomew.”

He still makes time for tea with her every week or so.

The second he steps out of the shower, he’s greeted with a huge, warm towel fresh from the dryer. He wraps it around himself as you usher him back to the bedroom where you’d laid out some comfy clothes for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the clothes he’d discarded on the bathroom floor is long gone, along with his vest and tee that were sitting on the sink.

“I put the studs out on the veranda to air out,” you say, noticing him glance at the empty sink. “They’ll need washing, though. My eyes got all weird when I looked at the vest too close, and your belt’s not much different. The rest of everything’s in the machine.”

Pulling on his bottoms, Hobie silently nods at your words before pulling the tank top you’d dug out for him over his head. He then walks over to place a kiss on your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to leech off your warmth. He lets out a little noise of contentment when he feels you hug him back.

Wordlessly, he walks the two of you to your the shared vanity, plopping himself down on the seat. You grab the hairdryer off the table, checking to make sure it’s okay for you to help before switching it on to dry his wicks. Hobie closes his eyes as you make your way through each piece, eventually stopping once there’s no more water to be purged. Your fingers sorting through his hair so carefully is calming - almost therapeutic, and it takes all his willpower to keep himself sitting straight up for you.

After that, he clumsily grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, ignoring how you yelp in surprise and unplugging the dryer. He then proceeds to carry you around your place, flicking off all the lights before getting back to the bedroom and (softly) throwing you on the mattress.

“Was that really necessary?” You groan as he throws the sheets over the both of you. Hobie then proceeds to drag himself half on top of you, using you as a full body pillow.

“Definitely.” He replies, his voice a bit muffled against your pajamas.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He tilts his head up to give you a goodnight kiss, murmuring ‘dream ‘bout me’ next to your ear to which you respond by playfully pushing him away.

“Rude,” He mutters, smiling into your clothes as he huffs in indignation. Your laugh echoes through your body, a sound more beautiful than any music he had or would ever hear.

He doesn’t fall asleep too easily that night. Rogue thoughts on soulmates and fate flinging about his skull. For some reason, they’d all picked tonight to bug him to pieces.

Unknowingly, his grip around you tightens, feeling your weight in his arms. It grounds him as all the doubts try to throw him off, to destabilize something perfectly happy.

What if they find their soulmate? Then they’ll decide if they want me or them. (Me.)

What if I find my soulmate? What, like I’d break their heart for a stranger? Yeah. Fat chance.

He swatted those questions away like pesky little mosquitoes until he eventually fell asleep, choosing to focus instead on your heartbeat ringing in his ears.

So what if you two weren’t soulmates? He loves you, you love him. That’s all that matters.

The universe can suck an egg.

—

The next morning, Hobie woke up at 11, as usual. You woke up right after him as he stirred, like you always did. The two of you lounged in the comfort of your the sheets for a while before you had to eventually get up for breakfast.

Hobie was trailing behind you on your walk to the kitchen when something catches his eye.

His reflection in the vanity mirror.

Something’s… off.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Y/n?” He calls, looking down at his upper arm just to make sure the mirror isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there it is.

You turned around at his voice, eyebrows furrowed in a confused way. “Hm?”

“Look.”

He watches as your confusion morphed into surprise and then back to confusion again. Then you auickly check your ankle, confusion turning into realization.

“We match.”

Your soulmarks had somehow changed overnight, turning into small, stylized sun symbols that stand out more than either of your marks before ever did, clear as day.

It’s a few moments of stunned silence before laughter breaks out between the two of you.

“You know what we have to do now,” you manage, an arm around the front of your midsection and the other hand on your face.

“I think I do.” Hobie says, practically wheezing

By the end of the day, the two of you have covered up your new soulmarks with mismatching tattoos.

#across the spiderverse #anti writes spiderverse #across the spiderverse x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x you #hobie x y/n #hobie x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman #across the spiderverse fanfiction #sp

[brownskinlemon]

Adore (D.F.)

summary: REQUEST (could u possibly do a story of dom calming y/n down after some like degrading disgusting sex bc he can tell it was a lot for her and have him be all soft and sweet. thank u gorl i love u)

warnings: dom! dominic fike x fem! reader, degrading, daddy kink, overstimulation, angst, fluff

word count: 907

authors note: thank you hun, muah! Thank you guys for your patience and kind words, such a great community. Here's one on the shorter side for my lovely requester <3

It had been a rougher week for you and your boyfriend Dominic. It seemed like at a moment’s notice you two were once again bickering over something small and insignificant. 

The dishes not being done: argument. 

A lost sock in the house: argument.  

Dinner being late: argument.

By the end of the week, you had been exhausted and worried that this bickering would truly never end. It reached its peak when he breathed “too loudly” for your comfort while getting ready for bed, causing you the most explosive argument yet.

Now, here you were, pinned between him and the edge of the bed, no urge in you to argue, your brain trying to form thoughts and failing miserably. Dom had milked 3 orgasms out of you driven by pure spite. Time blended together as his hips grinded into the second hour, knees hoisted up near your ears as he drove into you over and over, hitting the deepest spots inside of you. 

His hand gripped around your throat firmly, the other hand circling your bundle of nerves that was far beyond the point of overstimulation. Hickies galore decorated your body, along with some markings around your thighs from how he gripped onto you earlier while devouring you until you were a pitiful, begging mess. You both were covered in a sheen of sweat, bodies grappling onto each other like your lives depended on it.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Hm?” His thrusted not faltering as he began to tease you, eyes not leaving your flushed face. “You had so much to say all fucking week.” He hissed at you. 

He suddenly grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes that had rolled back to meet his. “Say it or I pull out right now.” The threat of him leaving you empty was all too real and too terrifying. 

“Dom I-” You stammered, being interrupted by your own whines. “Please I need-please-”

“Please who?” He taunted.

“Please daddy. I’m sorry.” Your voice betrayed you as it shook with every thrust deep within you. “ Please please-” 

“Be a good girl and let it go for me. Give it all to me.” He continued to talk you through the waves of pleasure wracking your whole body for the fourth time that night. He relished in the way you became a babbling mess of his name and pitiful pleads leaving your mouth. Your nails dug into his tanned biceps as he soon became undone with you, unable to hold off as you clenched desperately around him. 

He gently pulled out of you, careful not to throw your body into more sensitivity shock than it already was. Dominic’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in your shaking frame, watching how hard your chest heaved with small whines and your body shook. He leaned over you, gently trying to get your lulling eyes to look at him.

“Hey angel, look at me.” He cooed gently, cupping your face with his palm. You tried to find your grounding, forcing your eyes that wanted to close so badly to peer up at his brown puppy eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Concern laced his voice. You nodded gently, causing him to release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stalked off quietly to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” 

As he spread your legs to gently clean you off, you whined at the sensitivity. “Sorry baby. I know how sensitive you are right now. But you did such a good job for me, took it so well. ” He cooed, eyes switching between cleaning you up and your fucked out face. After throwing the towel in the hamper, he crawled back into bed with you covering you both in the blanket, silence blanketing the dark room. 

“Dom.” You finally broke your silence gently, causing his head to snap to yours.

“Yes angel.” 

“I thought…” You began to get teary eyed.

“Woah woah, did I hurt you? I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to, where does it-” He shot up, eyes scanning over your body and eyes blown wide from fear.

“Dom. You didn’t, I’m okay, great actually. I was just…scared this week. Scared that we were doomed or something.” He settled back down, biting down on his bottom lip as he took in your words.

“I was too. We’ve never been the bickering type and I just- I don’t know. You know I’m not good with emotions, but I do wanna say I’m sorry. My attention has been on work and I didn't mean to make you feel abandoned.” He confessed.

You didn’t notice the tear falling down your cheek till his tattooed hand gently reached out to wipe it for you. His eyes were filled with adoration as he brought you in closer to him, kissing your forehead gently.

“I love you Dom.”

‘I love you more angel. Get some rest now okay? We can always talk more in the morning. I think I accidentally turned your body and brain to mush.” He kissed your nose, causing you to giggle. 

“Mush is the perfect word I’d use.” You replied, falling asleep in his arms.

He looked down at your sleeping frame, smiling to himself at how the furrow in your brow from overthinking and stress had finally settled as you were fully relaxed. His eyes trailed across your features, soaking up the way you couldn’t shy away from his gaze in this moment, free for him to adore you as he always had.

#dominic fike #dominic fike smut #dominic fike x reader #dom fike #y/n

[ellaak]

ENHYPEN RECOMMENDATION LIST

✉~Smau ✏~Written Series 🃁~Oneshot ☆~Headcanon ♡~Fluff ☔︎︎~Angst ☊~Crack ⌧~MDNI

LEE HEESEUNG Mistletoe Mayhaps 🃁 ~ ☊ ~ ♡ @bluriki This fic made me giggle sm the mistletoe was the op fr NEW BEGINNINGS 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @ikeuverse Crying. Belong To You 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @jaeyunluvr ANGST TO FLUFF ARE SO GOOD ## Buy One, Take me ✉ ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @heeracha If they didn't have their happy ending I would've molded one with my own BARE hands. Falling In Love With Heeseung 🃁 ~ ♡ @wondipity THIS SHORT FIC OMLLL WIN ONE WIN ME 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @jaylver THIS FIC HAS ME ON A CHOKE HOLD, also FUCK MATTHEW.

PARK JAY What do you mean dad went to get the milk!? 🃁 ~ ☊ @orangflowalober Why do the children know what the milk joke means..... 21st CENTURY GIRL ✉ ~ ☊ @hoonvrs This was acc so funny the way they refused to believe jay

SIM JAKE Nothing Here Yet...

PARK SUNGHOON Always Forever 🃁 ~ ♡ @kairoot MY BB HOON 12 Days Of Christmas ✉ ~ ☊ @jebi-won SUNGHOON IS SO ME but my wishlist never came Return To Sender ✏ ~ ☔︎︎ @jjunberry I would've never speak to my sibling ever again.... Look At Me Now ✉ ~ ☊ @facechasers SECRET RELATIONSHIP TROUP >>>>> The Perfect Love Scheme 🃁 ~ ♡ @lovepookie I LOVE THE LOSER SUNGHOON AGENDA NOW WE DATE! ✉ ~ ☊ @boyfhee Sunghoon will always be so bbg Back Off! 🃁 ~ ♡ @delcakoo Hand bumping while I'm getting snacks is not romantic so MOVE Mirrorball 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @rosenhypen HOLDING MY TEARS THE WHOLE FIC With Love, Sunghoon 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @dazed-hee I WENT THROUGH SM EMOTIONS HOON WAS AN ASS Take a Chance With Me 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @snghnlvr I FACEPALMED WHEN SUNGHOON SAID THAT Homesick 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @aakomii The line 'take me home' did me IN Introducing You To His Fans On Vlive 🃁 ~ ♡ @nokacchan Sunghoon just being smitten The 24-Hour Dating Challenge 🃁 ~ ♡ @jaeyunverse Someone better confess to me in asters NOONA ✉ ~ ☊ @hoonvrs Play WOW by stray kids

KIM SUNOO Guess who ✉ ~ ☊ @soobnny THE WAY THEY KEPT REFERENCING SUNWOO FROM THEBOYZ Let My Love Run Wild ✉ ~ ♡ @jaeminvore This was so sweet i’ll be putting on a suit, be tip toeing to you if you’re down for it 🃁 ~ ♡ @yenqa GET URSELF A MAN WHO'LL UP ON VALETINES IN A TUEXEDO AND GET IT DIRTY FOR YOU !!

YANG JUNGWON Did I, A Side Character Became The Male Leads Wife!? ✏ ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @ateliertale JUNGWON COULD NOT LEAVE US ALONE Idol Crush! ✉ ~ ☊ ~ ☔︎︎ @enhas-bestie Wonyoung carried the last few chapters. Best Wingwomen FIRST & SECOND 🃁 ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @nkplanet I'LL FIGHT HER PARENTS. IT'S ON SIGHT

NISHIMURA RIKI Love Dive ✉ ~ ☊ ~ ♡ @tzyuki KEEYNKI SOLOS. Shoot! ✉ ~ ☊ ~ ♡ @amakumos GENSHIN DATING APP REAL. CAN I BE YOURS? 🃁 ~ ♡ @mintsvnoo SMALL NIKI AND HIS INNOCENT ACTIONS YOUR HIGHNESS 🃁 ~ ♡ @nkplanet and people ask me why I have high standards Weird Cat Guy 🃁 ~ ♡ @boydepartment He didn't catch a cat..... THAT'S HER!! ✉ ~ ☊ ~ ☔︎︎ ~ ♡ @jakesgalxy I prayed for the previous CEO's downfall.

OT7 She's Taken PT.2 ☆ ~ ☊ @star-sim THE FANS ARE SO SILLY Is Your Girlfriend Single? PT.2 ☆ ~ ☊ @star-sim DYING OF LAUGHTER QUITE LITERALLY Being Asked Out PT.2 ☆ ~ ♡ @wwonwonism Made me giggle Lipgloss & Kisses ☆ ~ ♡ @maeumi-jng WHEN IS IT MY TURN ooo You Want Me So Bad ☆ ~ ♡ ~ ☊ @sharkorok THE NICE TO YOU BUT RUDE TO EVERYONE ELSE TROUP IS GONNA BE THE END OF ME SELLING MY BOYFRIEND ☆ ~ ✉ ~ ☊ @luvyeni Something silly for valentines Enha reaction to their s/o crying after a member scares them ☆ ~ ♡ @yeeunjia This is me and my sensitive heart Enha getting you a snack you're craving at 3am ☆ ~ ☊ @n1k1tty Get urself a s/o who gets you what you're craving at unholy hours When You Can't Sleep Without Them ☆ ~ ♡ @angel1kisses Very Comforting

#enha x Reader #Enhypen x Reader #Lee Heeseung x Reader #Jay Park x Reader #Jake Sim x Reader #Park Sunghoon x Reader #Kim Sunoo x Reader #Yang Jungwon x Reader #Riki Nishimura x Reader