#I HAVE TO FIX MY LINKS.... we might be back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hiraiologist · 2 months

Text

keep you in my mouth (and hope to never take you out)

hirai momo x f!reader

synopsis: at first it’s a party. then it’s a study session. then it’s like you’re addicted to her, and you find yourself caught up in everything that is hirai momo.

tags/warnings: ambiguous location but college/university setting, alcohol, drugs, parties, mentions of throwing up, smut (strap, cunnilingus, overstimulation, begging), fluff!, light degradation (reader is referred to as whore and slut lul), friends to lovers, switch!momo ??? idk but momo’s the best girl :]

a/n: i haven’t written for fun in… over 5 years? not since i was in high school… so i'm extremely out of practice SORRY! i’ve definitely regressed (T_T) i wanted this to just be a quick way to get back into writing, so its not all that articulate or anything. i started this last thursday when i was off work bc i was sick and bored, and i was gonna post it over the weekend but then with seollal and going back to work, i kinda forgot about it. partially ib my own college experience :p i feel obligated to say don’t do drugs and don’t drink underage but…! title from flashing room by 2am club. not proofread!

the resounding thump of the bass sinks into your skin, replacing the steady beat beneath your ribs.

you feel a body next to you—someone’s pushing past you across the room, their sweat smearing across your exposed forearm. it’s damp and uncomfortably cool, an off-putting and striking contrast to the heat of the crowd. you stop dancing and frown. you turn to your left, pinching a piece of your friend’s shirt between your fingers, wiping the sweat onto the dark fabric. chaeyoung stops moving to the music and swats your hand away.

“what are you doing?”

“someone touched me,” you wrinkle your nose. “it was sweaty.”

“so you wiped it on me instead?” the shorter girl glares up at you, though her eyes twinkle with mirth—or maybe it’s just the reflection from the led light strips on the walls. she pulls out her phone to check the time. “i need another drink before we go. c’mon, let’s go find tzuyu and dahyun.”

you shrug as the two of you link fingers and begin to find your way back to the makeshift bar for more drinks. you’re already drunk—yooyeon’s playing bartender tonight and you’ve been taking advantage of it as much as possible.

“ladies,” yooyeon greets as you approach her table. she spreads her hands over a few stacks of cups filled with red liquid. “what can i get you this time?”

the options are pretty limited. actually, there’s really only one option: a delightfully strong mixture of jungle juice made oh so lovingly by yooyeon and jiwon.

“you’re hilarious,” you say flatly as you roll your eyes at her. she just cackles and starts fixing up two new cups. “have i ever told you that you’re my favorite bartender?”

“that’ll break jiwon’s heart,” she replies with a laugh. “but i won’t tell if you won’t.” she holds out the drinks with both hands.

chaeyoung accepts one of the cups and takes a long swig. “hey, we’re actually probably heading out soon. going to a kickback with some friends,” she says to yooyeon. you take the other cup and swallow some of the jungle juice. it’s your third cup of the night, so maybe you’re just drunk, but it tastes divine. you’re pretty sure that, at the very least, it tastes better than the tequila shots you’d downed earlier with chaeyoung before leaving your apartment.

yooyeon pouts. “why?” she leans in towards the two of you. “don’t go. you guys practically just got here.”

you shake your head. “no can do. we promised jihyo we’d go to her place tonight.” on another night, you might stay, watch jiwon do a few lines in the bathroom, drink more alcohol until your vision starts to blur, maybe let yooyeon or jiwon—or both—put delicate hands up your shirt and leave bruises on your hips. tonight, though, you’re going to a kickback held by one of your closest friends, jihyo, and you’ll consume enough substances to ensure you wake up with your head pounding, mouth dry, body aching all over.

it’s going to be fun, you think to yourself. you chug some more jungle juice, finishing your cup more quickly than you’d intended. chaeyoung’s texting tzuyu, instructing her to meet you guys by yooyeon’s setup. as the alcohol sets into your bloodstream, your skin warms, a muted blush settling on your cheeks.

chaeyoung spots tzuyu and dahyun walking towards yooyeon’s table and waves them over. yooyeon pours two more drinks and offers them out to your friends as they approach.

“thanks yooyeon!” tzuyu happily tips her cup back into her mouth. dahyun does the same, though she only takes a small mouthful. you’re pretty sure she’s sober. you’ve been at the house for about an hour, but you know she’s only been occasionally stealing sips from everybody’s drinks instead of just getting one of her own. really, you’re a little grateful that she’s not drunk—you know that by the end of the night, most of you will be too inebriated to get home properly without help. dahyun’s always been a little less raucous than the rest of the girls, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. dahyun hands her barely-touched cup to you to finish and you flash her a playful grin with a wink.

“finish your drinks and we’ll go. i’ll go ahead and call an uber now,” dahyun directs while pulling out her phone. the rest of you nod and tap your cups together in a cheers. a few moments pass before dahyun slips her phone back into her pocket and announces, “okay, he’ll be here in… six minutes. jihyo said nayeon and mina are already there.”

yooyeon makes eye contact with you. “will you guys come back later?” her eyes are hopeful, bright—she’s more a puppy than a party girl. but you’d rather be with your other friends, so you just shoot her an apologetic expression.

“not tonight,” you shake your head. “but maybe we’ll see you later this weekend or something?”

before yooyeon can respond, you hear someone squeal from a few feet away. “guys! what are you doing here?” you all turn to find sana skipping towards your group, a huge smile on her face.

“sana!” the four of you yell simultaneously, pulling her into hugs with each of you. she’s beaming wildly. you didn’t know she was here; if you’d seen her earlier, you would’ve dragged her onto the dance floor and probably made her your drinking buddy. sana’s a little older than you and she’s infinitely cool. you’d met her at a party last year, where she’d pulled trig for chaeyoung after knowing her for about an hour. you’d all instantly fallen for her, and she was a welcome addition to your group. sana was confidence and optimism wrapped in sex on legs—but she was also undeniably cute, with her bubbly personality and squishy cheeks. she’d easily become one of your closest confidants, spending time with you every week, showering you with affection and giving you advice whenever you were struggling. her status as a social butterfly also meant that she has a lot of other friends, so your group of four—you, tzuyu, chaeyoung, and dahyun—had rapidly expanded to a group of ten, with sana bringing her best friend momo into the fold, then jihyo, mina, jeongyeon, and nayeon with them. but sana’s infinite list of friends turns her into a pretty busy girl, so when chaeyoung had invited her out with you all tonight, she’d politely declined, stating her previously-arranged plans with momo and jeongyeon.

“i thought you were hanging out with jeongyeon and momo?” you look at sana in excitement.

“i am! well, jeongyeon had to go home early because she’s got a test tomorrow morning, but momo’s here. she’s talking to yoona right now,” sana points a few feet away at momo, engrossed in conversation with another girl you vaguely recognize. “wait, this is great! we can all hang out!”

“actually,” tzuyu interjects, “we’re leaving right now. but we’re heading to jihyo’s! nayeon and mina are there right now. will you come with us?”

“i’m down, but let me ask momo,” she giggles before bounding towards the older girl. she taps the girl on the shoulder and yoona offers them both a wave, walking off to find her friends in another room. sana starts to talk to momo; after a moment, she points over at your group and momo turns to glance at you all. her gaze seems to drag over you slowly. then she looks back at sana and says something, prompting sana to grin and tug at her arm, dragging the girl towards you. dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu all give her a quick hug and big smiles.

momo pulls you into a hug last, her firm arms wrapped around you tightly as sana exclaims, “momo said she’s down to go to jihyo’s!”

“we should probably head outside, then,” dahyun suggests. “it would suck if we missed our uber.” you all nod and start to find your way to the door. you quickly turn towards yooyeon and send her a wave. the girl perks up and shoots you a smile before you turn back around and follow chaeyoung out the house to the front.

you all stand outside, chatting idly amongst yourselves as dahyun watches for the right car to pull up. eventually, she spots what must be your uber and walks up to the vehicle, waving at the driver as they roll down their window. the rest of you trail behind her.

“for dahyun?” when the driver nods, she continues, “uh, so we have six people, actually. is that okay?” dahyun smiles sheepishly at the uber driver and bites her lip. he looks at you all warily and sighs.

“yeah, sure. it’s not like we’re going very far, i guess.”

tzuyu climbs into the passenger seat while chaeyoung scoots into the middle seat in the back. dahyun takes the seat to the right of chaeyoung, with sana climbing into her lap naturally. you quickly realize your predicament as the rest of the girls settle into the uber. you turn to momo and say, “you can sit on me. if that’s okay.”

the girl’s cheeks instantly turn the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. “oh! um, okay. sure. thanks.”

you open the door on the left and climb into the last seat. once you’re seated, you look back at momo and smile. she quickly gets in, sitting awkwardly on your lap. you reach for the door handle with one hand, close the door, then snake your hand around the girl’s waist, pulling her towards you more tightly. she squeaks a little, but shifts her body more to settle comfortably against you. your uber driver eyes you all in the backseat with a tired expression before driving off slowly.

“this top looks really good on you, by the way,” you say, lips twitching into a small grin. you play a little with the ends of her hair before dropping your fingers to brush along her shirt. she stares at the floor.

“thanks,” she replies quietly. her cheeks are red when she looks up and her eyes dart away when she notices you’re looking at her face.

the rest of the ride is filled by your friends’ conversations and your driver’s playlist coming low through the speakers of the car, your fingers rubbing circles into momo’s hip soothingly as you feel her take quiet, even breaths. you’re almost disappointed when the uber stops in front of jihyo’s apartment.

when you arrive at jihyo’s door, jihyo welcomes you all with a hug and ushers you inside. she leads you to the kitchen, where nayeon and mina are chatting next to the table covered with an array of drinks. you greet nayeon and mina with hugs as well, chatting with them for a minute before you decide to make a few cherry bombs for everyone. the girls seem to have found their spots in the apartment: tzuyu, dahyun, and chaeyoung are sitting on the floor in jihyo’s living room while sana and momo fumble with jihyo’s speaker system, squabbling over jihyo’s phone to try to queue up a few more songs. nayeon, jihyo, and mina continue to chat while they watch you in the kitchen as you mix cherry vodka with redbull. when you’ve prepared a few shot glasses, you offer them to nayeon and jihyo, knowing mina won’t be drinking. you all quickly down your shots and nayeon and jihyo excuse themselves to go find a game to play, leaving you in the kitchen with mina. she offers to take two of the shots over to sana and momo, and you agree. you grab the remaining three shots, find dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu in the living room, and watch as they knock back their cherry bombs.

you plop down on the floor next to chaeyoung, letting out an excited giggle when she produces a small tin from her pocket and pulls out a perfectly rolled joint. as she lights it and begins to take a hit, you look towards the speaker where you spot sana and momo laughing with mina. you observe them for a moment before you feel chaeyoung tapping at your shoulder, offering you the joint. you take a hit and hand it back to chaeyoung. dahyun and tzuyu get up; you vaguely register them saying something about finding some ping pong balls. you and chaeyoung chat quietly, asking “would you rather” questions, passing the joint back and forth until eventually it’s reduced to nothing and you’re forced to stub it out. by now, the combination of the weed and alcohol has you feeling light and slightly dizzy, but it’s pleasant and you’re smiling a little dopily. chaeyoung pulls you up with her when she sees tzuyu across the room, setting up a table to play beer pong.

“tzu! i wanna play!” chaeyoung exclaims happily. “can i play?”

“sure,” the taller girl agrees easily. “you can be my partner. y/n, wanna play?”

“wait, who else is playing?”

tzuyu shrugs. “go find someone!” you glance around; mina’s sitting on the couch with dahyun, both tapping away at their phones. nayeon and jihyo are sitting at the table in the kitchen, already playing some kind of card game. you start to walk off to look for sana and momo and tzuyu calls after you, “oh, get sana! she needs to get on our level!”

you find sana in the kitchen with momo. you quickly grab another cup, mixing vodka with soda haphazardly, taking a big gulp as you bound up to sana. “i’m drunk,” you state the obvious with a giggle. “and you need to catch up! let’s play beer pong with chae and tzuyu!” you point your cup towards sana, who giggles back at you, takes the cup, shares a look with momo.

“thanks, y/n!” she hums as she sips at the drink. “actually, i think you might regret recruiting me for beer pong,” she winks at you and hands your cup to momo, who tilts her head at you for approval. you nod quickly and she takes a long drink before handing the cup back to you. “but momo would love to be your partner tonight!”

you beam at the other girl hopefully. “would you really? please?” momo looks at you with wide eyes, seemingly caught off guard. she sneaks a glance at sana, who just bats her eyes innocently.

“oh, sure,” she agrees quickly. “i’m down.” you cheer as you grab her hand and guide her towards the table where chaeyoung and tzuyu are setting up the cups and pouring beer into each one. you chug a bit more of your drink, which has dwindled down to just a few more mouthfuls. you offer the rest to momo, then pout when you realize you don’t have anything else to drink, making sana laugh from behind you. she walks back to the kitchen as you and momo take your places at one end of the table, chaeyoung and tzuyu at the other. it’s decided that you and momo will go first. momo gestures at you to go ahead, and you grab one of the ping pong balls and eye the pyramid of cups across from you.

before you can toss the ball, sana returns with two new drinks, places one on the small table by the couch. she points at it and says, “that’s for you, y/n. when you’re done playing.” she takes a sip from the other drink still in her hand.

“thanks,” you nod at her words, focusing intently on your form. you decide to just go for it, casually arching the ball forward, watching as it sinks cleanly into one of the cups in front of tzuyu. “yes!”

momo whoops. “nice.” she offers her hand out for a high-five. tzuyu takes the cup, removes the ball, drinks the beer. momo quickly finishes off the drink you’d given her, adding it to the cup tzuyu drank to start a stack on the side, then moves to take her shot. she hesitates for quite a while before eventually throwing the ball. it bounces off the side of one cup, but falls into the one next to it. you cheer loudly as momo’s eyes widen and she turns to face you, a giddy expression on her face. you sneak a quick peck on her cheek, delight in the way the skin pinkens immediately as momo looks at you bashfully. chaeyoung takes the cup out, removing the ball before downing the contents inside. she boos half-heartedly but she’s smiling as she hands both ping pong balls back to you.

you immediately toss one across the table. it bounces off a cup and drops onto the table. you pout. “ugh. got too cocky. redeem us, momo!” but momo misses her shot, too, so you hand the balls to chaeyoung and tzuyu.

tzuyu tosses her ball quickly and it immediately falls into a cup in front of you. you grab the cup, take the ball out, drink the beer, add the cup to the stack. chaeyoung takes her position, squinting momentarily across the table before shooting the ball, landing it in a cup next to momo. the older girl grabs the cup, takes the ball out and hands it back to chaeyoung before tossing the beer back into her mouth. a droplet of beer shines at the corner of her mouth. without thinking, you lean forward and wipe at it with your finger before popping it into your mouth to clean it off. momo stares at you, but you don’t seem to notice. tzuyu and chaeyoung take their shots again. tzuyu lands her ball in a cup—momo drinks it quickly—but chaeyoung misses hers. they hand the balls back to you and momo. you arc one ball perfectly into a cup. momo’s turn is kind of disastrous; she throws the ball towards the cups, but it ends up smacking chaeyoung in the tit.

“sorry!” momo squeaks. chaeyoung just laughs and waves her off. the game keeps going, but it quickly becomes obvious that chaeyoung and tzuyu are going to win. you only land your ball into the cups two more times, and momo misses every shot she takes, looking all the more distracted as each round passes. eventually, you and momo lose pretty spectacularly. jihyo and nayeon push you both out of the way to take on chaeyoung and tzuyu.

disgruntled, you grab the drink sana made for you and take a gulp. “i can’t believe we lost!” you wail as momo follows you to the kitchen.

momo shrugs. “we’ll get ’em next time,” she promises, wrapping her arms around you from behind. you settle against her with a sigh.

“you’re so…” you gesture a little vaguely at her body, “comfy?” you finish, pulling momo’s arms around you even tighter. “like, you’re firm. you have really nice muscles and... you know. but you’re super cozy.” she hums in your ear as you lift your cup to your lips again.

“thanks,” she laughs. “i mean, i eat a lot. but i work out a lot too.”

“oh, i’ve noticed. your body always looks so good,” you continue absentmindedly before you pull away from her to look her in the eyes, slightly embarrassed. “i—it’s not like i stare. i just mean i wish i had your athleticism, you know? i don’t really know how to work out, and i don’t have a whole lot of stamina.” that causes momo’s mouth to twitch into a subtle smirk and you flush. your tongue suddenly feels very dry, and you’re not exactly sure it’s cotton mouth.

“well, maybe i could help you with that,” momo quips before she steals a bit of your drink and starts to move to the music blaring from jihyo’s speaker, and it pushes you to dance as well. after a song or two, momo’s hands make their way around your waist and you let your arms wrap around her neck, your cup dangling over her shoulder. it registers in your mind that you like this—like momo pressed against your body, like big brown eyes twinkling as she grins at you, like momo’s laugh vibrating against your chest. you smile at her as you dance together, your friends jumping and singing along to the music around you as they toss ping pong balls at each other.

everyone else seems to be preoccupied, not paying any attention to you and momo. you hardly realize that momo’s been guiding you towards the bathroom until she pushes the door open, closes it behind you, shoves you against the wall. her eyes bore into yours, looking for your approval before she leans in to kiss you. you close the distance, bringing a hand up to cradle her jaw. it feels incredibly intimate as she runs a hand from your neck down your side, eventually resting it on your hip. you continue to kiss her softly, sighing into her mouth as she lets out quiet hums of approval. after a while, she licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp as things begin to progress quickly from there.

her teeth tug at the skin of your throat. you try to suppress a moan, but it rips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and momo laughs, kisses you again. “maybe,” she breathes against your lips, “we should get out of here.” you nod enthusiastically, connect your lips again, savor the taste of her peach chapstick. you follow her out of the bathroom. you go to the front door, grabbing your belongings while momo walks up to the rest of the girls, all still either dancing or playing beer pong, says to them, “i think y/n isn’t feeling great. maybe she drank too much? and i’m kind of tired anyway, so i’m gonna take her home. we’ll see you later.” she leans in to whisper something privately to sana, who squeals and shoves momo’s shoulder. then sana waves you both off, turning back to cheer jihyo on as she tosses a ping pong ball into a cup.

and then you’re out the door, stumbling as you walk the few short minutes to momo’s place, giggling as momo pulls you into her arms every few steps to kiss you exuberantly.

you’ve never actually been to momo’s apartment, you realize. it’s nice; it’s relatively simple, a comfortable lived-in vibe filling the space. in the back of your mind, behind the haze of tequila shots, jungle juice, cherry bombs, beer, and weed, you remember that this isn’t just momo’s apartment—this is also sana and nayeon’s new apartment, the three having just moved in together recently.

you follow momo to one of the rooms, presumably hers. as she punches the numbers into her keypad, you take a moment to check your phone. you have a text from chaeyoung.

text me when you get home please, it reads.

not sure when i’ll be home but i’m okay! i’m at momo’s, you respond before following momo through the door.

quietly, you take a moment to observe momo’s room. it’s cozy, photos adorning the walls along with a bunch of figurines momo must like. there are a few drawings hung on the walls, too, and if you lean in, you can see on each of them a signature that looks kind of like momo’s name.

before you can get a closer look, though, momo’s running her fingers down your arm, pressing feather-light kisses against the back of your neck and your shoulders. you turn and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a proper kiss as she settles her hands along your waist. she kisses you with vigor, smiling as you respond just as fervently. she pushes you lightly, the backs of your knees hitting her mattress, making you fall backwards onto the bed. she makes quick work of your clothes, pulling your top and pants off as she kisses down your skin. momo takes her shirt off and you stare at her muscular arms and abs in reverence. your jaw drops when she pulls off her bra next; her boobs are actually perfect. it’s like she’s not even real. she smirks as she pulls her pants down her legs and kicks them to the floor, shaking you from your daze. then she crawls back on top of you, leaves another hickey on your chest, strokes your hair.

“if you wanna stop at any point, just tell me.” her voice is gentle but insistent, and you nod.

“same here,” you respond, and she sends you a little smile that’s entirely too cute for her own good.

she undoes the clasp of your bra, throws it somewhere to the side and momo descends immediately, full lips around your nipple, sucking hard and assertive, the other one rolled between two fingers. after you begin panting, she switches sides, makes sure to pay attention to both of your breasts as you let out lewd moans and sighs.

you lose yourself like that for a while as she pleasures your tits before eventually she removes her mouth from your chest, shifts up a little, grinds down on your thigh—you can feel the heat from between her legs, the soaked fabric of her panties pressing down onto your skin. you let out a whine.

“you sound so pretty for me, baby,” momo breathes into your collarbone. she sucks a dark hickey at the base of your throat. you moan again, the sound vibrating against momo’s lips. you let your hand drift down towards her clothed core, rubbing circles against the wet spot on her panties. she lets out a whimper, and you push her a little so she sits up. you easily pull her panties off, let them fall to the floor. you use your fingers to tease at her folds, coating them in her slick. you start to rub circles on her clit and she lets out a series of breathy, high-pitched whines. you keep going like that for a while, momo pulling you down to make out with her as you stimulate her clit. soon, momo’s body is shaking. “i need your fingers in me, y/n,” she chokes out.

you hum. “ask me nicely.”

“please, y/n. please fuck me with your fingers.” you lick your lips and nod.

you start by easing one finger inside her, thrusting in and out until she’s whimpering softly. then, you add another finger, curling them both upwards as you sink them into her pussy, caressing her g-spot. momo groans, low and sensual, as you start to fuck into her with your fingers. with each thrust, your palm makes contact with her clit, and eventually her head starts to loll back, loud moans rising out of her mouth.

you think you could get addicted to this—her sounds, her heat, her pleasure. it’s enough to get you dripping.

“i’m gonna cum,” momo gasps out. “oh, fuck—i’m—”

you nearly cum when her orgasm takes over, grunts and whines falling from her lips as she shudders and gushes onto your fingers. you slow down, rub at her clit gently a few times before eventually pulling your fingers out. you shove them into momo’s mouth. “suck,” you command, and she does so immediately, tongue flicking around your digits. “good girl.” you take your fingers out and immediately pull her into a kiss, licking into her mouth and tasting her cum on her tongue, sweet and tangy and a little salty.

yeah, you could definitely get addicted to this.

for a while, you kiss her like that, her heavy breathing eventually evening out as she recovers from her climax. slowly, momo slides her hand downwards, stopping at the edge of your panties. she circles the hem of your underwear, presses a kiss into your neck again. your breath catches in your throat. you’re positively soaked. momo moves down, settles between your thighs. she kisses at the wetness on your panties, reaches up, pulls them down your legs, over your thighs, tosses them away from the bed. she kisses your clit and you whimper. you look down and oh—she makes eye contact with you, smirks, licks into your slit, collecting your slick on her warm tongue.

momo sucks at your clit just as unrelentingly as she had your nipple, and you’ve always been so sensitive. you’re moaning, breath ragged, body shaking as momo licks at your cunt.

you’re so drenched, momo easily slips two fingers in and starts pumping them in and out. the feeling of her fingers curling into your g-spot makes you gasp, and she keeps darting her tongue against your clit, licking against your labia, spreading your wetness around her mouth. you moan loudly and your hands fall to grip at her head, grasping into her hair.

you let out a strangled, “oh fuck, momo, oh my god—” as her fingers fuck into you, tongue licking broadly against your folds and flicking against your clit. her lips wrap around your bud and she sucks, the sensation sending you over the edge. “momo, i’m gonna cum, ’m gonna—fuck—”

your body goes slack as you cum powerfully, momo still lapping at your folds, sucking around your clit and thrusting her fingers into you. eventually, she pulls away, lets you lay there as you recover, brushes your hair out of your face. she gets up off the bed and says, “be right back.” then she’s rummaging through her drawers as you close your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

you notice her shadow looming over you when she returns. “so,” momo breathes out, tugging at your hair. you let out a whimper. “i have something else i’d like to try with you, if you’re up for it?” you open your eyes and look at her, see the harness and pink silicone dildo in her hands. instantly, you sit up and surge towards her, kissing her desperately. she pulls away with a laugh and says, “i’ll take that as a yes, then.”

before you know it, you’re face down on the bed, on your hands and knees, elbows resting on her pillow, back arched and legs spread. momo runs her hands down your back as you shiver, grips your left hip, uses her other hand to rub the tip of the shaft along your dripping slit. she teases you leisurely and you quickly begin to grow impatient. you whine pathetically, “more. i need all of you. please, momo.”

momo’s mouth quirks up in satisfaction. “you’re a greedy little whore, huh?” but she complies, places the head against your pussy, pushes the tip in, doesn’t wait for you to adjust and slides the length all the way into you in one movement. you grasp tightly at the sheets beneath you, letting out a low moan. momo slowly pulls out, looks smug at the slickness spread along the strap, pushes back inside you with a giggle. she pulls out again, repeats the action, thrusting harder and quicker each time, hands gripping your ass firmly. she’s found a good rhythm and she lets out a deep groan. you feel yourself clench at the sound, thighs quivering as pleasure surges throughout you.

she continues to fuck into you deeply until eventually your arms begin to give out; she slows momentarily, pulls out completely, grabs your hips and flips you over so you’re on your back, staring up at her. she lines up the dildo against your cunt again, buries the shaft in you, but she doesn’t move. instead, she smirks down at you as you begin to whimper desperately.

“what is it, baby? use your words.”

“momo,” you gasp out, “please move, please.”

she tilts her head. you’re squirming, trying to fuck yourself on her dick, but momo’s strong, holding you in place, preventing you from finding your own pleasure. “beg properly,” she drawls, “and maybe i’ll think about it.”

“will you please move, momo? i’ll do anything, baby, please, i need your cock so bad,” you cry. “please fuck me, please i’ll be such a good slut for you, momo, just please move, please.”

“how cute,” she coos before she starts fucking you at the same pace as before, hitting hard and deep inside you every time. you’re gasping and grunting each time she thrusts, her round eyes shining in amusement as she stares down at you. you eventually break eye contact when you glance at her body.

the sight of momo’s toned abs and round tits glistening with a thin layer of sweat nearly makes you lose your mind, and you claw desperately at her arms. she starts rubbing at your clit with one hand, the other holding you down securely by your waist. the combined stimulation sends you into overdrive, and your breath hitches, vision begins to blur, body shakes frantically with momo’s name falling from your lips repeatedly as your orgasm ripples through every part of you.

as you come down from your high, momo slips out of you, making you exhale sharply as you adjust to the loss. you feel completely wrecked, pussy raw and sore from the intensity of momo’s actions. she quickly leaves to bring you some towels and a glass of water. she returns with a soft expression; the two of you lay together as she gently, carefully wipes you down. you sip at your water gratefully, finishing the entire glass, but you can feel fatigue engulfing your body. she practically carries you to the bathroom, where she lends you a spare toothbrush and leaves you to use the toilet. when you’re finished, she really does pick you up this time, setting you gently on her bed, pulling the sheets up over your body. you barely manage to whisper out a “thank you” before you’re passed out, surrounded by momo’s scent and breathing peacefully. momo just smiles, tucks your hair behind your ear, presses a soft kiss against your forehead. as you fall into a deep slumber, she gets up, folds your clothes and puts them in a tote bag, finds your phone. noticing your almost-dead battery, she plugs it into a spare charger. then she crawls into bed next to you, turns off her light, and falls asleep to the soothing rise and fall of your chest next to her.

you roll over, eyes sticky with exhaustion and haziness. your body aches, and you reach a heavy hand out to find your phone. you feel around for a few moments before your phone is pushed gently into your hand. startled, you blink a few times and sit up.

momo lays next to you, body half-covered by the sheets, lips cut into a smirk. “good morning,” she husks quietly. “sleep well?” you stare at her for a moment. you’re aware that you’re both still naked, and you try not to think about her flawless chest and delicious abs.

“uh, good morning. yes. yeah. uh, i… i did. did you?” your brain feels all jumbled and looking at momo doesn’t seem to help.

“sure did,” she drawls with a grin, all teeth and rosy cheeks. “your phone’s being blowing up all morning, by the way.” you look down at the device and unlock the screen. your notifications are flooded with missed calls and texts from your friends—sana and chaeyoung’s names seem to take up the majority of them. noticing the time, your eyes widen comically.

“holy shit,” you breathe, head snapping up to look at momo. “uh… fuck. i am so sorry.”

her head tilts, adorably confused. “what for?” she shifts forward, reaching for your torso. she tugs at you a little until she’s snuggled against your body, burying her head into your side and wrapping an arm around your midsection.

“uh.” it seems to be your favorite word this morning. “for staying here so long? i didn’t mean to fall asleep here, i swear.” momo just laughs softly and closes her eyes.

“i don’t mind,” she sighs into your skin. your heart starts to beat a little faster.

“are you sure?”

she hums. “yeah. i even made breakfast, if you’re ready to eat. i wouldn’t have done that if i weren’t okay with you staying here.” her tone is teasing, but you can feel the sincerity in her voice. it makes you blush.

you squeak, “you made breakfast?”

“mm,” she responds. “just before you woke up. should still be warm. you still like waffles, yeah?”

“uh,” you repeat. you mentally kick yourself—where is your eloquence? “waffles are… good. hey, is sana here? and nayeon?”

her lips twitch. “would i have made breakfast naked if they were?” you turn bright red. “nayeon decided to head over to jeongyeon’s last night,” momo continues, “and dahyun took sana home with her and tzuyu. neither of them will be back until later.”

“oh, okay,” you exhale. “right. so, uh…” you don’t quite know how to say the words.

“hey, if you’re worried about this ruining our friendship,” momo starts, fiddling with her fingers, “we don’t have to make it anything more than just a hookup. we don’t even have to mention it again, if you’d like. i don’t mind. it’s your call.”

instantly, you flush, embarrassed that she’s read you so easily. “i’m sorry,” you say quickly. “it’s just—last night was incredible, beyond incredible, and you were so good, really, but i just don’t want this to make things weird between us. you’re one of my best friends and i like being with you, you know?” stop talking, you think. momo raises an eyebrow and you can’t help but continue, “not like that—or, well, maybe like that, if that’s something you want, because i definitely wouldn’t be opposed.” oh my god, stop! talking! your cheeks are hot and you look down at the floor.

momo lets out a laugh and reaches for your hand, prompting you to look back up at her. “y/n, it’s okay. i’m not, like, offended or anything. i totally get it. i’d never want to jeopardize our friendship, either. but it doesn’t have to make things weird. because i also like being with you, whether it ends like it did last night or not. no pressure. we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. we can just go with the flow.” she sends you a comforting smile. “how about we eat breakfast now? before it goes cold.”

“sure,” you agree, “but i might need help walking over there.”

momo’s proud smirk that follows replays in your mind even weeks later.

when you’d come home the day after jihyo’s kickback, chaeyoung had asked about your sleepover at momo’s, but she didn’t seem to think much of it. miraculously, none of the girls had noticed the array of hickeys that momo had left all over your body, or wondered why you’d spent the rest of the weekend entirely in bed, only moving to get ready.

before you’d left her apartment that day, you’d mustered up the courage to lean in to kiss her, and momo had closed the distance before saying goodbye sweetly. you’d given in and texted momo not even two hours later, and ever since then, you’ve been chatting back and forth with the older girl, messages flirtier than they’ve ever been, tension accumulating as the weeks go by. you see momo a lot when you hang out with your friends, and nobody seems to think anything of it when she intertwines her fingers with yours or pulls you into frequent hugs, hands gripping at your waist. you hang out with her alone, too, though it’s all been completely friendly so far, with only your texts to insinuate there might be something else between you. you won’t say it to her, but you really wouldn’t mind if she just kissed you sometimes, or edged you in the bathroom during lunch, maybe.

on one morning, between classes, you go for coffee with her and sana—invitation extended by momo followed by a mouthwatering mirror pic of her, post-workout, abs gleaning with sweat and thumb hooked into the front of her joggers, along with the message working on my stamina. needless to say, you’d nearly forgotten about the coffee entirely.

“you guys seem to have gotten really close recently,” sana remarks as momo goes to pick up your orders. the two of you sit at a table, observing the oldest girl as she thanks the barista and starts to carry the tray back over to you.

“well, we were close before,” you say, trying to not sound too affected. “but i guess we have been hanging out a lot more recently.” momo takes her seat then, passing out your drinks and pastries. sana just hums and fails to hide a smile behind her cold brew. you cough.

before you head to your next class, sana pulls you aside as momo’s tossing away your trash. “just so you know,” she whispers, “i think you should go for it. if you like her, i mean. you’re totally momo’s type.”

before you can respond, momo’s standing in front of you, doe eyes sparkling as she swings her bag over her shoulder. sana winks at you.

you bid them both goodbye and make your way to class. it’s kind of funny—the entire time, all you can think about is sana saying you’re totally momo’s type. you try to ignore how the thought sets your skin on fire.

you have statistics class with tzuyu, jihyo, and momo every tuesday and thursday at 10 a.m.

only now, you start to notice momo—she always sits at the end of the row next to tzuyu, while you sit in between tzuyu and jihyo. momo’s quietly immersed in her phone most of the time. she doesn’t really take notes, or even listen to your professor. in fact, whenever your eyes find her, she’s always staring into space or typing something on her phone. sometimes you catch her with her notebook open and pencil scrawling something across the pages, but you can see she’s just doodling. you wonder what her grade is. after all, you spend half your time in this class playing games and texting with tzuyu, and the both of you are barely clinging to a low B as it is. jihyo, on the other hand, is always focused—her hard-earned A is the reflection of her determination and work ethic.

you subtly begin to switch seats with tzuyu so you can sit next to momo. tzuyu doesn’t really seem to notice or care, but one day, after a couple weeks, jihyo asks you about it as you slide into a seat, five minutes early for class.

“why are you sitting there?”

“huh?” you say smartly, pulling out your notebook and pencil. jihyo does the same, but she gives you a look.

“tzuyu usually sits next to momo. what, you don’t like sitting next to me anymore?”

“oh! no, that’s not it. uh, i guess i just didn’t notice.” you hope it comes out as casual as possible. jihyo gives you another look, which you ignore, and pulls out her stuff, settling into her seat.

“momo! hey!” at jihyo’s words, you nearly break your neck looking up so quickly. jihyo tries to stifle a guffaw.

“hey jihyo,” momo glances towards you and her eyes sparkle more brightly. “hi, y/n.”

“hi momo,” you reply breathlessly. again, you pay no mind to the giant grin jihyo’s sending your way.

momo drops into the seat next to you, scoots a little closer to you, her leg brushing against yours. your breath falters slightly. jihyo suppresses a cackle; you ignore her resolutely. “are you guys ready for the test next week?”

“wait, there’s a test next week?” you squeak.

“hey, you should’ve been paying attention,” jihyo tsks. “i invited you the other day to come to my study session. at least tzuyu actually showed up.”

“well, we can still study until the test,” momo offers. she glances at you. “y/n, what do you think?”

“oh, uh,” you look at momo. “sure. i could use the extra help. i mean, tzuyu and i…” you peek over at jihyo sheepishly. “well, yeah. i could use the extra help.” momo lets out a laugh and you blush.

jihyo rolls her eyes. “oh, now you want to study together? hey, you missed your chance.”

you wince. “sorry about that again. it’s just… well, i just didn’t feel like studying.” momo can’t help but giggle again at that. secretly, you’re preening inside at the sound.

“you can study with me,” momo leans closer to you. you stare at her, brain faltering at her close proximity. “i might not be a genius like jihyo, but i’m good. good enough to have an A, at least.”

you’re about to respond when tzuyu hurls herself into the seat between you and jihyo. “hey guys! did i miss anything?”

“hey tzuyu,” momo looks at her. “no, not yet. we were just saying we should study together again before the unit test, maybe next week?” you all agree and begin to make plans, but quickly quiet down when you notice the professor walk in.

the entire lecture, all you can focus on is momo—momo’s leg, pressed against your own—momo’s fingers, tapping every so often along the desk—momo’s perfume, something sweet and citrusy and a little powdery—momo’s jawline, sharp and gorgeous—momo’s eyes, huge and twinkling—

you don’t even notice when class ends, only registering it when momo’s standing up to leave, waggling her fingers teasingly at you as she exits the hall. jihyo and tzuyu gesture for you to hurry up and gather your things. you look down at your notebook, page completely empty save for the words stop staring at me in momo’s cute handwriting scrawled next to a heart.

jihyo and tzuyu exchange a look as you stare at the paper. when you peer up at them, jihyo just laughs. tzuyu rolls her eyes but sends a soft expression towards you. you suddenly feel very dizzy.

you’d spent the week trying to study to prepare for your statistics test, but you didn’t seem to get very far. now, you’re standing in front of momo’s door, textbook in hand with your bag slung over your shoulder as you knock gently.

jihyo and tzuyu had chosen to study on their own, with jihyo ultimately deciding that you would be too distracting for tzuyu to focus if you were together. she’d offered to study with you separately, but you’d instead jumped at the chance to ask momo to study with you. jihyo hadn’t tried to convince you otherwise, just giving you a knowing wink, and momo was more than happy to say yes.

the door opens to reveal a barefaced momo, dressed comfortably in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, doe eyes blinking at you behind big round glasses, fluffy hair falling softly around her face. your heart bursts at the sight. she beams at you before pulling you into a hug, shutting the door behind you.

“hey, you,” she greets you fondly. “ready to study, buddy?” you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

“i guess,” you respond. “but to be completely honest, i’m pretty lost on this whole unit. and not just because i usually spend half of lecture beating tzuyu at candy crush.” momo raises an eyebrow at that. “i mean, i’m not stupid or anything, but it kinda just doesn’t click for me. just to warn you.”

momo just shrugs, gives you a comforting smile. “that’s okay. i’m pretty patient.”

you follow her to her room and you settle on the floor, pulling out your materials. for a while, you’re determined and fully concentrated on your studies. momo’s not wrong: she’s extremely patient, and the way she explains things is direct and simple, and somehow, things start to fall into place, and you grasp the concepts from the unit fairly quickly.

but after a couple hours, your focus begins to waver, and you find yourself incredibly distracted by the slope of momo’s nose, the mole on her neck, the rosiness of her cheeks—

“you’re staring,” momo singsongs, breaking your train of thought. her mouth is configured in a lopsided grin. you blink. “again.”

“sorry,” you say, not feeling very sorry at all. “you’re just really… you know. pretty.”

“i’m pretty?” she smirks at you, leans into your personal space. you nod dumbly and she giggles. she tilts her head forward to capture your lips in a kiss, and you can’t help but sigh. despite her flirty behavior, it’s been almost two months since you’d last kissed, since you’d spent the night with her after jihyo’s party, and you missed it. you missed her.

the two of you collapse onto her bed and kiss lazily for a while; you relish in her gentle touches and natural beauty. she’s so pretty. she’s certainly handsome, too, you think. she’s honestly just the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen in your entire life. her lips are soft and full, dragging lightly along your jawline before she nips at your throat. you whimper quietly as momo bites down on you again.

statistics long forgotten, you take your top off, toss it to momo’s floor.

momo’s plump lips are pressing hot, wet kisses against the column of your neck. you try to keep your composure, but a guttural moan makes its way out of your mouth and you instantly flush red. momo pulls at your pants, tugging them and your panties down your legs.

momo eats you out until you’re trembling, chest heaving and nothing but moans and broken speech falling from your lips. her lips and chin glisten with your slick, but she just gives you a quick kiss before leaning back down and attaching her mouth around your clit again. you fall apart once, twice, three times—your clit throbs intensely, painfully, too sensitive to keep going. but you don’t tell her to stop, so momo doesn’t stop, and you really like that she doesn’t stop. by the time you’re shuddering your way into a seventh orgasm, you’re limp and mumbling incoherently. momo finally lets up, licks into your mouth instead, your own cum coating your tongue as she kisses you wetly, desperately.

you go home that night feeling complete—and momo completes you again and again and again for hours when you show up at her place a week later, a giant A displayed at the top of your statistics test.

you’re pretty sure you’re addicted to momo.

you hang out with the older girl constantly. you go to movies together, study together, eat meals together. you don’t even go out to parties anymore, unless it’s held by one of your friends, choosing to go out with momo instead. you can’t remember the last time you saw yooyeon or jiwon. it hardly matters when you’re settled between momo’s thighs, lips wrapped around her clit, the sweetness of her cum dancing along every corner of your mouth.

eventually, you’re ending every other night in momo’s room. it doesn’t always involve sex—really, you just feel like being around momo. it’s nice. momo certainly isn’t complaining.

she starts to keep a toothbrush for you in her bathroom, and your clothes begin to mix in with her own closet.

chaeyoung doesn’t text you asking when you’re coming home anymore. instead, she asks if you’re coming over. whenever you swing by what’s technically your apartment with momo in tow, chaeyoung beams hugely at you, gives you a wink or a thumbs up. it’s only mildly embarrassing.

you’ve never had a friend quite like momo—she’s in a league of her own. she’s easily the best hookup you’ve ever had. you feel lucky just to be friends with her.

you think about momo’s taut abs, the way her skilled tongue curls inside you, her incredible stamina. you think about her contagious laugh, her alarmingly loud sneezes, her focused expression when she’s cooking something in the kitchen. you like all of these things about momo. you decide that, yeah, momo feels right. your head starts to spin when you think about what that means.

it dawns on you that this was what you’d been feeling every time you think about momo—want, pure desire, love. you’ve never craved anything or anyone like this before. you never felt want like this, love like this—it never felt right, not unless it was momo.

you’re at dinner with jeongyeon when you finally get the bright idea to actually tell momo you love her.

really, it’s more like jeongyeon hands you the idea on a silver platter.

“you seem happy,” jeongyeon says before biting into a dumpling.

you hum. ��i am happy,” you say, not at all surprised to find your thoughts immediately drifting to momo. you begin to space out a bit as you think about all your recent memories with her; it’s not just the sex that’s good, but she makes you feel alive. when you’re with her, you forget about the rest of the world. it feels good to be around her. even just thinking about momo makes you feel at ease, content.

jeongyeon smiles at you, eyes softening. “so you and momo made it official then?”

that jolts you out of your reverie.

“momo—official—we aren’t—what?” you splutter incredulously. you stare at jeongyeon. she just blinks at you.

“you and momo,” she repeats, slower this time. “aren’t you guys, like, dating?” she says it so casually, in between bites of meat—you feel like the world has stopped spinning. “did she finally ask you to be her girlfriend?”

“momo and i are not dating,” you choke out nervously. “where in the world did you get that idea?”

jeongyeon stops chewing, swallows haltingly. “you’re kidding, right?” she sits up straighter, looks you in the eyes. “you guys aren’t subtle. like, at all. you know, we’re polite, not blind. those hickeys aren’t invisible, and you only got away with faking sick so many times before it tipped us off that something was up. plus, you’re always looking at each other with heart eyes. it’s kind of sickening, actually.”

you sit in silence as you absorb this. after a beat, you croak, “so, all of you… know about the sex?” she nods. “i see. well, honestly, i love her. but i’m worried that she’s not there yet.”

jeongyeon looks at you. “y/n, i’m pretty sure everyone knows that momo loves you. like, i’m not kidding, but she’s had a crush on you since you met. just ask sana. she’s been playing wingwoman for momo for months and it was like you were completely blind until the first time you and momo kissed. you know sana called me that night, drunk in dahyun’s bed, both of them shouting at me to start planning the wedding? mina helps momo pick out outfits for your dates. nayeon buys extra groceries because you practically live at their apartment now, and don’t think chaeyoung hasn’t noticed that. don’t even get me started on the updates jihyo and tzuyu send every week.” she decides to make it very clear to you. “momo talks nonstop about you, and the sex isn’t even a quarter of her rambling.” she rolls her eyes, but her lips stretch into a tender smile.

“oh. i guess i should probably do something about this, huh?” you rub your fingers at your neck as jeongyeon just rolls her eyes again.

“yeah,” she responds. “make it simple and just tell her ‘i love you.’”

you unlock momo’s room when you return from dinner and march up to momo, who’s laying on her bed, listening to music and staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. “i love you,” you say to her, feeling completely breathless. she sits up, looks extremely confused, but smiles blindingly at you. “i’m sorry i didn’t say it sooner.” you pause. “all of our friends seem to be under the impression that you love me back, so…” you trail off shyly.

“well, they’re not wrong,” she laughs out. “i do love you back.” you’re blushing, but momo just reaches towards you, pulls you onto her bed next to her. “no need to be sorry, by the way. i told you i was patient.”

that night, you see stars over and over and over as you and momo make love for hours until you’re both ready to pass out.

when your eyes finally shut, the last thing you register before you drift to sleep is momo whispering against your lips, “i love you.” and you think love might just be your new favorite word in the world.

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice momo x reader #twice momo imagines #momo x reader #momo imagines #girl group imagines #kpop #twice #twice momo #hirai momo #twice smut

389 notes · View notes

merlincmgirl · 6 months

Text

Your Boys To The Rescue

Summary: You've somehow managed to get trapped in the refresher and it's up to your boys in the Torrent Company to come get you out.

Author's Note: So this is my first clone fic, and the first fic I've written in ages! I was heavily inspired by the tiktok (link below). Please be kind, I hope that I was able to capture everyone right. Can be seen as pre-relationship or platonic reader x torrent company.

Characters: Rex, Kix, Jesse, Fives, Hardcase, Tup, Dogma

Word count: 2020

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGe12t8Sr/

You were mortified. Absolutely mortified. Hearing the voices on the other side of the door, arguing between themselves was not making you feel any better. You desperately wanted to disappear but there was no chance of that, not while the kriffing refresher door was stuck.

It was just your luck you decided to shower in the refresher attached to your office. The work you had been doing was still piled high on your desk, and you thought a nice warm shower would be just the thing to relax you and prepare you for the unending amount of flimsi you had to go through. It had been going so well until you realised that you had left your clean uniform in your office and went to go get it, only a towel wrapped around you. A simple, honest mistake that was now costing you because the door was jammed. It refused to open, no matter how many times you had tried.

That had been when Captain Rex had knocked on your office door, wishing to talk to you about some report that you had sent over to him. Your desperation to get out of the refresher outweighed your pride as you banged loudly on the metal door, begging him to help you out and find a way to open the door. He had tried everything to open the door by himself, but after trying everything he could, he had to call in reinforcements.

Now, you were leaning against the counter, towel covering your modesty as Torrent Company tried to either break down the door (Hardcase had swiftly received a slap off someone for that suggestion); or slice the mechanics/electrics of the door to at least slide it open to get you out of there. That suggestion was greatly preferred.

“Mesh’la, how you doing in there?” Rex called through the door. He sounded quite close to it and you shuffled forward so that he could hear you better over the small curses of his men and the sound of tools.

“I’m fine Captain, just… bit cold in here” you admitted, rubbing up and down your arms to try and bring some warmth into them. It had been about half an hour since you got out of the shower, and the cool metal of the room was not helping you at all.

“We’ll warm you up as soon as you as we get you out of here” Hardcase assured, followed swiftly by a cry of pain.

“Hardcase!”

“What?! It was a joke! Lighten up a little Dogma!” Hardcase complained, not sounding a bit sorry about what he said. You couldn’t help but let out a small snicker, used to the clone’s brand of humour.

“Knock it off you two. How are we in getting this door open?” Rex rebuked, bringing them back on task.

“It’s not looking good. Looks like it might be a manual override” you heard Jesse admit quietly. Groaning at your misfortune, you began to pace up and down, as much as you could anyway in the tiny refresher. “Don’t worry, cyare, we’ll get you out of there soon” Jesse promised, not wanting to upset you even more.

“Boys, perhaps we should get a service droid in to fix it?” you suggested, leaning your head against the metal door. It was soothing and brought you out of your head a little.

“We’ve got this, cyar’ika! They teach us slicing in ARC training” Fives bragged, making his brothers groan and tell him to shut up.

“If that was the case, Rex would have been able to get me out. This rate, I’m going to have to give my briefings through the door dressed in a towel!” you complained, unable to help the little pout that pulled at your lips. It was the least you deserved, especially as you had a morning briefing with the Admiral and Generals.

“At least you’d look hot, cyar’ika!” Fives flirted with you, making you smile.

“Not helping Fives!” you chuckled, going back to pacing again.

There was a large creak before lots of cursing and cries of pain. “What happened?” you demanded, rushing to the door and trying to pry it open with your bare hands.

“These di’kuts pulled the wrong circuits and got shocked for their troubles!” a grumbled voice came from further away in your office. You knew that voice, even if it was the same as his millions’ of brothers. Kix was here. Rex must have called him when he had went to get the others.

“Your bedside manner needs work vod!” Jesse complained, shaking his head and going back to the door along with Fives and Hardcase.

“Rex! You called Kix? But I’m fine. I’m not hurt at all!” you argued with the Captain. Now there was even more people to witness your shame and embarrassment.

“Just a precaution, Mesh’la. You can’t be too careful” Rex answered, and you could already imagine the smirk on his face at that. You didn’t like to be checked over by the medics, especially if there were clones who were also injured. You would rather put them in front of you.

“Hey, I think we’ve got it. Stand away from the door ma’am” Tup soft voice warned you. It warmed your inside at how caring these boys was to you.

“Thanks Tup, but there’s not much room in here if it falls in” you informed him, standing as far back as you can.

“Oh wait a minute! I think that’s it!” Fives muttered, voice rising in excitement. By the force you hoped that they had finally got it.

“There’s a piece right there!” Hardcase pointed out, tinkling with the tools in his hand.

“You see that piece right there?” Dogma asked, leaning over his brothers’ shoulders to poke at it. Kix pulled him back before he could get sparked.

“Yeah, yeah, I see it. Hold on” Jesse grunted, trying to move around Hardcase to be able to fix it in place.

“Just hold it right there, no. Not there, di’kut, where I’m pointing! Tup keep the torch still!” Fives grumbled, as his brothers were not helping him at all. You sighed, it had been like this for half an hour, all of them sniping and snapping at each other.

“No, you have to pull it up to the side” Hardcase argued instead.

“I am keeping it still!” Tup added.

“Someone just get General Skywalker! I’m sure he’d be able to fix it in no time!” you begged, desperate to get out of the kriffing refresher and into bed to catch a few hours of sleep before you had to go back to work.

“Men!” Rex’s sharp voice cut through their argument. “Don’t worry mesh’la, I promise they’re nearly done. Just a few more minutes” Rex soothed, hearing how frazzled you were becoming with the situation.

Sighing heavily, you waited for the door to open. You loved these idiots, but god did you feel like killing them right now. They could have their arguments later, but all you wanted was to get out. You didn’t want to be stuck in a refresher all your life. There was plans on the horizon for your future, not dying in the refresher because of the kriffing door!

There was a loud twang and your heart leapt into your throat as you hoped it was the mechanism for the door. But still nothing happened. It kept stubbornly in it’s jam.

“I wouldn’t drive it in though” Dogma frowned, shaking his head at his brothers’ rough work with the delicate pieces of machinery.

“Shut up Dogma!” Jesse huffed back.

“He almost had it then!” Hardcase assured his brother, as the wire in front of them shifted back to where it wasn’t meant to be.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Don’t push it!”

“AHH FIVES! I said DON’T push it!” Jesse cried, as he almost had it again but it slipped through his fingers as Fives moved his screwdriver slightly.

“Well I thought you meant push it!” Fives complained, and you couldn’t help but laugh, burying your head into your hands. The vode always made you laugh, even in the direst of situations.

There was some rattling and without any resistance, the doors pulled apart, revealing the group of men by the door. Hardcase, Jesse, Fives and Dogma was squashed around the panel housing the controls. Tup standing behind them, torch in hand. Rex and Kix was standing in the doorway, both of them looking you over.

“Ooh!” you squeaked out, clutching onto your towel tighter.

Rex, realising that him and his men was getting a good look at you in your towel, quickly snapped out of his heated gaze and turned to address the men. “Eyes front and centre soldiers!” he barked out, making them snap to attention and face forward.

“Er… Captain… I’m still front and centre” you mumbled, heat rushing to your cheeks as Fives winked at you.

“Oh… right… sorry Mesh’la. Avert your eyes!” Rex ordered, voice wavering slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn that the Captain’s cheeks were becoming a little redder.

“Hey, cyar’ika, how are you feeling? Any shaking? Signs of hypothermia?” Kix asked, jumping straight into his medic role as he came over to scan you.

“How come he gets to look?” Hardcase complained, making you blush even more.

“Because I’m a medic, and a professional! You might want to look that up, vod!” Kix retorted, before turning back to you. “Anyway, are you experiencing any symptoms of dizziness, nausea?” Kix questioned, running an eye over you as you shivered slightly.

“I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy and tired… and hungry” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck abashedly.

“Hmm, we should get you sitting down and something to help warm you up” Kix nodded, turning to his commanding officer. Rex nodded, instructing Tup to go and get you something warm from the mess hall.

“Thank you guys, I don’t know what I would do without you” you bid the troopers behind Kix. Tup nodded swiftly and hurried out the room, the back of his neck colouring.

“Come sit down” Rex encouraged, hand coming over to your elbow to help guide you into your office and onto the couch that you had smuggled in with the men’s help last time that you were planet-side.

Rex and Kix helped you to sit down, Kix busying with making sure that you were okay and not hiding anything. “Honestly Kix, I’d tell you if I weren’t doing good. I’m just a bit cold, that’s all. I promise, nothing to worry about” you assured, not noticing the towel fall open on your thigh.

Rex coughed, making his men spin around, mumbling apologies and excuses not to look your way. “I think that’s enough gawking for one night. You’re dismissed” Rex stated, crossing his arms and standing in front of you, trying to block you from sight.

“Wait! Before you go, you’ll have to let me know how I can repay you for this” you called after them, resting your hand on Rex’s back to help push him gently to one side so you could see your rescuers.

“You can buy us a drink at 79’s if you really want” Jesse suggested, making you beam. That was an easy thing for you to do to repay them for their kindness and help.

“Done!” you agreed, before you remembered a conversation with General Kenobi last time you were on shore leave with the 212th. “Wait! I thought you got drinks free at 79s!” you frowned, as they were nearly out the door.

“Oh the beer we do. The cocktails… well that’s all on you now cyare” Fives teased, before pushing Dogma and Jesse out the door in front of him.

You gaped after their retreating forms. What had you just gotten yourself into?

“I hope you have a lot of money, ad’ika” Kix shook his head, finishing his checks on you and pulling the scanner down.

“Because they’re going to bleed you dry, Mesh’la” Rex chuckled wryly, amused at your surprised at being played by his men.

663 notes · View notes

piperlivingdeliberately · 7 months

Text

Blushing, Crushing, and Totally F*cked! Part II

This is the second part to my first fic! Here's the link to that: :)

Summary: Hazel and the reader grow much closer as friends through the club, and after the emotional bonding meeting, they think they might be ready to grow closer in other ways.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: fem reader (she/her pronouns used), swearing, sexual content (no explicit smut), making out, discussions of divorce, mental health, emotional topics, a bit of hurt/comfort, angsty because I got carried away, etc. Hazel is much less of a loser in this one, but she's just as cute. 18+

Your younger popular self never would have imagined that you would be sitting in a circle with a bunch of losers who you punched in the face every day. Yet here you were, surrounded by violent losers, your favorite loser with a goofy smile on her face sitting to your left. Hazel looked over at you, making you remember how much you never would have expected that smile to make you so weak in the knees.

You still got butterflies thinking about the first time Hazel talked to you; a simple two-word compliment after your first spar made your heart flutter with giddy nerves. The interaction spurred you on enough to allow you to feel comfortable giving her friendly smiles. These quick greetings turned to light touches, then to bolder flirtatious statements, and eventually deep conversations that were cut off by school bells. You wondered when you'd finally gather the courage to discuss what you really wanted to tell her: you had been crushing on Hazel since the first day of eleventh grade. If only your classes were longer than 15 minutes.

"So, we know that the club has been a good way for us to feel empowered physically, but we also thought it could be a way for us to feel empowered emotionally," Josie kicked off the meeting on yet another unexpected note. You were grateful for the interruption in your spiraling thoughts.

The trauma-dumping session began, everyone adding their own little secrets and worries. You felt comforted by the supportive listening ears and voices around you. You had grown so close to these girls, so close that you ached hearing the tales of their pain. You felt your heart clench even more when Hazel timidly spoke up about her tense relationship with her mother.

"It's just been really good for me to get to know people who actually want to know me," she finished, eyes locking with yours before quickly fixing on her shoes.

"I just want to go back to Brittany for a second--" PJ began, but you didn't listen. You rested your hand on Hazel's knee, an offering of support, of friendship, or maybe something else. You completely tuned out the rest of the meeting when her own hand rested on yours. Her thumb stroked your wrist. Your whole body went stiff, but your hand felt like rippling water being held in hers.

"I think that's a good place to wrap up," PJ closed out the meeting, thanking everyone for their attendance as the rest of your friends filed out. You and Hazel didn't move, though. Your hand stayed on her knee, her thumb stayed gently gliding against the back of yours. Her sharp inhale was the only thing that got you to look up from the spot where you touched.

"Thank you," was all she said. You didn't have to ask why she was thankful, and she knew she didn't have to tell you. Something unspoken was always settled between your eyes as you stared.

"You're welcome." You removed your hand, not knowing if it had been there for too long or not long enough. "If you... If you ever want to keep talking about your mom or anything else that bothers you, I'm always here to listen." Hazel's gaze softened even more, which you didn't think was possible.

"Do you want to come over and talk more?" She said it so fast that even she seemed surprised by the question. "I mean-- only if you want to. We could watch a movie or I don't know. If it's stupid, I'm--"

"Yes," you assured her. "Let's go."

Her eyes widened like a cartoon character, so you began rising off of the gym floor to urge her on. "Oh-- okay. Great. Let's go."

...

The ride to Hazel's house was realistically no longer than 15 minutes. It felt like hours, though, with you using all of your energy to avoid staring at her ringed hands on the steering wheel. Your cheeks grew hot at the thought of what they would feel like on your bare skin. Your cheeks grew even hotter when you finally realized that Hazel had already parked the car and was watching you ogle her fingers.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing, sorry." You pushed the door open, waiting for her to lead you into her house.

One step in, you stifled a gasp. Hazel's home was almost as bright and beautiful as she was.

"Do you want to go up to my room? I can grab some snacks," she offered.

"Sure, sure." You followed her like a puppy as she led you through the breathtaking halls of her house. She gathered various food and DVDs before finally plopping down on her bed when you reached her room. You hovered in the doorway for a moment, unsure of where you were allowed to sit.

"Come here, you freak," she joked, patting the sheets next to her. You laughed as you tentatively sat at the edge of her bed. "I've had enough trauma-dumping for the day, so I'm thinking we should watch some Disney for a palette cleanser." You grinned like a little kid at the assortment of movies she had laid out before you. "Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" you replied.

"Pick one." She looked up at you through her dark lashes. "The princess gets to pick the princess movie."

"Fuck off," you scoffed, shoving her playfully to prevent her from seeing how red your cheeks had gotten at the nickname. She simply raised her eyebrows, still waiting for your choice. "Fine." You pointed at the purple and yellow Tangled DVD case.

"Classic." She hopped off the bed and inserted the disc. When she rejoined you, you could have sworn she sat closer than she had originally. Don't think about it, you told yourself. You were just two friends who shared lingering glances and hand touches watching the most romantic princess movie known to man. That's all it was.

The movie was as wonderful as ever, if not more wonderful what with Hazel's poor renditions of all of the songs to entertain you. For the most part, you were able to sit comfortably beside each other. You were completely content to watch the screen, that is when you were able to ignore that you could feel her looking at you instead of the TV at times. It became impossible to ignore when the credits began rolling and you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked quietly.

She hesitated. "I didn't expect you to be so..."

"...not bitchy?" you finished her sentence.

She laughed, "Well, not exactly. I guess I just never would have guessed that you were so kind and supportive."

"Yeah, most people don't expect the popular cheerleader to be anything but a ditsy fucktoy for football players, I guess." You had meant it as a joke, but Hazel shot up in defense.

"That's not what I meant." She shook her head. "I think what I'm trying to say is that I never would have guessed that someone as cool and-- and beautiful as you would hang out with any one of us in the club."

"Honestly," you sighed. "I never would have guessed it either." You shared a laugh with Hazel, marveling at how sweet she sounded when she was happy.

"I'm really glad you joined the club," Hazel told you, suddenly seeming more shy. Her soft gaze melted your heart, yet somehow made you feel braver than ever before.

"You're the reason I love the club so much." You almost whispered it, so afraid of the reaction it would elicit. Hazel continued to look at you for so long that you considered changing the subject as a diversion from your confession. You were unable to speak, though, because Hazel quickly pressed her lips to yours.

The speed of the kiss shocked you at first, Hazel moving quickly as if she were afraid that you would run away. Your hands found her hair and she instantly relaxed, your lips melting together.

You didn't know that kissing could feel this good, this easy, this right. Despite never wanting to stop, you tugged on Hazel's hair to look at her gasping face.

"Are you okay?" she asked you, hands framing your face in concern.

"God, yes," you laughed. "I'm so good."

Your giggles were once again cut off by her lips. They chased yours with more urgency, so you slipped your tongue against hers. She moaned softly against your teeth, spurring on your ministrations until she detached herself from your mouth.

You almost protested at the lack of contact until you felt her wet lips trailing down your jaw and neck. You whined as she sucked and softly bit a sweet spot, reveling in the sound of her moaning at your own noises. Her hands snaked around your waist, slowly climbing up toward your breasts.

"Is this okay?" she breathed against your collarbone.

"Fuck, please." She let out a low chuckle at your begging, her laughter soon muffled against your skin as she slipped her head under your oversized shirt. You felt her breath dance across your tits, aching for her already. After one delicate kiss to your left nipple, moans filled your ears. Hazel emerged from beneath your clothes when you both realized that the sounds were coming from neither of you.

"Shit!" Hazel exclaimed. "I hate it when she does this." She collapsed onto the bed, breathless.

"Is... Is that your mom?"

"Yes," Hazel groaned from behind her hands. "She's very vocal."

"God, I'm sorry you have to hear that." The pair of you couldn't help but laugh at the obscene sounds from down the hall, clutching each other's arms in disbelief as they grew louder.

"I'm just sorry that we were interrupted," Hazel whispered against your hand before kissing your palm.

"I am, too," you agreed. "It's getting late, though. I should go." You nearly got teary-eyed when you saw the sadness on Hazel's face.

"Right," she said. "Let me take you home."

You found yourself wishing that you lived farther from Hazel when she pulled into your driveway after just a few minutes. You planted a quick kiss on her forehead before thanking her and walking to your front door.

"Wait!" you heard Hazel call your name through the rolled-down window. You bounced back over to her. "My mom's not going to be home this weekend. So, if you wanted to come over again, we could... you know..."

"...watch The Princess and the Frog next?" you joked.

Her infectious giggle sounded like Heaven. "You got it, princess." With one more soft kiss, she pulled away from your house.

The weekend couldn't come any sooner.

...

AHHHHH sorry I got so carried away with this but there will DEFINITELY be a smutty part three for all of you sluts. Let me know if you liked this one!

#hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan

899 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

Text

Worker misclassification is a competition issue

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/02/upward-redistribution/#bedoya

The brains behind Trump's stolen Supreme Court have detailed plans: they didn't just scheme to pack the court with judges who weren't qualified for – or entitled to – a SCOTUS life-tenure, they also set up a series of cases for that radical court to hear.

Obviously, Dobbs was the big one, but it's only part of a whole procession of trumped-up cases designed to give the court a chance to overturn decades of settled law and create zones of impunity for America's oligarchs and the monopolies that provide them with wealth and power.

One of these cases is Jarkesy, a case designed to allow SCOTUS to euthanize every agency in the US government, stripping them of their powers to fight corporate crime:

https://www.americanprogress.org/article/sec-v-jarkesy-the-threat-to-congressional-and-agency-authority/

The argument goes, "Congress had the power to spell out every possible problem an agency might deal with and to create a list of everything they were allowed to do about these problems. If they didn't, then the agency isn't allowed to act."

This is an Objectively Very Stupid argument, and it takes a heroic act of motivated reasoning to buy it. The whole point of expert agencies is that they're experts and that they might discover new problems in American life, and come up with productive ways of fixing them. If the only way for an agency to address a problem is to wait for Congress to notice it and pass a law about it, then we don't even need agencies – Congress can just be the regulator, as well as the lawmaker.

If there was any doubt that Congress created the agencies as flexible and adaptive hedges against new threats and problems, then the legislative history of the FTC Act should dispel it.

Congress created the FTC through the FTCA because the courts kept misinterpreting its existing antitrust laws, like the Sherman Act. Companies would engage in the most obvious acts of naked, catastrophic fuckery, and judges would say, "Welp, because Congress didn't specifically ban this conduct, I guess it's OK."

So Congress created the FTC with an Act that included a broad authority to investigate and punish "unfair methods of competition." They didn't spell these out – instead, they explicitly said (in Section 5) that it was the FTC's job to determine whether something was unfair, and to act on it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The job of the FTC is to investigate unfair conduct before it becomes such a problem that Congress takes action, and to head that conduct off so that it never rises to the level of needing Congressional intervention.

Now, it's true that since the Reagan years, the FTC has grown progressively less interested in using this power, but that's broadly true of all of America's corporate watchdogs. But as the public all over the world has grown ever more furious about corporate abuses and oligarchic wealth, governments everywhere have rediscovered their role as a public protector.

In America, the Biden administration altered the course of history with the appointment of new enforcers in the key anti-monopoly agencies: the FTC and the DOJ's antitrust division. But more importantly, the Biden admin created a detailed, technical plan to use every agency's powers to fight monopoly, in a "whole of government" approach:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Now, this can give rise to seeming redundancies. Take labor issues. The NLRB is a (potentially) powerful regulator that had been in a coma for decades, but has awoken and taken up labor rights with a fervor and cunning that is a delight to behold:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

At the same time, the FTC has also taken up labor rights, using its much broader powers to do things like ban noncompetes nationwide, unshackling workers from bosses who claim the right to veto who else they can work for:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

But the NLRB doesn't make the FTC redundant, or vice-versa. The NLRB's role is principally reactive, punishing wrongdoing after it occurs. But the FTC has the power to intervene in incipient harms, labor abuses that have not yet risen to the level of NLRB enforcement or new acts of Congress.

This case is made beautifully in Alvaro Bedoya's speech "'Overawed': Worker Misclassification as a Potential Unfair Method of Competition," delivered to the Law Leaders Global Summit in Miami today:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/Overawed-Speech-02-02-2024.pdf

Bedoya describes why the FTC has turned its attention to the problem of "worker misclassification," in which employees are falsely claimed to be contractors, and thus deprived of the rights that workers are entitled to. Worker misclassification is rampant, and it transfers billions from workers to employers every year. As Bedoya says, 10-30% of employers engage in worker misclassification, allowing them to dodge payment for overtime, Social Security, workers' comp, unemployment insurance, healthcare, retirement and even a minimum wage. Each misclassified worker is between $6k-18k poorer thanks to this scam – a typical misclassified worker sees a one third decline in their earning power. And, of course, each misclassified worker's boss is $6k-$18k richer because of this scam.

It's not just wages, it's workplace safety. One of the most dangerous jobs in the country is construction worker, and worker misclassification is rampant in the sector. That means that construction workers are three times more likely than other workers to lack health insurance.

What's more, misclassified workers can't form unions, because their bosses' fiction treats them as independent contractors, not employees, which means that misclassified construction workers can't join trade unions and demand health-care, or safer workplaces.

Contrast this with, say, cops, who have powerful "unions" that afford them gold-plated health care and lavish compensation, even for imaginary ailments like "contact overdoses" from touching fentanyl – a medical impossibility that still entitles our nation's armed bureaucrats to handsome public compensation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/27/extraordinary-popular-delusions/#onshore-havana-syndrome

Cops have far safer jobs than construction workers, but cops don't get misclassified, so they are able to collect benefits that no other worker – public or private – can hope for.

Not every employer wants to cheat and maim their employees, of course. In Bedoya's speech, he references Sandie Domando, an executive VP at a construction company in Palm Beach Gardens. Domando's company keeps its employees on its books, giving them health-care and other benefits. But when she started bidding against rival firms for jobs funded by the covid stimulus, she couldn't compete – two thirds of those jobs went to other firms that were able to put in cheaper bids. Those bids were cheaper because they were defrauding their workers by misclassifying them. Thus, publicly funded projects were overwhelmingly handed over to fraudulent companies. Fraud becomes a fitness-factor for winning jobs. It's a market for lemons – among employers.

Employee misclassification is a pure transfer from workers to bosses. Bedoya recounts the story of Samuel Talavera, Jr, a short-haul trucker who worked for decades in the Port of Los Angeles. For decades, his job paid well: enough to support his family and even take his kids to Disneyland now and again.

But in 2010, his employer reclassified him as a contractor. They ordered him to buy a new truck – which they financed on a lease-purchase basis – and put him to work for 16 hours stretches in shifts lasting as much as 20 hours per day. Talavera couldn't pick his own hours or pick his routes, but he was still treated as an independent contractor for payroll and labor protection purposes.

This lead to an terrible decline in Talavera's working conditions. He gave up going home between shifts, sleeping in his cab instead. His pay dropped through the floor, thanks to junk-fees that relied on the fiction that he was a contractor. For example, his boss started to charge him rent on the space his truck took up while he was standing by for a job at the port. Other truckers at the port saw paycheck deductions for the toilet-paper in the bathrooms!

Talavera's take-home pay dropped so low that he was bringing home a weekly wage of $112 or $33 (one week, his pay amounted to $0.67). His wife had to work three jobs, and they still had to declare bankruptcy to avoid losing their home. When Talavera's truck needed repairs he couldn't afford, his boss fired him and took back the truck, and Talavera was out the $78,000 he'd paid into it on the lease-purchase plan.

This story – and the many, many others like it from the Port of LA – paint a clear picture of the transfer of wealth from workers to their bosses that comes with worker misclassification. The work that Talavera did in the Port of LA didn't get less valuable when he was misclassified – but the share of that value that Talavera received dropped to as little as $0.67/week.

Worker misclassification is rampant across many sectors, but its handmaiden is technology. The fiction of independence is much easier to maintain when the fine-grained employer-employee control is mediated by an app (think of Uber):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

That's why those scare-stories that AI trucks were going to make truckers obsolete and create an employment crisis were such toxic nonsense. Not only are we unlikely to see self-driving trucks, but the same investors that back AI technology are making bank on companies that practice worker misclassification through the "it's not a crime if we do it with an app" gambit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

By focusing our attention on a hypothetical employment crisis that will supposedly be caused by future AI developments, tech investors can distract us from the real employment crisis that's created by app-enabled worker misclassification, which is also the source of much of the capital they're plowing into AI.

That's why the FTC's work on misclassification is so urgent. Misclassification is a scam that hurts workers and creates oligarchic power – and it's also a mass-extinction event for good companies that don't cheat their workers, because those honest companies can't compete.

Worker misclassification is having a long-overdue and much needed moment. The revolutionary overthrow of the rotten old leadership at the Teamsters was caused, in part, by a radical wing that promised to focus the Teamsters' firepower on fighting worker misclassification:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/19/hoffa-jr-defeated/#teamsters-for-a-democratic-union

This has become a focus of labor organizers all around the world, as worker misclassification-via-smartphone has infected labor markets everywhere:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/22/kropotkin-graeber/#an-injury-to-one

Bedoya's speech is a banger, and it reminds us that labor rights and anti-monopoly have always been part of the same project: to rein in corporate power and protect workers from the insatiable greed of the capital class:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

#pluralistic #automation panic #automation #scotus #market for lemons #worker misclassification #ftc #competition #antitrust #trustbusting #ftc act #ftc 5 #unions #labor #jarksey #alvaro bedoya #nlrb #whole of government

364 notes · View notes

fic-over-cannon · 4 months

Text

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #soulmate au #tw grief #sunnie writes 🌻

440 notes · View notes

kettlefire · 11 months

Text

DP x DC Angst Prompt

Inspired by the song Preacher by Roe Kapara

"This is a distress signal from Amity Park Illinois." A scared teen girl was the face to meet the staticy camera. Red hair pulled up in a messy bun, tear stains clear on her face, eyes rimmed red.

All options were running out. They had two days, two days before the hunt began. Two days before they lose everything.

A distress signal, broadcasted on loop, over and over again to any frequency they can get their hands on with the limited equipment they had.

"This Friday, at 3:15am, my town is going to make an irreparable mistake."

A soft clang rang from somewhere of screen, but that didn't shift her attention.

"My town, my home, has fallen to the manipulation of a deranged woman."

A choked sound came from off screen, sounds uncomfortable close to a sob.

"Amity Park has always been disconnected from the rest of the world. A small town, in it's own small world. Things have been happening here for the past two years, and now..."

She paused, glancing off screen before wiping her face.

"Now we aren't enough to save it. We did took too long to notice the cancer that was spreading. The hysteria combined with fear of the unknown that drove out town to follow her.

My name is Jasimine Fenton, I'm here with my father Jack Fenton. My mother, Madeline Fenton, is the reason the world might be facing war."

The video footage grew worse, static starting to over take the image and the audio.

"Dad, we're losing it!"

"Sorry Jazzy-bear" The new voice clearly came from a man, even if he stayed clear of the camera view. A moment passed before it was fixed.

"We don't know how long we gave before they find us, but... My baby brother Danny Fenton is going to be brutally hunt down Friday morning.

There's no time to put all the information needed in this signal, but I'm begging anyone who sees this. Please send help.

Anyone who has spoken against the plan has been imprisoned, the only ones from the team that's fear is us."

Jazz let out a shaking breath, staring off screen for just a moment before coming back, fresh tears rimming her eyes.

"All Danny every wanted to do was protect his home, and all he got in return was pain and hatred. Please, you might not know us, but you need to know. Danny holds a high position with in the ghostly realm.

Whatever you want to call it, the ghost zone, the infinite realms, or purgatory. Doesn't matter, all you need to know of the living kill Danny, the ghosts will rage war."

A heavy thud filled the room, the camera seemed to shake at the sound. Fear filled Jazz's face.

"Dad, they-"

"It's okay Jazz, finish the recording, they can't get in yet."

Jazz nodded, moving toward the camera. She seemed to cup it in her hands and tried to speak over the loud thud that continued to penetrate the area.

"We're running out of time, I hope this reaches someone somewhere. More than anything, I hope this reaches the Justice League.

Reaches them before Friday. Before the world is in true danger. Danny is the only link to peace between worlds. Don't let a woman driven by hatred be the end."

This time instead of a thud, it sounded more like a crack. The camera shifted and a view of a large man built like a tank was caught. A strange gun in one hand, and what looked like a strange grenande in the other.

"Jazzy-Bear, there's an escape tunnel in the back. Go, I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"No! I'm not leaving you!"

"Jazz-"

"No. I don't care, I'm no use to anyone by myself. We need to stick together."

"Jasimine-"

"I'm setting the recording to loop."

"Honey-"

Loud crash broke through following another crack. Heavy footsteps followed. Voices screamed through the air.

Jazz's face filled the screen completely as gunfire could be heard.

"Please send anyone, I can't lose my baby brother too."

And just like that, the screen went black. Barely a couple seconds passed before the screen lit up again.

The video starting from the beginning. Hoping for anyone to view it.

A cry for help cycling through an endless loop until it found it's self broadcast for the League.

1K notes · View notes

avoxrising · 5 months

Text

The Feral One • Chapter 2

Finnick x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I had some down time while my flight was delayed so here’s another chapter! Hopefully chapter 3 will come out in a few days but we shall see. Thanks for all the love on the first chapter!

Content warnings - flashback to prostitution assault and detailed descriptions of killing/death

You weren’t always known as a feral victor. Sure, some of your kills in the arena were a bit much, but it’s not uncommon to see that behavior in the games. It is a fight to the death after all. What is uncommon, however, is that literal fight continuing afterwards.

After the incident with the first doctor, which was kept quiet from the public at first, Snow believed you would still be of use from him. He thought the capital doctors could “fix you” and make you “civilized” again. He’s lucky he always had guards with him, or he would have ended up on your list.

Finnick, your mentor, thought that your post-arena violence might save you from his fate in the capital. He tried to convince Snow that it wasn’t a good idea to assign you clients, that you were unpredictable and things could go very wrong. Snow thought it would be fine.

“Sure she may put up a fight,” he told Finnick, “most of them do. But, I don’t think that should be an issue for her client. He could break her quite easily if he needed to.”

And break you he did, just not physically. It was you who did the physical breaking.

You didn’t mean to kill him, nor anyone else outside the arena, but his grotesque hands roaming your body triggered something deep inside you; a primal instinct you first felt in the arena. It was kill or be killed.

You tried to push through it. Snow had warned you what would happen to your family if you didn’t comply. But laying there being completely violated by this capital man broke the only pieces of you that had survived the arena. Your mind had convinced itself that you were out of options.

The man’s avox had phoned the police when she heard him scream, but they weren’t fast enough. He was so engrossed in his actions that he didn’t notice the way your eyes turned cold, or the way you stopped protesting.

Less than two minutes later, he was dead. You still can’t shake the feeling of his eyeballs under your nails, or the sound he made as you crushed his esophagus. The worst part was having to unattach yourself from him when the ordeal was over. You didn’t even protest when the police entered. They sedated you and carried you off, away from the scene of your crime.

Did you mean to kill him? No.

Do you regret it? Absolutely not.

The only thing you regret is coming out of that arena alive; but what’s done is done and there’s no going back.

Your prep team won’t go anywhere near you for the parade, which is quite the dilemma. How the hell were you supposed to get ready? You’re surprised a stylist designed something for you at all, or that they’re even letting you participate for that matter.

Apparently, your stylist didn’t design the outfit. He said that his mentor, Tigress, wanted to design something for you specifically but she is banned from the games so he volunteered to bring her design to you. He’s the first person in the capital who doesn’t seem terrified to be in your presence, but the peacekeepers still won’t let him near.

You’re forced to dress in front of the peacekeepers. They uncuff you at least but it’s still uncomfortable. You would strangle them all right now but unfortunately there would be consequences.

Snow paid you a visit last night. He told you exactly what would happen if you went “feral” before the games.

“We wouldn’t want Mr. Odair’s pedestal to malfunction while he was standing on it, would we?” he stated. “Or for Mrs. Flanagan to come down with a horrible illness. That would be quite unfortunate.”

You had to do everything possible to keep yourself under control, but even that could only help so much. The rage you felt inside was growing and it wasn’t calming down anytime soon.

“Why isn’t it ready yet?” the shrill voice of Linessa calls to the peacekeepers outside of your room.

“No prep team would touch her,” they tell her. “The tribute is getting herself dressed.”

“Move,” Finnick states as he pushes past the group to enter your room. You’re mostly clothed but are having issues with zipping up the back of your gown.

It’s a beautiful blue gown that hugs your skin before flaring out just below your hips. The stylist explained it as, “The image of a silent siren. A deeply misunderstood mythological creature of the ocean.”

Finnick slowly approaches, making sure you can see his hands.

“Can I help get you ready?” he asks. “We need to be out there soon.”

You nod and turn so he can zip up your dress. The feeling of his hands on your back causes you to tense up but you grit your teeth and remind yourself it’s just Finnick.

Practically grinding your teeth dull, you let Finnick do a simple makeup look on you to match your outfit. You wish you could give him an outfit instead of a net but neither you nor Mags have a say in the matter. You especially don’t.

Finnick is especially careful not to touch the scar that runs down the side of your face. You got it during your games and the capital doctors refused to polish it off after you killed one with a scalpel for taking your temperature. You wish you had the temperament to let him cover it up with the makeup but you know it would set you off.

When he’s done, the peacekeepers come and recuff your wrists but leave your feet free so you don’t trip in the dress.

“She doesn’t need those,” Finnick tells them.

“I’m sorry Mr. Odair but these are direct orders from Snow,” they state.

“Will you remove them before the parade?” he asks.

“No,” they state. Mags whispers something to Finnick and he nods in understanding before approaching you slowly.

“Hey,” he calmly states. “I need to go talk to some people before the parade. Stay with Mags and I’ll come get you before we start.” You nod and he leaves.

The peacekeepers force you and Mags out to where the chariots are, but make you stay along the edge of the stables where they can keep an eye on you. They wouldn’t want any of the “excitement” to start before the games begin.

You can see Finnick talking to Katniss, last year’s victor. You don’t really know any of the other victors besides Finnick and Mags. They know all about you, of course, but none of them care enough to get to know you. The only one who has ever spoken to you (over the phone of course) is Johanna Mason of District 7. She’s pretty close with Finnick and they talk all the time. You would be jealous if Finnick didn’t practically live at your place and spend all his time with you. Plus Johanna hates people.

“Hey feisty!” you hear Johanna call as she approaches you. Finnick has shown you pictures of her but outside of that and watching her games you had only ever heard her voice. The peacekeepers move to block her but one glare from her sends them away. “How’s life outside of your cell?”

You give her a thumbs down and she laughs in response, catching the attention of the other tributes.

“Well I give it double thumbs down,” she states.

“Johanna!” you hear a male yell. “Get your ass over here.”

“Ugh Blight’s calling,” Johanna groans. “See ya later feisty!”

You think you’re done socializing for today when you’re approached by a young blond boy. He doesn’t protest when the peacekeepers keep him five feet away.

“Hi y/n,” he states. “I’m Peeta. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You give him a blank stare as you study him. Something about you feels like he’s harmless, but you can’t be too sure.

“Ah Melark,” Gloss booms as he approaches the boy. “Don’t take it personal. Feral doesn’t talk.”

It’s clear these two haven’t met before as Peeta looks a bit scared of the career. You’d met Gloss once before your games as he was your allies’ mentor, but you haven’t spoken in years. Him and Finnick aren’t close.

“Oh, uh I’m sorry,” Peeta stutters. He glances over his shoulder to see Finnick flirting with Katniss. “Uh nice to meet you I guess.”

Peeta looks harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Katniss, on the other hand, looks like trouble.

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @heytherellala @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @agunislover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #catching fire #finnick odair angst #finnick x you #thg finnick #finnick fluff #the feral one

553 notes · View notes

blkkizzat · 8 months

Text

ꨄ︎『Sneaky Links』ꨄ︎ (PART 2)

Sukuna x Reader

(Mentions of Yuji x Reader)

18+ Minors - DNI

PART 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 first!!!!)

“You should know by now, Y/N, disobedient brats need to be punished.”

Summary: Y/N is a dickmatized manipulative brat. Sukuna is Sukuna. Poor sweet Yuji is collateral damage. CW: cheating, rough play, unprotected sex, spit play, brat taming, spanking, pussy slapping, manipulation, fingering, anal play, edging, tit job, blow job, slight dubcon, blood play, sukuna being toxic, ntr, y/n thinking with her pussy not her brain (but it’s hard not to when you got that wet wet). WK: 5.3k of 8.5k Slightly Black female coded but no descriptors.

A/N: Part 2 took longer than I expected but I hope y'all enjoy it!

So much smut my gawd my mind is so cracked.

“You should know by now, Y/N, disobedient brats need to be punished.”

Before you could even feel the chill from his threat, your world was spinning as Sukuna had repositioned your body to lay across his thick muscular thighs on the edge of the bed.

The exact situation you were in didn’t click until a loud smack reverberated in your ears and you felt white hot pain blossom across your left asscheck.

Smack.

Fully aware of the second, you hissed as you felt the full force of the spank on your right cheek rock its way into your cunt.

Smack.

Three spanks in and you were moaning,

Sukuna’s assault on your ass continued leaving you panting and drooling as your tongue lolled out of your mouth.

Smack.

A fourth and you gripped his thigh for leverage so you could push your bottom up to meet his hand halfway. The action allowed the friction to transfer deeper into your core making your body convulse with pleasure.

“S-Sukuna!” you screamed out as the fifth smack this time was directly on your pussy.

Already drenched from your current arousal and earlier sex with Yuji, the squelching sound your slit made from being slapped was absolutely vulgar. The sounds turn you on more than you can bear at the moment and you could tell from laying across his lap, it’s having a similar effect on Sukuna as well.

The need for him to fuck you was overwhelming.

“FuckMeFuckMeFuckMePLEASEEE!” your words slurry jumble as you writhed against the growing bulge beneath you.

“Fuck you, Y/N?” Sukuna taunted toyingly.

Another soggy smack rang out from your pussy.

Your eyes rolled back as you bit your lip so hard you might have drawn blood then but wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Not when you address me so casually...”

Smack.

“...and certainly not when you still have that other brat’s spunk in your cunt, slut. It’s fucking disrespectful to me.”

Smack.

SMACK.

The force from the spanks on your clit took the air out of you, leaving you gasping as your face grew hot with shame.

“Hn… we’ll have to fix that won’t we, Brat?”

And with that Sukuna plunged three thick fingers into your messy cunt, relishing in your cries of surprise that filled the room.

His fingers glided in effortlessly from how wet you were, vigorously pumping into you.

You whined as they reached deeper than you ever could yourself and at a more reckless pace than Yuji would ever dream to take with you.

Sukuna was absolutely relentless.

Staying true to his words, his fingers pulled the last remnants of Yuji’s cum out of you as you fell to pieces on his lap.

“Did I not make it clear last time who this sloppy hole belonged to Y/N?”

You could barely register Sukuna’s question.

Your breathy moans and the ASMR sounds from his fingers tearing through your cunt as your walls sucked him in were thrumming in your ears and drowning out everything else.

Vision spotty, you could feel yourself closer to attaining release with every scraping movement of his fingers against the spongy spot within you. The little bundle of nerves going wild at his abuse and pushing you even closer to the edge.

The tension in you pulls tight like a cord ready to snap and you curl your toes as you could nearly taste your release.

Almost there.

“Ah! S-s-sooo clos-see” you finally sputtered out, only focusing on getting off.

That's when Sukuna’s fingers came to an immediate halt inside you.

“I fucking hate repeating myself Y/N. If the little whore can’t focus enough to answer me properly while I finger fuck her, I’ll simply have to stop.”

Your insides burned terribly at the loss of movement.

Your breath was shaky.

All you could think about was your need to cum, it wholly consumed you.

The attempts you made to push your hips back and fuck yourself on his fingers enough to cum were thuwarted by Sukuna’s free arm locking you in place.

He had you where he wanted you.

“N-No! P-PleasePlease! My pus-syy i-it’s yourssss, Suk- Lord Sukuna!” you corrected yourself, desperately wanting him to continue.

“Hm?” Sukuna questioned. He didn’t know if you fully understood just yet who owned you.

“Sure about that, bitch? You gonna let anyone else cum in this pussy again?”

You shook your head vigorously, splashing tears onto his thigh.

“N-No”, you huffed and sniffled quietly.

“What was that slut? Speak up.”

His voice was harsh yet his fingers began moving again, yet this time with slow agonizing circles over your g-spot.

It was fucking maddening.

“I wont! I-I won’t let Yuji come in this pussy again, so please… PLEASE let me cum!”

You desperately begged with little control or care at what you were saying. You knew you would have said anything at this point for release and he knew it too.

He was a real bastard for actually making you say it though.

Pausing, Sukuna suddenly burst into laughter.

It slightly puzzled you, almost as if it wasn’t directed towards you. But you had no time to consider his motivations as his fingers dug into you harder than before.

Your eyes rolled further back into your head as all other thoughts gave way again to ecstasy. His thumb joined in now as well, teasing your puckered back entrance.

“Oh! O-ooh godddd”, you sobbed, eyes squeezing shut.

The prodding of his thumb into the rim of your ass while he finger banged your cunt was too intense.

Not even Yuji had touched you there before.

The feeling was foreign but you were too overstimulated at this point, you couldn’t process anything from it but pleasure.

“Yesyesyesyes!”, you sighed out like a mantra.

Sukuna could feel your walls clamping down on his fingers, letting him know you were close.

“Shit- That's it. Cream on my fingers, slutty brat.”

As if your body needed his permission, those words were what finally broke the dam inside of you.

You came with a loud moan as your body convulsed with pleasure. You felt the first taste of the sweet release you’d been yearning for all night. Babbling nonsensically as you repeated Sukuna’s name over and over.

Your tears, drool and squirt continue to dribble out of you as they drenched his thighs from both ends.

Sukuna’s fingers continued to bully into you not slowing until you completely rode out your orgasm.

Your chest heaved constricted against his lap and your legs were still shaking but you knew he was far from finished with you.

His fingers slid out of your weeping pussy with a slimy pop.

“On your knees.”

You heard Sukuna’s gruff order boom from above you and you quickly moved, not wanting to test his temperament as you could feel welts on your ass begin to form the spanking you received.

Your legs had been reduced to jelly so you could only slide onto the floor, careful of putting too much pressure on your bruised bottom.

Gathering yourself, you saw how Sukuna began to manspread for you. Reclining on the bed, he was giving you a delicious view of his hard cock.

You unconsciously licked your lips at his angry red tip swaying back against his stomach and soiling his abs with precum.

Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but hesitate as him finally letting you cum had cleared a bit of the fog in your brain. You knew what he expected you to do, you had just never done it before.

Well to him at least.

Sukuna’s size was intimidating enough to make you nervous but you really didn’t know how to react right now as you weren’t used to this much foreplay with him.

His previous visits he would show up, fuck you into a stupor and leave. You didn’t even think he had even teased you as much as he had tonight.

Tonight was different. You weren’t sure why exactly but that thought did give you a bit of courage stirring the brat within you.

A sudden compulsion surfaced to see exactly how much he would give you and how far you could push him.

You could tell by how his engorged cock swayed impatiently that him delaying his own gratification to punish had an effect on him.

The game you decided to play was a risky one of course, but you wanted payback for the way he treated you.

For leaving you high and dry for days, for breaking your favorite vibrator, for making you beg to cum but mostly for turning you into such a dizzy cock-hungry bitch who still yearned for him to fuck her silly.

Your thoughts of retribution were soon interrupted as he grew impatient with you.

“Y/N put that fuckin’ bratty mouth to good use for once, bitch. If I left now, your sloppy cunt would still be unsatisfied.” Sukuna growled baring his canines.

You pouted at his cruel insult but it was mostly to suppress a small smile as he confirmed your suspicions.

Oh he wouldn’t dare leave you now.

Not in this state.

And if he wanted you to give him head, you would give The King Asshole of Curses the nastiest sloppiest toppy you could muster.

Your mind set, you wet your lips making careful eye contact with him through moist batting lashes.

You started to crawl to close the short distance separating you with a slight sway of your hips.

Slinking up between his legs, your hands caressed his calves and skimmed up over his thighs with feather light touches.

Your tongue lingered in his inner thigh to lap up some of your juices that soiled his lap, never breaking eye contact.

It was faint but could have sworn you heard Sukuna suck in a breath through his teeth.

Rising to your knees, you settled yourself into him until you were pressed between his legs and his hefty cock was nestled between your tits.

“Slut…”, Sukuna breathed out feeling your soft mounds enclose his cock.

He held a good poker face but you could tell from the slight perspiration on his brow and deeper breaths that he wanted this.

It gave you back some of the nerve you lost feeling his immense size between your bust.

Still holding his gaze, you tossed him a sweet smile before opening your mouth and letting the large amount of saliva you gathered descend from your tongue slowly like honey onto his dick.

The wetness flowed from your mouth and was instantly cooled by air as it left your lips. This earned you a low hiss of approval from The King of Curses as it landed on his hot tip.

Not wasting time, you gathered the mixture of drool and precum that flowed onto your tits and began moving them against his massive cock, up and down slowly.

Indulging yourself, you couldn’t help but squeeze your neglected nipples and moan wantonly from wedging his thick cock between your breasts.

You meant to provoke him but you were driving yourself wild in the process wishing it was your pussy and not your tits enveloping him.

Your mouth remained open and jaw lax all the while, allowing more of your saliva to freely spill out, still holding his gaze.

Sukuna was nearly about to snap at you for being a cockteasing whore when as if you could sense the insult forming in his mind you finally broke eye contact. Dipping your head low, you took his swollen cockhead in between your lips while your tits continued working the base.

You swirl your tongue over the hole at his tip and lewdly slurp up more precum causing Sukuna’s hand to shoot into your hair.

“Fuck” Sukuna let slip out.

His claws were at your roots applying a near agonizing grip.

Despite the pain on your scalp, the action encouraged you.

You licked, kissed and slobbered your way down the length of his cock. The obscene noises from blowing him only rivaled by the sounds coming from your cunt earlier.

Sukuna grunted. He honestly hadn’t expected this from you.

He corrupted you in a way that had broken many others in the past but he could tell by the insolence of your stare how your eagerness was not a show of devotion, but of defiance.

His earlier punishment had only fanned your flames.

Sukuna thought you would complain and cower away from sucking his cock like the pillow princess he knew you were with Yuji, not attack it like it was your last life line.

Fuckin’ manipulative ass brat.

The curse king would never admit it out loud but your brattiness turned him on.

It always had.

He would watch you from within Yuji. Your slick comments when he did something that upset you, your bratty protests when you didn’t get your way– Yuji bent to your will every single time.

It was infuriating that he never put you in your place.

The kid was too pussy whipped to see just how big a whore he actually had on his hands waiting to be turned out and used as a fucktoy.

Sukuna stifled a groan and resisted tilting his head back when he felt your soft fingers work their way down to cup his heavy sack.

You fondle them lightly as you move from giving him a boob job to take him in your mouth deeper and pump the base of his length with your other hand.

He couldn’t let this go on any longer. He wouldn’t allow himself to be undone by you.

Your brattiness entertained him but his pride could never let you have the upperhand for long.

Taking control over the situation, both his hands clutched the back of your skull keeping your mouth on his cock as he stood up.

And with a forward roll of his hips Sukuna was forcing you to take his entire length in one rough motion, gagging you on it.

You choked and your hands scrambled to push against his thighs but there was still plenty of your slick left from earlier causing you to lose your grip and lurch forward.

The action had you taking him to the hilt, your jaw stretched beyond its limits. Your tears that pricked the corners of your eyes spilled forth. His cock filled your throat so deeply there was barely room for air.

“Now, now, Y/N.” Sukuna chided you as you flailed uselessly against him to release you.

“You were so eager to suck on this cock a minute ago, show me how well your throat can take it too.”

Your throat in question was currently being fucked raw as your face was roughly slammed into his crotch.

Pubic hair tickled your cheeks and your nostrils filled with the pungent scent of his arousal which combined with lack of oxygen, made you dizzy.

You croaked out a moan as you gagged further on his dick.

The vibrations that traveled along Sukuna’s cock caused him to thrust deeper with force as he stuffed himself further down your throat.

Your jaw hurt like hell but the pain was slowly being overshadowed by your weepy cunt. Once more your pussy was flaring with jealousy as you felt phantom strokes inside you sync up with him ravaging your throat. You couldn’t help but be turned on again from Sukuna’s rough treatment.

You would have rubbed your clit if your nails hadn’t found purchase in his hips, leaving marks and long scratches as your body instinctively clawed away at him to release you from his hold.

“Take it Y/N. Swallow it all like a good little fuckdoll. Don’t spill a drop.” he snarled out the command and you could tell by how his cock thrashed against your throat he was close.

A few more spurts of his hips and he came cursing profanities into the air. His hot cum hits the back of your throat, filling you as it warms its way down into your belly.

Waiting until your throat wrung every drop from him Sukuna finally releases you and you collapse down into the ground coughing.

You couldn’t help but spit up some of his seed. Despite your earlier bravado you weren’t prepared to take his girth fully nor for how thick his cum would be down your throat, which was now left raw and scratchy.

“Brats like you can never follow instructions well, can they?”

You were tempted to give him the finger for nearly suffocating you on his dick but you could only scowl at him while your hands tried to soothe your throat.

“Tch, cumming just from getting your face fucked and without permission too? You still don’t deserve me fucking you.” Sukuna mused, the grin spreading wide on his face.

You looked up at him incredulously as his voice threatened punishment again.

“Y-You’re kidding me”, you coughed out. You couldn’t help but furrow your brow and pout. You more than earned it in your opinion.

Sukuna chuckled at your reaction. Manspread and seated once again on the bed, he pumped his cock, giving you a once over.

He had made an utter mess of you: stray strands from your disheveled hair stuck to your cheeks soiled with tears; cum dribbled down the corners of your mouth and chin with any attempts you made to wipe it away merely smearing it on your face further; your chest heaved and glistened with sweat and whatever other fluids it collected; while that disobedient pussy of yours was beginning to seep a wet spot onto the floor from where you sat.

Just filthy.

He could deny you further, if he wished.

Tease you further. Make you beg for him as he knew how much you hated it which made him enjoy it that much more.

But then he would also be denying himself.

He saw how you enthusiastically rose to the challenge of giving him head and it made him impatient to see you make more of a mess of yourself on his cock, which grew harder the more he took in your sullied form.

“Y/N, if that filthy pussy of yours want to cum on my dick she’s going to have to fuck herself on it.”

The curse king moved back onto the bed to fully recline and looked at you expectantly.

You nodded and wordlessly followed, your voice still recovering.

Sukuna had preferred to fuck you ass up with an arched back, but if this was your punishment you would gladly accept it.

You would take any position if it resulted in his cock inside of you to be honest.

Crawling over his large form to straddle him, you let your hands roam over the taunt muscles of his abs.

Your hands traced his tattoos as you began to grind your slickness on his erection.

It felt amazing feeling him underneath you. The thick girth of him spread your pussy lips apart as you created more friction against your clit. You quivered. It was too good.

“On with it already, pillow princess.” Sukuna smirked, giving your ass a firm slap. He wasn’t going to cum like some virgin just from you rubbing up against him.

You yelped as the action had you clenching your cheeks. Your ass was still very much sore but Sukuna would never let you have a moment to enjoy yourself unless it was on his terms.

“Then just lay back and let me fuck you, okay?” you snapped, your brattiness getting the best of you once again but you still complied as you centered his cock over your entrance giving it a few pumps.

You half expected him to flip you over and choke you out while drilling you into the mattress for sassing him again.However when you looked at him you saw his gaze transfixed on where your cunt was attempting to swallow him whole.

“Then just fucking do it slut”, he answered with another smack to your cheeks.

Sukuna wouldn’t let you off this easily by provoking him. You were going to ride this dick, he would make sure of it.

You wanted to glare at him but you were too preoccupied with getting his monstrous dick inside of you and your eyes shut in concentration. Pressing yourself down onto him you only met firm resistance.

Your body was screaming at you that it wouldn’t fit even though you knew it would as it had many times in the past with him bullying it in you.

You hissed, pushing yourself down more. You hoped gravity would do its job here but you had barely gotten the head in.

Tears were already flowing, the stretch was too intense, he was too thick.

“Aw, am I too much for the little brat?” I thought you were going to fuck me?” Sukuna teased, feigning boredom.

“I AM”, you whine through gritted teeth. You were so wet in addition to having been stretched from his fingers yet it was still this difficult.

Leaning more unto him for support you tried to adjust yourself but it only caused his cockhead to begin to slip out of you.

“Too damn slow”, Sukuna barked at you before firmly gripping your hips and ramming up into you.

You let out a screech so loud you would have thought it woke your neighbors, that is if you could give a fuck to think about anything else but Sukuna ripping through you right now.

His fat blunt tip rammed against your cervix and it took all the air out of your lungs. You were left reeling, arched back as your vision blacked out momentarily.

Trembling, you fell forward onto his tattooed chest. It was too intense, you were too full. Too much too fast of what you had been begging for all night, all at once.

Your legs trembled and your shoulders shook.

Your walls compressed Sukuna’s length and he let out a low growl at its intensity.

“Shit bitch - did you just cum again!?”

“S’your f-fault,” you slurred out with a sigh, wiping the drool dripping down your chin.

Pushing yourself up, you started to swivel your hips, grinding on Sukuna in a slow circular wine.

You could feel your whole body buzzing from your orgasm. You were too sensitive, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

You needed more of him.

You couldn’t think of anything else except for him buried inside of you.

You leaned back to grip Sukuna’s thighs for support as you picked up your pace the more you recovered until you were bucking on him.

The angle had you impaling yourself on him. You were putting on a show for the curse king who drank in the view of you in shambles on his cock.

Your tits bounced wildly as your cunt greedily sucked him in and ignored the pain of the stretch which was incomparable to the amount of pleasure you are receiving.

“That’s it Y/N. Use that filthy pussy of yours to gobble up this dick.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as more obscenities spilled forth from him. It only made you hornier and you could feel him start to move in tandem with you, his hands leaving your hips and finding their way to your breasts, pinching your nipples harshly.

“Mmm shit, t-too good, t-ooo good” you groaned at his manhandling of you which caused you to gush around his cock creating a white ring of fluids.

You see Sukuna grit his teeth and adjust his hips to thrust up into you deeper. Being on top and watching him underneath you, seeing the pleasure you were giving him you feel a surge of power rush through you.

Sitting up from your reclined position, your hands ran over his that were still grasping your tits before settling on his muscular forearms to anchor yourself.

His strokes were making your pussy flutter with pleasure, every nerve alight.

You weren’t just playing with fire, you were dancing in it and it made you feel higher than any actual drug ever could.

Fucking him like this was a drug.

You would probably still hate him and yourself in the morning but right now you were his greedy little whore and you wanted him to give you even more.

“I-I-I w-wan-t…” you started but lost focus. You were losing yourself again and you still had something you wanted before you came, one more trick up your sleeve.

“Yes? Use your words Y/N. Tell me what my lil slut wants.” He purred teasingly however the strain was evident in his voice.

You come closer to him, your chest pressed against his as continues fucks into you his fingers digging into your ass cheeks.

“Ryo..men, d-daddy.. .. you-r tongue… ki-ss me” you cooed seductively. Putting on your best babyface and looking down at him with a lustful pout wanting him to indulge you.

His eyes flashed. You truly caught him off guard with this one.

Your legs wrapped around him tightly as he suddenly sat up and his hand was around your neck once again but he never stopped his hips driving into you.

Your eyes widened in response but they were filled with excitement. The thrill of pushing him further and the danger of it all was intoxicating.

The air was heavy with the smell of your sweat and sex and you leaned deeper into the hand around your neck. You couldn’t help the gleeful look on your face as you shivered and stroked the arm that grasped your neck as if daring him to squeeze tighter. It was audacious.

Did you truly get off on edging death?

Sukuna was wondering something similar as the desire to actually snap your neck this time for real this time rose within him.

You took liberties with him that he would have killed his concubines for without a second thought back in his day. But as much as he mocked, taunted and called you all manners of whore, you were no concubine. You were a sorcerer, much weaker than him of course, but a strong one nonetheless.

One that he had either since turned into sex-crazed whore who had developed a death wish kink…

��Or one that he had severely underestimated and was far more manipulative than he gave you credit for. One who would do or say anything to provoke him into giving her what she wanted.

Truthfully you were all of those things.

He could punish you later but Sukuna would not deny you at this moment. It was absolutely sinful how you would whore yourself to him, completely forgetting about Yuji as soon as he was in your guts.

Loosening his grip on your neck, he grabbed your jaw harshly bringing you closer.

“Open”

You obeyed without fuss, sticking out your tongue.

He tilted your head upwards toward him and you felt his spit hit the back of your throat.

“Swallow”

The command had barely left his mouth before you were already savoring his thick saliva before you stuck out your tongue to prove you had in fact swallowed it all this time.

“Good girl.” he muttered. Sukuna’s breath was hot on your face before his mouth crashed onto yours, devouring you.

The brutal kiss overwhelmed your already overstimulated senses. Your teeth clashed against his as mouth ravaged yours. Even his kiss was dangerous as his razor sharp canines cut your tongue and your blood flowed into his mouth.

You felt him groan into you as he drank it eagerly, nipping and sucking on your tongue, savoring the flavor.

Completely disoriented, you didn’t realize the lack of oxygen you had until he pulled back, your blood staining his lips.

Sukuna chuckled at your dazed expression.

His kiss left you in a stupor as you hung onto his shoulders utterly breathless.

Catching your breath, you lean in closer as your tongue slides over his lips to taste your blood on them.

“M-more w-wanna c-cum Daddy.” you mewled against his lips.

“More? Not sure if daddy’s bratty baby can handle it,” he replied mischievously.

Sukuna’s breath fanned across your face as he captured your lips again roughly.

He placed a hand behind you but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of the mouth on his palm opening and tongue diving directly into your asshole.

You cried as your body instinctively pressed yourself closer to him, breaking the kiss and burrowing your face in his neck trying to keep his tongue from going deeper. However, that only gives the mouth on his stomach better access as it opens to lap at your clit as he continued to fuck into you.

“Don’t run from this slut you asked for more.” Sukuna grunted in your ear, the smirk evident in his voice.

You had asked for more but the sensations of being fucked and sucked from both ends was making you crazy.

“Damn, so fucking tight. Gonna cum in this pussy just like this. Going to breed her, you’d like that wouldn’t you Y/N?”

Sukuna taunted you and you felt his words travel through your ears and straight to your cunt.

His free hand came up to yank your head back for your response but you could barely keep your eyes opened and focused on him.

“U-h Uh-huh,” You nodded as incoherent babbles were the only noises that could muster.

You had never experienced an assault on your senses this hard. Every nerve felt like it might combust as the heat within terrorized you, making you feel as if your entire body was erogenous.

“Cum for me baby girl”, he whispers into your neck as he bit down, drawing blood again.

His words made your chest tighten and your stomach flutter, both betraying you.

Every trick you tried on him thus far had backfired on you when he returned your energy.

Every time you toyed with him he would toy with you harder.

You realized now you’d never win.

You didn’t know if you hated him or loved him for it. The sane part of you was locked away somewhere and all you knew now is your body was screaming to feel his seed fill you, to breed you.

You could feel his cock twitching inside of you and it proved all too much for you to handle.

Sukuna swallowed your screams of ecstasy as you came harder than ever before, toppling over your peak and jerking against him as tremors overtook your entire body. Your mind blank, you collapsed against him tapping out as your senses faded to black.

You weren't out for long but as you came to, you noticed he had placed you back on the bed, on your belly as he moved to position himself behind you.

“I’ve fucked you dumb. Just look at you, half unconscious.”

You could only grumble at him as your whole body felt drained of both your fluids and your energy.

“Hands and Knees, Y/N” Sukuna ordered.

“5 minutes Daddy pleasssseeee” you slurred, you couldn’t possibly take any more of him, your body needed to recover you were exhausted

“Fuck no. Hands and knees slut. It's gonna take more than one load to knock that greedy cunt up.”

You groaned. Your limbs were liquified and you couldn’t manage to support yourself with your arms.

Head rolling to one side to support yourself with your pillow you lif your ass up into the air. Your arms reached back to spread your cheeks wide for him,

Sukuna, satisfied with your position, whistled at the sight of you. “Need fuck this cum back into you and fill you up again.”

His heavy hand landed with a smack against your puffy pussy for emphasis. You whine as the slap causes your mixed fluids to spurt out of you, dribbling down your sex and onto the bed.

Sukuna’s evil laughter rang into your ears as he plows into you once more. His thrusts blessing you with the toe curling backshots you’ve learned to crave and causing you to come undone once again over his cock as he fucked you senseless over and over. “See Yuji? When I told you I could breed your bratty pillow princess into an obedient cum dump… I meant that.”

LOL!

You like? Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

Long A/N ahead:

Any mistakes please DM, no rude or criticizing comments please. (I literally am so busy but got up at 5am to finish this.) This is the first smut I’ve written in ages. I didn’t expect it to be so LONG my fucking god. But I actually enjoyed writing this! Especially Sukuna softening a bit towards Y/N at the end. Not really in a romantic way per se but in a “I actually enjoy your pussy presence and would likely keep you around once I'm released from your cuckass boyfriend.” kind of way. I also see it as him indulging Y/N and wanting to breed her just to piss off Yuji lmfao. He would totally knock you up out of spite. I also had fun writing Y/N here as a brat but one who doesn’t give up the fight, just finds new ways to be a brat and enjoys the punishment lmfao. (Me af) I feel like complete brat taming works well with Toji, Geto, and Choso. Sukuna on the otherhand needs a constant challenge or he will just get bored easily and kill you. You gotta tease him enough to keep him interested but he still ain’t gonna let you win. But no, even though I completely tortured and cucked Yuji here (cause he was aware this entire time), I actually really adore him. Yuji is so baby girl. I want to play with his hair and watch dumb movies on the sofa with cuddling with him and then once I get horny Sukuna can fuck my face into the cushions. OMFG SHOULD I WRITE THAT!?

What’s next?

Well my next 3 stories (in order of longest to shortest) center around lactation (Toji), van sex (Geto) and thigh job (Nanami) kinks. Which one y'all want first? ;)

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

697 notes · View notes

aethes-bookshelf · 4 months

Text

we promised we'd save you || astarion/tav/halsin

This chapter took me way longer than I expected it to. I had to finish my biggest commission to date a few weeks after posting part one. It seems it took a lot out of me ^^"

But! I promised comfort, I deliver comfort. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Astarion/Tav/Halsin

Warnings: implied/referenced past character death, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Summary: The first thing Tav felt was pain.

ao3 link || part 1

When they came back, Halsin carrying Tav’s dead body, stunned silence washed over the camp. The entire time the party knew Tav, they seemed indestructible. Larger than life, powerful and confident. But now, with their limbs limply swaying with Halsin’s movements, they looked like a little doll; fragile and lifeless..

Their skin was much, much paler than usual, dirty with dried blood and grime. They weren’t wearing their armor; it might have been lost or destroyed at the bhaalist temple. Without their shoulder guards they seemed so much smaller, dwarfed by Halsin’s broad shoulders.

‘What happened?’ said Wyll, eyes wide.

‘Orin happened,’ said Karlach. She had a look of grim determination on her face. ‘Where’s the skeleton?’

* * *

The first thing Tav felt was pain. Every single muscle in their body ached with that deep, crushing kind of pain that made even the slightest movement hell. Their head wasn’t doing any better. Their pulse pounded in their skull, each beat of their heart bringing an uncomfortable sensation in their temples. They were parched, their throat so dry and tight they were sure it would start bleeding at any moment.

They were hurting all over. But if they were hurting, that meant they were alive.

That realization slammed them right back into themself. The last thing Tav remembered before everything went black was being thrown onto the sacrificial altar in the middle of the bhaalist temple.

Tav opened their eyes. Above them was the fabric of their tent — they were back at camp. They were back at camp! Relief flooded their system. Their friends must have come for them before it was too late.

Granted, they couldn’t really move much because of the pain, but it probably wasn’t anything a bit of healing magic couldn’t fix. And a little pain was to be expected after whatever the hell Orin did to them. They would manage with a few more healing potions and Shadowheart’s help.

Tav groaned at the ache as they tried to adjust their legs under the covers. A puff of white hair suddenly came into their vision. It disappeared almost immediately when someone crashed into their chest with a relieved sob. Tav made a short, pained sound.

‘Shit,’ Astarion hissed and reluctantly moved away. He settled for holding Tav’s hand instead. ‘You made me forget myself there, my sweet.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you must’ve been so worried,’ Tav said, their voice teasing and hoarse. They squeezed Astarion’s hand just a little bit tighter; he squeezed back. ‘Still, there’s no need to break my ribs over it, is there?’

Astarion was strangely silent for a beat too long. Tav tried to rise to get a better look at his face but decided against it after the pain pushed them back into their bedroll. ‘What, no witty banter? Are you okay, love?’

That made Astarion snort, unamused. ‘It’d be quite hard for me to be okay after you went and quite literally died on me.’

It was Tav’s turn to go silent. ‘...What do you mean “died”?’ They said after a few moments.

‘I mean “died”.’ He sounded annoyed. Still, his voice shook all the same. ‘You… you died. Orin killed you.’

‘Oh.’ Tav cleared their throat. They refused to let the true weight of that statement reach them. ‘Well, then I’m glad you brought me back. Though we’ll probably have to restock on scrolls of revivify. We’d been running low for a while now, anyway.’

‘See, that’s the thing,’ Astarion had to grab onto the fabric of his pants to stop his hand from shaking, ‘we couldn’t bring you back. We tried the scrolls, they…’ He swallowed, grief thick in his throat. ‘They wouldn’t work. We had to rush you to that blasted skeleton. For a moment I thought I’d…’

…lost you.

Astarion couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He felt as if he was on the brink of a cliff, staring down a bleak, lonely future. He’d rather not think about what his life would be like if Tav had not come back to him.

Tav wished to sit up and cradle Astarion to their chest. But they couldn’t; and they cursed all the gods, devils and hells for it.

‘Lovely, look at me,’ they said instead.

Astarion did as they asked. He was trying very hard not to cry again; he wasn’t sure if he had any tears left to spare.

‘I’m here now, okay? I’m still here.’ They tried to give Astarion a reassuring smile, but it came out as a weak grimace. He smiled back anyway.

‘I know, love. And am I not grateful for it,’ Astarion said, quietly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. ‘Give me a moment, I have to tell Halsin you’re okay.’

‘Is he alright?’

‘He’ll be now.’

The tent fell into silence when Astarion left it. Tav’s world shrank down to the pull of their muscles and the pounding in their head.

They died. Almost for good this time. The reality of that crashed down on them so suddenly they felt like they couldn’t breathe.

But they were still here. Was Orin dead then? Did the rescue party get her Netherstone? What of Gortash? Had any progress been made while they were out of it? Just how long had they been out of it?

Their racing thoughts stopped when the flaps of their tent parted and both of their lovers came in. Halsin rushed to their side, worry clear on his face.

‘My heart!’ He was by their side in an instant. He grabbed their hand, just as Astarion had before, and planted a kiss on it. He held it to his face like a drowning man would hold a piece of driftwood.

‘Hi,’ Tav smiled. ‘Glad to be back in the land of the living.’ They could taste the copper tang of blood in the back of their mouth.

Astarion settled next to Halsin and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you big oaf,’ he said, doing his best to sound exasperated, ‘they’re okay.’

‘You say it as if you, too, haven’t been beside yourself with worry.’

Astarion scoffed. ‘Yes, yes, the pot calling the kettle black and all that.’ Despite his tone, Astarion’s eyes, locked on Halsin, remained soft.

Halsin rested his and Tav’s intertwined hands in his lap. ‘How are you feeling, my heart?’

‘Like I just died,’ Tav said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Everything hurts, I can’t really move.’

Halsin’s brow creased with worry. ‘Let me.’ He lifted his free hand and passed it over Tav’s body. The soothing coolness of healing magic did away with some of their pain.

Relief must have been clear on Tav’s face; Astarion perked up almost instantly. ‘I take it you’re feeling better already, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose I do,’ Tav adjusted their legs under the covers, this time without most of the pain. ‘I wager I’ll be up and about soon enough.’

‘You should rest for a few more days at least,’ Halsin’s voice was firm. Tav suspected there would be no changing his mind.

‘I know, I know.’ They sighed, bored already. ‘And thank you for the healing spell, honey.’

Halsin smiled. ‘The pleasure is mine, my heart.’

‘How long was I out?’

‘Almost a week,’ said Astarion. His head was resting on Halsin’s shoulder. The druid laid his free hand on the vampire’s lap. ‘None of the others knew what to do without you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t, either.’

‘None of us did.’ Halsin sighed. ‘Until now,’ he said and gave Tav a look so full of pure, unfiltered adoration they had to look away for a moment.

‘Until now,’ whispered Astarion.

‘Rest, my love.’ Halsin’s voice was warm and soft. ‘We’ll be here, watching over you.’

Tav nodded and closed their eyes. Sleep came for them quickly.

Their head was no longer pounding.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x halsin #halstarion #bloodbear #hurt/comfort #my writing #bg3 #astarion x tav x halsin #astarion x reader x halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x reader

342 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 9 months

Note

Love you fluff and spicy fics! They are the best kinds ;) can I request dates with Husband!Javi or DILF!Joel? (Would love to read them both but I’ll let you take the rein ;))

First: Date

A/N: Enjoy, anon!

Summary: With the way your relationship started, you’ve never been on a first date. You do a fake first date.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), PIV sex, unprotected sex, clit stim, creampie, dirty talk, hot and desperate sex

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48689506/chapters/122820544#workskin

Date

“We never actually had a first date, did we?”

Joel looks down at you as you rest your head on his shoulder, his lips pressed into your hair. You cuddle up to him even more than before because he has just put a blanket over the both of you. He furrows his brow at the question, trying to understand what you are playing at.

You’re not playing at anything. In fact, a very large part of you is happy that you never had to go through the torturous process of getting to know a stranger by taking them places and forcing them to answer uncomfortably personal questions.

“No, we didn’t…” he says into your hair as if awaiting further instructions or explanations, “Why?”

You grab the remote to press play on your movie, then shrug nonchalantly, “No reason. The thought just came to me, popped into my head.”

“Is it something you want?” He continues as if treading carefully.

“God no,” you turn your body a little in his arm to kiss him on the lips a few times, “I’m thankful that we skipped the heart palpitations and clammy hands, the painful silences.”

“I had nothing but clammy hands the first two weeks of just seeing you in the street,” he admits, bumping your noses together with red cheeks at his confession, “Felt like a fuckin’ teenager. Sarah near laughed her ass off.”

“And you didn’t ask me out,” you tut, then get an idea that has your face lighting up, “Wait… How would you have asked me out? How is your game?”

“Let me take you to dinner and you’ll find out,” he teases, focusing on turning back to the TV screen.

“Oooh, alright. You’re on. Pick me up at six.”

You agree on Friday at 6 pm. As soon as the roleplay is on, a ton of butterflies erupt inside your stomach at the thought of being wined and dined by Joel Miller. You don’t expect too much though, because the poor guy has previously already told you that the number of dates he has been on since Sarah’s mother passed can be counted on one hand. Despite no one having died, the same goes for you and that fact will surely make the evening a comical one.

At six o’clock your doorbell rings and you fix the straps of your dress for the millionth time in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

Joel looks good. He has his usual jeans on, but has added a belt, and the t-shirt that he always wears has been substituted with one of his nice button-up shirts and it’s been neatly tucked into his pants. The wristwatch is still there, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne too, but despite all this grabbing your attention, it’s nothing compared to the handful of smaller sunflowers that he is holding out for you.

“Oh, you sly bastard,” you grin, realizing now just how fun the night out will be. If Joel is doing this, you might as well roleplay along. You step forward to take the very homemade bouquet, “These are gorgeous, Joel, my favorite.”

“Figured roses were too cliche,” he states shyly.

“Let me just put these in water,” you step away from the door to hold it open for him, “Come in. I’ll be ready in five.”

Joel steps silently inside, following you into the kitchen where you get a vase from on top of your refrigerator and start filling it with water. With a pair of kitchen scissors, you cut the stems at an angle.

“Nice place you got here,” Joel small-talks. He tries not to smile, but you can see that he fights the urge to chuckle at the silliness of the situation.

“Thanks, yeah, a super cute guy helped me a lot over the summer,” you put the sunflowers into the vase, placing it on your kitchen island to be able to admire them in the morning light.

“Oh?” Joel questions, placing a hand on the counter as he watches you fluff the sunflowers to make them look less messy after you’ve handled them, “Should I be concerned by competition?”

“Not if you knock it out of the park tonight, starting by telling me I look beautiful,” you say with a smile, walking up to him and trying not to kiss his stupid face.

You are wearing Joel’s favorite dress of yours that hugs your chest and ass in a way that makes a few people turn their heads every time you go outside wearing it.

“You look stunning,” he says as he looks down at you, then grins, “I have a few things planned for tonight, and I think you’ll like ‘em.”

“Lead the way.”

Joel takes you to a restaurant in the city of Austin. It is Italian in a cliché way; checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, and, to top it off, a picture of Lady and the Tramp on the wall. It’s nothing that seems to appeal to Joel, but you cannot help but love it in the most wonderful childlike way and point it out as you enter the place.

Though to save him the pain of getting embarrassed, you order a pizza instead of the classic spaghetti. He orders a pizza himself, furrowing his brow as he realizes that the proper way of eating pizza here is by using a knife and fork.

“So,” you say after a mouthful of food, taking a sip of your wine, “Texas born and raised?”

“Yeah, my folks live half an hour out of town,” Joel replies, resting his wrists on the edge of the table, “And Sarah, my daughter… We've been in that house since forever. Sarah doesn’t know much else than that street.”

“You have a daughter?” You tilt your head curiously, challenging him with a little smile.

“Oh yeah, fifteen years old. Love of my life,” he tells you, and your heart swells because you know exactly how he looks at her with wonder and love, “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all, I just don’t have any kids of my own,” you reply.

“Is that… something you can see yourself in? Kids?”

You figure that it’s a fair question for a date, but it’s a little overwhelming when you’re already in too deep. Months deep into this relationship actually.

“Well, yeah,” you say after a pause, somehow so certain, “Yeah… I want the whole thing; white picket fence and nauseating suburban lifestyle.”

You can see Joel visibly relax.

“Is it hard being a single dad?” You ask gently.

Joel tenses up once more, resting his hand on the tabletop and tapping his fingers slightly. He avoids your gaze, “Sometimes. I mean… I’m terrified that I will end up in a situation where I can’t be what she needs. Additionally, it’s hard to imagine getting something you want for yourself when all you think of is soccer practice, boy bands, birthdays, and tampons.”

You place your hand on top of his, fingertips slowly running up and down Joel’s wrist, “That sounds hard.”

It’s nice to get to know Joel like this, and as you sip your wine, conversation flows easily between the two of you. Date-night Joel is funny and charming, exactly how you pictured him, and more. He compliments you throughout the evening, makes you laugh to the point where you can see his eyes soften and cause another compliment to spill from his mouth.

“Got any moves?” You ask before cutting into the last slice of your pizza. Joel finished his own a little while ago.

“Moves?” He questions, absentmindedly reaching out for your hand on the table again. You place your palm in his and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, date moves? I bet you’re going to lend me your jacket later. That sorta stuff.”

“I actually was,” he chuckles with slightly red cheeks that might as well have been from the bottle of red wine that you’ve shared, then running his free hand over his hair and leaning back into his seat, “I figured since we should've had our first date in June, it was the right time to do a summer activity, so we’re getting ice cream after this. And I know it’d get you chilly.''

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And what about you?”

“I haven’t used any moves on you tonight,” you lie.

“Liar,” he laughs, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Tell me.”

“I asked you about your daughter,” you shrug and try brushing it off.

“That’s a move?” He raises a brow.

“Well, got me touching you, didn’t it?” You nod down at where you are holding hands, causing Joel to sit up a little straighter as he realizes.

“I think we need to get out of here before you manipulate me further,” he jokes, letting go of your hand to raise his own to signal a waiter.

You get ice cream cones after dinner at a charming little parlor. Joel gets strawberry and you get hazelnut. It seems like the perfect end to your date.

The sky is speckled with stars as you walk through a dimly lit area with Joel’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. In your hand, your ice cream cone is melting slowly, but you manage to catch each dribble with the flat of your tongue. Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” You ask casually.

“Yeah,” he replies, eating his ice cream, “Not early in the morning though. Why?”

“Just wondered if you were going to follow me home after this,” you say with another lick. You’ll invite him inside too; Joel knows this but it’s part of the fun to not say anything.

He hums, “Sure, of course. I wouldn’t want you taking the bus alone at this hour anyway.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

Joel smiles to himself. Definitely not going to be a gentleman. He then dares to reach between you to find your hand. He entwines your fingers, says nothing and you walk without conversation for a while until you fake a yawn.

“I should get home.”

“I know the quickest way to the car.”

You find yourself on your front porch not long after. It seems ridiculous how many times Joel has been standing behind you like this, breathing down your neck as you unlock your front door.

With a shy smile, you stop trying to unlock the door and let the key sit in the lock. You dare to turn around to look up at Joel’s big brown eyes that are watching you with the glazed expression he gets whenever he wants to clear his head and kiss you.

It reminds you of your first kiss as he dips down, searching out your mouth with his own, and whilst you want to give in, you also want to make him work for it, play out the scene.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you interrupt him as he is just about to kiss you.

“Right,” he looks like someone trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. He hesitates but then replies, “Can I see you again?”

“Yes, I’d like that a lot. Thank you for letting me fall in love with you a little more tonight.”

Something changes at that.

“And can I kiss you?” He asks a little impatiently. Something is brewing.

You animatedly tap your chin and giggle as he sighs at your silliness. It earns you a kiss, short and sweet and definitely not enough. You pull him down to your mouth again when he tries to pull away.

There haven’t been many women before you in the years after Sarah’s mother, and it results in a starving man who cannot get enough when he knows that he has you. You like it when he snaps; as if the dam that holds back all of his pent-up need for you since seeing you in his favorite dress crumbles.

You kiss each other so hard that he suddenly loses himself and grips your shoulders roughly, shoving you into the door until the knob is pressing painfully into your lower back. Joel’s mouth is warm and inviting and tastes like strawberry ice cream as he practically eats at your mouth, swallowing down his name as it drips like honey from your lips. It makes up for how he manhandles you against the door until you can, albeit blindly, reach behind you and finally open it.

The door gives way behind you and you both fall through, completely losing balance without trying to regain it in the slightest. There’s something exciting about the utter desperation, something charming about the giggles you let out as you hit the floor with a thump. At least the door swings shut behind you.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off your shoulders, trying to get comfortable on the floorboards. It messes up the kiss and has Joel growling, but then he takes the opportunity to bury his face in your neck and breathe in your perfume.

You can feel his teeth graze over the skin of your throat, not quite biting down yet. He kisses open-mouthed and hot along your main artery instead, leaving a trail of shiny saliva until he is by your ear. He whispers, “You always invite guys in on the first date?”

He reaches down to tug your dress up. You help him by lifting your hips off the ground and he responds by grabbing your ass in his hands, squeezing and yanking you up against the bulge in his jeans only to grind right back down into you.

“Only contractors in their late thirties who are named Joel Miller,” you say with a chuckle interrupted by a moan as you feel the rough fabric of his jeans against your clothed cunt.

“Guess I’m really fuckin’ lucky that I fit that description perfectly then.”

“I need you,” you add with a groan, reaching for the top button on Joel’s shirt that’s too nice for you to start ripping off. You struggle to undo the buttons though, feeling embarrassed at how much your fingers fumble out of want, “Please, Joel. Off, take this off.”

“So fuckin’ needy indeed,” he kisses you again, doesn’t even bother breaking the kiss as he reaches up, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and then throwing it onto the floor.

You whimper against his lips, reaching down to pull at his pants. You need more, need to see him in all his glory, need to touch, suck him, feel him inside of you. Either will do. It is almost too much, “You’re so hot, fuck, help me with these.”

Joel makes quick work of pushing off his jeans and then underwear. He groans softly in relief, his cock finally free, already so hard there is a pearl of precum beading at his tip.

“Now mine,” you pant, pushing the flats of your feet into the floor to lift yourself up again, “Please, please, you have to fuck me.”

He runs his hands from your ankles up your calves, stopping at your thighs to give them a firm squeeze and groan with unrestrained desire. Then, unceremoniously, he simply grips the fabric of your panties in his hands and yanks them down. Having you splayed out before him, he doesn’t waste any more time. He hoists you up a bit, grabbing his dick and positioning himself, and then thrusts into you all the way in one go.

You both moan at the same time, but whereas yours is a soft sound, his is a low throaty one. You hook your legs around his waist as you wait for him to move inside of you. You find his gaze too, meeting it with pleading eyes, slack mouth, and furrowed brows, “Fuck me. Please just–”

Joel does not keep you waiting for a goddamn second. He grips you tightly under your right thigh and braces his other hand flat against the floor for support, and then in the next moment, he is pounding you ruthlessly into the floorboards. No hesitation, no build-up. It is mercilessly perfect, the floorboards creaking slightly at you being pressed into them. If you didn’t have your legs around Joel’s waist, you are sure that the force of the way you are being fucked would create burns from the friction again the wood.

Joel buries his face in your neck next. He finally bites down like you have waited for, causing you to tilt back your head with a high-pitched moan. Your hands come up to rest on the back of his head and you slide your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly as the tension below your belly button builds. It feels like fire, like electricity.

"Pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock," he murmurs against your neck. He then straightens a bit again to let go of your thigh in favor of sliding his hand under you, pressing it against the small of your back, and holding you closer to his own body. He watches your face as your head swims with desire, “Look pretty too, oh, fuck, baby.”

Your right hand reaches down, but you don’t get a chance to touch yourself, because, with his other hand, Joel reaches down to place his thumb on your swollen clit, immediately setting a blinding pace. You see stars, ecstatic moans giving you away.

“I’m gonna—“

“And you’re gonna come on my dick now too?” He groans, already chasing his own pleasure with each thrust of his hips, “Lucky fuckin’ me.”

Fireworks erupt below your belly button as you come with a wanton shout. The pleasure is fast and intense, your muscles squeezing around Joel’s cock which suddenly spurts thick ropes of come inside of you. He feels so good as you pulse around him, cunt greedily milking everything into yourself.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Joel says with an exhausted chuckle as he flops down beside you. The both of you try catching your breaths, but the dopamine rush won’t let either of you settle down quite yet.

Your legs fall against each other, collapsing from exhaustion. You can feel your back start to ache already, “God.”

“Just Joel.”

You slap his arm.

“Are you okay though?” He asks genuinely.

“My back is going to be sore like hell from this. It already is. Other than that? I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me like that before,” you run a hand over your face, staring up at the ceiling afterwards.

“Sounds about right,” he says, pauses for a moment, then, “So when can I see you again?”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #joel x reader #joel x you #dilf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic

480 notes · View notes