#next year I will become more unbearable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mooishbeam · 4 months

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『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.

He knew that and got greedy.

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.

“Mhm.”

“Will you change?”

“No.”

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.

Maybe you never mattered in the first place.

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying.

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday.

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs.

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over.

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat.

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off.

“I love you too, Shoko.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty.

“Mm, I’ll manage.”

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight.

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair.

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.”

“‘N how’s that gonna help?”

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.”

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny.

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know�� if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.”

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.”

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.”

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.”

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.”

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings.

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene.

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself.

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching.

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result?

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real.

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night.

And you burst into tears.

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you.

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside.

“Wh’re you?” you garble.

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?”

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light.

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child.

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm.

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge.

“L’ve me alone”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-”

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew.

Then, you shoot up.

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.

Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand.

“Finally up?”

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried.

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears.

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you.

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.

“It was fine.”

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance.

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?”

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?”

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times.

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication.

“Had business”

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment.

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy.

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation.

“’M not lyin’.”

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.”

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.”

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.”

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-”

“You could barely keep your eyes op-”

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!”

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone.

“...I know.”

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone.

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze.

“Are ya hungry?”

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances.

Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.”

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity.

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride.

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.”

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest;

“Pervert!”

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top.

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.

Not my business. You're nauseous.

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table.

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it.

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.

“You lost? Take her order” he spat.

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you.

“What’s funny?”

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.”

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors.

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say.

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be"

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests.

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."

"It did pay well."

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?"

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household.

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."

"Don't get used to it."

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof.

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality.

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.”

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again”

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists.

You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today.

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself:

dumbass ex

tick, tock, tick, tock

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip.

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him.

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji.

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.”

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...”

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.”

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?”

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”.

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?”

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them.

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.”

You sigh, “It’s no one new.”

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops.

“Do not fucking say it.”

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!”

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.”

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!”

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath.

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place.

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app.

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn'

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?'

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?'

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes'

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.

Oh god.

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.

“…Hello?”

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction.

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.”

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you.

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs.

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no-

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.”

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.

There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.”

“They’re for you.”

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless.

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you.

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.”

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan.

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere.

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right?

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle.

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups.

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.”

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?”

“Us.”

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words.

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie.

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.”

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.”

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:("

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.”

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.”

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm.

Loving.

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks.

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything.

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip.

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.

“I don’t need healing. I need you.”

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation.

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?”

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement.

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip.

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue.

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.”

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans.

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?”

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow.

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-”

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.”

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.”

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.”

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence.

“And what else?”

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk.

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you.

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”

“Mhm!”

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth.

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come.

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air.

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm.

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight.

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close”

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.”

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek.

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear.

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go.

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs.

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?”

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?”

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain.

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other.

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?”

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.

“So, you’re the decision maker now?”

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.”

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.”

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?”

“No. You need nobody but me.”

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”

“I love you, too.”

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk

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naughtyjjk · 6 months

Text

jjk men during no nut november

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji | fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, teasing, blowjob, masturbation, orgasm denial (just bc of the challenge) ty to everyone who voted for this! it ended up being so much longer than i expected. anyway, enjoy — it's that time of year ;)

GOJO...

talks big at first about how easy the challenge is going to be, but quickly realizes how wrong he is when november actually comes. it's natural, after all; the more he's not supposed to do something, the more it's on his mind. so he finds himself thinking about sex all the time, thinking about you. he recalls the previous times you've fucked, how good it felt to have his cock inside you without any stupid rules holding him back.

he ends up becoming soo fucking horny that it's unbearable, getting himself all worked up and finding any excuse to touch your body. "i want you... god, i wanna fuck you so bad," he says, stripping both of you down and pulling out his cock. it's nice and hard already, dripping with precum. just looking at it makes you turned on, too.

he thrusts into you and as soon as he bottoms out, the full length of his cock buried deep, you stop him there and ask, teasingly, "are you sure you want to do this? you’re not supposed to come this month, remember?" but it’s obvious that this is the limit of his self-control. you can already tell how badly he needs it, unable to take the sexual frustration anymore. "will you be able to hold back from coming?"

gojo whines, cock twitching inside you. he's so desperate and aroused and there's no way he's going to stop now that he's already gotten this far. ignoring your warning, he begins to thrust into you, moaning at how good it feels.

in the end, he only lasts a few days, which means he doesn't get any bragging rights about making it through NNN. but he has no regrets at all because now he can fuck you whenever he wants.

NANAMI...

manages to hold out for a while, but loses by the end of the first week. he tries his best, but he's weak and just can't resist you. at night, he would jerk himself off because he needs some relief but forces himself to go slowly enough to make sure he doesn't come. it doesn't help, though, because he only ends up more turned on, knowing that he can’t fully give himself the orgasm he needs.

after a few nights of going to bed hard and aching, even the most innocent touches from you gets him all riled up. his resolve snaps when you wear extra revealing clothing one day, as if you're testing him on purpose—bending over to show your cleavage, wearing leggings that draw his attention to your thighs. you know he's lost the challenge when he reaches out to touch your your legs, trailing higher and higher until he's rubbing you through your panties.

you rock your hips against his hand, noticing the bulge in his pants, the outline of his hard cock. "are you going to do anything about that?" you ask, and his eyes darken. he's far too horny to hold back any longer, taking you right then and there.

"careful," you say when you notice him start to get close, whispering into his ear. "you don't want to accidentally come now, do you?" but of course that only makes him more aroused, knowing that he isn’t supposed to be doing this.

"fuuck," he groans, thrusting into you harder and you can feel him pulsing inside you, a warning. "i c-can't hold it." he comes in you and it's so hot and filthy and you can feel his release dripping down your legs. but he doesn’t stop until you’re also shaking and moaning, riding out your orgasm on his cock.

maybe next year, you'll both have more luck finishing the challenge.

GETO...

doesn't touch you at all. he's almost too good at keeping his hands off you, determined to win this challenge. it's annoying how composed he is at the halfway point, like he's completely unaffected by the whole thing. but just because he doesn't show it doesn't mean that it isn't slowly getting to him, too.

when the end of the month approaches, he's in constant battle with himself. on one hand, he's so close to winning the challenge; on the other hand, he's beyond sexually frustrated from denying himself for so long.

the day that his resolve snaps, you're eating a lollipop and decide to tease him when you notice him starting at your mouth. you swirl your tongue around the lollipop, licking, sucking, swallowing it down, all whole making eye contact with him. he's aching and hard in his pants by the time you're done and he makes you kneel on your knees in front of him as he pulls out his cock.

he says, "if you want something to suck on so badly, then show me just how good you are" and you're happy to do so. you do the exact same thing—licking, sucking, swallowing him down. swirling around his sensitive cockhead, tracing the veins on the shaft. it's been weeks since his cock had any stimulation so it doesn't take much to get him to the edge. soon, he's thrusting into your mouth, hands tangled in your hair, moaning at how good it feels. "f-fuck, your tongue—i'm coming, i'm—"

his cock twitches as he comes, spilling down your throat. he’s breathing hard. when his mind clears, he decides that it's worth it, even if he was only a few days away from completing NNN.

TOJI...

plays dirty the whole time. this man is absolutely ruthless. he teases you relentlessly, doing whatever he wants with your body—nothing is off limits as long as you don't come. which means he can still touch you, finger you, eat you out as long as he stops before either of you orgasm. and he does this all with a wicked, sexy grin on his face, knowing exactly the torture he’s putting you through.

by far the cruelest thing he ever does is fuck you with his cock and stop mid-thrust just as you're about to come. then he pulls out and leaves you there, desperate and begging for him to go all the way. but he doesn't. he never does. and he repeats this every day for the whole month, constantly getting you worked up and keeping you on edge while denying you of your release. denying himself, too.

he says, "don't feel too good yet, baby" even when you're moaning and whimpering, begging him to finally give in. “p-please—ah, please toji... i don't care about the challenge anymore, let me come—"

meanwhile, his own self control is made of steel; he could be rock hard in his pants, leaking precum, but just knowing the effect it has on you is enough for him to ignore his own desires for now. he gets off on making you more and more aroused, pushing your limits to see when you'll break. and if you're able to last the entire time, he's looking forward to the payoff at the end, where he gets to fuck you hard, leading to an orgasm that's been building up for a month.

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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It’s the last period of the day, and in his peripheral vision, Steve can see Eddie Munson fighting sleep, elbow repeatedly slipping off his desk.

They’re not usually in this class together; a good handful of teachers are on a ‘field trip’—which had been sold to the principal as an educational experience, but was really an excuse for both students and staff to while away the last remaining days of the semester.

So most classes have become an assortment of students who haven’t gone on the trip, odds and ends who usually wouldn’t cross paths.

When Steve had entered, he saw that the room was sparse, people dotted about the place with no regard to a seating plan—he’d headed straight for a desk by the window, hadn’t even noticed that Eddie Munson was in the seat right beside him until he’d already sat down.

And then it turned out he couldn’t even reap the benefits of choosing a seat near said window. The room was stuffy, unbearably so, and Eddie had beaten Steve to it, actually raising his hand and asking, perfectly politely, if he could open the window.

But the substitute teacher had just sneered and replied haughtily, “No, Munson, you cannot.”

Condescending ass, Steve had thought, and he was almost looking forward to one of Eddie Munson’s infamous diatribes.

But Eddie just wilted in his seat and didn’t say another word.

That’s when Steve noticed that he kept looking down at his desk. There was a piece of paper on there, an end of year test—Steve recognised Mrs O’Donnell’s handwriting making comments in the margins. The top right hand corner was folded over in such a way that just made the hiding of the grade all the more obvious: it was clearly an abject fail.

As Eddie stared at the paper, he started to blink rapidly, and for a horrible moment it seemed like he was going to cry, so Steve quickly looked away.

By the time he dared to look back, it was a quarter of the way through the period, and the heat of the room must’ve been getting to Eddie, his eyelids fluttering as he tried not to doze.

And now Steve’s stuck with a teacher who’s clearly immune to every pointed look he shoots his way. He gets to the point where he’s glaring daggers at the dude—seriously, where does he get off, keeping the window closed just to prove some bullshit point about authority?

Every so often, Steve finds himself catching a paper airplane—what are they, five?—that had been heading for Eddie’s face, made by some meathead junior. Steve either swats them away or, if he’s feeling particularly pissy, crumples them up with one hand, throws them back at the junior’s head.

Eddie’s repositioned his elbow so it’s no longer in danger of slipping off the desk—eyes totally closed now, like he’s accepted defeat.

Steve is too late to catch the next paper airplane as it hits the side of Eddie’s head, and when Eddie stirs, blinking blearily at him, he says, defensively, “It wasn’t me.”

“Relax, Harrington,” Eddie says, yawning, “I know.” He unfolds the paper airplane with a tut. “No structural integrity to this thing at all. You’d give me quality.”

Steve doesn’t think of a barbed comment to reply with, because Eddie starts refolding the paper and uses it as a fan—and it’s not even for a bit or anything; Steve can tell that he’s just genuinely suffering.

Movement draws his eyes to the front of the room; he watches as the teacher makes his way to the door and leaves.

“Thank God he’s gone,” Steve mutters. He stands and lifts up the window as far as it will go, hears Eddie’s quiet sigh of relief as the fresh air comes in.

Steve glances over at the door; the paper airplane-throwing junior has gathered a little group, and it looks like they’ve locked the teacher out. There’s no footsteps or furious knocking yet, so Steve figures he’s got a bit of time.

He jumps up onto the window sill to better enjoy the breeze, stretching his legs and idly looking outside.

He just catches Eddie scoffing, the little aside he makes: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Steve turns his head to him. “What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Just… you,” he says.

And it’s said with a kind of reluctant fondness, almost like they’re friends—which is bizarre, Steve thinks, since this is definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

But maybe the approaching summer break has Eddie all sentimental.

“What about me, Munson?”

Eddie gestures at him, as if to say uh, everything, but it somehow doesn’t come across as an insult.

“Just… the way you do things sometimes. Like you’re in a goddamn movie.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just sitting. Anyone could do this.”

“Nah, Harrington. It’s all in the execution, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Bull.”

“And not all of us have the hair for it.”

Steve tilts his head, drawls, “Oh, I dunno.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh like he’s been taken by surprise.

Steve turns back to the window. It’s not all that great a view, really, the sun only highlighting the dried unkempt grass around the track. Still, there’s an undefinable something to it that gives Steve pause.

Maybe it’s because graduation is right around the corner. Even just walking down the school corridors feels like a series of goodbyes.

“Hey, Harrington. You heard of mise-en-scène?”

And Steve finds himself grinning at the French accent Eddie slips into.

“Bless you,” he says, just to be annoying, though he has heard of it, remembers it from when they looked at some plays in English. Then overheard it, really, while the aspiring film students fretted over their college applications in the library, and he listened with a jealousy he didn’t care to analyse. “I’m seeing some movie shot stuff here, is all.”Steve looks over again, in time to see Eddie adopt an over-the top trailer voice. “The fallen King—”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“—looks down at what remains of his Kingdom, setting his sights on pastures new.”

A wistful edge creeps into Eddie’s voice, something separate from the theatrics—confirming Steve’s suspicions that he won’t be graduating this year, after all.

“Not exactly pastures new,” Steve says. “I, um, didn’t get into anywhere so.” He shrugs vaguely. “Gotta hold down a summer job and then… I don’t know. Not thought that far ahead yet.”

Eddie seems to consider him. “Nothing wrong with that, Harrington,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Steve replies. Because it’s true; he knows he’ll be far from the first high school graduate staying in Hawkins, working a minimum wage job all summer.

His parents had said as much. But then…

He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s the tone in which they say things rather than the things themselves that sets him on edge. That sometimes just the way they shut doors around him inexplicably prompts a feeling of nausea.

But they’re out of town for the whole summer—already left this morning, thank God. So he’s hardly going to get into all of that with Eddie Munson, of all people. Barely addresses it within himself, honestly.

“It’s just… not really what I pictured,” he says instead. “You know, like…” And maybe Eddie’s theatricality has made him a little bolder, because he looks out at the view, and slips into a brief understated impression with ease: “I'm shakin’ the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world.”

When he turns back, Eddie’s lips twitch again, and this time the smile wins. “Well okay, George Bailey.”

Steve smiles back. Shrugs once more. “It’s for the best, really. Means I can keep an eye on—”

And he stops himself, realises he was about to say the kids.

Eddie’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? So you’ve found someone worth staying for.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice when he adds, “S’awfully romantic of you, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not like that. But… yeah, you could say so. They’re all worth it.”

“Huh,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “What happened to you, Steve Harrington?”

Steve laughs. Shakes his head. “Life. And, uh, got a thump to the head.”

Eddie whistles lowly. “Damn. Maybe I should try that.” He glances down at his test, frowning.

“Hey, come on. Everyone loves a comeback kid.”

“Hmm. Not everyone.”

Eddie sighs and stuffs the test into his bag. As he does so, there’s a sudden pounding on the door, and Steve hears some of the students break out into whispers that are so loud they might as well be shouting: discussing their plan to pin the blame on Eddie for locking the teacher out.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s soon leaving high school behind that has Steve viewing all of this with a clarity he can’t remember having a few years ago. They’re just mean, he thinks, just plain mean for the sake of it. Jesus Christ, you don’t kick a guy while he’s down.

Eddie’s eyes dart over to the group. He’s clearly overheard them too, but he seems resigned to it, like he’s got no more fight left in him.

A girl unlocks the door, and the teacher storms inside, apoplectic with rage.

And before anyone can get a word in, Steve says, “It was me. I locked the door.”

He can feel Eddie staring at him. He leans more into his lounging on the window sill, pretends to check his nails.

The teacher’s eye twitches. “And may I ask, Harrington,” he seethes, “what would even possess you to—”

“Oh,” Steve says, faux brightly, “that’s easy. I don’t like you.”

Eddie’s hand subtly rises up to cover his mouth. Steve bites back a grin; he knows a hastily stifled laugh when he sees one.

“Out you go, Harrington,” the teacher says, pointing at the door.

Steve stands up, unbothered. He’ll just ditch, head home early before the dick’s had any time to step out into the corridor and scream at him. That mall’s almost done being built; he could finish filling in a job application for one of the stores there before the day’s out.

He makes sure the window’s pushed up so far that it’ll be more of a pain to try and close it compared to just letting it be.

Then he swings his bag over one shoulder, says in a little aside, “See you, Munson. You know, Class of ‘86 has a better ring to it anyway.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it, man,” Eddie says, and he sounds a little taken aback.

Steve glances over his shoulder just before the door shuts behind him, and he sees Eddie’s hand raised in an uncertain wave, like he can’t believe he’s even doing it.

And if you ask Steve, that’s a movie shot all of its own.

#them briefly crossing paths before Everything has my heart ❤️#pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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anantaru · 7 months

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BONUS KINK — BODY WORSHIP

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

a/n. the last bonus kink is about them worshipping you just the way you deserve <3 and thank you for supporting this year's kinktober, enjoy <3

𖧡 — including — diluc, zhongli, childe, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, all about how much they love your body and putting your pleasure first, very passionate & rough, oral (fem! receiving), fingering

𖧡 — DILUC

the closer diluc got to his mansion, the more he realized that he had missed you this entire day— and he desires you with every inch of his being, in a special way that wasn't temporary but made him believe that love wasn't a hoax after all, and that he wasn't hard to love either, because you made him feel again.

the idea of losing you could truly ruin him.

and sometimes he catches himself become embarrassingly jealous of the glinting sun rays being eminent in the sky, for they can kiss you whenever he cannot.

a primal rush of pleasure shivers through him when he first places both hands on top of your hips, waiting for a moment and dwelling on your warm frame diffusing the stiffness of abused muscles located around his shoulders and chest as he absorbs the vibrations of your tranquil mewls into his aching body.

"i missed you, diluc," you say, "so much," before teasing his shaft with your walls and constricting ever so wonderfully, remembering the shape of his length as you wince at the additional pressure his cock sent straight into your core, clenching your muscles rhythmically that the rest of his body would shiver whilst pressed against your own, your facial expression continuously satisfied with the treatment he always gave you.

diluc clears his throat and attempts to hide the scarlet redness manifesting on his bristling cheeks, "i missed you," he whispers and emphasizes the last word with an octave higher, "been thinking about you all day," before lapping wet streaks over the areas on your neck that he knew were the most sensitive, it was the combination of one bite and a possessive huff on the wet flesh that made you whimper softly on the next thrust— not to forget that your body was simply divine to the red haired, each curve and bend reacting when he pumps you full of his cock, letting it glide smoothy in and out of your warm hole as you moan out his name, your face ecstatic with release.

you knew you wouldn't last very long, and as you continued to be fucked with diluc's precise thrusts consisting of long, slow movements, you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, your throbbing cunt hot and tight sealed around his shaft as it took every ounce of restraint for diluc to not just cum and release his seed to pulse in hot rivulets on your inflamed walls.

it's almost too much to bear— but alas, that was what diluc craved, and even if he didn't say anything too directly or would admit it to you, he's been secretly hard and painfully throbbing for the majority of his day that consisted of nothing but work on top of work, his pulsing erection unbearably hard and rubbing against the rough confines of his pants as he day dreamed about his current reality.

alas, he was able to feel this now, feel you now— turning it evident that he wanted to please you more than anything else, even if just for a split second.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

lowermost the brilliant stars ablaze within the moonlight sky and a chilling draft welcoming your frames, zhongli made love to you in an unforgettable matter— and the man has found himself wholly entranced by the fullness of your beauty.

you look up at him in a daze, and your eyes were the first out of many things that drew him into complete obsession, your sultry, lowered gaze in particular— the type that appeared to be seductive without trying as he grabs your knees and hoists them over his shoulders, the new position allowing him to lean forward enough to place a passionate kiss to your dampened forehead before pushing himself deeper.

an icy chill shoots like a cold lightning down his spine when you exhale tremulously once he was fully inside, a proud smirk represented on his darling lips as he found himself pleased by your reactions.

the atmosphere manifests in a sensual tone, tenser, and your heart beat was pounding so fast and loud that it almost entirely dulled out the penetrative sound of your hips bucking against each other in quick, sloppy slaps. your mouth panting and eyes squeezed shut with every new meet of his cock rolling inside of your walls, your arousal sticking to his shaft and marking him sinfully— it's like those sweet traces and his hips bouncing in a steady pace ignited something inside you, your figure melting from heat when zhongli touches the very depths of you.

zhongli groaned inwardly, and by his very nature, seeing you mewl and sob, with your hips swirling up and down his cock to handle more of him, such submission was almost too erotic, and his body responds in a feral perception, his length mapping through every rill and spongy spot that his low eyes and long lashes look down on you with twisting lust, your thighs shifting against each other as his hips rock back and forth against the softness and the feeling of just how good you felt.

𖧡 — CHILDE

"you drive me insane," for a moment, childe let his gaze follow over the soft, glimmering skin on your sensitivity, his eyes lingering on the way your cunt was practically awaiting to be claimed by him— your face contorting in pleasure when he lastly, presses a soft kiss to the pulse point on your clit, licking inside and dipping his head lower.

suckling gently, you writhe and mewl under him, your back arching up a little for an extra amount of contact from his tongue as one large hand skims over the expanse of your chest, palming over your breasts while the other prods at your hole as childe coats his chin and cheeks with a generous amount of your arousal.

"you're perfect," he mutters into your flesh, every nerve in your body quivering when he put you into the deepest sensations of euphoria— a trance of which you do not wish to be freed from, and neither does childe want to stop pleasuring you, on top of being allowed to taste your beauty on his tongue, losing all his strength as he fell head first again, just like he always did whenever he admired what was his.

he lightly traces around the tight opening, fluttering his eyes up to your face before sliding one finger inside, immediately feeling you tense down, then moan out angelically when he scissors you lightly, his tongue leisurely lapping out the very surface of your glistening folds while he keeps a steady pump on your hole, continuing his careful ministrations and pressing his digit deeper, always more, and maintaining the pleasurable torture until you would whimper at him, only the slightest bit desperate, at least that's what you believed it looked like.

you clench your jaw to brace yourself, whimpering softly at each press of his fingers hitting your sweet spots almost a little too good, the next pleasured mewl escaping your aching throat when childe seals his lips on top of your clit before trapping the tingling skin in between his mouth, sucking gently.

"ajax.." you hiss softly, "need to feel you," as he repeatedly enters you with his slender digit, the stimulation overflowing your lower area as an intense burning sensation settles on your wet sex, deliciously limiting your noises so that you're hiccuping in shattered words and phrases.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

"you are deliberately provoking me," there wasn't a realistic possibility for you to keep something hidden from alhaitham, and he observes you thoughtful and stoic, a devious glimmer creasing around his eyes when he pins your wrists above your head, watching your clouded expression contort in pleasure as if you wanted this to happen.

he holds you down effortlessly, and while in any other case, alhaitham wouldn't let you play him like a violin, he cannot help himself but think about how lucky he truly was— or, how utterly enchanting your figure looked even while squeezed underneath his larger one.

to know that you had this power over him was dangerous, to know that he needs you like air to breathe was lecherous, or to know that the pleasure you placed on him concealed his vision with no doubts in his mind.

momentarily, he resists the flourishing desire to pay you back with skilled teasing and a robbed orgasm when he softly soothes one palm over the curve of your trembling body and stifling a groan in his throat when he slides his tip into you, the chaste downward flutter of his long, pretty eyelashes contrasting the strong set of his jaw clenching the second he tastes the hotness of your sex engulfing him.

you take him like he was begging you to, his biceps flexing enticingly as he braces himself up for what's to come when he crowds you with his inches in slow, tantalizing movements, the hot edges of your mewls burning violently through alhaitham's lust as he moans deeply, pushing into you with a hard buck of his hips reaching your softest spots.

you shudder, a harsh bolt of heat shooting through your tensed muscles as you clench your thighs around his hips, your hands wiggling underneath his palm that were keeping them pinned as you arch your back off the mattress, unable to take control of the passion infused jolts yearning for his searing touch as his rigid cock sinks hard enough to sting with a mild pain into you that evidently enough made you unravel into a trembling, dazed mess of a person.

"fuck, ahh," the pitch of your needy moans and whines manifest into crushed tunes with each convulsing thrust into your heat twisting you apart, shuddering and spattering all aver his length as you coat him with your arousal, the liquid rush of intense thrusts hitting you from nowhere as alhaitham throws his head back in ecstasy, releasing your hands from his grasp to fuck you deeper, so you're on the brink of splitting in half from the sheer intensity.

your hands find the softness of his hair as you merely wince at him, absorbed in your own pleasure and reveling on those sweet and personal caresses that felt like his skin was fusing with your own.

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sourlove · 1 month

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YANDERE KING 👑 (GN READER)

TW: OBSESSION, YANDERE THEMES, INSANITY

a/n: thanks for all the notes everyone! i'll try to write and post more!

Yandere! King who was a good and benevolent ruler and loved by all who encountered him. From his good looks, to his amazing battle prowess, to his diplomatic skills, there was nothing he lacked or wanted for. Instead of squandering the kingdom's resources like his predecessors, he expanded the kingdom and improved the lives of his people.

Yandere! King who journeyed up the Black Mountain by himself to slay the dragon that had been tormenting the kingdom for years! Unfortunately, that came with a severe consequence.

Yandere! King who was cursed with the dragon's dying breath to never know peace until he learns to love. No one knew about that last part but the King and the dragon. They wouldn't understand it. Only an ancient and wise being would be able to look into the noble King and see a cold, empty heart.

Yandere! King who was tormented by whispers and screams only he could hear, corners haunted with bloodied corpses only he could see and nightmares that left him screaming and clawing at his own body.

Yandere! King who was tormented more by the fact that as the curse ate away more and more at his sanity, the chances of him learning to love (what a cruel word that had become) became slimmer and slimmer.

Yandere! King who didn't believe in love. He had married a princess and sired children with her simply because he had to. That's what kings did. She was a good choice: docile, pretty enough to fuck, and smart enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. But the curse had made being around anyone, especially her and her brats, unbearable. Love? What a foolish notion. He would rather die a mad man than let himself be swayed by something so flimsy, so weak.

Yandere! King who wished in the dead of night for something or someone to save him. He didn't want to live like this. He didn't want to die like this. Disembodied voices chased sleep away and the once proud King wept in misery.

Yandere! King who stumbled into you by chance. It was a regular day for you as you went about your business, travelling on the road to sell herbs and potions when you were knocked down by the kings carriage as he passed by. You kicked up a fight with the guards, lashing out at their brusque handling and one of them made a crude comment about you. In your blind rage, you fished a potion from your satchel and threw it.

Yandere! King who came out to see what the commotion was and was suddenly struck with a dark, viscous liquid that clouded his vision and made him stumble back. You were immediately forced to your knees as you stared at the King himself wiped your potion from his face. Your life was definitely over now, you thought miserably.

Yandere! King who finally turned to see his attacker and halted to a stop once your eyes connected.

Yandere! King who looked around frantically, checking and listening for anything, anything, while everyone else watched him with confusion and worry. Had the King finally succumbed to his curse? Or had you worsened it?

Yandere! King who turned to you, shaking and whispered ,"You've cured me. Y-you- the voices- the voices are gone...they're all gone!" He refused to let you leave. He snarled at his guards to release you and begged you to enter his carriage and go to the palace with him.

Yandere! King who announced that his savior had lifted his curse. The people cheered as he dragged escorted you to stand next to him, where his queen should have stood, and kissed you on both cheeks. "From now on, I will dedicate my life to repaying my debt to you."

Yandere! King who threw a feast in celebration and forced you to dance with him all night. He praised your talents and beauty to all who would listen, never giving you the opportunity to slip away from his iron grasp.

Yandere! King who pleaded with you to stay. When you adamantly refused, he stopped pleading and ordered you as your King.

Yandere! King who soon realized that the curse slowly creeped back to him after he was gone from your presence for a few minutes. Instead of filling him with sorrow, the King could only smile widely. Now you had to be with him, to sleep next to him, to stay with him, to love him, until you drew your last breath.

Yandere! King who appointed you as his new concubine. The queen was outraged but he paid her no mind. She was lucky he didn't divorce her, for political reasons, and her opinion never mattered to begin with.

Yandere! King who would burn down the entire kingdom to hunt you down if you escaped from him. So be good and don't kick up a fuss, alright? All you have to do is be a good pet and stay next to him, living luxuriously with the world at your feet.

You're his savior after all.

READ PART 2 HERE

#obsessive yandere #yandere #obsessive love #writers on tumblr #lovesick #fantasy creatures #fantasy #royalty #monarchy #romance #dark romance #love story #romantasy #unhealthy love #love #lovers

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xo-cori · 8 months

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as sweet as the sound

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: she’s undeniably talented, but your girlfriend is just a bit too self-critical of her work.

warnings: smut (MDNI), fingersucking, ellie is a filthy bottom idc, they’re a lil high but who isn’t in this economy

a/n: inspired by the piano scene in duck butter… iykyk. title from “to noise making (sing)” by hozier ofc

Every movement of her fingers against the frets of her guitar has your heart doing flips inside your chest.

She plays an unfamiliar melody. One you’re sure she’s come up with on the spot, which is something she seems to be doing a lot lately. It’s adorable, the way she looks up at you every few seconds to see that captivated expression on your face. Not once has it faltered, and it’s become her biggest inspiration.

You’re sat against the headboard, legs crossed as you watch her from where she sits; right in the middle of the bed, guitar in her lap with a laser-sharp focus.

It doesn’t matter what the next day holds. It doesn’t matter what’s happened every day before this one. The world has gone to madness, but none of that matters here in this dim cocoon of music and smoke.

You reach over to the bedside table so you can press the end of the joint into the ash tray, putting out the flames so that you can set it down. “Sounds so pretty, Els,” you say. “Haven’t heard you sing tonight, though.”

She stops playing for a moment, eyes widening at your words. “Oh– uh, I don’t have anything to sing.” She admits. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written something good, actually.”

“You’ve been doing improv all night. What’s different about singing?” You ask.

“The difference is, I suck at improv.” She replies, which makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, I haven’t noticed any mistakes.” You say.

“Because you don’t know the difference between a B sharp and a B flat.” She laughs. “What, you aren’t satisfied with my performance?”

You shake your head. “Oh, I’m satisfied. Just a little underwhelmed.”

She seems taken aback by this, which leads you to let out a quiet laugh. “Joking. I have an idea, though.”

Ellie’s ready to ask about this idea until you begin crawling towards her. The words die in her throat as you place your hands on her knees, leaning over her guitar, then pressing your lips to hers. It’s soft; something simple and loving, though it makes her body feel unbearably hot.

Then, much to her disappointment, you pull back. “What are you doing?” She asks.

“Nothing. Just keep playing.” You instruct her, even though her hands are frozen in place as you continue to crawl until you’re sat on your knees behind her. She feels your warm breath on her neck, the way you press up against her back, and it’s all too much for her to take in at once. “I told you to keep playing,” you whisper right next to her ear.

Hesitantly, Ellie strums a random chord. Then another, and a few more. You wait for her to get back into a rhythm before you slowly run your hands up her waist, under her sweatshirt. Her breath hitches. Suddenly, the guitar sounds like it hasn’t been tuned in years. You don’t seem to mind, though, because it only gets worse when your lips find the crook of her neck. She leans back into you and lets out a shaky sigh. “You’re the worst.” She huffs.

“I’m just making you sing.” You reply.

Your fingers explore the familiar plain of skin as your lips suck bruises right beneath her jaw. Each time the music pauses, she notices, you slow down; and she doesn’t like this one bit, so she does her best to keep playing.

This relentless teasing only continues for a minute or two, but to Ellie, it feels like hours. It really isn’t long before one of your hands finally slip past her stomach until your palm meets the plush skin of her breast. Her fingers flex and falter against the neck of the guitar as you caress her, your other hand quickly coming up to join in on the fun. There’s no sound from Ellie but a gasp, which just isn’t good enough for you.

Her back arches up against you as you take her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, knowing just how sensitive she is and using it to your advantage. This earns you a hushed whimper, your cue to keep going, because you’ve heard just how loud she can be. The guitar doesn’t seem to be making much noise, though.

“Ellie.” You warn, and she immediately strums another note, no longer caring which one (or whether it’s a note at all). It’s not like you’d notice. She’s only terrified that you’ll stop otherwise. As a reward, you begin to roll both of her nipples between your fingers and her mouth falls open into a perfect ‘o’, head falling back against your shoulder.

“Please,” she whines, “please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” You smirk. The guitar is starting to sound worse and worse. “Why? You want more?”

She hums a desperate mm-hmm, and though you’d like to make her beg a little harder, you’re starting to get pretty eager yourself. “Okay.” You give in. “But remember– you stop playing, I stop touching you.”

You don’t wait for any type of response before you’re sliding your right hand down past the waistband of her boxers, wasting no time to find its favorite spot between her legs. She’s already soaked, you think, and it’s a nice boost for your ego. “Fuck,” she groans as your middle finger draws tight circles over her clit. You can feel her muscles tensing, as if she’s struggling to keep her thighs from closing around your hand with the guitar in her way. Finally, you listen as she lets out a soft string of moans, every one unintentionally melodic.

You press a kiss beneath her ear, left hand still shamelessly groping at her chest. “So sensitive tonight,” you coo, “maybe you have a thing for multitasking.”

“Shut up– holy shit,” Ellie pants out, visibly struggling to keep a firm grasp of the guitar. She wants nothing more than to throw this old piece of wood on the ground, but she won’t; only because you’ve told her not to.

Slowly, your fingers slide down through her folds until you can slip them right inside of her. There’s no resistance– quite the opposite, actually– her warm walls clench down and suck you in further. It’s almost pathetic how loudly she moans when you curl your fingers upwards. You can feel the shiver that goes down her spine as you immediately zero in on that one spot with each gentle thrust, while the pad of your thumb attacks her clit. Neither of you can hear the guitar anymore, despite each unpleasant sound it makes.

“Let me stop,” Ellie pleads. “Please, let me stop playing?”

“But you know how much I love your songs,” you say, a fake tone of disappointment in your voice. “I didn’t say you could stop, so I don’t know why you’re asking.”

“I know– fuck, I-I’m sorry–“ She’s cut off by a particularly loud moan, and you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you. As an apology, though, you bring your lips back to her neck and lick a long stripe from her collarbone up to her jaw.

It’s all too much, all at once, and sheer panic runs through Ellie’s body. Each chord she plays is drawn out with a long pause between, as if she keeps forgetting the demand she’s been given. With your hands all over and your hot mouth right on her pulse point, she can’t help the way her body curls back into you. “Gonna cum,” she gasps. “Can I? Please?”

You smile against her neck. “Already?”

Normally, she’d get frustrated by your teasing, but it seems that she doesn’t really process your words. She just nods and lets out another beautiful moan.

Then, you take your hand out of her sweatshirt so you can grab her guitar and toss it to the other side of the bed. Ellie whimpers in relief as you speed up your thrusts and take the lobe of her ear between your teeth. “Go ahead,” you hum.

That’s all the permission she needs. Her hand comes down to cup yours over the dampened fabric of her boxers, an attempt to keep you right there like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Fuck, oh my god, thank you,” Ellie cries out, thighs finally clamping down onto your hand, though your pace doesn’t falter. You work her through her orgasm as she screws her eyes shut and takes a white-knuckled grip of the bedsheets. Her body shudders and, after a few long moments, melts right into yours.

You don’t slow down until she weakly grabs at your wrist, though she doesn’t fight when you go back to gently rubbing at her clit. It’s slow, enough to calm her through the aftershocks while you listen to her hoarse whimpers and sighs. She’s gone completely limp against you now, focusing on keeping still as she fights off the urge to tug your hand away completely. “There we go,” you smile.

Finally, you remove your hand from her boxers– but you aren’t done with her yet. Without another word, you slip your coated fingers past her lips, which close around your knuckles with no hesitation. Her tongue licks you clean as she moans at the lingering taste of herself. It feels as though all of her bones have turned to dust, though you don’t seem to mind. This only lasts for a few seconds before you take your fingers out of her mouth so that you can wrap your arms around her. “That was a hell of a performance.” You tell her.

“Fuck you.” She breathes. “Never do that again.”

“But you liked it so much.” You point out. “You’ve never cum that fast.”

Despite how hard she tries to seem upset, she can’t stop the smile that breaks through to her face. “Yeah, actually,” she admits, tilting her head to look at you. “I’ve sang better, though.”

“I know. Just wish you weren’t so shy,” you say.

“I’m not shy,” she mumbles.

“You’re shy and stubborn.” You add, but before she can come up with some sleepy retaliation, you’re leaning down to kiss her, and she swears she gets the same sparks that she did when you kissed her for the first time. One of her hands come up to the nape of your neck as her lips lazily move against yours, trying her best with very little energy. So, you’re quick to pull away before she can try to turn it into something more. “Let’s lay down, baby. You’ve got patrol in the morning.”

“Fuck patrol,” she grunts, lifting her head to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yeah,” you agree, “fuck patrol.”

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut

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jiminrings · 3 months

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fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

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Child of Our Own - Tsu'tey x Omatikaya!Reader

summary: seeing his friends already awaiting their firstborns, tsu'tey begins to yearn for a baby of his own, but he is too shy to tell you about it

warnings: none really, soft and shy tsu'tey, hints at pregnancy, mentions of intercourse

wc: less than 1k

a/n: i'm officially in my tsu'tey worship era (this is your fault btw, @avatarbyamara) ik damn well that man only puts up his tough act in front of the others, but he would actually be a big softie with his mate

masterlist

“I’m assuming the mission went well?” you smile, feeling Tsu’tey place another soft kiss on your temple.

His chest presses into your back, hands resting gently on your waist, while you’re occupied with peeling the fruits he likes. He was gone for only a few hours but was acting so needy, you start to wonder if anything happened.

“Tsu’tey,” you nudge him for an answer, but he only hums in response, now planting small kisses across your cheek and jaw.

“‘Was good,” he mutters, not wanting to bore you with the details.

“Were you safe?” you try to turn around to examine him, but Tsu’tey grunts, holding you in place.

“Just missed you.”

You guess that there’s something weighing on his mind, but you don’t push him. Tsu’tey often has moments, when all he wants to do is to hold you in his arms and listen to your soothing breathing. Eventually, he’ll give you a few hints about it anyway. So, you just pat his arm lightly and return to the task at hand.

Tsu'tey stands with you in silence for a while longer before finally speaking up.

“Neytiri is showing.”

“I know,” you nod, “It suits her.”

As you struggle to reach for another fruit from the basket, Tsu’tey huffs in annoyance and loosens his grip on you. He takes a step back, hating the distance between your bodies, but decides to allow you to finish your work in peace. You can feel his eyes fixed on you, observing every move you make.

“You’re very quiet today,” you turn around to face him, abandoning your task.

Tsu’tey only shakes his head, disagreeing to voice his concern. You rest your hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him down, until he gives in and kneels on the ground. You crouch down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“Talk to me, tìyawn,” you murmur.

Tsu’tey gazes at your hand in silence. But when you lean in to kiss his cheek, he turns his head, catching your lips with his instead. It’s not long before he snakes his arms around your middle again and pulls your body onto his. You giggle, as he sits you down in his lap, enjoying the closeness between you two.

“Right now?” you quirk your eyebrow at him, knowing exactly where he is leading with this.

Tsu'tey's lips find their way to your neck, and you let out a soft sigh as his warm breath tickles your skin. You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, and he trails a few more kisses before nuzzling his face into your neck.

“‘Aani said that Ti'ung is with a child too,” he whispers, catching your attention.

The two of you have mated before Eywa almost a year ago but Tsu'tey never pressured you into becoming a mother so soon. Just for a while, all he wanted was to have you all to himself. To enjoy restless nights with you without a worry of hurting you or having to share you with anybody else. The first few times you mated, you watched him struggle, as he was holding off the unbearable pleasure, before pulling his member out of you and releasing into his hand instead. Presumably, it became a thing he did every time, and you’ve grown so used to it, that you never once paid a second thought to it.

He was always so respectful and gentle with you, loving every bit of your body, every sound that would escape your lips. And despite his readiness to move into the next stage of your lives, Tsu'tey never allowed himself to impregnate you without earning your permission first. But what he failed to realize is that while you were trembling underneath him, reaching your orgasm, you were never able to think, let alone speak about wanting him to release inside of you.

“What are you hinting at, Tsu’tey?” you pull slightly back to look into his eyes.

“That it might be nice if, growing up, our child is surrounded by a few good kids,” he answers.

“Well, I’m sure Neytiri’s and Jake’s child is going to be just as good as they are,” you nod, agreeing, “And Aani’s and Ti'ung’s too.”

Tsu’tey hums, grateful that you finish his thoughts for him. That you know him so well, see him through and through. Being a man of a few words, he would often get irritated when others failed to understand his thoughts. But with you, it's different. All he cares about is that you see him for who he is, no one else.

“We need to catch up then, huh?” you grin.

Tsu’tey feels his chest swell with love by the way you look at him. So excited, so desperate to create a life with him. He pulls you in for a kiss, pouring all of his gratitude into it, as his hands reach for the ties of your loincloth. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate his desire, and soon the two of you become lost in each other.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

headcanons of tsu'tey reacting to his mate's pregnancy

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munsonluhvr · 3 months

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SWEETHEART SOIRÉE (DAY #2: LOVE LETTERS EVENT)

content: Eddie Munson x virgin!innocent!reader explicit, 18+ content! Your parents are strict, not willing to let you go out and participate in the shenanigans that happen on Valentine's Day; Eddie helps you sneak out so you can go out with him. word count - 4.1k

notes: this was so extremely fun to write. I got so engrossed in writing this that by the end I felt like I just snuck out to spend a night with Eddie #Iwish.

love letter event masterlist

The loud hum of conversation in Hawkins High cafeteria numbs your ears, the sound becoming unbearable. It’s Valentine’s day and all-around you people make plans for later tonight. Even at the table you sit at, your friends bounce back and forth to each other, making plans of their own.

“I’m sorry your parents won’t let you out,” your friend Nancy Wheeler says to you with a frown. “Parents can be such a bummer.”

You offer a smile, trying to play nonchalant. There’s nothing more pathetic then showcasing how truly bummed you are. Your parents are conservative, expecting you to behave like a lady all day, every day. Valentine’s day was a holiday your parents deemed too risky, the love circulating in the air making the perfect disease for you to catch and act promiscuous. They expected you home after school, in your room for the rest of the evening. For any of the previous years that would have been fine, you had never had a ‘valentine,’ but this year was different – Eddie Munson had made it clear he was your Valentine. However, he wasn’t aware of the lockdown your parents will have on you later in the evening.��

You and Eddie have been dating for only a few months, still in the early stages of being in a relationship. You were crazy about each other, spending any free time you had with each other. Normally he’d be sitting with you during lunch, or you with him and his Hellfire friends, but you glanced back at his normal table, his chair at the end of the table left empty.

Just then, a hand clasps around the back your back, leaning you back. Your skin sparks under the touch, your eyes flickering to see Eddie’s eyes gazing at you. Your stomach twists, your body becoming a puddle under his gaze. Eddie leans over, placing a kiss on your mouth. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” Eddie says, disconnecting his mouth from yours. He crouches down next to your chair, holding onto the back of it for balance. You’re still reeling from his kiss, the form of affection never growing old; every time it gives you butterflies, your skin igniting with goosebumps. “I wanted to ask what you wanted to do tonight?”

“She can’t go out. Her parents have her on lockdown.” Nancy tosses at Eddie, noticing your loss of words. Eddie frowns glancing from you to Nancy and then back to you. “Is that true?”

You nod, glancing at your hands that rest on your lap. “My parents think Valentine’s is a promiscuous holiday, that I’ll get pregnant or something if I go out.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Parents,” Eddie says. “Such assholes for no reason. That’s all right, don’t worry about it. Maybe we could do something next weekend then?”

You nod. “Definitely.”

Depressed is not a strong enough word to describe how you feel, sitting in your room on the evening of Valentine’s Day, all alone. Throughout the rest of the day at school, you were surrounded by the constant sounds of people making plans with their friends or significant others. You had heard about a couple of parties at various people’s houses, though you let it pass through your mind, knowing there was no possible chance you would be able to go.

You’re bent over your desk, scribbling notes for your upcoming biology test. You sigh, the feeling of disappointment riddling your body. Though you’ve accepted your parents stance on going out on Valentine’s, still, your mind circulates around what everyone else is doing as you’re locked in your bedroom.

Your door opens, your mother leaning into your room. “What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes landing on you at your desk. “Homework, I’m not allowed to do much else.” You reply with a huff. You glance at your mother who’s in her pajamas, a robe cloaking her body. She shakes her head, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’ll thank us later when you’re in college and not held back by a child.”

You shake your head, turning back to your homework that is laid out in front of you. Your mother is impossible. You ignore her while she stands in your bedroom doorway, her eyes sweeping across your room. “Your father and I are going to bed, don’t even think about sneaking out.” She says, placing her hand on the doorknob. She begins to back into the hallway that leads to your room but leans back in before the door completely closes. “And pick up your clothes, this isn’t a pig pen.” Your bedroom door snaps shut.

You roll your eyes, resting your elbow on the desktop, your hand cradling your head. You shrug the exchange off, not letting your mother’s attitude ruin your night further. You consume yourself with schoolwork until you hear a light knock on your bedroom, jolting you out of your mind. You turn in your chair, squinting to see what made the noise outside. Though it’s pitch dark outside, the sun setting hours ago, you see a figure outside your window.

You get up from your spot, and as you get closer you notice that it’s only Eddie. Lifting from the bottom of the window, you push your window up, allowing the cold February air flow into your room. “Eddie? What are you doing?”

Eddie sits atop your roof, holding onto the windowsill to maintain his balance on the roofs sloped structure. His cheeks are flushed pink, the cold numbing his body. “I’m sneaking you out, I was about to knock but your mom rolled into your room, so I waited until she left. You deserve to go out, you always go from school to home to back to school.”

You lean outside, the smell of fresh air filling your nose, softening your tone to a light whisper in case either of your parents were near. “And you know what she told me when she came in? To not even think about sneaking out.”

Eddie snorts. “They won’t even know that you went out, I’ll have you back in a little while. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Your eyes shift, the fear of your parents opening your door to check if you’re still in there scares you beyond belief. Your parents instilled their beliefs into you without your consent, ensuring that you were the perfect child. You never allowed yourself to cut loose, trying to meet their standards. You debated whether you believed life would allow you to have a little fun with no consequences. “I don’t know, Eddie… my parents really don’t want me going out tonight.”

Eddie coos, leaning forward to let his fingers brush your cheek. His digits are cold, displaying he’d been outside for a little too long. “You’re such good girl, such a rule follower. Sometimes I feel like I’m corrupting you and feel guilty.”

You frown. “Don’t feel guilty, I just don’t want to deal with my parents grounding me for months and never letting me see you again.”

Eddie smiles, his fingers moving away from your cheek and down to your own fingers. His fingertips graze across your knuckles, his fingers beginning to lace into yours. “Trust me, I’ll have you back in just a little bit.”

You look back into your room, glancing at the door. Your heart beats, nervousness stuck in your throat. You debate, the pros and cons laying themselves out in your mind. You bite your lip, glancing back at Eddie. Since you and Eddie started dating, your dates were limited to directly after school while your parents were still at work or at school sporting events when your parents would allow you to spend time at. Once or twice, you had managed to sneak to Eddie’s house but only for a short while.

Before you give it too much thought, talking yourself out of it, you fold yourself small enough to crouch through the window. Eddie cheers quietly, his hands pumping in the air, while he wraps an arm around your waist. Together, you and Eddie guide yourself off the roof, and you thank the universe for making your house a short, squatty two-story home. Once you get to the lowest part of the roof, Eddie maneuvers himself down, holding his arms out for you to hold onto while you hop down to the frost covered ground. As you jog from your backyard to the street where Eddie’s large van in parked you say a short prayer, though unlike your parents you don’t have strong feelings for ‘higher power,’ you ask whoever is up there to allow you just one night of fun.

Eddie’s hand grasps yours, pulling you with excitement. In your slipper covered feet, you make it to Eddie’s van in a short minute. Instantly, Eddie turns the van on, the warm air blowing into the body of the car to warm your chilled body. You cover your mouth, a squeal escaping. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m doing this!”

Eddie chuckles. “Welcome to the dark side.”

You smile, fastening your seatbelt. And off you and Eddie go.

It’s only around 11 o’clock, car headlights flashing past as you and Eddie coast down the Hawkins streets. As you blow by downtown Hawkins, groups of girls in dresses, flower bouquets in their hands, their boyfriends trailing behind them; you catch a glimpse of what life is like outside of your home and away from your parents. Storefronts and restaurants have pink, paper cutouts of hearts and cupids, the town square demonstrating an appreciation for love day.

“Where are we going?” you say, glancing at Eddie.

“The pond by my house; there’s something I want to show you.” Eddie says, glancing back at you. Eddie’s house is on the other side of Hawkins, and you don’t venture their often; your parents claiming it’s ‘the wrong side of the tracks.’ When you went to Eddie’s house, it was only the first and second time you had really been to that side of Hawkins. You live a very sheltered life.

Eddie turns right onto a dirt path, his headlights lighting up the dark park that surrounds the car. Bare trees, stick branches sticking out in all directions, crowd around in patches, almost blocking the path in which the car drives on. “You aren’t going to kill me are you?” You ask, the dark park giving eerie feelings.

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Now why would I do something like that?”

You shrug, smiling at the sound of his laugh. Eddie pulls into an unmarked parking spot, the car pointed in the direction of a half-frozen pond. It’s a fairly small pond and you frown at the sight; what did Eddie want to show you here?

Eddie shrugs his jacket off, placing the article of clothing around your shoulders. “What are you doing?” you ask, beginning to slip his jean jacket on. Eddie opens the driver’s side door, letting the cold air rush in. “I told you there’s something I want to show you.”

“But it’s dark out.” You say with a frown. “What if there are, like, moose out there?”

Eddie frowns, another laugh escaping his lips. “This is Indiana, y/n, I don’t think we have moose here. I’ll keep you safe, come on.” You sigh, opening your door and hoping out of Eddie’s vehicle.

You follow Eddie, reaching for his hand. You hate the dark, especially in an ambiguous park you’ve never been to before. Eddie follows a path that walks around the length of the small pond, your body staying close to his. After a short walk, Eddie places you in front of him, his hands on your shoulder. He leans close, pointing towards the edge of the pond. “Look,” Eddie says, his cologne radiating off of him. You squint, looking in the direction Eddie points in. When you see what he’s pointing at, you gasp softly.

At the edge of the pond, almost hidden by the cattails, is a pair of swans, their pure white bodies reflecting the moonlight off them; they almost glow. Their bodies stick out against the dark water, the outlines of the revealed by the bright moonlight. They stay close to each other in the low temperatures, just as you and Eddie stand on the path, their long, thin necks bent around each other. The two swans nuzzle into each other, their black beaks lovingly pecking at each other.

“I-I’ve never seen swans before,” you say, stepping closer to the edge of the pond to look. Suddenly, you’re no longer afraid of the dark, willing to stand in the dark of the night for hours just to watch the swans love each other.

“This is where I come to do, uh, business and I noticed them last time I was here. They’re new, they weren’t here before.” Eddie says, watching you become entranced by the large birds. You can’t help but roll your eyes at Eddie mentioning his drug dealing business, but you feel special that Eddie thought to bring you here to see them.

The pair of swans begin to drift away from the edge, one trailing behind the other, as they glide across the pond. You watch with curiosity, watching as the birds pause directly in front of you and Eddie in the middle of the pond. The front swan turns, angling itself towards the swan that was trailing behind. They stretch their necks, bending until their small heads are pressed against each other, their chests touching, making the outline of a heart with their bodies. “Eddie, look,” you say, your breath getting caught in your throat.

Eddie pulls your back against his chest, his arm securing itself around your upper body. He leans into you, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Come on,” Eddie whispers, placing a second kiss on the edge of your jaw, a third under your ear on your neck. Eddie gently pulls you in the direction of the car, your eyes trained on the birds. As Eddie tugs your away, you watch as the two birds break apart, the heart broken, and they continue to the other side of the pond, one swan in front of the other. It was almost as if the swans did the display just for you and Eddie.

Back at the car, Eddie opens the two back doors of the van, gesturing for you to get inside. You frown as you climb in, seating yourself in the bare backseat of Eddie’s car. You shrug Eddie’s jacket off, the warm heat still filling the car. As Eddie follows you into the backseat, he closes the van doors behind him. As he turns to you, Eddie crosses his arms across his body, lifting his Hellfire t-shirt up and off his torso. “Eddie, what are you doing? You’re going to catch a cold-“ you say, as Eddie maneuvers his body to hover over where you sit. Eddie pushes your upper body down with one hand, his other hand parting your legs. All at once you knew where this was going.

You settle against the car floor, your mouth attaching to Eddie’s, your lips moving in harmony with each other. Your cold hands find their way to Eddie’s chest, your fingertips leaving cool trails across his warm skin. While Eddie presses his lips into yours, he uses his free hand to push your pajama pants down, revealing your naked bottom half underneath. Eddie groans against your mouth, feeling your bare cunt brush across his fingertips.

You gasp, your mouth parting from Eddie’s. You had never been touched in that part of your body, except for your own hands and fingers, and the feeling was so much better then you could have imagined. Your hand fumbles at Eddie’s waist, attempting to unbuckle his belt. After an unsuccessful attempt, Eddie helps, his lips nipping at yours during the processes. Finally, his belt comes free, Eddie working quickly to unzip his jeans and shrug them off. At the same time, you lift your shirt up and off your body, the cold air that seeps into the car attacking your bare breasts. When Eddie looks back up at you after pulling his pants and boxers off, his eyes go wide like saucers looking at your bare chest. This was the first time Eddie has ever seen you naked, few opportunities throughout the few months you and Eddie have been dating allowed for such an activity.

With eagerness, Eddie places himself over you, your bare hips meeting his. “Do you want to do this?” Eddie asks, his fingers brushing across your cheek bone. “We don’t have to.”

You nod, cupping the side of his face with your hand. “I want to. It’s just my, uh, first time is all.”

Eddie nods, his brows knitting together. “Just tell me if you want to stop; you promise you’ll say if you want to stop?”

You nod, spreading your legs so Eddie can settle himself between you. “Will you walk me through it?” Eddie nods, his tender touches ensuring he’ll protect you the entire time.

“Are you ready? I’ll push myself in now; it might sting a little bit, but I’ll go slow.” Eddie holds himself in his hand, leaning on his arm. Eddie is surpised to find that your body is already slick with arousal for him, the discovery turning him on beyond belief.

You lean your head back against the floor, your eyes watching Eddie’s movement. “I’m ready.” You inhale, exhale, and Eddie pushes himself into you with ease. You gasp, your body working to adjust to Eddie’s large size. Your eyes flutter shut, the pleasurable pain coursing through you. “Are you all right?” Eddie asks, his hand cradling your head against his arm that he props himself up on.

“You can move, I’m okay.” You say, your arms wrapping around his body. Eddie leans over you, placing a kiss on your jaw again. “You’re so beautiful, I feel like I don’t tell you often enough.” Eddie says, his eyes grazing across your face.

You laugh. “You tell me every day.”

Eddie shakes his head, his fingertips brushing across the outline of your lips. “That’s not often enough.” You blush, your mind blank. Eddie refocuses, rocking his hips against yours. Underneath him you groan, the pain starting to turn into pleasure. You wrap your legs around Eddie’s waist, feeling a need to be as close as possible to him. Though the car is cold, you and Eddie’s bodies become slick with a light layer of sweat, your core burning at the bottom of your stomach.

Eddie buries his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling mindlessly as he becomes lost in the intertwining of your bodies. “You feel so good,” Eddie says clearly, his warm breath fanning against your skin. You whine, the feeling of Eddie rocking against you building pressure in your lower half. You aren’t coherent enough to form words, everything coming out in a mumble, as you begin to unravel under Eddie, your mind and body in a complete trance from Eddie’s touch.

Eddie ducks his head away from your neck, leaving a few kisses in his wake as he trails down to your breasts. Swiftly, he cups one of your breasts into his large, rough hand, placing his mouth around your nipple. Your back arches in response, your hand leaving his back to entangle itself into his hair. You mewl, words beginning to form on your tongue.

“Oh, Eddie.” You whisper, your fingers closing with locks of his hair in your hand. Unlatching his mouth from your nipple, Eddie trails kisses back up your chest, up the front of your throat. You lean your head back, silently asking Eddie to not stop.

Every touch Eddie lays on your skin brings you further to the edge, his strokes slowing down and speeding up in the perfect rhythm. You don’t care if your parents know you’ve snuck out of the house, you don’t care if Hawkins police is cruising around the streets looking for you, you know you’ve met heaven where you lay underneath Eddie, your legs parted just for him.

The muscles of your cunt clench around Eddie, the pressure bringing Eddie closer with each stroke. Eddie buries his head in your neck again, your fingers still intertwined in his hair. You whine underneath him, mumbling mindlessly, turning Eddie on further and further. Eddie’s head fills with dirty ideas, with ways he wants to fold you, different places he wants to fuck you, but he knows there will be plenty of times in the future to explore his thoughts.

With a few strokes, Eddie curls against you, a low grunt leaving his mouth as he releases into the depth of your cunt, your body arching as you finish too, the feeling of his body pressed against yours bringing to the brink.

Eddie pulls himself from you, instantly cradling you in his arms. Placing a kiss on your temple, Eddie nudges into you. “Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

You shake your head, the warmth of his body against yours feeling nice. “It felt great.” Is all you can manage to say between breaths. Eddie laughs, his fingertips trailing across your skin. “You’re telling me.”

The ride back to your house was fast, too fast for your liking, and you stand in your backyard underneath your bedroom window. All the lights in your house were dark, your parents’ bedroom at the front of the house dark, no movement behind their shut curtains. You and Eddie really pulled it off.

Eddie kneels in the wet grass, making himself a stepping tool. You hold onto his shoulder, using his thigh as a steppingstone to your low roof. With a little upper body strength, you ease your way onto your roof, Eddie standing up from the kneeling position to help guide your legs. After, Eddie maneuvers his way on to the roof with ease. He ushers you up, lifting your cracked window open enough for you to sneak into. You climb into your room as quietly as possible, your eyes looking towards your bedside table, your small analog clock reading “2:50 AM.”

You turn to the window, Eddie crouching down just as he had when he appeared in your window earlier that night. “See? Just like you never left.”

You smile. “I had a great time, thank you.” You lean out the window, placing a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “Go before you catch a cold.” Eddie nods, his eyes lingering on you.

“Oh, wait.” Eddie whispers, reaching his hand behind his back. “I almost forgot to give you this.” Eddie places a single red rose on your windowsill, a light blush tinting his cheeks. You pick the flower up, lifting it to smell it’s fragrant petals. Your heart swells, the kind gesture making you feel warm.

“I feel bad, I didn’t get you anything for Valentine’s.”

Eddie shrugs. “You are already the greatest gift.” Eddie leans forward again, catching your lips against his. Then, swiftly, Eddie maneuvers across your roof, waving goodbye as he dodges across your backyard.

You linger by the window, wondering if you’re in a dream, the night too perfect for words. After a minute, you tuck yourself under your bedsheets, the warmth warning your tingling limbs. As you lay, the rose placed on your bedside table, you hear footsteps coming towards your room. You let your eyes flutter shut, relaxing your body as if you were asleep.

You hear the doorknob turn, the door cracking open. “See,” you hear your father say, the floor creaking under his weight. The door opens wider, your dad allowing your mother to peer into your room. “She’s still in here, not acting like a hooligan in the dark of the night.”

You hear your mother hum, the sound of her bracelets clinking as she crosses her arm. “I swear I just heard two voices talking.”

Your father scoffs and you can imagine him shaking his head. You hear their footsteps moving towards the hallway and out of your room. You hear your bedroom door begin to close. “You need to start trusting her more, she’s not the type to be inclined to sneak out in the middle of the night…” you hear your dad say, the rest of his sentence muffled by your closed bedroom door.

You can’t help but smile against your sheets, the memories of Eddie’s mouth planted on yours, his fingertips dragging across your bare skin, the image of the two swans making a heart out of their bodies against the dark of the night. Perhaps it was a good thing you parents didn’t know what you were capable of doing.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

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seonghrtz · 3 months

Text

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ✶ geto suguru

꒰ daylight ! ꒱ geto suguru, a powerful fairy who has had his wings taken from him, finds himself falling in love with the girl who has been cursed by his mother.

❛❛ if you're kind, you might discover something extraordinary you can do ❜❜

pairing. fairy!geto suguru x (aurora)fem!reader.

contents. maleficent universe, fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love (?), he fell first he fell harder, royal!au, slight age gap (geto is 4 y.o older than reader), mentions of death, maleficent is geto's mom, ooc geto.

amy's note. hi sweetie, this is amy!!! i was so excited to write this one in particular. i love geto so much, and i think he deserves more, but since we are talking about him, it will obviously have a little angst, but with lots of cute and happy moments. i think geto is the one who best fits the whole aesthetic of maleficent, and here we are!!! i hope you enjoy it and have a good read <3

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

𝕺𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, there was a vast enchanted forest called the Moors. This forest existed a long time ago, even before humans settled within its borders, and it was home to countless magical creatures who lived free. Creatures that humans had never dreamed could exist. They all had their uniqueness and strangeness, and even though they were from different species, they lived in harmony with each other ⸻ something that sometimes even members of the same species could not do. The Moors were neither a kingdom nor a dynasty. Hierarchy was unknown among its inhabitants, everyone was equal (even with their differences). However, the forest had its guardians, the fairies. Fairies, specifically forest fairies, were powerful beings who served as protectors of the forests. They were responsible for keeping the Pillar of Harmony intact and protecting the forest from those with evil and malicious intentions.

When the first humans established their kingdom near the edge of the forest, the relationship between them and the inhabitants of the Moors was one of the best ⸻ which seemed surprising. Curiosity ran through both worlds, which were close but different in many ways. However, as the years went by, this friendly relationship seemed to become more unstable and fragile.

Until the fateful day when Moors lost his guardian to human greed.

Stefan, the young prince of the human kingdom, had greed and selfishness in his heart when he tried to dream that one day he could control the Moors as well as his own kingdom. But things didn't go according to plan and it backfired.

On a frosty dawn, Stefan and a few guards set out on a mission to capture the wings of the Moors' guardian fairy, imprison her, and finally take over the forest. Not as discreet as they should have been, they entered the forest before dawn, armed and determined. Things began to go wrong when, instead of capturing the guardian fairy, they first captured her four-year-old son, Geto Suguru.

The little fairy boy, who was absent-mindedly wandering through the forest, watching the day creatures rest while the night creatures went on with their lives, didn't notice the humans approaching with their evil intentions, and the next thing he knew, he was grabbed by the arms. The boy whimpered and cried, trying desperately to free himself from the arms that were twice his size and stronger than his frail frame. Geto let out an agonizing scream as he felt the metal chains wrapped around the beginning of his wings. The pain and burning made the boy choke on his screams and tears, which mingled into a painful sound.

Once Stefan had gained the wings of the helpless child, he pursued his ambition to gain the wings of the Guardian of the Moors. Geto was thrown to the side, writhing in pain and crying for his lost wings. The pain seemed unbearable. Not just the physical pain, but the pain of knowing that he could no longer fly, that he would never touch the sky again. His freedom in the sky, where no one could reach him, had been taken from him when he was still a helpless child.

"My son..." Geto heard his mother's voice and her footsteps approaching his slumped body. "My dear son... what have they done to you?"

"There you are, Guardian of the Moors." Stefan spat out the words with contempt.

"Young Prince Stefan of the realm of men..." the fairy said, trying to control her anger, "Give my son back his wings!”

"If you give me yours, I might think about returning his... if I don't take them for myself in the future."

"You will regret this moment." The woman's hand closed tightly on her staff.

"And why would I regret it? You're a freak!"

"Your wife is pregnant with a beautiful baby girl who is about to be born, and in a few months, if not weeks, you will take over your human kingdom... it would be a shame to have something as precious as your daughter taken away from you."

"How do you know that, you witch?!" the man shouted angrily.

"Listen, everyone," the fairy said, drawing everyone's attention as a green spell emanated from her, "The princess will indeed grow up with grace and beauty and be loved by those who know her, but at sunset on her eighteenth birthday, she will stick her finger through the spindle of a spinning wheel and then fall into the deep sleep of death! A sleep from which she will never awaken unless awakened by a kiss of true love! And this curse will last forever, no power on earth can change it!"

"How dare you curse my daughter, barely born!" Stefan drew his sword from its sheath and positioned himself to attack the guardian.

"And how dare you rip my son's wings off and think you'd get away with it!"

Geto's eyes blurred with tears and an unbearable pain in his back as he watched his mother fight the future king. The little boy couldn't keep up with what was happening, his head was spinning and the only thing he could see was his mother's last breaths as she was caught off guard at a clear disadvantage in the unfair fight. As his mother fell to her knees, he felt the earth tremble and huge thorns grow larger along the edges of the Moors. Frightened, and not knowing what those giant thorns were, Stefan and his companions fled with Geto's wings, happy that they had killed the guardian of Moors and won her son's wings. Without enough strength, the boy crawled over to his mother's fallen body. He rocked the woman from side to side, trying to wake her, but his actions seemed to be in vain. His mother's heartbeat could no longer be heard. With a tightness in his chest, Geto lay down on his mother's lifeless body and cried himself unconscious.

Deep down, he wished this was all just a nightmare that would end the next day. And he would live happily ever after with his mother.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

With the Wall of Thorns, Moors was protected from any threat from humans or any other creature that tried to take over the forest. Geto thought that time would make him forget that tragic night in his life, but he couldn't have been more wrong. But time only helped him develop a dislike for humans and their arrogance and greed. Time helped Geto work hard to train his powers and learn to live without his wings. Even at the age of eight, he had incredible abilities that might have taken longer to learn.

The sun was rising in the east, and while the nocturnal creatures went to their shelters, the daytime creatures awoke to the sun's rays and began their day. Little Suguru, eight years old, followed the forest path to a lake he always went to in the morning. Ever since he was a baby, his mother had taken him to the pond to pick some of the plants that grew around the edge of the pond. It was a little routine that kept his mother's memory alive.

Geto just didn't expect to be followed that morning.

"Who's there?" The boy turned when he heard the hurried footsteps, but there was no one there. He returned to his destination, but the footsteps followed him again, "Whoever it is, I don't want to play!" A low chuckle echoed through the room, causing Geto to roll his eyes. With an idea in his head, he started on his way again. When the one following him was least expecting it, Suguru quickly turned around to see a little girl half his age fall to the ground, startled by the boy's sudden movement, "What do you think you're doing following me?" Geto crossed his arms in front of him, but all he got in return was a giggle.

Geto watched the little girl sitting on the ground. She didn't seem to belong to any of the species that sheltered in the Moors. She resembled Geto physically, but she didn't have wings or a pair of horns.

"Why do you have horns?" the little girl asked with a smile. She stood up, slapped her hand on her baby blue dress, brushed the dirt off it, and stared at the boy in front of her.

"Because I'm a fairy." Geto rolled his eyes and returned to his morning chores, "Now leave me alone!"

"My fairy aunts don't have horns!" The little girl followed Geto with light footsteps.

"That means we are a different kind of fairy."

"Wow! There's more than one kind of fairy?" the little girl smiled, "I'd like to be a fairy!"

"And why would you like to be a fairy?" asked Geto curiously.

"Because you have magic powers! And some fairies can fly too!" she said, her eyes shining, "I can't do anything interesting or unique, even though my fairy aunts keep telling me I'm a princess, whatever that means, I don't have anything extraordinary about me..."

"If you're kind, you might discover something extraordinary you can do."

"Can I... can I touch your horns?" The little girl asked.

"Um, just once!" Geto leaned down a bit so that the little one could touch his horns.

Geto thought that this little interaction would end right there, and that he would never see this little girl again in the vast forest. He just didn't expect her to come down to the lake with him every morning to talk about anything and everything.

Her presence could fill the boy's loneliness.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

When that little girl told him there was nothing extraordinary about her, Geto was absolutely sure it was a lie. And he seemed to prove it with every passing year. And the passing years never scared Geto, but perhaps his feelings were the only things that could scare him.

Within a few months, the presence of the little human at his side had become commonplace. It was difficult to spend any time apart. They had become inseparable best friends. They were always running around in the forest, playing with each other and with the other creatures that lived there. And from time to time, the girl even helped Geto practice controlling his magic. They shared stories and secrets.

And there was only one secret that he had never shared with her...

Every day, Geto Suguru fell more and more in love with that gentle, delicate human being.

Geto didn't know when he fell in love, for him there was no right moment, he just fell in love. And maybe his feelings were the biggest problem. They couldn't be together, not when they were from different species, or when she was the child his own mother had cursed before she died ⸻ a fact that wasn't hard to discover. The young fairy would have to suppress his feelings and accept that they could never be together in this universe. However, Geto decided to enjoy every minute of his friendship with the human who had stolen his heart until her eighteenth birthday, when she would return to her home ⸻ the human kingdom.

"It's a very nice gift, I'm sure she'll like it," said Dival, the shape-shifter who had been rescued by Geto's mother and had since become the advisor and right hand of the Guardians of the Moors ⸻ and who had also advised Geto in his training.

"It's just a souvenir..." Geto sighed, looking at the amethyst necklace he had made.

"You should tell her your romantic feelings for her..." Dival watched the quick movements of the boy's chest.

"I can't do that, Dival"

"Why not?"

"First of all, she is a princess. Just as I have my responsibilities as the guardian of the Moors, she has hers as the future ruler of the human kingdom. Besides, we're different species. You know how humans treat anything that is different by their standards. Not to mention that we're just friends, that's how she sees me and will always see me..."

"And all this keeps you from being happy in love?" Dival crossed his arms.

"These things aren't as easy as they seem..." Geto sighed softly, "Especially when your feelings aren't reciprocated.

"You should definitely get rid of this idea of unrequited love. She likes you! You can see how she looks at you and how she treats you!"

"It is not like that! She's just kind to me, like she is to all beings. I don't get any special treatment." Geto clutched the amethyst necklace in his hand, afraid of losing it, and left for the young princess' house. "See you soon, Dival!"

"How stubborn he is!" Dival muttered to himself as he watched Geto's figure disappear between the thick-stemmed trees in this part of the forest.

The conversation he'd had with Dival a few minutes ago replayed in his mind: could she possibly reciprocate his romantic feelings?

The answer seemed to be right in front of him…

Geto stopped walking quickly when he noticed the young princess singing a love song while dancing with another human. Perhaps Suguru had to worry about how this tall, white-haired, blue-eyed young man had managed to get past his mother's wall of thorns. But the dreamy smile on the young woman's face made his heart squeeze with pain and fear. The fairy looked away and decided that it would be best to wait until the princess left for her kingdom to deliver her gift ⸻ if only he had the courage.

The young fairy made his way to the lake he used to go to with his mother, which had become one of his meeting places with the young princess, and sat on a rock by the shore, watching the crystal clear water and the aquatic creatures that lived there. Geto didn't know how long he stayed there, pondering feelings that should never have blossomed.

"Sugu!" The princess's voice snapped Geto out of his deep thoughts, and the boy turned back, murmuring her name.

"What are you doing here?" Suguru asked, she should have been on her way to the castle by now.

"You didn't think I would leave without saying goodbye, did you?" The girl smiled and sat down next to the boy.

"I thought you'd be more excited to see where you came from and to see your parents again."

"Yes, I'm excited... But then I remember that I'm leaving all this behind and I get scared..." she sighed.

"You can come back, you know." Geto turned to the princess.

"But the thing is, sometimes I don't know if I really want to go! It's a completely different world, even though it's right next door. And I don't want to leave you..." she looked up at the clear blue sky, it would be a while before it darkened. "Could you come with me?"

"You know what they did to my wings and my mother, I don't think I'll be welcome there." Geto sighed deeply. A few years ago he had told her the fateful story of the day King Stefan invaded the Moors, but he hadn't told her that it was his father who had orchestrated the attack and torn off his wings.

"I know, I just don't want to be away from you."

"Come to me whenever you want, I'll be here waiting for you." Geto gently held the princess' hand and placed the stone from the necklace in her palm. The young woman smiled gently and hugged Suguru until he gasped for breath, drawing a laugh from her.

And Geto, deep in his heart, hoped that she would come back as soon as possible.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

Geto put his hand to his forehead and took a deep breath. He was sitting on a kind of throne made of twisted logs and thorns, the place he usually used for one of his duties as Guardian. The sky was dark and the stars were not visible, and Geto found himself clinging more and more to the mere memories that floated through his mind.

"Geto! Geto!" Dival's desperate voice came from afar in his raven form, flying as fast as he could.

"What now, Dival?" Geto watched as the crow turned into a human in front of him.

"They're invading the Moors!"

"WHAT?!" Suguru quickly got up from his seat, eyes wide with disbelief at the news.

"Your mother's curse somehow came true and King Stefan was furious, he sent troops to attack the Moors, but apparently the wall is keeping them out, but I'm afraid that won't last long."

"The sleep curse has come true..." Geto sighed" Suguru looked at a random spot on the ground, his face blank, "She will sleep forever..."

"Can you wake her?" Dival asked.

"I've tried over the years, when I found out she was the princess my mother cursed, it didn't work."

"Can't you try now that the curse has come true?"

"I could try..." Geto looked at Dival, who seemed to be hiding something, but revealed it by looking for ways to wake the princess. "First we have to get there, then I'll think about waking her."

"You'll have to get past the king's troops first."

"That's the least of the problems, Dival," Geto smiled sideways.

And indeed, the troops of the human army were no match for Geto Suguru's power. With a flick of his finger, the fairy immobilized the soldiers, sending them into a deep sleep until he could reverse the spell. Determined, he made his way to the castle, using his magic to clear the way and avoid any unpleasant and unnecessary conflicts.

"King Stefan..." His voice rang out from the throne room, drawing the king's attention.

"You!" the king said in a voice of disgust.

"Well, I think you know that we have some unresolved issues in the past that make me hold on with all my might so as not to crush that tiny little brain of yours. However, due to the current circumstances, I'd like you to listen to my somewhat irrefutable proposal." Geto's hands closed on the staff that had once belonged to his mother.

"What do you want?"

"Wow, that was pretty quick to convince you..." a sideways smile appeared on Suguru's lips, "If you, noble king, withdraw your troops from the Moor's border of your own free will and never come near my forest again, perhaps I can wake your beloved and sweet daughter."

"Can you wake her?" the king's voice came out choked. In addition to his ego, his daughter's life was at stake.

"Only on my terms!" Suguru lied.

"I promise, I promise to leave your forest alone, just save my daughter!"

"I hope you keep your promise or the consequences will be unimaginable." Geto's voice was firm, "Take me to the princess."

The king, still unsure of his decision, ordered one of his guards to take Geto to where the princess rested in her deep sleep. As the fairy entered the huge, luxurious room, he encountered a figure he didn't like very much. The white-haired boy turned towards Suguru, his hands clenching the wooden staff. Geto's purple eyes met the crystal blue of the stranger he had caught dancing with the princess in the forest not long ago.

"Black hair and a pair of horns? You must be the guardian of the Moors," the blue-eyed boy said.

"Get out of here," Geto said, controlling his tone.

"Wow, the princess said you were kind, I don't see much of that kindness," the boy smiled sideways and crossed his arms in front of him. "I bet your kiss would wake her up..." he muttered to himself, getting ready to leave the room.

"What did you say?" Geto looked at the stranger suspiciously.

"Nothing." The boy smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I have some diplomatic business to attend to with the king."

After the boy left, Geto made his way to the princess's bed, where she slept peacefully. This was not a new sight; they had already fallen asleep by the lake they visited every day ⸻ it seemed like yesterday that Geto was studying the princess's features, memorizing all her curves and smallest details under the starry sky. But unlike the last time they had slept in each other's company, when the first rays of sunlight had awakened him and the princess had cracked a broad smile and wished Suguru a good morning, she wouldn't wake up now, not if the spell wasn't broken. Geto sighed, he had been quietly trying to remove the spell from his mother ever since he had discovered that she was the Princess, Stefan's daughter, but nothing was strong enough to break it. And even now, after years of training and trying to control his power, nothing woke her.

"I'm sorry..." Geto's voice came out lower than usual, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you! It's my fault that I was so weak that none of my attempts to free you from this curse worked. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you needed and be who you wanted, I'm not worthy of having you by my side, not when the only thing that prevails in my heart is hatred. You're too good for this world, too good for me. I wish I could do anything to have you by my side... just once." With a trembling hand, Geto reached for the icy cheek of the sleeping princess and slowly moved closer, touching his lips lightly to hers. He whispered another apology and turned, ready to flee the castle and fortify the wall around Moors, knowing that the king would not let his lies go unchallenged.

"Sugu...?" The weak, sleepy voice of the princess made the fairy stop walking quickly and turn towards the young woman. "You came to see me?"

"I just wanted to see if you arrived safely."

"I just fell asleep..." She sat down on the bed and smiled, "Couldn't you stay a little longer, I want to show you the castle... please."

"Then let's go..." Geto relented.

"Come on, I want you to see everything here!" She smiled openly and hugged Suguru tightly before wrapping her right arm around the fairy's left and leading him through the castle corridors to the throne room where Stefan was.

When they arrived at the scene, the king looked in surprise at his daughter, who was well and awake, and observed the intertwined arms with disgust.

"Arrest him!" the king shouted to the guards, who attacked Suguru, knocking his staff from his hand and binding him to his arm with steel chains, causing the fairy to scream in agony. The princess looked up in horror and saw Geto being carried away, writhing in pain. She tried to save him from the guards, but was stopped by other guards at the king's behest.

"What are you doing?" she looked at the king with watery eyes, "Let him go, please! He hasn't done anything! Please leave him alone!"

"Don't worry, child, I'm just saving our kingdom from this freak!"

"Freak?!" the young woman looked at her parents in disbelief, "He's a living being, just like us! He's never done anything wrong, no evil! Geto Suguru is the kindest person I know, please let him go!"

"HIS MOTHER CURSED YOU, DO YOU THINK I'LL FORGIVE HIS KIND FOR THAT?!"

"How can you blame him when you are the real culprit?"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

"My fairy aunts told me that you stole Geto's wings and killed his mother in an attempt to take over the Moors." Tears streamed down the young woman's face, "How could you dare to do such a cruel thing, he was just a child!"

"WHAT DOES IT MATTER? THEY TOOK YOU AWAY FROM ME!"

"And you took away his mother! Forever!" The princess wiped her tears with her hands and released the guards. "Because of their selfish desires, the Moors are afraid of humans, afraid of losing their families and their freedom, they are not hideous monsters, they have feelings too. And I can't stay in a place and with people who feel entitled to destroy the lives of everything that is different from them!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The princess ran frantically through the castle corridors as she fled from the guards. After arguing with her father, she soon fled the place, determined to find Geto and free him from prison so they could return to Moors. Looking for a place to lose the guards, she entered a dark room and waited for the guards to pass by. When the sound of footsteps quickly faded, she breathed a sigh of relief; now she would have one less problem to worry about when she found Suguru. However, something piqued her interest when she noticed something in the middle of the room. It looked like a cupboard covered with a long, thick, dusty cloth. She approached the object and, without thinking twice, pulled the cloth down, revealing what it was.

The huge glass box allowed her to see inside, and the young woman couldn't hide her surprise when she realized that she was standing in front of Suguru's wings, which had been stolen by her father.

‘They are beautiful...' the young woman thought, staring in wonder at the pair of wings in front of her. However, she quickly snapped out of her trance when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She took a deep breath, picked up the wings, wrapped them in the cloth, and carefully ran to the catacombs where the cells were.

Noticing that no one was in the catacombs, the princess left her wings in a hidden corner and, on tiptoe, picked up the key hanging on the wall near the exit and went to the cell where Geto was.

"Sugu...?" She whispered, searching the darkness for the fairy. When she heard the boy call her name, she let out a relieved sigh and opened the cell, approaching the fairy in the corner, who was writhing in pain, her wrists aching from the handcuffs. Gently, the princess removed the handcuffs and asked him to wait for her while she fetched something. She walked quickly, picking up Geto's wings where she had left them, but the wings seemed to move on their own with each step she took as she approached him. When the wings slipped from her hands and met their true owner, the princess was even more amazed to see Geto with his majestic wings.

"As much as I'd like to admire you longer, I'm afraid we have to leave as soon as possible before they come looking for me here!"

"Why are we running away?"

"I may have had a fight with my father..."

"You did what?" Geto asked incredulously.

"I had a fight with my father after you were taken away, I can't let my father treat you like that."

"You shouldn't have fought with him... not for me. You just came back home, you found your family again..."

"Why don't you let me save you just this once?" the young woman took Geto's hands in her own, "When I arrived here, I must admit I was excited by the idea of a new world, new places to explore and new people to meet, but at no time did I feel like I belonged here, not like I did in Moors. So please, take me home with you..."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Geto asked, trying to hide his happiness at what he had just heard from the princess.

"I am absolutely sure."

"Then let's go home!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The princess clung to Geto as tightly as she could while the fairy flew through the sky as if there was no tomorrow. Over the years, Suguru had resigned himself to never experiencing that feeling of freedom again, but apparently he was wrong. Having his wings again seemed like a dream, and to his happiness, it was a dream come true.

When they arrived in Moors, the princess asked Dival to deliver a letter to the king, saying that she had run away and would return to the forest and live there, where she had always felt at home, but that she could occasionally visit the kingdom and spend time with her biological family if they wanted her around.

"Are you going to fly around all night?" The princess asked with a smile as she watched Geto approach her.

"Maybe, it feels too good to stop."

"Your wings... They are beautiful... may I touch them?"

With a feeling of déjà vu, Geto approached the princess and allowed her to gently run her hand over the black feathers of his wings.

"Thank you... for saving me and for loving me as much as I love you."

"Wha... what?"

"I like you, Suguru. I like you so much that sometimes I feel like my heart will explode if I stay by your side for too long... you're my everything. That's why I want to be selfish and have you by my side until the end of this world."

"Well, I think I'll be more than happy to stay by your side until you don't want me anymore." Geto approached the princess, placing one of his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to his body, while the other rested on her cheek, his thumb making a light circular caress of her skin. Slowly, Suguru brought his lips to hers and gave her a soft kiss, which was immediately returned by the princess. Even though he had dreamed of this moment for a long time, Geto didn't rush into the kiss, but enjoyed and savored every moment that their lips were together, as if they had all the time in the world.

"I love you more than you can imagine..." When they broke apart for lack of air, Geto rested his forehead on hers and smiled openly, it all seemed like a dream and if it turned out to be a dream, he didn't want to wake up ever again. The fairy's hands closed around the young woman's waist and he hugged her tightly, as if she could disappear from his arms at any moment.

"But I love you more." The princess said as she rested her cheek on Suguru's chest and listened to his heartbeat, which was slowing down.

"That's impossible, darling!" Geto smiled openly and kissed the princess's forehead, "But I'll let you believe it is."

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misctf · 5 months

Text

Coach's Curse

Jason could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he propelled himself on his skates. He expertly navigated between his opponents, doing his best to tune out the cheering crowd and the shouting of his teammates. And as Jason reared his hockey stick back and fired the puck forward, he felt as if the world went still. He watched as it sailed through the air- as the goalie attempted to block his shot. But as he watched the puck find the back of the net and the buzzer sound, he could barely believe it.

Jason immediately was tackled by his teammates, all of them cheering and yelling in celebration. He did it. He scored the game winning goal. The championship hockey game- and he scored the game winning point. The next part was a blur. He was in the locker room with his teammates, all of them still basking in their victory. Jason beamed as the victory cowboy hat was placed on his head. There were plans for a big party later that night with a few of the frats and sororities on campus. And Jason couldn’t be more excited. As the winner of the game, he was sure he’d get a few girls in bed that night. But as he thought about the night ahead of him, his coach told everyone to quiet down. As per game tradition, Coach Henderson was giving them a victory speech. But something about the speech was off. It was almost somewhat... dull. Maybe even a hint of sadness. Jason ignored it, thinking it was probably just coach getting all sentimental. Besides, it had been 15 years since coach’s last victory.

“Jason,” His coach’s deep voice boomed through the locker room, “I have your game winning puck in my office. Come with me.”

Jason smirked and followed Henderson out of the locker room and down the corridor lined with old jerseys as his team cheered him on. He remembered his first walk down these halls when he was a freshman, excited to start his time on the team. He never imagined that his college hockey career would end like this.

“Oh Jason.” Coach Henderson mumbled as they entered his office, “I never thought I’d see this day. It’s been so long.”

“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been.” Jason smirked, “We fucking did it.”

Henderson frowned, “You know all those years ago, I didn’t know what to make of it. When I stood in this very room.”

“Yeah but it’s all worth it. Doesn’t matter if it took you fifteen years or whatever to get another one.” Jason frowned as something cool passed through him.

Coach smiled slightly, “At first it didn’t feel like I had a choice. But I think I’m going to miss it.” He took a deep breath, “You see, many years ago the real Coach Henderson put a curse on the team.” The room was silent, with Jason standing and processing the odd statement.

“What are you talking about?” Jason chuckled, “This some kind of joke?”

“It was to teach a douchebag on the team a lesson. But the curse continued even after that.” Jason shuddered as he felt more cool air pass through him, “The winner of the championship game, to prevent them from becoming too full of themselves, would have to become the team’s coach. And lead them to victory.”

Jason could barely process the words as his whole body started to shake violently. He tried to tell Henderson that he wasn’t feeling well, but the words couldn’t leave his mouth. The whole world was starting to spin now and he fell to his knees, shivering as the coldness around him became unbearable. But that’s when he noticed it. He raised his hand and looked, inspecting it closely. The skin of his hand looked more weathered, lighter even. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the hair on it become lighter in color as well.

“I wasn’t always coach.” Henderson said as he raised his hand. Jason’s eyes widened as he watched coach’s hand become more tan, the weathered appearance disappearing, “My name was AJ. But fifteen years ago I scored the game winning goal.”

Jason was unable to respond as the feeling in his skin intensified. He fell to his back and writhed as his body started shifting. He could feel the changes moving up his arm and he forced himself to watch as his biceps expanded at first with muscle. This was soon followed with a thick layer of fat- while the skin became more weathered and tired with age. He looked at his changed arm in horror, feeling the new skin and fat with his other hand.

‘This doesn’t make sense!’ He thought, a feeling of dread passing through him as he saw his other hand begin to change, ‘Curses aren’t real! This isn’t real!’ He looked up at Henderson, who’s arms had lost their fat, replaced instead by strong muscles- muscles that put Jason’s old ones to shame.

And that wasn’t all Jason noticed. Coach’s belly shrunk. And Jason quickly learned what that meant for him. His stomach start to grumble, the sound becoming more and more intense. He looked at Henderson with desperation, silently pleading for help, but found his coach frowning at him. Jason let out a belch and a thin layer of fat covered his lean abdomen and chest. Another belch and now a slight pudge graced his features. And with each belch Jason’s abdomen expanded and expanded. And with one final loud belch, Jason could feel his stomach reach its final size. At the same time, his lean chest pushed out with fat and muscle, jiggling slightly as he moved. Jason cringed at this foreign feeling. At this new heaviness that he never appreciated in his life. Ever since he was young, he was lean and in shape. Years of practice and playing hockey gifted him with his physique. And he shuddered at the realization it only took a few minutes to reverse that entirely. He pushed himself into a sitting position and watched as his gut fell into his lap. Jason placed a hand on his belly and frowned. It really was his. It was real. He looked up at Henderson, who was running a hand over his perfect abdominal muscles. The two met each other’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Henderson whispered, running a hand over his head as blond locks started to sprout.

Jason copied the motion, running a hand through his black hair and knocking his victory hat off. As his hand moved through his hair though, clumps of it began to fall out and disappear into nothingness. At this point, a few tears fall from his eyes and onto his plump abdomen. He cherished his hair- always making sure to style it and keep it well maintained. He loved when chicks ran their hands through it. But now it was gone, replaced by the same buzz cut that Coach Henderson sported. And as he looked up at Henderson, who’s neck fat receded and face became more angular, Jason knew that his face was changing. Fat filling his angular face. His neck disappearing under a layer of chub.

“I know I shouldn’t brag.” Henderson- or AJ said, feeling his face with a grin, “But it really feels nice to be back.” He rubbed at the goatee that still adorned his face, which quickly began to fall away with each touch.

Jason’s hand shot to his new face and frowned as he felt hair sprout from his upper lip and chin. He liked to be clean shaven. But just like that, his face was now adorned with his new facial hair. And that’s when he noticed an itchiness move across his chubby body. The small amount of body hair he did have already started to fill in more, blanketing his chest and flabby belly in a nice coat of hair. He watched as his treasure trail grew with hairs sprouting along the sides of it. It crawled up his abdomen until it reached his chest, which then erupted in a dense layer of hair before expanding out and coating the remainder of his chest. Jason rubbed a hand through it, wincing at the feeling. And as he looked down at himself, still trying to process that this was real- that this was him- AJ extended his hand.

“Here coach.” AJ said calmly. Jason frowned and grabbed AJ’s hand, allowing the younger man to help him up. As he stood up, he shuddered as his ass jiggled with its new padding, “I know this is a lot to process.” AJ’s voice was less gruff now, a youthful tone now escaping his lips, “But I’ve told you what you need to know. You’re Coach Henderson now, at least until some other poor guy wins the championship game. But until then you’ve gotta coach them, got it?”

Jason’s eyes were wide, unable to fully process any of this. He was going to stay stuck like this? Until the team won a championship? It took fifteen years... would he be like this for the next fifteen years?

“No fucking way.” Jason winced at how deep and gruff his voice had become, “No, turn me the fuck back. I just won the game. There’s no way...”

“No, I just won the game.” AJ replied, placing the victory hat on his head, “From this point on, Jason never existed... at least until the next time this team takes home the championship. People will think I won the game tonight.”

“But my friends? My family? What...?”

“Everything will return to normal when you lead the team to victory, okay Jason? Until then, you have all the tools you need. All the basic memories to get by day to day.” AJ smiled, “Use those memories of who you were to motivate you. That’s what I needed to do. But from this moment on, you’re Coach Henderson. It’s easier if you accept that.”

Before Jason could reply, his former teammates called out for AJ. The hockey star gave Jason a smile and a nod, before heading out to celebrate his victory with the team. Jason could only stand there, in the quiet of his new office, the thrill of his victory turning into despair.

_______________________

Coach Henderson yawned as he pushed himself out of bed, careful not to wake the naked bear of a man sleeping next to him. He trudged through his apartment, scratching at his hairy chest and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As he walked, he kicked a few beer bottles out of his way, barely acknowledging the messy state of his apartment. He plopped down at his computer, looking over briefly at a team photo. One where AJ proudly stood with their championship trophy. A photo taken about 16 years ago. Henderson turned his attention back to his computer, looking at the roster of new players that would be joining the team for the season. They looked promising- maybe just maybe this was the year.

He quickly shut his laptop and yawned- he always thought that. That hope that this year would be the year. Why should he think this year would be different? He stepped into his bathroom and looked at himself over in the mirror. Sixteen years looking like this- didn’t matter if he shaved, exercised, drank- his appearance remained unchanged. He let out a belch and frowned. He barely remembered his life as Jason or what he used to look like. It got to a point where he was starting to wonder if he was ever anyone else. And he stopped even thinking of himself as Jason. And maybe that was for the best. He could feel the magic that changed him feeding off his doubt, cementing itself. He wondered what would happen if he just let it completely win.

“You could...” A voice whispered in the back of his head, “Live the rest of your out as me.” It echoed, “Become me fully.”

Henderson shook his head, and those thoughts became quieter. But soon another voice filled the room. One asking how he was doing and if he was excited for the year. One belonging to another man, who wrapped his arms around Henderson and gave him a kiss. A man that Jason would’ve never considered, but as Henderson couldn’t help it. And so maybe if this year didn’t end in victory, Henderson would have to take the voice in his head up on its offer. Maybe that was all he would need in the end to win anyway.

#male tf #straight to gay #male transformation #age progression

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queenimmadolla · 1 year

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat.

Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her.

And a large hole in their wallet.

“It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

“This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

“You got a number we can reach you at?”

You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along.

“Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

God, I hope so.

The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

You’d learned. Eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed.

Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

─

Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door.

“Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

“Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

“A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

“Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something.

“What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

“Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group.

Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

“I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more.

A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles.

Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling.

That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh.

It’s intimidating.

They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

“Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

“Yup.”

“See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

“I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them.

People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

Someday, that would be you.

You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last.

Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

“Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

“Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

“Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

Someone who looked like their art.

You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

“Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

Professionalism, he reminded himself.

“Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

“Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room.

On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

“Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

Sure you haven’t.

“Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

“You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

He had no idea how right he was.

“The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

“And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

“But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

“You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

“Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack.

“Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

“Did your tattoos hurt?”

Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

“A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

“Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

He was getting hard.

Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

“What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

“That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

“Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

“Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

“Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

“Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Me.”

Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

“So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face.

You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!”

He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

“You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

“Wait—this is paid?”

“Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you.

You’d have time to get there.

“Hey, Deidre.”

“Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

“We’ll see you soon?”

“Damn straight.”

Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

“Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

“Are you offering yours?”

She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

“Mmm, not just my hand.”

All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick.

#tattoo artist!eddie munson x apprentice!reader #tattoo artist!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #he's older than me so im counting it #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #bimbo!reader #eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Between the Lines

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awesumsaus · 5 months

Text

cave

wc: 6.5k

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

part two of pretty when I cry

summary: Ever the man of his word, your boyfriend Joel finally fulfills your need to have him claim that secret little part of you.

a/n: welcome back besties. thank you so much to everyone that checked out part one, I seriously can’t believe the response it’s gotten. again please heed the warnings and skip of you don’t think this is for you. otherwise hope y’all enjoy my absolutely depraved writing

warnings/tags: explicit 18+ (minors dni), no outbreak au, softdom!joel, very needy/emotional reader, joel can pick reader up (I’m convinced this man could lift anyone), smut smut smut literal porn (ok a TINY bit of plot), established relationship, age gap (not really mentioned in this one), so much daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, tiny bit of degradation kink, whole lot of praise kink, joel tummy™️, spanking, unprotected pinv, oral (m receiving), plug use, ass eating (brief), anal sex, subspace, joel is still a consent king, fluffy aftercare (these bitches are in love)

It wasn’t until two weeks later that either of you brought it up. You’d been thinking about it, that morning, admittedly far too often. The way his fingers and tongue explored the very hidden spots of your body, pushed the limit of what you can and can’t handle. But you couldn’t ask him, couldn’t be the first one to bring it up. It was the game the two of you played, you being far too shy to voice this filthy little need, and Joel far too teasing to give it up without you asking.

But it was becoming unbearable, thoughts of him arising at the most inopportune times, whether that be when you were laying in bed at home, alone while Joel was working a double shift, or at work when there were millions of other tasks you should be focusing on, but all you could think about was your boyfriend finally claiming that secret little part of you.

And so tonight you’d decided to put an end to your suffering, devising your own little plan to set things in motion, one that you were comfortable with, and that you knew Joel wouldn’t object to.

The two of you were getting ready, having made plans to meet Joel’s brother for dinner at 7. It was already 6:30 by the time you finished your hair, still dressed in nothing but one of Joel’s t-shirts and a lacy thong. Usually, your lateness was just a result of you losing track of time, trying to tame flyaways, or pausing to belt out one of the songs that came up on your playlist. Little did Joel know that this time around you were stalling, working up the courage to present him with your latest purchase.

You glance over to the open vanity drawer, and a tinge of excitement spreads up your spine when you see it. A small thing, silver all except for the red heart-shaped jewel at the end of it. You reach for it, the metal cold against your fingertips, a contrast to the heat that spreads up your neck at the thought of what comes next.

Running your hands through your hair one last time, you exit the bathroom to see Joel, fully dressed and rummaging through one of his dresser drawers. The way the fabric of his dark green sweater stretches around his broad shoulders makes your stomach flip.

You pad over to him, hands held behind your back, clearing your throat and he turns. He immediately registers the hesitance in your movements. “I um- I got you something.” You look up at him through your lashes, putting on your most innocent guise.

“S’ that right?” He quirks an eyebrow, already holding back a smirk. His focus turns to his wrist, snapping in place the silver band of the watch you’d gifted him this past Christmas. It was a simple thing, nothing too fancy. You would’ve gotten him something nicer, something more high-end, but the year-end bonus you’d been hoping for never came. Still, Joel insisted that it was the greatest gift he’d ever been given, bullshit, but it still put a smile on your face whenever he wore it.

“You promise you won’t laugh?” His smirk widens.

“Why would I laugh?”

“Just promise!” You frown at him before giving his chest a little shove, but he’s quick to respond, grabbing your wrist and pulling, closing the space between you.

“Promise.” You say it softer this time, looking up at him, ignoring the way your thighs instinctively clench from how far you have to bend your neck just to meet his gaze.

“I promise.” He plants a kiss on your forehead, his expression softening. “I won’t laugh.”

And he doesn’t. In fact, his smirk falls completely when you reveal what’s in your free hand, extending your palm to him. He takes it from you, turning it over in his fingers, something darkens in his eyes.

“Dirty little girl,” he says under his breath, his attention still focused on the small metal plug in his hand. He turns away from you for only a moment to grab his phone from the dresser.

“What are you doing?”

“Textin’ Tommy that we’re gonna be late,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No wait, I’ll be quick. I’m almost ready-“

“Uh-uh, baby.” He takes exacting steps towards you, forcing you to retreat backward, nearly falling over when your calves meet the edge of his bed. “Not goin’ anywhere yet.” He swiftly turns you, manhandling you against his chest, and dips his mouth to your ear. “Bend over.”

A shiver runs down your spine, yet you can’t ignore the heat continuing to spread across your face. “R-right now? Joel, are you serious?”

“You bet I am.” His hand comes down with a firm slap to your ass and you gasp, the arm he’s looped around your midsection keeping you from falling forward onto the bed. Wet drips from your core when he does the same to the other side. “Thought you were gonna get away with this, baby? F’ you’re gonna act like a fucking whore, I’m gonna treat you like one. Bend over.”

You shudder slightly at his words, but do as he says, slowly lowering your upper half, whining when he pushes you the last few inches, your brain already gone fuzzy from the roughness of his movements. A part of you expected this, knew that Joel wouldn’t accept your gift and just move on with the rest of the night. So it’s no surprise that when he pulls your thong to the side, your pussy is already glistening with slick.

“Jesus, baby,” he lets out a breath behind you, running his knuckles along your seam making you shiver. “Always so fucking wet, so ready f’ me.”

“Just for you, Daddy,” you sigh against the mattress, rocking your lower half back, seeking friction.

Joel lets out a strangled grunt from behind you, one hand squeezing your ass cheek. It’s taking everything in him not to ruin you right then and there, but he restrains himself, knowing that the two of you wouldn’t make it out the front door if he gave in.

You suck in a breath when the cold metal presses against your cunt, slipping through your folds with ease, gathering slick. “Gonna be able to behave yourself at dinner, baby? Don’t want Tommy gettin’ suspicious.”

You whimper slightly as the tip presses into the cleft of your ass, squirming at the action and the almost belittling tone of his voice. “Don’t want him to know how much of a goddamn slut you are for me, huh?” He delivers another stinging slap just as the plug breaches your tight hole. “Answer me.”

“I-I’ll behave!” The words tumble from your mouth. “I’ll be good, daddy- p-promise.”

“I know, baby. Always such a good girl f’ me.” His words are so dizzying you don’t even realize that he’s fitted the plug completely inside of you until his knuckles graze your ass. It’s not what you had expected, not painful or uncomfortable in any way. It feels good, being this full, the slight stretch making your lower half shake with anticipation.

“That feel okay, pretty girl?” His voice softens the same way it always does when he’s checking in with you.

“Mhm,” you nod against the mattress, a content smile spread across your face.

“Good. Now go get dressed ‘fore Tommy starts askin’ questions.”

He plants one last slap on your bottom, softer than the others, but the way it reverberates across your skin and through the toy now deep inside you makes you gasp, your senses now on high alert. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

You make it through the better part of dinner without any slip-ups, just a regular evening with your boyfriend and his brother who you’ve come to befriend over your time knowing him.

You’re barely paying attention, focused on the story Tommy is telling when Joel curves a finger through the back loop of your jeans and pulls. You choke on your water at the sudden feeling, the seam of your jeans digging into you, pressing tightly against the toy you’d nearly forgotten about at this point. Something white-hot shoots up your spine and settles in your lower belly. Tommy pauses and shoots you a worried look as you cough unexpectedly, obviously unaware of Joel’s actions. You notice Joel holding back a smirk from the corner of your eye.

“Woah- hey, ya alright darlin’?” Tommy asks, looking to Joel who’s started patting your back softly, a forced expression of concern written across his features. It takes everything in you not to slap the look right off his face then and there.

“I’m fine, yeah- sorry.” You try to ignore the obvious blush spreading across your cheeks, still attempting to catch your breath while also fighting against the growing heat pulsing through your core.

“You sure, honey? You’re all flushed,” Joel says.

“Said I’m fine,” you almost snap at Joel, immediately regretting your tone when he shoots you a warning look, a brow raised as if daring you to continue.

“Sorry, Tommy.” You turn to the younger Miller, disregarding the way Joel’s palm has started kneading the flesh of your lower back, only making your head spin more. “Please go on. I’m alright.” He looks between the two of you a bit hesitantly for only a moment before continuing his story.

And suddenly it’s all you can think about, the feeling of the plug pressing into your most sensitive spots, the fullness of it all, only made worse by Joel’s continuous teasing, his seemingly harmless touching.

When you finally make it to Joel’s truck after bidding Tommy goodnight, you’re an absolute mess. Practically soaked through your panties, squirming against the leather of your seat. And Joel knows, revels in it, confirmed by the shit-eating grin he exhibits the entire ride home, while his hand softly grips the plushness of your thigh, only deepening your need.

You’re on him as soon as you pass the threshold of his front door, clawing at his chest, a rabid little thing. He appeases you almost instinctively, pushing you against the opposite wall and pinning your wrists by your head as he roughly presses his mouth to yours. You writhe against his grip, whimpering when he takes his free hand to angle your jaw upward, giving his tongue access to plunge deep into your mouth. You hook a leg around his waist, grinding against his thigh, and finally, a tiny ounce of your ache dissipates.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel removes himself from you, turning away and walking into the living room. He plops down on the couch, kicking his shoes off and leaning back against the cushions. The look on his face is maddening, cocky son of a bitch.

“C’mere,” he says from his seat on the couch, his legs spread wide. If you weren’t so painfully desperate you’d refuse him for being so smug, but luckily for Joel, you need him about as much as you need air to breathe in this moment.

You can’t help but eye the growing tightness in his jeans as you approach him, the sight making you a little dizzy in your movements. He stops you when you attempt to straddle him, placing a hand firmly on your lower belly, and looking up at you with a devilish smile. He toys with the hem of your shirt between his fingers. Off. It’s all the command you need before crossing your arms over your body and lifting the fabric from your torso.

Your shirt’s not even pulled over your head before his deft fingers are unbuttoning your pants and tugging them along with your panties down to your ankles. He leans forward, gripping your calf, and helps you step out of them, popping your shoes off in the process, and quickly tosses your clothes aside. His hand travels up your leg, sending goosebumps across your bare skin. A small yelp escapes your lips when he pulls you onto his lap by the back of your thigh, but you quickly melt into him as your knees sink into the couch on either side of him.

He runs his hands up and down your sides and you shiver. “So sensitive, baby,” he tsks. You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks from your desperation. It was pathetic really, how much you need him in this moment, how much your body craved even his lightest touch. It was pathetic really, how much of your need now dripped onto his still-clothed crotch, soaking through the material.

His hands move to cup your tits, thumbing your already peaked nipples through the thin fabric before expertly unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothing. You’re suddenly all too aware of how clothed Joel is, a stark contrast to your naked form, yet the image sends another wave of slick weeping from your core. You allow your head to fall forward onto his shoulder, mouthing at his sweater to muffle your cries, when he tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers.

“Sh, I know. I’ve got you, little one.” He continues his slow torment, smoothing his hands along your bare skin, his smirk growing with each of your whines and whimpers. You’re like putty in his hands, completely at his mercy, a plaything for him to do with what he pleases. Your breath hitches when his hands travel to your ass, two of his fingers pressing lightly against the now exposed plug, sending a jolt through your whole body.

He brings his mouth to your ear, nips at it, before whispering “You want me to fuck you here, baby?“ He says it like a secret, only for the two of you to ever hear. That’s when everything starts to ache, the feeling in your lower belly so warm and unfurling, that you fear you may start sobbing if he doesn’t end his teasing soon.

“Please, daddy.” You sniffle into the spot connecting his neck and shoulder. “Want it so bad, please.”

“Such good manners, baby.” One of his hands slides up your back to the nape of your neck where he grips you, pulling you back to meet his gaze. “M’ gonna give you what you want, sweet girl.” Your heart rate quickens, excitement bubbling in your chest.

“But not tonight.”

And just like that your heart sinks, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes at his sudden declination. You’d feel foolish for it, overly emotional if it wasn’t Joel’s lap you were sitting on. He knows how you get, how reactive you can be, especially when you have your heart set on something. You shake your head and lean away from him, your eyes casting down to your lap, shame beginning to bubble in your chest. You have the sudden urge to cover yourself, wrapping your arms around your chest, a little voice in the back of your head telling you that it’s your fault, that you’d done something wrong to make him deny you, deny himself, of this.

“Hey,” he says it so so softly. His hands run up and down your biceps, as if he’s attempting to pull your focus from the insecurities he knows are settling in your brain “I’m not doing this to punish you, understand?” You sniffle again, a tear threatens to fall from your lower lashes.

“Look at me,” he says sternly. You reluctantly meet his gaze. “Tell me you understand.”

You want to shake your head no, want to beg him to change his mind, whine and pout until he gives you what you want, but as much as you know Joel’s a man of his word, you also know he’s nearly impossible to sway once his mind is made up.

“I understand.”

“Good.”

He gives you a moment to collect yourself, thumbing your tears away and pulling you back against his chest. You unwrap your arms from yourself, instead latching them around Joel’s neck. “I’m gonna give you what you want, baby. Just gotta have some patience. Want this to be good for you.” He rubs your back soothingly, kissing your temple. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You can’t help the huff that escapes your lips at his words, because you like the hurt. Like being subject to his each and every desire, surrendered entirely to his control. Joel knows this, knew this from the first time you’d slipped and called him daddy while he fucked you into his kitchen counter, knew this when the next morning he caught you in his bathroom mirror, smiling at the finger-shaped bruises burgeoning across the flesh of your hips.

Joel knows you like the hurt, and part of him can’t deny how utterly irresistible he finds you when you beg him to push just a little further, to be a little rougher. But he also knows where to draw the line, never inflicting enough pain to outweigh the pleasure he brings you. He’s had experience with establishing this limit, but never in past relationships had he found anyone to be as persistent as you, as stubborn, as needy. And though it isn’t always obvious, he needs you just the same. It’s what frustrates him the most, not your neediness, but the way in which it clouds his judgement, makes him forget how fragile you can be. So he wouldn’t, not tonight, not until he’s certain you won’t break.

“Poor baby,” he coos when you grind down on his bulge, the rough fabric against your soft folds making you gasp. “I know you’re not used to being told no, huh?”

You let out a squeaking whine when you feel the rough skin of his hand cup the entirety of your sex. You instinctively buck into his touch.

“You want daddy to take care ‘a this for you?”

“Mhm, please,” nodding your head against his chest. You almost cry when the pad of his finger finds your clit, swiping two delicate circles before pulling away.

“Sh sh, I’ve got you, honey.” He lifts you slightly off his lap, a strangled sound erupting from your throat at the loss of contact, but he makes quick work with his zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to free his fully hardened cock, red and pulsing in his grip.

“Come sit on daddy’s cock, baby.” His eyes glass over as he pumps his length once, twice before urging you forward. He taps the wide tip against your clit a few times and you swear you could come just from that before he’s lining up with your entrance, coating himself with your slick.

He lets you go at your own pace, loosening his grip on your waist as you begin to sink down on him, inch by inch. He’d usually stretch you first, make you come around his fingers once or twice before letting you take him in his entirety. But not tonight, not with the steady flow of slick that’s been gushing from your heat all night.

You shudder once he’s fully sheathed inside you, your clit twitching against his pelvis. He lets you adjust, squirm a bit in his lap, before he’s bucking up into you, a bit of his own impatience beginning to show.

As much as you’ve needed Joel all night, you know his teasing has had its own effect on him. He’s been itching to be inside you since the moment you presented him with your little gift, it was all he could think about the entire evening, so it comes as no surprise that his movements quickly grow hurried. He fucks up into you at a frantic pace, meeting your little bounces with increasing force.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. The combination of his cock pumping deep inside you and the toy sitting snug inside your asshole. It’s overwhelming, nerve endings you didn’t even know existed now buzzing within you. It’s only mere minutes before you’re clenching around him, right on the edge of release.

“Little cunt’s huggin’ me so tight, baby,” Joel pants, his movements stuttering.

“Daddy-“ you gasp, “m’ ngh m’ gonna cum.”

“Fuck- that’s it baby,” he babbles, his fingers move to messily rub your clit. “That’s it pretty girl. Want you to cum on my cock then I’ll fill you up, yeah? So fucking full, baby. C’mon, cum for daddy.”

Your entire body convulses against him as you reach your peak, strings of curses and incoherent sounds slipping between your lips. Everything turns white behind your eyes, every inch of your skin on fire. He only fucks you harder, rubs his fingers against your clit faster. You don’t even realize you’re on the cusp of a second orgasm until he’s pressing his free hand against the heart-shaped jewel still sticking out of your ass, hitting something deep inside of you. Then you’re crashing down once more, sobbing as your grip tightens around his neck, completely enraptured in the feeling as he fucks up into you.

“Good fuckin’ girl-“ a groan sounds from deep within his chest, a few more bucks of his hips before he cums, spilling into you with a slew of grunts and unintelligible praises. He only lets up once you’ve milked him dry, a combination of both your releases coating his length and further soaking his jeans.

Joel comes back to earth first after he’s caught his breath and carefully pulled out of you. He stands and rids himself of his damp clothes, now just as bare you are, before wrapping his thick arms around you and pulling you from the couch.

Later, after you’re both showered and Joel makes you a cup of your favorite tea, the two of you lay in bed, your head resting against his chest, tracing a finger along the broad expanse of him. You’ve committed just about every mark and freckle to memory by now from this exact spot. His hand lazily runs up and down your spine, as you mull over where things will go from here.

A week. You talked him into a week. A week of doing exactly as he says, with no attempting to convince him otherwise. You’ll wear the plug when he tells you to, for as long as he tells you to. A week and then he’ll divulge that secret little part of you that he’s yet to claim.

Joel lasts till Thursday.

He’s done for the moment he arrives home from work to you sprawled across his bed, book in hand, with nothing on but a tight-fitting t-shirt and a barely-there thong. You knew what you were doing, knew it was exactly what Joel told you not to do, tempting him to go back on his word and cave. You notice his eyes darken the moment he enters the bedroom, his gaze falling to the red heart poking through the fabric of your panties. The same one he stuffed inside you before sending you off to work this morning, the one you were sorely reminded of every time you shifted too quickly in your desk chair.

“Hey baby,” you smile sweetly at him. You swear you hear him grumble as he makes his way to the closet, pulling his sweaty work shirt off and tossing it into the hamper. You mark your page and set your book aside before stretching out across the comforter like a cat in the sun. The muscles in Joel’s shoulders tense when a soft sigh slips from your lips.

You nearly skip over to him, wrapping your arms around his midsection before he has the chance to pull on a clean shirt. He lets out a heavy breath at the feeling of your small fingers splaying across his bare stomach.

“How was your day?” you ask, pressing against him more firmly, your head resting below his shoulder blades.

“Fine,” he responds, his tone suspecting. You feel his breath catch as you press small kisses to his spine.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today,” your voice goes softer, a hidden plea behind your words.

“S’ that right?” His severity wanes, an opening.

“Mhm,” you hum against him, dragging your blunt nails across his skin. “Need you so bad, Daddy.”

“‘M right here, baby.” He pretends to not know what you’re talking about, unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops, acting like your fingers aren’t dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans. You know he can see right through you, has always seen right through you, his refusal to admit it in this moment only makes your need deepen.

“Please, Joel,” you whine softly, errant fingertips dipping just below the waistband of his boxers. “I almost started touching myself in the bathroom today.” Your cheeks flush red at the confession, a low groan escapes Joel’s throat. “Every time I felt it, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wish it was your co-“

You let out a small gasp when he snatches your wrist. He pauses, so still you begin to worry you’ve upset him, that you’ve pushed him too far. But then something shifts.

Fuck it. His mouth is on you in seconds, his tongue immediately gaining access as you melt into him. It’s dizzying, one of his hands grabbing you just below your jaw, the other squeezing your ass cheek roughly. Your knees buckle just as he’s turning you around and practically throwing you onto the bed. You don’t even have time to lift your head off the mattress before he’s yanking your panties over your ass and easing the plug out of your hole. He’s quick with it, your body shivering as the cool metal slides through you, leaving an empty feeling in its wake, but it doesn’t last for long as Joel licks a broad strip through your seam to your asshole. He presses his tongue there, gauging your reaction before he’s licking into you, spreading you with his hands. At first, you squirm away, the feeling of him eating at you like this entirely foreign. But then you're rocking back into him, completely lost in the rush of his mouth against your asshole. Sounds you never knew yourself capable of filling the room as his tongue repeatedly dives into the ring of muscle.

A strangled moan leaves your lips when he pauses, you crane your neck just in time to see a string of saliva drip from his mouth directly between your ass cheeks. He rubs it into you, pushing his thumb through the ring of muscle making you whimper.

“What d’you want?” His voice is low. His thumb starts pumping in and out of you, fast and unrelenting.

“Daddy,” you whine, burying your burning-hot cheeks into his pillow.

“Gonna need better than that,” he tsks, rutting his bulge into your heat. “Or else I’ll have t’ take care a’ this myself. Tie you up and make you watch.”

“Ngh, Daddy,” you moan, face burning impossibly warmer. His thumb slows, giving you a moment of reprieve to gather your thoughts.

“Want you t’ fuck my ass- wanna feel you.”

“Jesus-“ With his hand coming down to grip your neck, he suddenly pins you to the mattress, muttering a short stay before you feel his weight lift from the bed. You hear the sound of his zipper undoing and catch him fisting himself in the corner of your eye. Your thighs tremble with anticipation as he moves to the side of the bed, planting a knee by your shoulder. Then he’s towering over you, his weeping cock right at your eye line, your cheek still pushed against the mattress, ass in the air. He looks so powerful like this, so broad and so commanding, so when he tells you to open your mouth, you don’t even have to think twice.

“Gonna get daddy’s dick nice n’ wet, baby.” Saliva pools in your mouth, threatening to drip onto the bed when you stick your tongue out. “Then ‘m gonna wedge my cock in this tight little hole. How’s that sound?” You jolt forward when the pad of his index finger pushes into you.

“Please Daddy,” you whine. He removes his hand, immediately wrapping it around the back of your skull, his fingers tangled in your hair. His other hand grips the base of his length, tapping the red-flushed tip on your tongue a few times before pushing all the way into your mouth in one swift motion, your nose scratching against the coarse hairs at his pelvis. It had taken you months to work up to it, taking him in his entirety. The first time you blew him you’d barely been able to make it halfway down his cock before you were gagging, but not now. Now you take everything he gives you, like he’s molded your throat to the shape of him.

“This mouth-“ he’s cut off by his own moans, erupting from deep within his chest. “Fuckin’ heaven, baby.”

Tears quickly prick in the corners of your eyes as he continues his assault on your throat. A breathy moan slips from his mouth when you gag around his length after an especially forceful thrust of his hips.

His pace slows as he thumbs away your tears. “Daddy’s been so mean, huh little one? Makin’ you wait all this time.”

You whine around his dick, the vibrations making Joel’s breath catch in the back of his throat.

“You like when I’m mean though, don’t you? Like when daddy treats you like the little slut you are?” He delivers a harsh smack to your ass just as he pulls away from your mouth, leaving you sputtering and gasping for air. He moves to open the nightstand drawer, quickly retrieving a bottle of lube before rounding the corner of the bed, towering over you from behind.

“Don’t need it,” you whine, head still foggy from the lack of oxygen.

“Quiet little girl.” He softly swats your ass before you hear the disappointing sound of the bottle opening, followed by the cool sensation of the liquid hitting your exposed hole. He rubs it into you, letting out a satisfied hum when he presses his thumb into your asshole with ease. And then his cock is lining up with you, it’s so fucking big, so much bigger than the plug, a small part of you starts to worry it may not fit, may be too painful.

Like always, Joel senses your apprehension, running his large palm soothingly down your spine as he leans over you. You feel his warm breath hit your ear.

“You tell me if it’s too much, yeah baby?” He says it only slightly above a whisper. “M’ only gonna enjoy this if you do too.”

You nod against the sheets, immediately recognizing that the action won’t be enough for Joel. “Yes, Daddy.” You crane your neck to look at him, eyes hooded and dazed. Something flashes in his expression, beyond simple desire, a need suddenly so evident in his eyes that you’d sit up and kiss him until your lips were raw if he wasn’t pushing the tip of his thick cock inside you.

It’s so much. Even just the first inch is blinding, your vision going blurred and your senses entirely rapt with the feeling. The hurt is overwhelming, the stretch all-consuming, but it’s so good, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

He pushes in another inch and the pain dissipates, in its place a euphoric haze, where all you can feel is him, his weight driving you into the mattress, his hips rocking against your ass. You see stars once he’s fitted inside you, never having felt this full.

The noises Joel is making are almost pained, his cock throbbing from the tightness of your hole, all the restraint left in him keeping him from setting a brutal pace. No, instead he moves slow, focused intently on not blowing his load every time you squeeze around him, listening to your little moans and whimpers for any signs of unease.

“It’s a lot baby, I know,” he pants. “But you’re doin’ so good.” His praises have you reeling, furthering your dazed state. “Look so goddamn perfect takin’ all a’ me like this.”

You don’t even know what to say, all you know is that you need more, entirely lost in the feeling. You’re always insatiable, greedy, whenever it comes to Joel, and he knows, revels in the fact that he’s the one that gets to have you like this, makes you feel like this.

You’re not even sure what you’re saying at this point, what sounds are falling from your mouth, just that Joel takes it as a sign to pick up his pace. It brings you back to earth a bit, your lower belly going taught at the force of his body against your own.

You’re crying out against the mattress, small fingers twisting in the sheets, tears forming a wet spot beneath your chin.

“Fuck, baby c’mere.” He suddenly pulls out of you with a heady groan and wastes no time flipping you over. He’s pushing back inside you in seconds, resuming his vigorous pace.

“Wanna see you when I come in this perfect fuckin’ ass.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his words, your entire body going limp against the mattress as he uses you. When his thumb finds your clit you’re done for. The messy circles he makes send you hurtling right to the edge. With a near-scream, every part of your body goes taut for a moment before your release is shattering through every inch of your body, bursting from your core like shock waves.

“Fuck, fuck-“ he’s repeating over and over as his own climax hits him, but you can’t even hear him, can only feel him, his body thrusting into you, pushing you impossibly further into the mattress, his hands gripping the hinge of your hips, his warm release shooting deep inside you. It’s the only thing keeping you here, prevailing against the potent haze.

With one final grunt, he stills, his breathing ragged and sweat dripping from his forehead. You can barely move, still dazed as he pulls out of you slowly, the emptiness in its wake further graying your awareness of reality.

You lift a shaking hand, attempting to grab at whatever part of him you can reach. “Daddy-“

He leans forward, carefully caging you in his arms. “I’m here baby, you’re okay.”

“‘M okay,” you mumble sweetly. He brings one of his hands to your hair, gently running his fingers along your scalp in a way that makes your thoughts even more fuzzy. But the heaviness of his chest against your own keeps you there, keeps you present.

“You did so good f’ me, I’m so proud a’ you.” A tired smile spreads across your face at his words. He knows the effect they have on you, which is probably why he says it. But the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell.

“My pretty baby,” he kisses you softly, and you further melt into his embrace, inhaling his familiar scent, musky and woody with something distinctly Joel. The two of you stay like this for a moment, your arms and legs wrapped around his large form, what little remains of your strength focused on keeping him in place, chest to chest, a comforting pressure.

“How do you feel, baby? You hurtin’ anywhere?” He says it against your neck, placing soft kisses to the skin there.

“Mm”, you hum, denying, still detached from your own body, not fully registering the slight tinges of hurt spreading throughout your lower half, completely consumed with the man in front of you, the smell of his sweat still glistening across his chest, the weight of his softened cock still pulsing and twitching against your thigh. He’s everywhere, everything in this moment.

He pulls away just enough to kiss the tip of your nose. “How ‘bout a bath yeah?” You hum in agreement, let him unwrap himself from your hold, and stand at the edge of the bed before he’s snaking an arm under your knees and back and lifting you. You instinctively curl your face into his neck, still wet with sweat but you don’t mind, nearly your whole body already covered in him.

He sets you down on the toilet seat before moving to turn the water on, making sure it’s warm enough before plugging the drain. You sway a bit in place, thankful when Joel wraps an arm around your back to steady you. Usually by now the haze will have lifted a bit, no longer in this headspace, yet still your brain is a bit fuzzy, your thoughts and senses dulled.

You look up at Joel when you feel his thick fingers card through your hair, unsure of when he’d gone to grab one of your hair elastics. As he gathers the strands together, you lean into him, your head resting just below his belly button, on the plush flesh of his tummy, smattered with course hairs trailing down to the base of his cock. You nuzzle into the spot, breathing him in, fully content in this moment. You feel the muscle tighten when you start to press small kisses to it. He firmly grips your now fully formed ponytail when your mouth wanders south, interrupting your descent, and you whine.

“Settle.” You let out a short huff of breath and bring your gaze to his, resting your chin on his stomach as he loosens his grip on your hair. He shakes his head at you, holding back a smile as he finishes tying your hair back.

He helps you step into the tub first, guiding you to sit, before he slots himself behind you with a grunt. He pulls you against him, arms wrapped around your tummy and chin resting on your shoulder. You giggle softly when the hairs of his mustache tickle behind your ear.

He lets you sit against him for a moment before he insists on cleaning you up, lathering his soap between his hands and smoothing it along your soft skin. You start to doze off from the feeling, Joel keeping you upright against his chest. Only after the water begins to cool and your fingertips have turned pruney, Joel helps you step out of the tub, wrapping you in a towel before you start to shiver. He kisses you then, soft and slow like he could stay like this with you forever. And you would, if he wasn’t ushering you back into the bedroom, telling you to get in bed and that he’d be right back.

He makes you drink a glass of water before taking his place behind you on the bed, his back to the headboard and the small bowl of your skull cradled against his chest. You slowly drift off to the steady beat of his heart.

I have so many ideas for these two so lmk if we want to see more ;]

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller au #tlou au #joel miller fanfiction #part two

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